#but because she only covered his face. so his thinning hairline and small head were easy to spot as not jaejoong LOL | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imaginativeamateur · 3 years ago

Note

HEY!!!! I read your kakashi x reader in which kakshi takes care of tired reader and it was *chef’s kiss* so i was thinking if you could a kakashi x reader in which the reader gets poisoned during a mission. They get a small scratch so it does not work quickly. So when they get home, they start to feel a bit dizzy and then start coughing up blood LOTS of blood ( if you don’t mind). So kakashi gets worried and takes them to the hospital. When they get there tsunade tells them it is a rare type of poison so they will need a day or two to make the antidote. So the reader is in pain and coughing up blood. Kakashi tries their best to comfort them. Sorry it is long. Feel free to ignore it. Sorry for bad english. THANK YOU ✨

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] Unbearable

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x gn!Reader

Note: Firstly, I'm glad that you like that piece, anon:D and your idea is fantastic!!! Okay, this one is a bit longer than what I usually write for, probably around 2,000 words. It's a mix of angst and fluff, the ending is fluffy though. And I didn't know what to name this one either:D Without further ado, please enjoy!

You pushed the door open, exclaiming happily when you finally got to sniff the familiar scent of his signature dishes, “I’m home, Kakashi!”

“How was your mission, love?” Wiping his palms on a handkerchief, he lifted his eyes from the pan to quickly examine if you had any injuries.

“Absolutely successful! We captured and brought the rebels back for investigation. My captain will be reporting it to the Hokage so I’m off for now!” You made your way next to him in the kitchen, pulling off your gloves in the process, “What are you making?”

Kakashi went off talking about the dishes he was preparing for your dinner but your mind turned fuzzy in the middle of his sentence. You lost your balance and tumbled backward as your sight blurred, not able to see anything clearly. With his quick reflex, the Copy Ninja caught you by your forearm and guided you to the floor, constantly asking if you were okay. Kakashi’s visible eye widened, brows furrowing as his hands roamed to search for any injuries that his eyes did not catch. You had no fatal wounds except for several scratches here and there, and he could sense your depleted chakra level. Lifting your body up in his arms, he whispered as he carried you to your shared bedroom, “You probably overused your chakra again. You should be back to normal tomorrow after a good rest.”

You sprawled tiredly in your bed, having no appetite for a meal and Kakashi respected it, he knew when it came to reviving a Ninja’s chakra, nothing would be able to beat some decent sleep. He let you stay by yourself for a few hours and went to finish his reports, returning to check on you once in a while. When he was finally done with work, Kakashi quietly slipped under the blanket on his side of the bed, carefully scooted closer to your warmth, hugged you close, and peacefully closed his eyes. In the middle of the night, you were woken up by the burning sensation that coursed through your entire body and a terrible headache, having just enough time to flip onto your side in case you would vomit right then and there. And you suddenly coughed, your throat was torn when the crimson liquid spattered onto the white tiles, bled your shirt, and dripped down from your chin. Being a light sleeper, the silver-haired immediately shot up from his pillow, switched the lights on, and scrambled down to the ground. You were trembling for the time being, and within a split second, Kakashi scooped your motionless body in his arms, rushing for the hospital.

He knew for sure that you were poisoned given the symptoms that were starting to surface. The hospital workers were greatly intimidated by the threatening aura that he sent, still hugging you tight as he brought you to the operation room himself. You continued to cough in his arms, and he did not mind his turtleneck being covered entirely by your blood. Tsunade arrived with a hurried disposition, and Sakura followed close behind her lead. Kakashi immediately reported your condition to the Fifth Hokage, grimacing when he saw blood pooling on the hospital bed as the Medic’s chakra slowly entered your body. He fought to retain himself—to not sprint to your side and cradle you tight, to not bring his hand up and wipe the blood staining the corner of your lips. It was all too much to him to see you panting in agony—

“Sakura,” the blonde Medic commanded, “set up for poison extraction. Get three more people.”

The pink-haired left the room after her teacher’s assignment, fleeting on her feet when she saw your tightly shut eyes and Kakashi’s scary expression as though he was going to burn the place down. Tsunade turned to the Copy Ninja, who was leaning against the wall with a visible eye that settled a tone darker, and called, “Kakashi, I need you to hold Y/N down when I extract the poison.”

He shuddered, unsure if he would still be able to maintain the last bit of composure left. The silver-haired found it impossible to remain himself when came to your safety, but he padded to your side, shaking hands reaching out to the pale face of yours. The Godaime assured him that everything would be okay and the man took a deep breath, moving his palms to rest on both of your shoulders as the rest of the team arrived, getting to work the second they passed the door. Kakashi held onto your upper body and arms, pinning you down onto the bed when the blonde started to focus chakra on her hands. “It’ll hurt, make sure Y/N stays still,” she said before the glowing green entered your body.

Kakashi could feel his sweats running cold against his temple, his uncovered eye fixed on Tsunade's hands, periodically glancing back at your face to make sure that you were fine. His grip on your wrists was tight but not bruising, fearing that it would add to the pain that you were already enduring from the poison. The Copy Ninja had his other forearm across your shoulder blades, pressing your torso in place as the Medic worked diligently. It hurt and you yelped, shrieking from the pure pain every time her chakra seeped inside. Kakashi was restless, biting on his own lips to halt himself from releasing his grasp and hug you tight. Your eyes turned dull when Tsunade finally got the last bit of poison out of your system, heavily placing your head back onto the damp pillow as the silver-haired wiped the sweats on your forehead. When all of you thought it was over, things took a different turn—for worse.

Pain suddenly shot through your body, and you started to cough more vigorously than earlier, blood covered the white sheets of the hospital bed. The whole room turned their attention back on your figure, your eyelashes fluttered, wincing when you felt the tiniest bits of your muscles being squeezed and ripped apart. Kakashi stepped back when he looked at his hands smeared by your blood, and grimaced, “… Didn’t you get the poison out already?”

The Medic furrowed her brows, examining the extract she got in a test tube, “It’s my first time seeing this type.”

Kakashi went feral, “How long?”

The sounds of your coughs filled the quiet atmosphere of the operation room. Every ticking of the clock seemed too audibly loud each passing second the blonde observed the Copy Ninja’s face. She eventually sighed and turned to the exit, “I’m not sure. It will take a while for us to create the antidote.”

“You can’t leave Y/N suffering like this, Lady Tsunade,” he breathed out laboriously, “I can’t.”

Kakashi’s words left his lips like a desperate plea as he stared at the ground. Tsunade shut her eyes to summon enough vigor to walk out of the room. Sakura hesitantly left shortly after, silently closing the door after sending her former sensei a sympathetic look. With shaking legs that were almost unable to hold him up, the silver-haired made his way to a chair beside your bed, tracing his thumb across your lips to wipe the bloodstain away. As a Shinobi, he was too accustomed to seeing open wounds and deep gashes—too familiar with his body covered in blood after a mission, especially when he got injured. But seeing you in this state made him crumble in dejection and turmoil.

“Kakashi,” your inaudible whisper pulled him out of his deep thoughts, “what if I…”

Before you were able to finish your sentence, Kakashi hushed you with a sign as he pulled the blanket up to your chest, “Don’t say anything, love. I’m not going to let you…” And he trailed off, finding it hardly possible to continue what he was saying. You were still in pain, forehead scrunched up to restrain the groans from eliciting, tight fists hidden under the cover because you did not want him to be more distressed than he already was. Kakashi slouched his back, head dropping into his palms, cursing under his breath, “I should’ve come with you, should’ve been more careful, should’ve gotten you to the hospital sooner. I-I’m sorry, Y/N… Please, please just be okay.”

His words fell apart, slipping past his lips muffled and croaked. It had been a long while since he last felt the wet droplets tittering on the edge of his lash line—range and misery boiled in his veins as he swore to himself this would be the last time he would see you like this for as long as he was alive. He did not dare to look at you, not when he had to helplessly witness his dearest person suffering. Your breathing decelerated, the sweats beading your hairline and neck had long evaporated, and you fell asleep between his soft whispers, exhausted and drained.

Every hour passed with dread for everyone. Each time Tsunade came back to check on you set up a thin wall of hope but it all shattered shortly when she shook her head and withdrew out of the room. You were coughing less, but that did not ease the Copy Ninja because you were shriveling impossibly lifeless. You could not swallow whatever food they supplied, only able to intake water and intravenous fluid. It was after lunch when Tsunade knocked on the door—two days since you were brought to the hospital, one day since you went unconscious—and Kakashi went to slide it open for her. No longer displayed a hopeful expression, he could not bear the disappointment and emptiness from the Medic’s shake of her head. But this time, Tsunade came with good news.

“We found the antidote.”

A single sentence from the blonde levitated the somber atmosphere that was clouding Kakashi’s mind. A contented smile found its way across his lips—though covered by the mask, Tsunade could clearly see his pupil dilating and the furrow between his brows starting to slowly vanish. With a quick move, she injected the solution into your arm with Kakashi watching closely, not letting any details went unnoticed.

“The fever should be gone after lunch, I’m not quite sure when Y/N will wake up though. That depends on an individual’s ability to recover.” She stated, “You two take care.”

The silver-haired thanked the Godaime and shut the door after she had left for several seconds. Then, he went back for a quick shower—the last thing he wanted was you worrying for his enervated appearance after two days without rest—not forgetting to plant a kiss on your forehead before leaving. When he returned, Kakashi brought a basket of fresh fruits with him, carefully peeling oranges and placing them on a plate for you in advance. He even went as far as bringing your pillow because you would be staying for another few days, and he wanted to make you feel comfortable. After checking over everything, he leaned his head back and closed his eye, stealing a quick nap with your hand in his—so he would know when you wake up.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, you quickly scanned the room, and your gaze settled on the very Hatake sleeping peacefully, then to his fingers intertwining yours. You let out a soft breath, “Thank you, Kakashi.”

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

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7

#kakashi x you #kakashi x y/n #kakashi imagines #kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi fluff #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi angst

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inkykeiji · 4 years ago

Text

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. ��Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

4K notes · View notes

naokow · 3 years ago

Text

Get Free

summary: I want to get off, but I keep riding the ride, I never really noticed that I had to decide, to play someone's game, or live my own life.

warnings: angst, manipulating behaviour from eren, female reader (i’m sorry i didn’t make the reader genderless), cursing, smoking, drinking. let me know if i should add something else.

word count: 2.8k

A/N: so let me know if it sucked, pls, thank you. also, English is not my first language, so there can be mistakes pls tell me where my dumb ass was wrong

The hand on the waist was the final nail in the coffin for you.

How dare he dance with another girl. How dare he smile at her, how dare he ignore you and act like you weren't there, too.

"This is just pitiful," Marleen snorted, finishing half of her drink in a sip as she watched the same scene unfolding in the living room, those two uncaring of everyone else, like they were throwing it in your face.

You hummed, not really in the mood for taunts and half assed advices. "Which part?"

Marleen finished her drink and threw the cup over her shoulder, over the improvised bar the frat boys did last year with wood panels and boxes. It landed in the kitchen, someone yelling at the brunette as it nearly missed him.

"You. Honestly, for the last time, you need to—"

Frowning, you tensed and turned to glare at her, only to stop staring at the dance floor. "Honestly, Marleen, for the last time, I'm not fucking Jean to get over Eren."

She raised her hands in mock surrender, taking the half empty bottle of beer from your loosened grasp. "Doesn't have to be Jean, pal."

Groaning, throwing your head back dramatically, you couldn't find it in yourself to debate this subject, again.

Not that it mattered. Not like it was supposed to be a fun night at a frat house. Not like you made a fuss about it, dressed in your best leather pants and top, tattoos on display.

Not like you actually tried a bolder look with the cat like eyeliner and actually put on lip gloss, because you knew Eren liked those, said once your lips were pretty like that, coated with too much cherry glitter—

No, it didn't matter, not even as you sat there, feeling stupid as you pulled at your snake bites, wondering if you should get drunk or just go back to your dorm and complain to Annie.

But the blonde was at the party, too, somewhere among the crowd and probably sulking just as you, if you were to guess after seeing Armin with some junior chick an hour ago.

Marleen pushed herself away from the counter, losing her balance as she fell from the chair, but you saw it coming. Rolling your eyes, you caught her arm and steadied her.

Marleen grinned as you let her go, and seized your bicep, squeezing it three times, like a grandmother would with her grandchildren's cheeks.

"God, I love your muscles."

You loved them, too, but often found yourself wondering if Eren would pick you if you looked different, like the pretty, thin brunette wrapped around him on the dance floor.

God, how much can someone dance?

"Anyway," Marleen sighed, fake annoyance and all that, "Someone has to fuck Jean."

You snorted, "Poor you, volunteering like that for society."

She waved you off, pushing your now empty beer bottle into your chest as she left your side with her arms in the air, waving franatically to catch Jean's attention from his seat on the couch, where Connie was trying to explain something with his fingers.

Putting the bottle behind you on the counter, you tried to stop yourself from looking at him. What good did it do to—

He was gripping her waist, his large hands, clad in rings you got for his last birthday, covering her exposed skin. Her arms were in his hair as he bent to say something in her ear—

No, you noticed, he was kissing her neck and she was grinning sideways at Eren.

Scoffing, you tugged at one of the pierces in your nose. You should know better by now, Marleen once chided after cleaning your face off, ruined make up almost dried on your cheeks.

He knows, Annie scolded from beside you two in the small public bathroom after Eren ruined karaoke night and brought his new girlfriend.

He knows you love him and doesn't care. So do yourself a favour and move on.

Yeah, you watch Eren laugh at something the girl said, move on from the crush you had on him since you were sixteen and his hair was still short and he was crying over his parents' divorce.

Sure, move on and forget all the times you helped him, picked the pieces and put him first. Like he did, all those years going down the drain ever since the school year started and he barely acknowledged you.

"You look like shit," someone took the seat next to you, and you sighed before accepting the offered red solo cup.

"Feel like it, too," you looked at Levi snorting as he sipped on his beer. He looked like he just got out of bed.

Right, you scowled at yourself. You've been so busy preparing to let Eren walk all over you, that you forgot that Levi lived in the frat house that hosted the party.

Hange was talking Erwin's ears off, but he smiled and waved at you from where he stood close to the oven, once you looked over your shoulder to inspect who was there. Hange imitated his gesture without turning to see who, exactly, they were saluting.

Levi ignored them altogether, hair disheveled from his twitching fingers. He probably had a nap, you guessed, from the simple black shirt and jeans. Most likely got dragged down from his room by Zeke, or someone.

You knew him well enough, since he bumped into you almost one year ago, in the parking lot where you were smoking, asking for a lighter. Sure, he ignored your bad mood since you walked over to class when Eren forgot to pick you up.

It was just one time.

It wasn't until many months later that he picked a habit of ditching you and your plans together.

Levi was older by two years, and so were his friends, but they took you under their wing almost immediately.

They were protective of you, especially Hange, but no one came close to Levi anytime Eren made you cry or upset you with anything.

Like now, as he glared at the place where you already knew Eren was having fun with the girl. But you chose to look at Levi, chin in the palm of your hand.

Finally, he turned to take you in, his eyes catching onto the fact that you wore the rings and choker he got for you over the last year, then the many earrings Hange and Erwin got you anytime you wanted another pierce.

"Well, you sure look worse than me," you smirked, but Levi frowned at your attempt.

"He did it again?"

You couldn't find it in yourself to get mad at his words, "He just forgot, is all."

Levi snorted, "He should get checked for that Alzheimer he's been sporting for the last months."

You hit his arm, barely touching him, and huffed. "Play nice."

To his credit, he left it at that and let the noise of the party fall over you, both nursing your drinks.

You pondered going to Hange to ask if you could crash over the night with them, knowing Marleen was busy and Annie probably left by now.

"Want to dance?"

Well, then.

Your eyebrows almost reached your hairline as your eyes found Levi's, "Huh?"

He didn't shrug, or rolled his eyes, simply putting down his bottle and staring at you. You didn't want to look over at the dance floor, or be near that sexual tension, but—

But Levi was trying, and you knew how much he despised the parties, or having to interact, or, God Almighty forbid, dance.

And he was asking if you wanted to, because he knew you liked the song that was playing before you even realized what song it was or that you've been moving your head along with the beat for the last minute.

But Eren was th—

You jumped from the bar stool, "Sure."

You were taller than Levi by some good inches, but that didn't bother him. It never did, not even when you made fun of it at game nights or that one time at the carnival when he was the only one to join you in the big rides.

It didn't bother him, not even now, as you let him put his hands on your bare waist and slightly gaze up at you.

Hands around his neck, you let your chin rest near his ear, "You dance like someone's grandpa."

You could only assume he scoffed as he moved his arms around and pushed you closer to his chest.

"That's how you're grandpa danced?"

You shrugged and let him move your hips to the beat, fingers lost in his hair. "Wouldn't know. He died before I was out, kicking and screaming for the last time in my life at my mom."

Levi shook his head at your words, used to your humour and thankful you couldn't see his smile as he put his forehead on your bare shoulder.

You found yourself forgetting about Eren for a while as Levi danced with you and touched your skin, fingers grazing sometimes over your back or spine.

Then he was lost to your mind altogether when Levi caught your eye and you tried to make sense of the look he was giving you.

Marleen said something about his stares, when you couldn't see him watching.

You wet your lips, and he watched your tongue swipe over the pierces. "What, Ackerman?"

He shrugged, "You hate lip glosses."

It was barely there after all the drinks, but the thin, shiny coat with that stupid glitter was noticable enough for Levi to glare at.

And you did, you did hate lip glosses when Levi's arms were around you like that and his hands didn't shy away at the feeling of your muscles like Eren once did, because, damn, what chick wants those abs?

"'m stupid, I know," you mumbled, head titled close to his ear, but he turned to look at you, not even dancing anymore as his mouth was so damn close to yours.

"Want me to buy you another lipstick? What was it, again? R—"

You laughed, and Levi smelt the juice and whiskey on your breath. "Red, yeah. Still don't know how you found that shade, it was so nice, and I finished it too fast."

Levi smirked a little, "Told you, it's a secret. How else am I gonna surprise you?"

You felt him around you, too real, too much, it consumed you, steadily, as his eyes wondered around on your features.

"You surprise me anyway, Ackerman."

He wet his lips, then frowned, having to remind himself you weren't there for him, that you were in that position only because you were hurting again and because he was stupid and reckless and—

"Take it off, please?"

Levi searched your eyes, "What?"

"The gloss crap. Take it off, please."

Levi's breath hitched. "Are you sure?"

You looked down at his lips, "Help me a little, Levi."

Damn you. Damn you and your beautiful face, that irresistible body and that personality and the fact that it made him fall hard. So hard he couldn't deny you, even if it hurt him.

Because you were still hang on Eren, waiting and suffering, uselessly prolonging the inevitable everyone knew its end, but you.

But now you were in his arms and looking at him like he put the stars that formed those constellations you adored so much, on the sky.

Damn you, da—

He would never admit it hurt to press your lips to yours, to feel that cherry lip gloss first, then the punch as he probed at your mouth to get rid of that crap as you so nicely asked him to.

He hardly noticed how the pierces felt against his tongue, all lost to his mind as he gripped your hips tighter.

He would never admit it bothered him how your fingers played with his hair as you moved your face down and kissed him too roughly for his taste.

But it brought some satisfaction to glance over your shoulder at the shocked, angered Eren, his dance partner forgotten as he stared at his hands on your skin.

Good, it felt good. Even when Levi knew you would regret it the next day and go back to sulking over Eren.

But you brought his mouth back to yours and kept his face in your hands and made him ignore how much it hurt while he bruised your lips with too many kisses.

Levi tried to convince himself that things would finally be better, that it was the right move and he wasn't just a rebound. Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, he would believe it, too.

Even as you pecked his lips once, twice, stopped to gulp down breaths of air, like you just surfaced from water, like you've been drowning and finally, finally, you were free now.

But you stayed close, foreheads pressed against each other's while some stupid disco song started playing and Connie's excited yells surpassed even the stereo system.

You opened your mouth, and Levi wondered if he should be the first to say sorry.

"This is nice."

Flinching, you furrowed your brow and turned to look at Hange. They grinned, inches away from your face. Levi scoffed, and took one, two, fuck it—

He almost jumped away from you, putting space, almost making a statement. He glared at Hange.

"Is this our new secret handshake? I have to tell Erwin," they didn't wait, and you sighed as Hange bounced away to annoy Erwin for the millionth time that night.

You clicked your tongue, Hange forgot to tell you why they interrupted... Whatever that was with Levi, who was now rubbing his face in what you knew was annoyance.

Wetting your lips, and feeling no trace of cherry, made you feel worse than before.

"Right, I'm—"

Levi scoffed, hands back into his pockets as he already moved to walk past you. "Don't. I'm sure Jean would like to continue this."

You wondered why his words stung that much, because you were supposed to feel better after kissing someone. Because it was supposed to make you feel something else than sadness and constant self hatred.

Because—

Eren was making his way towards you, and Levi was already lost in the crowd before you could try to mend things. And say what, exactly? Nothing made sense anymore, your thoughts scattered all over the place because—

"What was that about?"

He was asking you, talking to you, and it didn't feel as good as you thought it would. Neither could bother to step aside, talk somewhere private, people still drinking and dancing around.

But why would Eren go somewhere private with you? It wasn't right. Nothing was feeling right as he glared down at you, at your swollen lips and flushed cheeks, that even the low light of the Christmas lights hanged around the walls couldn't hide.

"What?"

Sure, you were broken. Mind blank and fingers twitching to hold onto something.

Eren frowned, "What was that about, with Ackerman?"

You blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

It wasn't the apology you almost shot at Levi earlier. You sounded too confused and shocked, even for you.

But nothing made sense and Eren was now fuming.

"Listen—"

And you were all years for him, straining yourself to hear him over the music and the crowd that pushed your bodies closer. All because you were used to this, dropping all doubts and latching onto Eren. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time he was that close to you, couldn’t comprehend the harsh reality.

He was there because it bothered him to lose his play toy, and you were too blind to see it, or anything else beside his eyes as he talked. Blinking, you allowed Eren to take you to the kitchen, something about another drink.

Levi was lost to you as Eren put his arm around your shoulders, barely keeping it there as he started talking about his classes and something his colleagues. You granted him your attention, all of it, never half hearted like he was with you most of the time.

Try all the time.

Because you were better, always so caring and welcoming for Eren to just pick and take whenever he pleased. But he was your friend, you cared too much about him to just let him go or ignore his needs. And he even left that pretty girl to talk with you. Surely, that must count as something.

“Where’s your lip gloss, hm?” Eren inquired, watching you over the rim of his cup as you blinked, head titled to actually think about what he asked. Then,

“Oh, sorry. must’ve worn off,” you struggled to articulate the words, barely thinking them through, feeling small, almost lost under his stare for a moment. Eren smiled down at you, almost cynically, as he put his cup down and took your hand in his.

“Want to dance?”

You nodded, faster than before, with—

It didn’t matter, not in that moment.

Assuring him it was alright, because every little thing was alright to you as long as it was Eren and his hand was taking yours, even if the hold was loose, barely there, like he was seconds away from letting it go.

#eren yaegar #levi ackerman #fanfic #reader #eren x you #eren x reader #levi x reader #hange zoë #erwin smith #reader insert #female reader #aot fanfiction #eren angst #levi angst

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years ago

Text

The Moon Spirit - two

Dorian x reader, Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 2.9k

a/n: oof the plans i have for this series omg!! i hope you like this pls comment and tell me what u think and also feel free to give any ideas/ theories i love getting that sm!! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

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Finding a place to get a drink was easier said than done.

You had ridden along the cold, barren road for hours – your only company being the birds singing above you, the horse moving below you and the small bundle of content wrapped in your arms who had fallen asleep in your arms in seconds, occasionally yawning widely. And through those hours you had met no one and seen no place to stop.

You eventually had to stop, exhaustion slowing you down. You moved off course and tied your horse to a tree next to a small stream, running a comforting hand through its mane as it drank slowly. You slowly stripped off as well, taking your time as you removed the blood-soaked layers from your skin. Once you were bare, shivering in the cool morning air, you stepped slowly into the stream – swearing enough to make a sailor blush.

However, you relented, running your hands over your skin, wiping away the guards’ blood with a heavy heart as the water turned pink. Your whole body ached, yet you were numb. Men were dead because of you, and - if he hadn’t already – Dorian would hear of your disappearance soon. And then the king would pick him a new bride, and you would be forgotten.

Just as intended.

Amaris was mewling behind you, hungry and cold, wondering why you had left. Or maybe that was just you, maybe you were projecting. You climbed out of the water, pulling your undergarments back on as you found a sunny patch to sit in, allowing the newly risen sun to cleanse away the remnants of the night, drying your skin slowly.

After half an hour of silent tears you picked yourself back up, pulling on your stiff clothes and climbing onto your horse as you set off again. You couldn’t just lie down and die, no matter how much you wanted to, you had to look after your last gift from Dorian, and you had look after yourself.

You ended up riding for hours more before you wandered into a small town. Dismounting, you led your horse through the town as you searched for a place to get food and maybe clean clothes, glaring down your nose at anyone who stared to long. Much like Dorian used to.

No. You tried to expel the thought of him from your head, not needing to be swept up in the thought of his forget-me-not eyes, nor did you need to remember that you may never get to look into them again.

What you needed was the tavern you could see at the end of the street.

You pushed through the street, ignoring the townspeople as you moved to the stables beside the tavern, giving your horse rest, food, and water. You hid Amaris in your coat as you moved into the tavern – back straight and head high as you walked.

The bar quietened down when you moved in, a small sprout woman pausing handing out drinks as she stared at you over a high skew nose. The bar smelt of sour whisky and piss, the surfaces barely visible beneath the dirt that covered every surface – the only source of light coming from tall candles that had been stuffed into wine bottles. The curtains over the windows were drawn tight, not allowing any other light in and the people in the bar all looked remarkably similar, tired. The woman behind the bar was petite, with a face alike a weasel and when she spoke you discovered her voice was just as shrill as you expected.

“And who do you think you are?” she moved in front of the bar, walking towards you as you levelled your gaze.

“I’m no one.” You replied, the answer vague enough that she hopefully wouldn’t try again.

“Then what do you want?” she was exasperated as she spoke, and you allowed yourself a moment of reprise as you glanced down at your clothes.

“A drink would be nice,” your voice was curt, tired. The small lady rolled her eyes, moving away as you approached the bar, allowing her to pour you a glass of cheap, hard liquor.

She slid it towards you, and you knocked it back quickly. “Do you also have fresh clothes and maybe some food for me and my cat?”

As she left with an eye roll, a man approached you, his hairline receding and breath fowl as he slung an arm around your shoulder, leaning far too close for your comfort as you trained your eyes forward.

“I can offer you a job,” he nodded his head and you looked over to see his eyes trained on the prostitutes in the corner, “I’ll even offer a free trial. To get you started.”

You felt panic rise like bile in your throat, your entire body tensing as you shoved this man’s arm of your shoulder. You calmed your face – unwilling to let any emotion show as you faced him.

“You couldn’t afford me,” you snarled, pushing down the heat growing in you as the curious eyes of the towns’ folk were once again turned on you.

“You bitch!” the man began shouting but was cut off by the shrill woman’s return. She unceremoniously dumped a pile of clothes in your lap, along with a small loaf and some fish, her gaze expectant.

You loosened the bracelet around your wrist, dropping it into her hand as she stared at the large jewels adorning it.

“That should cover it.” you muttered as you stood, keeping your gaze angry and forward as you shouldered past the burly man. You bundled the clothing and food in one hand, the other still holding Amaris tight to your chest as you left the dirty tavern.

You found your horse again, offloading the goods you had received into the worn satchels on its side – leading it out of the barn slowly, desperate to get out of this town.

Dorian was a mess.

He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, could barely speak anymore. It was enough to lose you, but to then realise that his own father had driven you away. His own father had made you feel so unsafe in your own home that you couldn’t even run to him, his father had made you feel so completely isolated that your only choice was to flee.

Chaol was trying to coax him back into civilised life, his brother mourning the loss of his friend, yet itching to find you. And level-headed as always, Chaol knew that wouldn’t happen with Dorian spending his days drinking or in bed – often both.

But Dorian didn’t know how to cope, he didn’t know how to plaster on a smile and pretend everything was okay. That was your specialty.

Almost a month had passed, and you certainly were nowhere to be seen. You weren’t coming home anytime soon and he was going to have to learn how to live without you eventually.

Every morning he woke up, a part of him hoped it was a bad dream, that you would be asleep in his arms, or giggling and pressing dizzying kisses into his jaw. He hoped one day he would just wake up and you would wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, tell him it was just a nightmare and stroke his hair until he fell back asleep.

But he knew that couldn’t happen, that life wasn’t kind enough to return his bride to him and so instead he chose to numb his thoughts. He ignored the flirty eyes of other woman, unable to look at them in their expensive dresses and jewels without his mind returning to you.

Everyday that passed without you hurt that much more, so when he sat on his throne as Chaol approached him with a beautiful but deadly woman, he decided since he couldn’t have his perfect woman, he must find her opposite. He couldn’t be who he was before – so he must become someone new.

You weren’t faring much better. The day you had left the bar, you had ridden all the way to the coast of Terrasan and had climbed onto the first boat to Doranelle. By the time you arrived in the city you had just about sold anything of value on your person and all you had left to sell was the poor horse you had taken away.

By the time it was just you and Amaris, you had acquired a small flat in the city – the walls were bare and there was only simple furniture in it, the mattress on the floor next to large windows, and worn cushions on a makeshift sofa next to a wooden table.

Every night Amaris crawled into bed next to you, licking away salty tears from your face as you pulled the thin, scratchy sheet closer over you – hoping to replicate even a shred of Dorian’s warmth, or the feeling of his arms wrapped secure around your waist. Most nights you didn’t sleep, the bags growing under your eyes as your heart slowly numbed. Amaris would bury himself in the warmth of your chest as your eyes blurred, watching the city move outside of your flat – the noise subdued and calming.

On the third day in the new city you set out to find work, desperate to find something that could numb the thoughts in your mind and make the days easier. Plus you were sick of grabbing the easiest food you could find. You found yourself walking to a library, deciding it would be the perfect mixture of solitude and work for you. And it helped that you had spent most your life reading, many nights curled under Dorians arms as you read your separate books – occasionally reciting a line to the other.

The old man at the front of the library was kind, his face wrinkled from easy smiles, and you could understand why his long, long life seemed so pleasing. The bookshelves were tall, dizzyingly tall, and filled with countless books that you wished you could search through for hours. There were also tall, stained windows lining the walls, letting in the beautiful morning light and showing how the dust danced around the room.

“So what brings you here?” he asked, moving around the desk he sat at and motioning for you to take a seat on the small, cushioned seats next to him.

You sat down gently, back straight but keeping your eyes trained on your neatly folded hands. “I need work, sir. I have very good qualifications and have been educated by the best.”

He laughed slightly at that, “That much is clear, my child. But I asked what brings you here? What is your story?”

You looked up to meet his eyes, unable to stop the pain that they revealed, and he took your hands gently in his warm ones, “The world has treated you poorly I see.”

You felt tears build in your eyes – this kindness so alien to your battered heart you couldn’t help yourself as you let out a soft sob. The man smiled kindly at you, squeezing your hands gently as he urged you to talk to him.

“I was f-forced to leave the man I loved,” you choked out, “his father tried to… hurt me.” Your explanation was an over-simplification, but you feared what may occur if you revealed the truth.

“Was he your mate?” the man asked kindly, and you shook your head.

“I am not Fae,” you explained, and he frowned, passing you his handkerchief as he stood.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, retrieving a small, hand-held mirror, and handing it to you. You took it with a confused expression before looking in, gasping under your breath as you saw your ears had taken on a delicate point.

“I, I don’t- that’s not possible.” You shook your head, eyes wide as they met his.

“Where do you come from child?” he voice was gentle as he took in your shock.

“Adarlan.” You whispered and he smiled sympathetically.

“Then I believe a glamour has been removed recently.” You could feel yourself shaking, the weight of the knowledge hitting you. “Let me take a name dear, you can start work tomorrow, we’ve been needing some extra hands around here.”

“(y/n) (y/l/n)” your voice was small as you stood, shaking his hand lightly. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem and remember when you work you can have a read through any book you like. Aisle sixteen contains many on the ancient spirits.” He looked down to your necklace pointedly and you bit your tongue so hard you tasted blood, desperate to not reveal any more than you already had.

“Thank you…” you trailed off and he smiled,

“Albert,” he finished for you. “And make sure to take care on your way home, this city is filled with powerful people, you would be smart to not mix with them.”

You nodded, pocketing the information in your mind, ready to add it to your list of rules.

Fenrys was tired. He had just gotten home from a month-long mission and all he wanted was to sleep, however he wasn’t quite ready to face Maeve yet and instead he decided to take a trip to his favourite library before she realised he was back.

He was walking in when he saw you, your eyes red but hopeful and he almost fell over at the sight of you. You were wearing common clothes but held yourself like royalty, head high and gaze ready to tear down a man who so much as looked at you wrong.

What he did next he wasn’t exactly proud of, but he needed an excuse, so he was willing to play his hand a bit. “Excuse me miss, do you happen to know where I could find the tilted goose?” your eyes widened when you saw him, fuelling his ego slightly.

He knew where the tilted goose was of course, it was one of his favourite bars, but you didn’t have to know that.

“Oh yeah, it’s just down this way. I’m walking that way I’ll show you,” your voice was like music to his ears, and he smiled, revelling in how you avoided his gaze, clearly intimidated by his stature.

“Thank you so much…?” he asked, and you smiled, softly, subdued.

“(y/n),” you stared walking in the correct direction, and he grinned.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Fenrys.” He placed a hand to his chest as you laughed lightly.

“Quite a flirt aren’t you?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

“Can’t help myself, I’m not sure I’ve ever met such a beautiful woman.” He looked down to you as he fell into step beside you, noticing that you were taking a much longer way than needed. “You new here?”

“How’d you tell?” your tone was self-deprecating, and he laughed.

“This way takes about five minutes longer.” He stated and you whirled around, pointing a finger accusingly.

“You know how to get there.” He felt his face heat up as he raised his hands sheepishly.

“Maybe…” he grinned, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you began to storm off.

“See you around princess!” he called after you, almost missing the way your shoulders stiffened momentarily before you called over your shoulder.

“You’d be so lucky!” you replied, pace quickening as he watched you climb a set of stars that led to some run-down apartments.

He laughed, the smiled on his face coming naturally and surprising him. Oh his life was about to get much better.

You shouldn’t have enjoyed the pretty man’s company. And you hated yourself for it.

But he was so kind and for five minutes he made you feel normal again, loved again. See you around princess! The words wouldn’t stop replaying in you head. You weren’t allowed to be a normal girl; you were a princess, and you were on the run, and you definitely had no time for handsome men who flirted with you.

You couldn’t betray Dorian like that, he was probably waiting for you to come home. And you planned to. You would build your strength and you would learn to fight, and you would tear the king to shreds.

But for now, you had to settle for getting through each day, and that meant you had no time for handsome distractions. As you steeled your nerves you felt the loneliness settle on your shoulders, wrapping around you like a shadow, and you fought to reach deep inside yourself, finding the sliver of magic that was curled up – dormant – inside of you.

You found it and fought to awaken it, only receiving a shard of the true power. You stood in front of the dirty mirror in your bathroom, taking in your newly pointed ears and watching as your necklace glowed gently, your eyes turning silver as you released a small amount magic, watching as the bright light shattered the mirror in front of you.

Your eyes widened at the loud noise and with a flinch the magic was gone, the only proof it was even there was the shattered mirror in front of you.

You stared back at the cracked reflection and squared your shoulders. You were going to train, you were going to fight, and you were going to win. Even if it broke you.

#throne of glass #dorian havilliard #dorian x reader #dorian havilliard x reader #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys moonbeam x reader

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laurensprentiss · 4 years ago

Text

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 11:

Gif Credit: @dudeitiskarev

A/N: I told you shit was going to kick tf off! Poor Hotch is not having a good day today.

Warnings: Explicit details of injury, strong language.

———

“Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives.” - Nadia Scrieva

———

‘Fitzgerald House’ sits in white letters on an antique black board at the gateway entrance. Hotch turns over the engine and peers over at the notebook in McCall’s hand, squinting at the gated estate in front of him.

They’re buzzed in by a security guard, and as they drive up, the estate expands. A pillared terrace is framed by dark brick, neatly trimmed shrubs line the circle driveway and encase a grand fountain. Behind it, a set of antique double doors are framed by more huge pillars and blossom trees umbrella the pathway.

“Are you sure this is the right address, Aaron?” Mccall asks.

He nods. “Fitzgerald House. This is it.”

They step out of the car simultaneously, looking around them, the estate more intimidating up close. There’s something cold about this place, a familiarity he identifies with all too well.

“This seem like the kind of place a twenty-something lives in?” McCall asks in disbelief.

Hotch scoffs, air leaving his nose in an exhale. “Senator Fitzgerald’s twenty-something.”

Hotch is light on his feet, feels as though he’s dirtying the kept tile pathway just by walking on it. Truth is, he’d grown up in a home like this - or spent his summers there at least. He’d felt just as uncomfortable then as he does now. He knows what kind of people are on the other side of those doors, and knows the kind of people that live here. Cold, calculating, drenched in privilege, toxicity and unbearable expectations.

Borderline abusive.

He was raised by them.

He pulls his credentials from his inside pocket and reaches for the doorbell. They take a minute or so and when there’s no answer, he makes a fist and bangs on the door with the side of it.

“Open up, FBI.”

A woman finally pulls open one of the double doors, straining almost with the weight of it, the oak creaking. She’s around 40 years old, stands at 5’4 and she’s thin, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, greying slightly towards her hairline. A black and white apron completes her uniform.

“FBI? Can I help you?” She speaks with an accent, a thick lilt to her words. Eastern European, maybe, Hotch thinks.

“I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent McCall. We’re with the FBI.” They flip their credentials to show the lady, her eyes squint to read the writing on them. “And you are?”

“I’m the housekeeper. Carolina.” She says.

“Hello, Carolina. We’re looking for a Jordan Fitzgerald?” Hotch inquires with a smile.

“Oh.” She stutters and glances behind her, frozen in place.

“May we come in?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Please, come in, I think Mr. Fitzgerald is still in bed. Just a second.”

They step into the foyer of the home, taking in the room - it’s bright and airy, a white marble staircase leading up and off into both directions sits in the middle, framed by a dark bannister. The refined marble floor, and white walls make the both of them feel uncomfortable, uneasy. Tight-lipped family portraits and oil paintings of numerous well to do ancestors line the walls, casting a disapproving eye.

To the right, is a drawing room, where Carolina seats the two men, plush leather sofas are carefully placed in front of a massive window with a view of the front garden. An oversized antique ceramic vase sits in the corner of the room, perfectly polished and buffed.

Hotch swallows uneasily, his eyes scanning the room.

They both sit tentatively, careful not to scuff the antique rug that lays below them. McCall glances at his watch and mutters to Hotch, taking care to look around so nobody hears him.

“Bed? It’s noon.”

Hotch scoffs, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sees some missed calls from Haley that he skips over, shooting off a quick text to you.

Hey. Good luck with your dad today.

Talking to you is fast becoming one of the best parts of his day - he feels a little like a teenager again. His phone buzzes and he hopes it’s your name on the screen, he has a spring in his step whenever he’s on duty and he doesn’t have as much trouble waking up in the morning, knowing that you’re waiting for him.

He’s suddenly ripped from his thoughts when giggles erupt from the top of the stairs, and two sets of footsteps approach. Hotch cranes his head in unison with McCall as a blonde woman with dishevelled blonde hair and smudged eyeliner stumbles down the stairs, shirt buttons done unevenly and skirt askew.

She carries her shoes in her hands and has a purse tucked under her arm - Hotch concludes that she was probably drunk last night, the effects of which she’s still feeling now if her stumbling is any indication.

Who he assumes is Jordan, trails behind her with a grin on his face. He’s undressed with only a pair of boxer shorts covering him and a dressing gown that lays open. Hotch and McCall shoot each other a wordless look and Aaron has to fight to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

Jordan surprisingly has the decency to walk his unnamed friend to the front door, who turns and plants what looks like a messy and unpleasant kiss on his mouth.

This is Jordan?

Nice.

He’s tall but still stands a couple of inches shorter than Hotch, he’s broad with brown hair and matching eyes and has a tattoo across his clavicle, which he covers up when he pulls his dressing gown closed. McCall clears his throat when the unnamed friend releases herself from Jordan’s grip and turns to leaves after having Jordan swat her ass crudely.

Jordan turns his attention then to the agents in his drawing room, padding towards them as they both stand in unison to introduce themselves. He glances at Hotch, eyes narrow, a miniscule flash of recognition appearing on his face. He subconsciously squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter, gaze falling to the FBI badge Hotch has pinned on his lapel.

“Mr. Fitzgerald? We’re with the FBI.” McCall tells him with an outstretched hand.

Jordan takes it warmly, plastering a smile on his face. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

McCall tells him that they’re here in connection with an ongoing case regarding you, to which Jordan has surprisingly little reaction, Hotch notes.

Instead, he turns his attention to Hotch. “FBI huh?” He places his hands in his hips, an obvious attempt at trying to assert his dominance, and Hotch sees right through him. “Impressive,” he continues. “How old are you anyway, man?” His words drip with sarcasm and do nothing to veil the obvious insecurity he feels.

He unsuccessfully tries to level with Hotch, subtly tiptoeing.

Hotch’s jaw clenches as he looks down at Jordan. “24.”

He repeats Hotch’s words slowly, ignoring McCall - who finds himself frozen in place, uneasy with the almost confrontational atmosphere between his partner and Jordan.

“Wow. Someone’s ambitious. Got a lot to prove-” he flicks his badge. “Hotchner?”

Hotch finds the words on the tip of his tongue, wants to chew this asshole out for being a sleazy piece of shit, difficult and lazy. But the thing that really bothers him, the thing that makes Hotch want to give him a black eye, is the fact that at one point, you were his - and his own actions sent you running back into Jordan’s arms.

That thought makes his stomach drop, because it’s a feeling he’s wholly unfamiliar with.

Jealousy.

And he finds that most disconcerting of all.

He’s used to being able to do his job with a degree of separation and compartmentalisation, to keep his emotions in check - but he finds himself in a predicament now, one that’s becoming alarmingly clear. The lines are blurred and he knows it, no matter how hard he tries to push it down.

But he tries anyway.

He takes a deep breath and goes on. “You mind putting some clothes on, bud? We have some questions for you?” His tone is biting, condescension masked with amiability, similar to the way he would speak to a child. He tacks on the ‘Bud’ to purposely get a rise out of Jordan.

If there’s one thing he learned from his parents growing up, it was how to get under people’s skin with a smile plastered on his face, and he knew people like Jordan.

He used to be a Jordan.

Jordan steps towards Hotch, his eyes narrow, a slew of expletives on the tip of his tongue no doubt until McCall subtly steps between them. He stops in his tracks, eyes still focused on Hotch standing behind McCall.

His demeanour changes completely and suddenly, the animosity melting away to make way for his initial warm manner.

He takes a deep breath and plasters an unnerving smile on his face.

With a tilt of his head, he says, “I actually have back to back appointments today, may I come into your offices tomorrow?” His cadence sounds eloquent, polite, the way Hotch knows he was probably raised to speak.

He frowns at the rapid 180.

McCall subsequently agrees to let Jordan come into the office to keep the peace but Hotch knows better. The only appointments he would have would be with a few lines of coke and a bottle of scotch if his jaw movements and body odour were anything to go by.

Still, Ben hands him a business card and tells him to come by at around 3pm for a few questions and bids him a quick goodbye.

Hotch’s phone buzzes on his way out, a message from you telling him that you’re on your way to your father’s with Emily.

‘Oh and like three MPD officers.’’ You add. ‘One’s new I think? How’s it going with Jordan?’

A small smile creeps its way onto his face while his attention is diverted and his eyes are glued to his phone.

Jordan watches Hotch and McCall walk back down the pathway and into the car. His eyes narrow from the doorway as he gives a cursory glance to the business card he holds between his index and middle finger, and he flicks it onto the ground outside.

McCall clears his throat once they’re in the car, but Hotch’s attention is still directed at his phone. He clears his throat again, a little louder this time.

Hotch’s eyes dart up as he looks at McCall. “What?” He asks innocently, slipping the phone into the centre console.

“That who I think it is?”

“Yeah, I just checked in to see if everything was alright.” He rubs the back of his neck, a dead giveaway gesture to anyone who knew him well enough.

“Yeah? Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what-”

Without warning, McCall reaches over and pulls down the driver’s seat visor, sliding the mirror cover over. Hotch’s face is flushed, a ghost of a smile on his face, akin to a smug teenager. His guilty reflection stares back at him and stops him in his tracks. He didn’t realise he looked like that when he was thinking about you and he’s alarmed at how transparent he is.

No, he thinks. So what? It’s warm, it’s even warmer in this car.

It’s fine.

Still, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “What?” Hotch says, insistent as he turns a little in his seat.

McCall sighs deeply next to him, hesitant. “Just. Be careful.” He says, head tilting to motion to his phone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Aaron.” He says, his voice low. “I see the way you look at her. And what about that little display inside? Why were you so confrontational with Fitzgerald?”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh come on. You gotta be kidding me! You saw the way he was antagonising me-”

“-Yeah and your job is to stay calm no matter what. You’re not supposed to let people get a rise out of you, especially not if you want a place at the BAU one day. Gideon got word of you, he thinks you’re good. Prove him right.”

He sounds like an older brother lecturing him, but he has a point, Hotch thinks. Why was he so bothered by Jordan?

He knows why. He doesn’t know how much longer he can deny it.

The feelings he’d tried so hard to bury deep inside were quickly rising to the surface, faster than even he could get a handle on them. Maybe all he could do at this point was to relax his body and let the water carry him - sink or swim. The possibility of what could be, maybe it was too big to keep fighting.

He has feelings for you.

He has feelings for you despite the numerous conflicts of interest, despite the moral implications and the danger to your investigation.

He swallows dryly.

“You have feelings for her.” McCall says, mirroring his conscience.

He doesn’t know what to say back, but he certainly can’t bring himself to deny it. He’s not that good of a liar. Yet.

He just stares back at McCall whose face is etched in concern for his partner.

He has feelings for you.

———

It’s dark when you hug your father goodbye. You hadn’t realised just how homesick you’d been for him until you’d visited today, more so now as you’re about to leave.

You stand in the dreary rain and apologise again for not telling him about the restaurant incident, reassuringly rubbing his hand as you tell him you’re going to be okay.

“Really, truly.” You tell him over the patter of the rain. “I’m going to be absolutely fine. I have Emily watching over me now.”

He nods and places a kiss on your forehead. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still worry.” He sighs. “Bye, baby.”

You wave to him one last time, pulling your coat closer to your body before you and Emily drive away, MPD leading the way. You glare at her, watching her avoid your looks. She grips the wheel a little tighter, and keeps glancing in the rear view mirror despite there being nothing there.

After a minute or so, she grits between her teeth, “What? I can feel you staring at me.”

“You told Dad?” You hiss. “I specifically told you not to, and you still told him?”

“I’m sorry! He asked me outright if anything had happened, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“Yes!” You squeal. “Yes! You’re supposed to lie if I ask you to!”

“Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it. He deserves to know that you’re okay. Think about it, what if it had been him? You’d wanna know.”

In your attempts to not worry him, you’d forgotten that you were all he had, too. Maybe he was right for holding on so tight.

“I am sorry, though. I should’ve let you tell him.” Emily whispers, glancing at you.

“No.” You shake your head and apologise too. “You were right.”

“Does he fly out tomorrow?”

“Uh, no. Tonight. Some trip that’s been scheduled for months,” you reply distracted, watching the officers in front of you.

The MPD car turns its hazard lights on, signalling to pull over on the side of the quiet road. You peer at the vehicle in front of you, confused, checking with Emily who shrugs. A text from one of the officers reads,

‘Reports of a disturbance ahead, assessing alternate route.’

“Better settle in.” You show Emily the text and relax into your seat a little better now, leaning your head against the headrest and resting your eyes as the heater runs in the background. The rain slows to a drizzle now.

She unbuckles her seatbelt to turn her seat. “Can I ask you a question?” Emily says after a while.

“Sure.” You reply, eyes remaining closed.

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” She whispers.

“Who?” You frown.

“Hotch.”

You all but jump out of your skin. “What?!” You squeak.

Emily rolls her eyes now, embarrassed that you’re even trying to deny it. “Come on. It’s me. Don’t lie.”

Your mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words but your cheeks burn. It’s not entirely unexpected, Emily’s always been somewhat of an inner voice, a mirror that holds you accountable but you’d been quietly trying to work out your issues, the feelings you’d been having for Hotch, internally.

Had you made it that obvious? Had you made yourself look stupid and naive, pining after a guy who was so much older and settled in life?

“No of course I don’t, where is this coming from?” Your cheeks grow even hotter and you try to keep your voice even.

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone can see it.”

“See what? There’s nothing to see!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands in mortification. If everyone could see it, that meant that Hotch could too, he was on his way to being a profiler for God’s sake. He was probably just humouring you, sparing your feelings.

Oh God.

“I mean the way you look at him?” Emily says.

“-Please stop, this is so embarrassing-”

“-The way he looks at you?”

You freeze. “What?” You turn to look at her now and you find her smirking.

“Come on, you’re seriously telling me you haven’t noticed? I noticed the day I met him, so you’re either blind or in denial, and I know you’re not blind. Even McCall knows it.”

“What? No. He has a girlfriend and he wouldn’t-”

“Yeah that might be true, and I can’t speak to that. But it doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Even the way he held you that day? You don’t hold a friend like that.”

Your chest feels fuzzy, warmth spreading to your bones, stomach flipping.

“So?” Emily laughs next to you as she watches your expression. You try your best to stop the smile making its way onto your face. “I’ll take that as a yes,” She pauses. “He does too, y’know?”

“What?”

“Have feelings for you.” She replies coyly.

“Shut up.” You reply, rolling your eyes.

Your smile reaches your ears now, cheeks aching from the strain. Still, you shake your head, and blow her off, instead turning your attention to the other side of the road. You chew on the inside of your lip, mulling over whether to let what you just heard go ignored or if you wanted to act on it.

You turn back to confide in Emily but before you can, you see her squinting in the rear view mirror.

“What the hell?” She mutters. You follow her gaze and see a car with beaming headlights, driving towards you, showing no signs of slowing down as it approaches. She sits up straight in her seat suddenly, as the car increases its speed and barrels towards you.

The colour on her face drains as she fumbles with the gear stick and pedal, panic taking over as she attempts to move out of the way. You both flinch when the MPD car’s tail lights switch on, the engine revving and reversing.

Both of your faces fall. “Emily...” You pant.

“Oh God.”

It’s over in a couple of seconds.

The headlights get closer and brighter, both cars barrelling towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourselves for impact, your hand clasping hers as both cars ram into you, the seatbelt searing the neck of your skin. The airbags pummel your body from the front and side and your insides feel like they're turning upside down.

Your neck snaps forward with the impact, glass shattering and piercing the skin on your face and arms as the blood pools slowly from your forehead. A high-pitched whine penetrates your skull as you look over to a barely conscious Emily, and then to the side mirror, a dark silhouette approaching the car. Your breathing is rapid, chest rising and falling as you hyperventilate before you finally black out with the taste of metal in your mouth.

———

Hotch throws his keys haphazardly on to the table that sits next to the front door, loosens his tie and shrugs his blazer off. He finally breathes a sigh of semi-relief, feeling exhausted. He doesn’t bother calling out to the empty space to let Haley know he’s home, instead decides to just make his way upstairs and get a shower before turning in for the night.

His shirt is unbuttoned and his socks are in his hands when he turns his attention towards the laundry basket in the corner of their bedroom. He goes to throw them in the hamper when he frowns, some stray fabric catching his attention behind the basket.

Haley strolls into the room then, rubbing lotion into her hands as Hotch moves the basket to get a better view of the fabric behind it. She double takes when her eyes fall to what he’s doing, spotting what he’s reaching for. The colour drains from her face.

She’s too late.

Hotch pinches the fabric between his index finger and thumb and inspects it in front of him, frowning, Haley swallows dryly, going lightheaded.

A pair of boxers.

He frowns. They’re not his, but he swears he’s seen some like them before.

“Hey, where did these-”

He barely gets through the whole sentence before Haley’s face gives her away entirely. Her lips are pursed and she’s breathing hard, wringing her hands.

His face falls and he blinks at her, stuck in denial.

Surely not. She couldn’t have-

She averts her gaze, looking instead at the carpet on the floor, cheeks hot when the boxers are thrown at her feet. She flinches.

“Explain.” He demands.

She opens her mouth but no words come, her head hangs in shame.

“How long?” He asks. “How. Long?!” His voice booms.

“It happened when I left for those two weeks.” Her voice barely registers above a whisper.

Anger bubbles in his chest when he does the math, “You’ve been cheating on me for two months? Two months?! Was that him this morning?” His nostrils are flared and he knows he’s getting louder now, but he doesn’t care.

She nods.

“Use your words, was it him?” He hisses.

She sobs, “Yes.”

His mind runs rampant with fury and humiliation, he’d spent the last four months trying to make sure he put her first, had tried to balance his personal and work life and instead of meeting him in the middle, she had betrayed him in such a humiliating way.

He paces the length of their bedroom now, head scrambling at the proverbial slap he’s just received . The cold familiarity of where he’d seen the fabric before suddenly dawns on him, creeping up his spine.

He stops dead in his tracks, turning to face her, asking the question he doesn’t want the answer to. “What’s his name?” He asks evenly.

“Jordan - Fitzgerald.”

He’d always thought the phrase, blood turning to ice, was just a saying but when Haley says those two words, he feels as though the floor has been pulled out from under him and his stomach sinks. He tries to piece together all of the moving parts, tries to connect the dots - he knows what this is, but his brain is still playing catch up.

He’s in a daze when he answers a call from McCall, his voice even. “I’m on my way to you, there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?” That pulls him out of his daze, a cold harsh push back into reality. Haley’s head whips up when she hears the words, tears streaming down her face. “Where?” He asks.

McCall pauses. “It’s her.”

Hotch can already feel what’s coming next, dread settling into his bones, his stomach churning when he remembers you’d planned to have dinner with your father. A violent shiver runs down his spine and he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill out.

“Status?” He whispers.

“Missing.”

———

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spooderboyandtincan · 4 years ago

Text

The 12(ish) Days of December

A/N: I intended to write a Hanukkah themed chapter, but unfortunately I suffered some burnout and I couldn’t really start it :(((((( I plan and hope to add on to this in the future, I just wanted to get it out here on time! Happy Holidays everyone!!

Read on Ao3

/ST*RKERS DNI/

“Che palle!” May cried as she and Peter stepped out of the elevator. “Tony, what the hell is that?!”

“It’s a giant teddy bear,” Tony called back from the kitchen. “It’s for you, Pete!”

“Me?” Peter gasped, his face lighting up. He charged toward the ten-foot teddy bear and tackled it. The giant brown bear teetered slightly with his weight but didn’t tip over. “He’s so soft!”

Tony came out of the kitchen with a wide grin on his face. He wiped his flour-coated hands on his pants and tried to give Peter a hug without pushing him off the bear,

“He’s so beautiful!” Peter giggled, wrapping his arms around the bear’s neck. “And huge!”

Tony nodded in a proud, self-satisfied sort of way. Besides being delighted that the boy clearly adored his gift, he now had proof that this was obviously how one should react when presented with a ten-foot-tall stuffed animal. He'd have to take a picture and send it to Pepper.

May tossed her purse on the floor and shook her head at Tony. “As long as you can find a place for it, I’m not complaining,” she chuckled.

“I’ll rent a storage unit somewhere,” Tony supplied, taking a sip of coffee from his Iron Man shaped mug. Tony treasured that mug, which had been gifted to him by Peter several months ago. He never brought it in the lab for fear that Dum-E or U would break it, and he kept it in the cabinet next to his “1# IronDad” mug (also a precious gift from his kid).

He looked back to Peter, who had wrapped his arms around the bear, which was tilting dangerously. “Be careful, kiddo,” he said, biting his lip. But the moment the words got out of his mouth, Peter and the gigantic teddy bear started to topple to the ground.

“Shit-!” he began, darting forward, only to be met by Peter’s giggles.

“Nooo. Leave me. ‘M comfy.” He rolled onto the bear’s big belly and sprawled across it. “This’s perfect,” he hummed, closing his eyes.

Tony and May shared a slightly exasperated yet fond glance. Tony flopped down next to Peter, tucking a curl behind his ear. “Now that I think about it, spider-baby,” he mused, “I’ve got something else for ya.”

Peter perked up and opened his eyes. “What?”

Tony gave him a large grin and ran a hand through his curls. “C’mere.” He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led Peter to his room.

May sighed. “I swear to god, Tony, if you’re giving him an Audi….” she muttered.

“I’m not!” the man insisted. Peter rolled his eyes and sat down on his bead.

Tony put a warm palm over his eyes. “Close your eyes, bud.”

Peter tried to keep his eyes closed as Tony ran to his own room, tearing through what sounded like wrapping paper and knocking boxes over with no absence of cursing.

Moments later, a small, leather 4x4 inch box was placed on his open palm. He opened his eyes and looked first at the box, then at up Tony, who smiled. May shrugged and gestured to open it.

Inside the box rested a thin, slender watch with a smooth black strap. The face of the watch was rectangular, and when Peter pushed the button on the side it lit up, displaying the time above what looked like a mini arc reactor. It resembled the StarkWatch he was wearing that very moment, except it looked more high-tech.

“A new StarkWatch, specially customized for you, by yours truly,” Tony said. “Your old one looked pretty busted, even though they’re supposed to be indestructible.” Peter snickered at Tony’s gentle jab. “And it’s got a few minor upgrades. You can set the lock screen, for one. And it should be trackable from anywhere in the universe, and I mean everywhere. And you can call me, or May, or Ned or Rhodey or whoever from the top of Mount Everest or the bottom of the Mariana Trench.”

“Wow,” Peter whispered, tracing the sides of the watch before strapping it onto his wrist. “Thank you, Mister Stark! I love it! It’s so cool!”

“What happened to ‘Tony?’” he grumbled playfully, giving his spider-baby a kiss on his head. “I’m glad you like it, buddy. It’s basically the same stuff as your old one, just better.”

Then, to both Peter and May’s surprise, Tony bent down and grabbed a colorful red bag covered in golden glitter. Peter laughed.

“Tony, it’s only the ninth!” May snorted, her eyebrows raised past her hairline.

“That’s because we’ll need these before Christmas,” Tony said wisely. He handed Peter a soft package wrapped in green tissue paper and watched him tear the packaging in half.

“It’s so ugly!” he cried, holding up a garish green sweater. There was a plastic red ball attached to the big reindeer's nose and tiny bells were tied onto the reindeer’s harness. Little snowflakes were patterned all over, and Peter couldn’t help but laugh. “I love it, Tony!” Peter pulled the sweater on and was delighted to find that the fabric was incredibly soft, instead of the unbearably itchy sweaters he had owned in the past. “It’s perfect!”

Tony laughed fondly at his already thrilled kid. “If you think it’s good now, wait till you see this. FRI, lights off,” he ordered.

Peter felt Tony fumble with something on his shoulder, and suddenly the sweater lit up. The reindeer’s nose lit up bright red, the snowflakes began to glow, and, as cliché as it might have sounded, the bells gave a merry jingle as Peter laughed.

“I love it!” He tackled Tony with a hug, relaxing slightly in the man’s arms.

“Good,” Tony chuckled, “‘Cause I’ve got about three more for you and your aunt each.”

“Tony, where’re we going?” Peter whined, his breath fogging the window. “Tell meeee!”

“My lips are sealed,” Tony said, pretending to zip his lips shut and throw away the key. “We’re almost there, Rudolph, don’t worry.”

“Rudolph?!” Peter snorted.

Tony reached over the console to ruffle his hair. “I thought you might want a Christmas nickname,” he explained. “Plus, y’know, you already had a nickname available that only required a bit of simple reconstruction, Roo.”

Peter shook his head. “Just tell meeee!”

“No. Never.”

“Pleeease?”

“I physically can’t, buddy.”

“Tell me! Tellmetellmetellme pleeeeeeeeease?”

“Will… to keep secrets… decreasing,” Tony said robotically. “Fine. We’re going ice-skating, Petey-Pie.”

Peter gasped, his big chocolate eyes going wide. “Really?!”

Tony grinned and glanced over to his kid. “Really.” He wished he could stop the car and give his sweet boy a hug.

“But…” Peter bit his lip. “I don’t really know how. I mean, I went ice skating with Ned a few years ago but we mostly fell over and bruised our butts.”

Tony chuckled fondly. “That’s okay kiddie, I’ll show you the arts. Rhodey and I went when we were in college, and man, we had a blast laughing at each other. Oh- we’re here!”

“Tony, I don’t have any skates!” Peter realized as they hopped out of the car.

“I already got you some, Pete, don’t worry,” Tony assured him. He opened the trunk of the car. “And I brought you an extra hat, a coat, a scarf, some better gloves, extra socks and a pair of snow pants.”

“Tony,” Peter began, leaning into the hug the man offered him all the same. He grumbled and rolled his eyes but let Tony wrap a scarf around his neck and trade his thin woolen gloves out for much warmer, thicker ones. Peter had to admit he felt a lot warmer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Thanks, Pete. M’kay, I’ve got these fancy red and blue skates for you and red and gold for me.”

“And I’m sure the color choices were random?” Peter asked sarcastically. “Wait- these have the Spider-Man logo on them! Mr. Stark, are there Spider-Man ice-skates?!”

Tony bent to kiss his forehead. “There are, Pete. Pretty cool, huh?”

“So cool! I love ‘em, thank you, Tony!” He held up the skates to admire them. “They’re great!”

“No problem, buddy. It was my pleasure.”

Peter flopped down in the snow and pulled on his skates. He looked up to admire the tall oak and pine trees swaying gently with the wind, the last leaves of fall scattering along the icy roads. A pair of snowflakes drifted down to his coat, and Peter felt a sort of peace flow through him.

“Petey? Are you comin’?” Tony called, skating back and forth along the edge of the pond. Peter knotted the laces of his skates tightly and struggled to his feet.

“I’m trying!” he yelled, staggering forward. He leaned over the ice and felt a bit dizzy. It was about a foot down to the actual ice, and Peter knew without a doubt that he would slip if he tried to get down. “I dunno, um….”

“I gotcha, Petey, don’t worry.” Tony held out his arms and gave him a reassuring smile. Hesitantly, Peter lowered stepped onto the frozen pond, grabbing Tony’s arm and clinging to him as he got both feet on the ice.

“Good job, Roo!” the man praised, lifting him up by the armpits so he was standing up a bit straighter. He couldn’t help but compare Peter to a fawn who just stood up for the very first time, and the boy’s big bambi eyes weren’t helping his case. “Getting on the ice is the hardest part. I’ve landed on my ass more times than I can count.” Tony frowned at himself. “Sorry I said ‘ass,’ don’t repeat that.”

Peter snorted. His skates slipped and he felt Tony’s arms tighten around him. “Whoa there, buddy. I gotcha.” He tucked a loose curl behind the teen’s ear and kissed his cheek, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“‘M’kay, you ready, Pete?”

“Heck yeah!”

Tony grinned. “Okay, first, you said ‘heck yeah’ instead of ‘hell yeah’ and that’s adorable,” he teased, chuckling at Peter’s eye roll. “Second: let’s wreck this rink!”

Though of course, they ended up making more of a wreck of themselves rather than the rink.

The very second Peter slid his foot forward, he found himself spontaneously falling backwards. Luckily, Tony caught him easily and gently pulled him back up.

“I meant to do that,” he huffed, his small hands scrabbling at Tony’s coat. “It was- completely- intentional.”

“Of course it was, Roo, I know that,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows. “No one has the grace and agility you do.”

“I am graceful, Tony! How dare you?!” Peter grumbled.

Tony might have made a quip about the arms wrapped tightly around his waist for support, but he decided his poor kid had suffered enough. Despite bumping into every table or chair in his path, Peter was surprisingly graceful, especially when he swung with ease through the air on a thin stand of webbing. “You are graceful, buddy, I promise,” he admitted. “You wanna give it another try?”

Peter stuck his tongue out at him, adjusted his hat, and gingerly took a step forward. Tony tensed, ready to lunge forward and catch him if the boy slipped, but found himself letting a quiet cheer. “Nice job, Pete!”

Peter beamed at him, his legs spread far apart and his arms extended for balance. He tipped backwards and Tony started to jump forward, but Peter flailed his arms around and regained his balance.

“I think you’re getting the hang of it, kiddo!” Tony called as Peter made his way to the opposite side of the pond. He winced suddenly, protectiveness flooding through him at his retreating figure. “Be careful! Wait for me!”

He caught up to Peter easily and zipped in front of him, catching him by the shoulders. “You’re doing great, baby!”

“Thanks,” he giggled, looking down at his shoes. He wiped his red nose with the back of his hand and sniffled. “‘S fun!”

Tony smiled and adjusted Peter’s scarf. “Glad to hear it.”

“Tony?” he asked. “Can you do a figure eight?”

The man paused to consider this, clicking his tongue. “Only one way to find out!” he decided.

Peter watched excitedly as he skated out to the middle of the pond, looking practically weightless. Tony took a deep breath, prayed he didn’t break any bones, then pushed off. He zoomed around the pond in a perfect figure eight, only faltering for a brief moment, and traced over it twice before he skidded back to Peter. “Ta-da!”

Peter applauded, clearly very impressed. Tony bowed exaggeratedly and pretended to be embarrassed.

“D’you think I should try?” Peter asked.

Tony smiled fondly. “Only if you want to. I know you’d nail it though.”

And he did. Peter skated carefully to the edge of the pond and performed the figure eight beautifully, spinning in circles and laughing when he got a bit too dizzy.

Tony skated up to him, his eyes huge. “Jesus, Petey, that was fantastic!” He pulled the embarrassed teen to his chest and wished, not for the first time, that Peter wasn’t wearing a hat so he could kiss the top of his head. He settled for Peter’s cheek instead. “Wow, baby, that was amazing! Wait- I gotta sign you up for the Olympics. Where’s my phone- oh, I got it.” He pulled his phone from his coat.

“Tony, nooooo!” Peter protested.

“Tony yes. You’re too talented.”

“It was just a figure eight!” he giggled. “And you did one too so you hafta sign yourself up.” Peter looked up to the gray sky and shivered as the brisk winds tore at his heavy coat and scarf. He leaned even closer to Tony.

“You cold, baby?” Tony rubbed his back gently, hoping to generate some warmth. “Wanna go back home? We can come back here anytime you want.”

Peter sighed a bit sadly, but he had to admit he was freezing. He and Tony skated back to the car quickly. Snowflakes began to fall rapidly down as gusts of wind tried to upset their balance. Tony helped Peter onto the bank and they hurriedly yanked off their ice skates.

They found refuge in the car only when Tony turned the heater up full blast and leaned over the console to pull Peter into his arms. Peter’s shivers that had been worrying him far more than Tony had been willing to say eventually died off and together they watched what was now practically a blizzard raging outside.

“Just in time,” Tony mumbled into Peter’s curls. “Feel any better, baby?”

He grew worried when he received no response and pulled back. Peter’s eyes were shut and his breathing slow, though he made a small whimpering noise in the back of his throat when Tony pulled away. Tony smiled, a tender, loving light in his eyes and pulled Peter back into his arms, cradling his kid against his chest and rubbing his back soothingly. “‘M here. ‘M here, baby, don’t worry,” he cooed, planting a kiss on his forehead.

Peter curls tickled his cheek, his warm breath heating the skin of Tony’s neck. The console between him and his kid was uncomfortable and hard against his side, but he wouldn’t have moved for the world. Tony held Peter tightly and closed his eyes.

Maybe they could stay there a little while as they waited for the blizzard to pass.

III

Tony had been brewing a hot cup of coffee in the kitchen when a disheveled, sniffling, sleepy Peter face-planted into his back.

“Whoa, bud!” Tony spun around and caught the boy under the armpits. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?” He tilted Peter’s chin back and found that his nose was bright red, his eyes were half-lidded, and his bedhead was a lot worse (though still absolutely adorable) than it usually was.

“‘M fine,” Peter sniffled, leaning heavily against his chest. “Missed you.”

“Oh, baby,” Tony murmured, wrapping his arms around the small teen, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He gave his definitely-not-sick spider-baby a smooch on his temple. “You’re pretty warm,” he noted with a hint of worry in his voice. He pressed the back of his hand to the teen’s forehead. “Do you wanna lie down, kiddo?”

Peter shook his head weakly. “Wan’ you.”

Tony’s heart melted and he turned into a pile of mush. In this tired, sick, achy state Peter was clingier than ever, and all he wanted was him. He wanted Tony. He kissed Peter’s temple. “I’m gonna stay right here, Petey, don’t worry,” he assured his kid. “I promise.”

Tony held Peter with one arm while he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets with the other. “FRI? What’s up with the spider-baby?”

“Peter is exhibiting symptoms of a common cold, such as coughing, sneezing, a runny nose, and a fever,” the AI replied. Tony felt a pang of worry and empathy in his heart.

“Okay. I’ve got your pain meds,” he announced in a whisper. “Do you want water or OJ?”

Peter decided on the latter, not bothering to raise his head but simply mumbling “juice” into the man’s chest. Tony hummed in agreement and attempted to pour a glass for himself one-handedly (most of the juice ended up on the counter, but holding his sick kid was far more important than pouring orange juice).

He led the boy to the couch, a steadying hand around his shoulders. Peter snuggled against him, coughing and sniffling. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and shivered.

Tony placed two white pills into palm. Peter took a hesitant sip of his drink and gulped down the pills. Tony tucked an errant curl behind his ear and placed a kiss one his temple.

With Peter still in his hold, he strained to reach the weighted electric blanket that had fallen behind the couch. With a painful crack from his twisted back, he finally managed to get his fingers around the feather-soft blanket and settled back on the couch with a triumphant grunt.

He wrapped the electric blanket tightly around them both. Peter’s shivering caused a surge of fierce protection to run through his veins, and Tony hugged him to his chest, pressing a kiss to his soft, though slightly sweaty curls. He glared at the dark corners of the room, as if somehow the very cold that was making his child suffer so much would leap from the shadows.

Peter found comfort in the vibrations of Tony’s chest and the beat of his heart. The calloused fingers running through his hair and the occasional kiss against his temple soothed him beyond measure, and without ever realizing it, Peter started to drift off. Compared to when he had woken up, soaked with sweat, wheezing and sniffling and rather nauseous, he felt so much better in his father-figure’s embrace.

Dimly, he noticed that Tony was talking to him. He thought he recognized the words coming out of his mouth, and he realized suddenly that Tony was reading Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree to him. That book had been Peter’s favorite when he was a small toddler, and hearing the familiar words aloud brought a big burst of happiness to his chest.

Peter let his eyes slip shut for a second. The headache that had been pounding in his head was completely gone and in Tony’s arms, he felt incredibly warm and cozy and happy.

When his eyes opened again, he determined that Tony had finished reading the book. If he had had enough energy, he would have asked him to read another. But much to his delight, he realized Tony had already picked up another book.

And just before his eyes fluttered shut, he heard Tony’s gentle voice speaking, full of love. “I love you, Petey.”

I love you too.

“Mmm, Tony, the spaghetti was fantastic!” May exclaimed as she loaded her plate into the dishwasher. “I need that recipe, it’s just too good!”

Tony looked at Peter out of the corner of his eyes. The boy shook his head frantically and drew a finger across his throat. Tony snickered. “Thank you, May, I’m glad to hear that,” he said.

To be completely truthful, he felt like throwing up. During the dinner, Peter had chatted enough to distract him, but now his emotions were left to himself, and Tony had barely been swallowed by them. He stuffed the last plate in the dishwasher and took a few long, deep breaths. He massaged his forehead and blinked, sitting down heavily on the couch.

Tony’s heart was beating out of his chest. He looked up to the boy, who was texting someone- probably Ned, completely oblivious. “Pete?” he began shakily. “Do you think we could talk for a second?” He and May shared a glance. She realized immediately what he was about to do and gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

“Yeah!” Peter vaulted onto the couch with a laugh. His grin faded when he saw how worried, how scared the man looked. Alarm kindled in his chest. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark?”

Tony couldn’t bring himself to laugh at the cookie crumbs in the corners of his mouth or the way his hair frizzed everywhere as he pulled his Santa hat off. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Um-” Tony had to clear his throat. He reached down and grabbed a briefcase leaning against the couch that Peter hadn’t noticed before. “Uh,” he tried. He pulled two papers out of the briefcase and stared at them for a long while. “Do you think that you could give these a read, kiddo?”

Peter nodded silently and took them. He looked up at Tony, his head tilted in confusion.

He looked to the papers. His eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what? I-” He turned the papers over as if there would be a sticky note saying “IT'S A PRANK!” on the back. “What? W-what? I-I don’t-” Peter shook his head.

He couldn’t stop looking at those cream-colored papers.

Child: Peter Benjamin Parker

Adopting Parent(s): Anthony Edward Stark

The rest of the paper was blank, except for Tony’s signature at the bottom.

“Am I asleep? This-this is a dream, right?” Peter's eyes were filling with tears but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“It’s not a dream, sweetheart,” May said gently. “It’s real.” She squeezed his knee, hoping to ground him.

“Really?” He opened his mouth but couldn’t seem to form words. He gaped like a fish, reading the adoption papers over and over again. “You-you wanna adopt me?” he finally managed to squeak out.

Tony finally gathered the courage to look at his kid. “Yeah, baby. But only if you want to, okay? Nothing would change, though. We’d- just be making it official. Everything would be the same except-” He throat closed, and suddenly he couldn’t speak.

Except Peter would be his official son- legally, on paper. And Tony would be his official dad. (There was no way Tony wasn’t already his dad.)

“What are you thinking, baby?” he murmured, instinctively tucking a curl behind Peter’s ear with shaky hands.

Tony’s gentle touch was enough to break the dam of emotions that had been holding back. Peter sniffled, then burst into tears and practically jumped into his dad’s arms.

Tony hugged him tightly, rubbing a hand up and down his back and pressing long kisses to his temple. Peter blubbered into his chest, happy tears soaking Tony’s sweater. May wrapped her arms around the two and squeezed them both tightly.

Tony felt tears prickle in his own eyes and he dropped his forehead to Peter’s curls. “Is that a yes?” he finally managed to say.

Peter giggled wetly and nodded frantically against his chest.

A grin as wide as a dinner plate crossed Tony’s face. He realized suddenly that tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He kissed the top of Peter's head and squeezed him tighter.

May pressed a quick kiss on Peter’s cheek and stood up. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she said, sensing that the father and son might want a moment alone.

Tony rocked his kid back and forth, rubbing his back and pressing kiss after kiss to his cheek. “I love you,” he murmured into his chestnut curls. “I love you.” IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

“Love you,” Peter babbled. “I love you too. I love you.”

He held Peter at an arm’s length, still grinning. Then he pulled his kid back to him again and kissed his cheek, wiping away his tears with the pad of his thumb. “I love you.”

Peter sniffled, wiping his nose with his sweater. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck and curled around him like a koala. He leaned heavily against his dad’s chest, his breathing beginning to even out. Tony’s chest vibrated with every “I love you so much, Petey” and his ceaseless murmurs of love and comfort.

“Love you, Dad,” he said sleepily, his eyelids drooping.

A lump formed in Tony’s throat that he couldn’t seem to swallow past. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks. “Petey-” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “I love you so much. So damn much, okay?” He ran his hand up and down the boy’s back, kissing his temple and trying to blink his happy tears away.

Tony felt himself slowly drifting asleep. He blinked, and then his cheek was resting on his kid’s curls. His eyes closed again, and suddenly May was there, draping a blanket over them. He tried to tell her to get Peter’s special heated blanket, because his poor kid couldn’t thermoregulate and absolutely hated the cold. Then he realized that she had already tucked it around the boy and sighed in relief, finally letting himself relax.

May settled on the opposite side of Peter and wrapped an arm around him. Within minutes she was snoring quietly, but Tony was too tired to notice. A wave of joy and peace and love washed over him, and his eyes slipped shut.

~~~~~

/ST*RKERS DNI/

~~~~~

Taglist: @imissyoutoo @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12 @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know!

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durmstrange · 4 years ago

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To You - Remus Lupin

Hello and welcome to another Remus fic! This is a Remus x Hufflepuff!Reader. Hope you enjoy!

Word count: 1,998

There had been slight suspicions in the back of your mind for well over a year now that Remus was keeping a secret from you, one you were dying to know. You would never pressure him to tell you, regardless of how bad you wanted to know, but you couldn’t help but to want to ask him outright what his deal was and why he thought he could hide it from you of all people.

Remus had become a quick friend of yours early on in your schooling. You shared an interest in what was right, in education, and more specifically, in charms lessons. Over the first few years, he introduced you to his friends in Gryffindor, and you introduced your own, who continually questioned how someone as shy as you were able to get in with the infamously popular group. Regardless, Remus had become your closest friend and grown with you by his side. In time, you shamefully began developing feelings for your closest friend, and as you struggled to show it, or hint at it, even, it became more and more difficult to ignore it when he was avoiding you.

One particular Saturday during your fifth year, you packed up your belongings in your common room, hoping to catch Remus before you had to run out for your Astronomy lessons. You ran up the stairs towards the Great Hall, your too-long black and yellow cloak constantly catching around your ankles as you rushed along. The moment you made it into the Great Hall, your heart sunk when you spotted James, Peter, and Sirius sitting together without Remus. With the ghost of a frown on your lips, you turned from the Great Hall and began walking slowly towards the Astronomy Tower with your head down.

For the last week or so, Remus had been avoiding you at all costs, to the point of even leaving the room when you enter. Since the start of term in September, after coming back from summer holiday, Remus felt distant to you, something foreign to you and you hated it more than anything.

“(Y/N)!” You heard a voice call as you made it up the first few flights of stairs. You turned, a solemn look on your face as Sirius raced up the stairs. “I assume you were looking for Moony, yeah?” He asked as he caught up, putting his hands into his pockets with a smirk on his lips. The nickname loomed in your mind, one you never used for Remus, but his friends did.

Your cheeks reddened and you ducked your head slightly. “Yeah, I was. I haven’t caught up to him in a couple days, so I was hoping to see him,” you explained airily to the haughty boy who became an odd friend of yours.

Sirius hummed as he leaned against the wall of the corridor, looking effortlessly cool. “Well, I happen to know where he is, if you’d like to know?”

For a moment, you considered asking him. However, doubt filled your mind and your eyes stung as tears developed in your eyes. “No, that’s fine. If he wants to avoid me, I’ll let him. I’ll stop trying to track him down, seeing at there is nothing I can do,” you answered quietly as you looked away from Sirius and began up the stairs once more, leaving him in his spot.

Sirius frowned at you as you walked away, watching your head hand and your shoulders sag forward in disappointment. He crossed his own arms over his chest as he made his way back down the stairs, towards the Hospital Wing.

Sirius flung the door open, making Madam Pomfrey look up from her desk in the back of the room, an annoyed look on her face. “Hello, Poppy, darling,” Sirius announced once he saw the room was empty.

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes at the student. “For the last time, Mr. Black, you will refer to me as ‘Madam Pomfrey’.”

With an absentminded hum, Sirius made his way towards the room adjacent to her desk. “Is he in there?”

“Yes, he is. He should be resting, Mr. Black,” Madam Pomfrey scolded, but made no effort to stop Sirius as he opened the door and strolled right into the small room with a cot against the wall.

Remus’ eyes fluttered open at the light coming into the roof, and squinted as Sirius used his wand to light a lamp in the center of the room. “Rise and shine, Moony,” Sirius announced as he opened the curtains around the room, allowing the setting sun to come in.

Remus sat up on one elbow, his hair disheveled and a tired look on his face. There was a fresh cut down the side of his face, near his hairline. “Sirius, what do you want?” He questioned in a biting tone.

Sirius pulled up the only chair in the room next to the cot and crossed one leg over the other. “Well, you see, you are about to make irrevocable damage to your relationship with (Y/N), and knowing how much you absolutely fancy her, I simply cannot let that happen. Man up, now, tell her your dirty little secret, and kiss her already,” Sirius explained as he twirled his wand around his fingers, a bored look on his face.

Remus fell back on the cot and groaned as he took the pillow, using it to cover his face. “You know I can’t,” Remus muttered into the pillow before moving it behind his head once more. “(Y/N) will never want to speak to me again, and that is if she doesn’t tell the entire school of my condition.” Remus stared up at the high ceiling with an annoyed look on his face.

With another hum, Sirius took the pillow from beneath Remus’ head and tossed it across the room as Remus’ head fell back, making him grunt. “Would it change your mind to know that she was in tears when talking to me earlier because of the fact you’re avoiding her?”

“No.”

Sirius scoffed. “Selfish git,” he muttered and put both feet on the floor once more and leaned over Remus. “For the record, I think you’re hurting her more by avoiding her than it will to just tell her the truth. I think nothing could change your opinion of you.” Sirius stood, walking towards the door once more.

Remus watched his friend, a stubborn look on his face and narrowed eyes. As Sirius was stepping through the door, Remus spoke again. “Was she really crying?” Remus asked sadly, sitting up and wincing as he covered his side with his hand.

“She’s gutted,” Sirius confirmed over his shoulder. “Shows what kind of friend you are, treating her like this. Perhaps I’ll ask her on a date then, to get her spirits up and all,” Sirius pondered as he faced away from Remus, a smirk on his lips.

“You wouldn’t,” Remus muttered and swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing his full height and revealing the bruising down his side. “Where is she?” Remus asked as he carefully pulled a long sleeved shirt over his head.

Sirius smirked, leaning on the door pane. “Was heading up to Astronomy lessons only a moment ago. I suppose she will be done in an hour or two. Better hope you get to her before I do,” he said haughtily before kicking off the door and through the Hospital Wing. “Au revoir, Poppy,” Sirius called as Remus listened to the heavy doors close.

~.~

Exactly two hours later, Remus leaned against the corridor wall across from the ladder that lead to the Astronomy Tower. His side still ached, but Madam Pomfrey was able to heal the scarring down his face quite well, to the point where it was only a thin, white line. His eyes remained low as he waited patiently for you to descend from class.

After a few moments, Remus heard the latch of the trap door open and quickly, one by one, students climbed down the ladder quickly, waiting in the bottom for their friends. He watched as you climbed down carefully, your eyes remaining on your feet until you got to the bottom. You turned without even spotting Remus and began your walk back to the basements, to your common room.

“(Y/N),” he called then, causing you to turn in surprise. Upon seeing Remus, your faint smile faltered and you looked down to the floor, trying to avoid eye contact with him. He stepped forward, his hands in his pockets as he muffled the flinch he felt coming from the pain in his side. “Can we talk?” His question came out more awkward than he intended and he ducked his head as well.

You shifted gently, checking you watch. “I’ve got to be getting back before curfew,” you answered gently, but Remus could see right through you.

With a gentle roll of his eyes, he held his hand out to you. “You know I’m a prefect,” he reminded you with a laugh and smiled faintly. “Come on, just a moment.”

Hesitantly, you placed your hand in his and allowed him to lead you away from the rest of the students, towards the Gryffindor Tower. “I shouldn’t have been avoiding you,” Remus finally admitted as he slowed to a stop in an empty corridor and leaned against one of the stone columns against the wall.

As you stood in front of him, holding your book in one arm and running your fingers along the pages, you shrugged. “That’s your choice,” you murmured sadly in response and glanced down.

Remus pressed his lips together. “(Y/N), please know that I was only doing so to protect you,” Remus explained in an exasperated voice. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Frustration built in your mind and you shook your head at Remus. “I don’t understand that you could possibly think you are protecting me from, when you’re only hurting me more by avoiding me. How could you be so daft to think some silly secret of yours would push me away from you? Have you not noticed how much you mean to me?” you snapped at him as you crossed your arms over your book.

For a moment, both you and Remus remained quite as you fumed at him and his face remained blank. Remus finally sighed heavily and looked away, glancing up and down the corridor they were in. “(Y/N), I was bitten by a lycanthrope when I was a child,” he finally admitted quietly and in a sad voice as he searched your face for any sort of reaction.

“So, you’re a werewolf? That’s what you’ve been hiding from me?” Remus nodded then, waiting your face an awaiting your reaction. “And you thought that was enough for me to hate you? Bloody hell, Remus, the reason I hate you at the moment is for thinking so little of me!” Remus’ face fell for a moment, taking in her words, before a small smile formed on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but you held your hand up, stopping him. “Perhaps you’ve yet to notice how much I fancy you, Remus. Literally anything you can tell me is so little compared to how much I fancy you.”

Remus held a smile on his lips that was blissful and kind and he ducked his head gently, shaking it a bit. “You’re unbelievable, you know?” He reached his hand to you, hoping you’d take it.

A slight pout remained on your face as you hesitated a moment, but put your hand in his and allowed Remus to pull you forward, into his arms. Remus held you in silence, pressing his lips to the top of your head every so often. “I promise I’ll never be so foolish again,” Remus murmured into your hair, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You hummed, leaning up to look at him. “We’ll see about that, Remus.”

durmstrange’s Taglist: @starlightweasley @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @hufflepuffgirly @tonksichu @toomanybandstocare @mentally-in-northern-italy @alwaysasadaesthetic @through-the-little-door @clandestinecherry

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idkthisisjustforfanfic · 4 years ago

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Harry and Y/N hook up in Y/N’s childhood bedroom

This is part of @berrynarrybanana‘s Sex Bucket List Fic Challenge! My prompt was “childhood bedroom” and YOU KNOW I got excited as fuck about this. Big thanks to Casey for setting this all up! Enjoy!!! a little baby blurb with 1.5k wc!

It wasn’t bringing him home that made you nervous. No--in fact, your mom would love him and your dad would be thrilled to meet the man your sister had been teasing you about for the last six months. She loved to say anything to make you blush and roll your eyes, pulling questions from aunts and uncles at any family gathering.

It started as something super casual, which was always the go to line of defense when she brought it up. A few mutual friends, a bar on the Sunset Strip and a few rooftop bellinis. But texting your sister a sneaky side profile pic of the newest celebrity that had wandered his way into your circle was by far the biggest mistake you could make.

You never thought that one day he’d wind up sitting across from her at the dining room table, your face going red from the stories she told about the first time you got too drunk, the black eye you got from volleyball in 10th grade, the stupid things you’d said after your wisdom teeth surgery.

You never thought that exchanging numbers and a few texts about the loaded nachos you’d drunkenly shared would lead you here: the hallway outside your childhood bedroom, with a thumping in your chest that had beads of sweat forming on your hairline.

Your sister wasn’t the only thing you weren’t ready to face that night.

“It can’t be that bad,” he said behind you, his voice quiet so as to not give away the stealth mission of sneaking his duffle bag into your room.

The guest room is very nice, Harry, your mom had smiled that night in the kitchen over a glass of merlot. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable.

You weren’t shocked. You’d never had a boyfriend sleep over, but your sister had. She’d been sneaking her boyfriend of four years down the hall in the early morning of the hours for a while, ruffling the blankets and pillows in the guest room to make it look like he’d spent the night in there.

So fine, not only was it embarrassing that at 23 your parents were still treating you like a teenager, but the fact that the boy you somehow managed to bring home was Harry Styles made this feel even more humiliating. And you hadn’t even opened the door yet.

You’d warned him, sort of. You told him that they’d want you to sleep in separate rooms, and you warned that the last time your childhood bedroom had been updated was when you started high school. He didn’t seem to understand what that meant.

You pushed the door open and held your breath, stepped inside and let your eyes sweep the room, the light purple walls weren’t as harsh in the evening, but the posters stared back at you with daunting eyes.

You turned around to gauge his reaction, the corner of his mouth had pulled up slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line when you met his gaze.

“Shut up!” You groaned, twisting your face when he dropped his bag on the ground.

“I think it’s endearing,” he said, the smug smirk grew into a full blown smile. “I mean, Bieber Fever is a thing, right? He was irresistible back then.”

You reached a hand forward and smacked him across the chest, moving around the side of the room to pull the shade down. “I was fifteen when they let me redecorate, okay? You should have seen the butterflies on the wall before that.”

He let out a quiet laugh, unzipped the bag and tugged out a pair of athletic shorts and you shut the door. Your parents had long slipped upstairs to bed, your sister and her boyfriend were likely still in the living room, but your secret was safe with them. “So you’ve got a type, then.”

“Hmm?” You eyed him, heading for the closet to find pajamas.

“Two handsome lads with voices that sound like absolute honey,” he pointed at the poster that hung near the window, the expression on his face was serious, but it broke into a smile when you blinked back at him.

“The guest room is quite comfortable,” you threatened, using your mother’s words from earlier to let him know you meant business.

“Baby,” he took a step towards you and opened his arms. “I mean it, it’s fine, I’m just messing with you.”

“Well it’s not funny,” you pouted. “Imagine the horror when my mom said they wanted to meet you. And I knew I had to bring you here.”

“To the shrine?” He couldn’t help himself, but when you let out a groan of displeasure, he came even closer, wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Alright,” he laughed. “I’m done, that’s it.”

“I swear to God,” you looked up at him, tugging out of his grasp. “I’ll tell them you snuck in here and wouldn’t leave. They’ll never make you shrimp scampi again.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” he nodded, held his hands up as he backed away and returned to unpacking. He left it there for while, brushed his teeth beside you in the bathroom down the hall and climbed into the floral sheets once you’d switched the light off.

You stared up at the ceiling and ignored the nervousness that bristled down your spine. If the internal monologue that typically graced the nights you spent together wasn’t enough (why is he into me in the first place? How did I land someone as funny and loving and talented as him?), the added layer of the posters and the yearbooks strewn across your desk made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. Surely he’d realize that you were just another normal girl, too boring and ordinary to keep up with a life like his.

He turned towards you suddenly, rolled onto his side to get a better look at you. You could see his eyes through the dark, a small smile on his lips before he whispered.

“M’glad you brought me home.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, readjusting the pillow beneath his head. “I know you were kind of freaked but, I think dinner went well.”

You had to agree with him. Your dad was more than eager to show him the records he’d collected in the basement, your sister’s boyfriend was thrilled to discover they had the same taste in beer. He was polite and pleasant--not that you expected anything less--and somehow, he seemed to fit in quite naturally.

“It did,” you said, melting into his side when he snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you close. You indulged him for a minute, let his mouth meet yours in the dark cover of night until you heard footsteps in the hallway.

You pulled away automatically, eyes wide until you were sure you were safe, you sighed and looked at him. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because my parents are home and my sister is gonna climb into bed on the other side of that wall.”

His eyebrows pointed together, a devilish look on his face. “You don’t want me to fuck you right here?”

“It’s not that I don’t,” you put a hand on his chest to keep some distance. “It’s that I don’t trust you to be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” he pulled you closer again, “promise.” As much as you wanted to resist, you couldn’t. His hands moved along your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake when you let yours reach up to cup his face.

Surely this wasn’t your brightest idea, but the excitement of having him here and having him now made thoughts of what if float out the window and down the block--the same one where you had lemonade stands and graduation parties.

You’d gotten used to the way he easily slid your shorts down to your ankles, fingers nestled between your thighs when your back arched to grant more access. He pressed kisses to your jaw, hummed in satisfaction when you let your hand grip his length beneath the sheets.

It wasn’t long until your clothes littered the floor, every inch of your body ached for him despite the risk and the possibility of being caught. But when his head dipped below the duvet and his tongue met your center with agility, the posters and the embarrassing stories from the dining table vanished into thin air. The only thing that mattered was the way you gripped the sheets and the way he slid into you with ease.

“Don’t--be--loud,” you reminded with broken words, rhythmic and punctuated by the pleasure that traveled through your veins.

“M’not,” he laughed, his voice was throaty and strained, “you’re the one making the most noise.”

“Cause it feels so good,” you sighed.

“S’the point, baby,” he leaned closer now, caught your lips in his and buckled his hips against yours, deeper and harder until you swore you saw stars.

“Let me feel you,” he begged, adjusting your legs to get as deep as he could, pumping into you harder and harder by the second.

He found release soon after, whispers of your name circled the room and fell back on the sheets by your side, breathless and sweaty.

“Do you think he was watching? Bieber, I mean.” He eyed the poster across the room, let his lips twist into a smirk when you rolled your eyes.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Bomb (of the Bath Variety)

Pairing: Ezra/Reader

Word Count: 2,184

Warnings: None!

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Someone please introduce this man to the concept of a spa day. He just needs to relax in a tub with Epsom salts for the muscle pain and a bath bomb because they smell nice. He needs someone else to wash his hair for once because god knows he can’t do it. He needs to be introduced to moisturizers and other skin care products. He also needs (wants) funky colored nails.

“Jesus Ezra!” You shouted, seeing him shuffle into the pod, covered in grime. “What did you do all day?”

“Uh,” Ezra hesitated, biting down on his glove and pulling it off. “Cee pushed me into a dirt hole.”

Cee nodded. “Can confirm,” she said with a grin. “I’m headed next door so I can bathe.”

You waved to her, watching the hatch shut once more. “And you,” you said to Ezra as he tried to sneak past you. “Get in the bathroom.”

Ezra pouted, but listened. He didn’t hate bathing, but he wasn’t super keen on it either. It was a hard task when you only had one hand, but today would be different. If you’d set it up right, today would be pure bliss for Ezra.

Starting with you turning the shower off.

“Moonlight?” He turned when you cut the water, clearly confused. “I thought I had to bathe.”

“You do,” you agreed, kneeling beside the bathtub and turning it on. “Ez, you’re taking a spa day.”

“A what now?”

You stood, slowly working a still confused but now considerably more relaxed Ezra out of his work suit, pushing the leather harness off his shoulders. “A spa day, Ezra. Where you take a day to just relax. Get all clean and done up with nice products.”

Ezra shrugged, looking into the bathtub that was steadily filling with water. “That’s gotta be some fancy tradition from your planet, because I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You were a state ward!” You pointed out, bending to grab a cardboard box of various spa day supplies you’d been saving for an occasion such as this. “You’d also never held a real book or eaten a full meal until you started prospecting.”

“Fair,” Ezra hummed. He wasn’t one to open up about his past, especially his days as a state ward. But you’d caught glimpses of the life he’d led prior to becoming a prospector. Cold bunks crammed into a room full of underage orphaned boys, all shivering. No one had a family name, and it was rare any one of them was happy, or really even survived to make it out. Apparently, at the state house Ezra had been raised at, the suicide rate was almost 40%.

But that was the past, and this was the present. You opened the box and pulled out a bath bomb, reading the label and setting it on the counter. “You like mint, right?”

“Of course,” Ezra said. “Reminds me of you.”

You smiled, turning to kiss Ezra. “Get in the tub Ez.”

Ezra, with that beautiful crooked grin on his face, removed the last of his clothes and stepped into the tub. “You know, this tub has room for two.”

“Shame I won’t be getting in,” you said. “I already bathed.”

Ezra pouted. “Moonlight, you wound me.”

“My sun, this is about you, not me.” You handed him the bath bomb. “Go ahead and put that in the water. I have some epsom salts in here, I know it.”

As you knelt down to find the pesky bag of salts, Ezra put the bath bomb in the water, gasping as it began to fizz. “Moonlight! It’s dissolving!”

“It’s supposed to,” you said, standing with the bag of salts. Ezra poked the bath bomb with a happy grin, his finger going green from the fizz. “It’s called a bath bomb for a reason. Scoot.”

As Ezra moved reluctantly from the bath bomb, you measured out two cups of epsom salts and poured them into the bath as well. Ezra was clearly disappointed when they didn’t fizz like the last thing you’d put in the water, but the slight rosy smell was enough to make up for it. “What is that for?”

“Epsom salts help with muscle pain,” you said, putting the bag down and dragging a stool over so you could sit at Ezra’s height. “I use them sometimes after we do really bad prospecting trips. Hopefully, they’ll help with your arm.”

Ezra’s face darkened, the delicate subject of his right arm, or lack thereof, causing the mood to sour. You sensed the change in the air and immediately brightened your tone. “But, that’s not all we’re here for,” you said. “Depending on how far you’re willing to let me go, we could be here for hours. I bet Cee would join us for face masks,” you added as an afterthought.

“Face what now?”

“Masks.” You held up one of the tubs of clay masks you had. “They help with your skin.”

Ezra grinned. “I shall partake in this face mask ritual on one condition.”

Rolling your eyes playfully at your poet of a boyfriend, you crossed your legs. “And what would that condition be, my sun?”

“Paint my nails?”

It was an odd request, but one you weren’t about to turn down. “Okay. Consider it done.”

You let Ezra soak for a while, sitting beside him on the stool and reading. It was a book aimed mostly at teenagers, but Ezra had said something about it being Cee’s favorite and now you were determined to read it. So far, it was pretty good.

Eventually, you put the book down and convinced Ezra to dunk his head under the water. When he came up, water running in thin streams down his skin and hair plastered to his head, you laughed and picked up a bottle of rose water shampoo.

“Lean back,” you instructed softly, laying a towel across your lap so Ezra wouldn’t soak your pants. He rested his neck on the edge of the tub, head falling back into your hands. “Comfy?”

“Could be worse,” Ezra decided. You leaned down to kiss his damp forehead, making a face when the soapy tang of the bath bomb and epsom salt water rolled over your tongue.

Sitting back up and popping open the shampoo bottle, you squeezed an appropriate amount into your hand and began to massage it into Ezra’s scalp.

The effect was immediate. He groaned, entire body relaxing as your deft fingers worked away the dirt and buildup from his hair. Ezra bathed every few days, just like everyone else, but with his once dominant hand gone, his job washing himself was lackluster at best. For him, you properly washing through his hair must’ve felt like pure heaven.

You scratched through his hair for longer than was probably necessary, keeping him in that blissed out state. When you finally lifted a plastic cup with water to his head and began to rinse the suds away, he keened softly, vocalizing his dislike of your lack of touch. You apologized, taking your non-dominant hand and sliding it up his forehead, settling it just before Ezra’s hairline to shield his eyes from the soapy water trickling down his face.

Tugging on the blond streak in Ezra’s hair, you discretely ran your fingers through it, slowly spiking it up into a mohawk.

“My moonlight, what are you doing?”

“Shit.” You didn’t stop in your actions, only finished what you were doing despite being caught. “Take a look.” You held a hand mirror out, giving Ezra a view of his new hairdo.

“Moonlight,” he said, turning to face you. It was too much. You broke down into laughter, doubled over and Ezra smiled and ducked his head beneath the water to return his hair to its plastered look.

Once your laughing fit had come to an end, you straightened and began to massage a small dollop of conditioner into Ezra’s hair. Restraining yourself from giving him yet another mohawk, you scratched your fingers over Ezra’s scalp for almost five minutes. He relaxed yet again against the porcelain rim of the tub, breathing evening out as he practically fell asleep beneath your hands.

You were slow going in your rinsing out of Ezra’s hair, trying not to wake him from his impromptu nap. He hummed, and when you put the cup down and seemed his hair free of conditioner, he reached up and cupped your neck. Pulling you close, he kissed you, lips molding perfectly despite being upside down. “I love you, moonlight.”

Smiling and pressing an upside down kiss to Ezra’s forehead, you softly murmured into his skin. “I love you too, my sun.”

Ezra got out of the tub some time later, once you’d helped him scrub dirt out of every crevasse of his body. The water was more brown than green at that point, but Ezra was clean. You held his hand as he stepped out of the tub and watched as he dried himself off, insistent that he could do it by himself.

As he dressed himself in soft sleep clothes, you called Cee in. She was eager to partake in your spa day, also dressed in her pyjamas. She had a few bandages spanning her skin, small ones indicative of minor scrapes. You counted three, one on her right wrist, one further up her right forearm, and one on her left foot. How she’d scratched herself through the boots and suit she wore on her jobs, you had no idea.

“I didn’t even know you had clay masks!” Cee said happily, opening the jar and taking a wooden popsicle stick to start applying it to her face.

“I made it myself,” you said, grabbing a second jar to start plastering the grey/brown paste to Ezra’s face. “It’s one of the only things I can make myself.”

Once all three of you had been properly covered in the clay, you began to slowly diffuse Ezra’s wet hair. Cee sat by, reading the book you’d been reading earlier. Nearly twenty minutes later, Ezra’s hair was dry and shockingly curly and the three clay masks were hardened.

“Thanks for sharing,” Cee said as you handed her a damp washcloth. “I don’t remember the last time I had a spa day.”

“We’ll have to do them more often then,” you decided firmly, passing Ezra the other washcloth. “My sun, do you still want me to do your nails?”

Ezra nodded. “Yes please.”

“Should I do yours too?” You turned to Cee, who shook her head.

“I don’t paint my nails,” she said softly. “Plus, I am exhausted. That prospect was hard as hell. Gonna go nap as soon as I’m clay free.”

True to her word, once Cee’s face was clean, she bid you both good night before leaving to go take a nap.

You took her washcloth, but Ezra stopped you before you could lift it to your face. “My moonlight, can I clean your face? Please? After all you’ve done for me, I want to make it even.”

You smiled, letting Ezra take the washcloth. “You don’t need to worry about making it even, my sun. I’m doing this because I love you.”

Despite your reassurance, Ezra gently began to rub the washcloth across your face in small circles, clearing away the clay as he worked. His hand was warm and soft, and you carefully put your forearms on his shoulders to keep yourself still.

When Ezra was done, he kissed every inch of your face he could while you writhed with laughter underneath him. “Ezra!” You shouted happily, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Ezra, my sun! I yield!”

Ezra pulled back, lips quirked in a smile. “I’m sorry my moonlight, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You hopped off the countertop you’d been sitting on and grabbed your small box of nail polishes. “Give me your hand,” you said, getting back on the counter and pulling out a small nail file. Ezra put his hand in your lap and sat on the stool you’d been using.

It was a gentle, silent process. You filed Ezra’s nails down, wincing at the bitten away stubs you were trying to fix. “Ez, it’s a miracle you don’t have an infection,” you said softly, finishing on his little finger. “This is bad.”

Ezra looked at his knees, shrugging halfheartedly. “I know.”

You kissed each of his fingertips, pressing one final kiss into his palm. “I love you anyway.”

That brightened Ezra’s downcast face. “I know.”

You found a beautiful mustard yellow nail polish and a glittery gold polish, slowly painting each of Ezra’s fingernails with expert precision. He was still, watching you work with a look of wonder on his face. “You’re amazing.”

Putting the finishing touch on Ezra’s thumb, you put the cap back on the gold bottle and smiled. “Thank you, my sun.”

Ezra waited a few minutes for the polish to dry before looking at it properly. The yellow color was muted, but still a nice rich shade. What really made it pop was the gold accents, reflecting the shitty bathroom lights and drawing attention.

“I like it,” Ezra decided firmly, curling his fingers and watching the gold dance.

“I’m glad,” you said, sliding off the counter. “Wanna make dinner?”

Ezra nodded, kissing your forehead and pulling you into a firm hug. “We’re doing spa days more often,” he said into your shoulder. “Please?”

Hugging Ezra, you nodded, relishing in the mint and rose water smell. “Absolutely, my sun. Absolutely.”

#prospect (film)#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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brelione · 4 years ago

Text

The Countertop (Topper,Rafe,Kelce X Reader)

The Best Boys Masterlist

When Rafe got the text he was in the bathroom of the yacht,blood coming from his nose as he stuffed the small bag of white powder back into the pocket of his khakis.He heard the ding,looking over to check the notification.He felt his heart drop,regretting the line he just did.

“Panic attack,(Y/N)’s house.”Was all the text said.Topper had sent it to the group chat with him,Kelce and Rafe.Rafe cursed,looking up in the mirror at his bloodshot,dilated eyes.He certainly couldnt help you,not when he was like this.He pinched his nose for a moment or two,letting it drip into the sink before he rinsed it down the drain,leaving the bathroom and putting his phone in his pocket.

He looked around at the groups of people,eventually finding Wheezie and gripping her shoulders. “I need you to cover for me.”He told her,completely serious.She frowned,looking over at Ward. “Where are you going?”She asked.He sighed,looking over the side of the huge boat to look at the Jet Ski that was tied by a thin rope. “(Y/N) needs help.”Was all he said,quickly thanking her before running down the flights of stairs to get to the lowest floor,gripping onto the railing and getting onto the jetski.

He tucked his phone into the pocket of his shirt,ripping the rope before gliding through the water as fast as possible,guessing on how to get to your house.He knew how to get to his house,at least.So thats where he ended up.He got onto his own dock,sprinting around the front of his house and getting into his truck,going way too far over the speed limit.

He pulled into your driveway,slamming on the brakes so he wouldnt crash into your garage.His door was opened before the truck was even parked,seeing Kelce’s car parked on the sidewalk.Rafe burst through your door,heart aching when he saw you sobbing,Kelce trying to talk to you while Topper rubbed your bare back. “What the hell happened?”He asked,not even understanding the situation.

You opened your mouth,trying to talk but only a sob came out,Topper pulling you back to him and tracing shapes along yout arm,whispering sweet nothings to you to try and help.He sent a glance towards Rafe,shaking his head.Rafe closed the door,sitting on the arm of the couch,slowly stealing you away from Topper and moving onto the couch,letting you squeeze him as tight as you needed too and he could feel your shallow breaths through his shirt.

Kelce was watching you,watching as the tears stopped falling,your eyes puffy and your bottom lip trembling.Rafe felt your grip on him becoming less tight,too weak to do squeeze him.He didnt move his arm away from you,knowing that if you were ready to let go you would push away from him. “What’s going on,princess?”He asked softly,careful to make sure his voice didnt come out harsh or shaky.

You gulped,licking you lips that tasted like salt and metal. “I hate my mom.”Was all you could say,your voice cracking.He nodded,kissing your forehead. “I know,baby.I know.”He answered,taking in a big breath.You huffed,pulling away from him,wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. “So how are you guys?”You asked,struggling not to cry again.

Kelce grinned slightly,squeezing your hand. “Im good,sweetheart.Do you want to talk about whats happening with your mom or do you want to be distracted by it?”He asked,tapping at your knuckles.You shrugged,feeling more sick than anything. “Okay,well why dont we go out to the pool so you can cool off then?”He suggested.You nodded,not fully away from Rafe yet.

Something was off with him.His hair looked like he had been pulling at it and he was more tense than usual,seeming like he was holding something back. “Um...you and Top have bathing suits upstairs.”You mumbled,your hand gripping the fabric of Rafe’s shirt.Topper nodded,tapping your ankle before he got up,Kelce giving you a small smile before going upstairs as well.You pulled away from Rafe,feeling your legs becoming tingly and your heart speed up,eyes watery.

“Are you high right now?”You asked,a few tears sliding down your cheeks.He swallowed,looking away from you,eyes widening as he realised that he had just given himself away. “Rafe-you drove here high?”You asked,your voice high,eyes stinging.He nodded,not able to look back at you.

“Jesus Christ-are you crazy?You couldve crashed or died or killed someone!I cant lose you-I cant fucking do it and mom is fucking gone and-and if I lose you what the fuck am I supposed to do?I dont understand why-I dont understand why you cant just-fuck.”You sniffled,trying to figure out what you were going to say.He looked up at you,feeling a lump in his throat.

“You needed me here so I did what i had to do.”He answered,reaching for your hand only for you to pull away from him. “I hate you.”You mumbled,sniffing.His jaw dropped,a wave of nausea hitting him. “You cant mean that.”He whispered.Of course you didnt mean that.You could never hate Rafe even if you really wanted too. “You might fucking overdose or something.”You whispered,wanting nothing more than to cup his face and kiss him,tell him all your thoughts and twirl his fingers in your hair.

He shook his head,glancing over at the staircase every couple of seconds. “I wont,I wont.I dont do that much.”As the words came from his mouth he realised just how bad they sounded. “Bullshit.What happened in my bathroom then?That looked like a lot to me.”You took in a big breath,trying not to let yourself spiral again.

He just stared at you,hearing the other boys coming down the stairs. “We can talk about this later,okay?”He asked,leaning forward slightly.You nodded,looking over to see Topper and Kelce in their blue and grey bathing suits.Kelce stared at Rafe,silently telling him to go get changed.Rafe nodded,prying his eyes off of you and getting off the couch,heading upstairs.

Kelce sat down across from you where Rafe had previously been,his hands in his lap. “Do you need an ibuprofen or a hug?”He asked.You swallowed,leaning forward and resting your head against him,your arms around his bare shoulders. “THis sucks.”You mumbled,closing your eyes.He nodded,running his pointer finger along your spine. “I know,I know.Things will get better though.”He answered,his hands holding both sides of your head as he placed a kiss against your hairline.

You got up eventually,going upstairs to your room to grab a bathing suit,colliding your fist against the wood out of anger.Anger towards your mom,anger towards yourself,anger towards Rafe’s addiction.Rafe stood in the door way,confused as to what the loud bang he had heard was.You didnt notice him,throwing the clothes from your drawers all over the room,smacking the top of your dresser,your jaw clenching.

You brought your arm back to punch the wood again,only for someone to grab your arm,spin you around and push you against your dresser. “You have to calm down.”He whispered,holding tight on your wrists.You avoided eye contact,glancing down at his bare chest. “I am calm.”You replied,pushing him away as you went to find the one peice bathing suit that you had thrown across the floor.

He was just glad that you werent as bad now as you had been the last time he watched you get like this.You had started to punch yourself in the thighs and ankles until they were bruising.He had to pin your hands on top of your head and beg you to calm down.It had scared the living shit out of him.He probably couldve handled it better but Kelce wasnt there to talk to you which left just him to take care of things.

You finally found the black sim suit,not even caring at this point,tearing off your pants and kicking them into the corner.Rafe bit his lip,forcing himself to turn around.He heard the straps of the bathing suit smack against your shoulder,walking up next to him to grab a tshirt from your drawer and pull it on over the bathing suit,leaving your room and not bothering to clean up the mess that you had made.

He looked around your room,deciding he could just clean it up for you later.He followed behind you,noticing that the boys had already gone out to the pool. “Hey,lets talk.”He spoke,stopping you as you walked through the kitchen. “What?What do you want to talk about?”You asked,leaning against the kitchen counter.He sighed,his hands on the marble countertop o either side of you,staring down at you.

“Whatever you want.I’ll answer whatever you want me to.”He replied.You nodded,thinking of everything you wanted to know. “Whatever I want?”You asked.He nodded.“Have you….god,I dont know.Have you ever like….hurt someone when you were high?”You asked,knowing the answer when he started to bite the inside of his cheek. “Yeah,I have.I’d never hurt you though,if thats what your asking.”His hands tightened around the marble,watching as you bit your lip.

“What about Top and Kelce?Have they ever done drugs?”You asked,nearly gasping when you saw him nod. “Did you make them do it?”You asked,dreading the answer. “I didnt force them to do it...Kelce only did it once and he only did one line.Top did three a couple months back.”Rafe answered,being as honest as he could with you.

“When did it get this bad?You used to only do one line a week and now you’re doing like,a line a day.”You instinctively sat on the countertop,barely any space between you two.He cleared his throat,not knowing what to say because he didnt want to send you back into panic. “I know,im trying to get better.I’ve never done it in your house,like ever.You know that.”He reminded you,keeping his distance.

He figured that if he touched you at all you’d become insecure or angry,swat his hand away and probably begin to cry again. “Im not mad at you,you know that,right?”You asked,feeling your nose start to run again.You quickly pulled up your shirt,pinching your nose with the fabric.He nodded,tapping his short finger nials on the marble counter.The conversation went on for probably five minutes before the big question came,the one that you had been dreading.

“Do you have any on you right now?”You asked,not even caring at this point.When the conversation began and you hadnt been shocked by any of his answers you probably wouldve been upset when he nodded.You werent upset,or shocked or even mad.Just numb. “I thought you were out on the boat,”You saw him frown,not understanding where you were going with this. “So how did you drive here?”You asked.He simply shrugged his shoulders,staring down at his feet.

“I jumped off the side and got on the jet ski.”He answered,making you smile slightly. “You got onto the jetski and then drove over here?”You asked,your hand sliding down his arm and your fingers intertwining with his.He became less tense,his other hand no longer gripping the marble so hard that his fingertips were turning purple. “Yeah,I just peaced out.”He laughed quietly,his forehead resting onto your collarbone.You licked your lips,legs wrapping around his waist comfortably.

If only you knew the things that he felt within him when you did that. “Hey,”You mumbled,making him pick up his head a bit. “Do you….do you remember when you kissed me?”You asked,feeling him tense under you,his head moving off of your collarbone,staring down at you.

“Yeah.”He answered.You nodded,hands ending up in your lap. “Did you tell Kelce?”You asked,not even understanding why you had asked that.Kelce had always been extremely important to you.He was the one person you could trust with your insecurities or ask him for coping mechanisms.Now you were starting to wonder if maybe you had a thing for Kelce.

Everyone was making you question your feelings and your sanity. “I mean,I kind of had too.You know how he is,he figures shit out by body language and he knows when something is going on.I dont even know,hes the only one that ever payed attention to Criminal Minds,im not even gonna lie to you.”he replied,biting his lip as he waited for your reaction,only to hear the sliding door open.

His head whipped around,seeing Kelce standing there with water dripping from him. “Are you guys okay?Its been like ten minutes since you’ve changed.”Kelce looked over at you,more specifically the position you were in with Rafe practically on top of you.

“Yeah,yeah we’re fine.I was just talking about life.”You slowly got off the counter,flicking at Rafe’s thigh as you slid past him and walked by Kelce,going to sit in the shallow end of the pool.Kelce watched you,positive you couldnt hear as he entered the house,closing the sliding door and glaring at Rafe. “Did you say something to her?”He asked.

Rafe shook his head,attempting to walk past him only for Kelce to put a hand on his shoulder and hold him in place. “Why does she look more upset than she was ten minutes ago?”He asked,pushing further. “Because she found out that im high and got mad about it.We talked it out and now everything is fine,okay?”Rafe nodded a bit,sliding the door and walking out of the house,Kelce sighing.

Things were getting messy and he was always the one to hold things together.But now he wasnt even sure if he wanted to do that anymore.He stood in your house for a couple more minutes,finally putting a smile on his face and walking back out,seeing Topper kneeling in front of you and splashing water into your face.

You were squealing at the cold water,grabbing Topper by his wrists and pushing him back into the water,his hair becoming soaked and sticking to his forehead. “YOU BITCH!”Topper shouted,throwing you over his shoulder and running through the water and into the deep end,your legs wrapping around him tight so he’d go down with you.

Rafe grinned at your laughing,you rubbing your eyes and slicking your hair back out of your face.Kelce was tense,trying to soften up again but between Rafe’s smirk as he watched you,Topper holding you and the face that so much was happening was making him a bit mad.He stuck his feet in the pool,not paying attention to much except for the clouds that were moving at sloths pace.

He felt two warm hands wrap around his shins,trying to drag him into the water.He grinned,kicking his feet and forcing you to let go. “You’re no fun.”You pouted,elbows on his thighs as you stared up at your friend.He grinned,shrugging at he ringed the water from your hair. “You seem like you’re in a mood,whats up?”You asked,ignoring Rafe’s stare. “I dunno,kind of just stressed.”He answered,holding onto your hands as he moved his feet in circles underwater.

“Did you eat today?”You deepened your voice,grinning as he flicked you on the head. “Shut up.”He smiled,licking his lips. “Do you want to have a movie night tonight?I kind of just want to forget about things,you know?”You asked,tapping your fingers on his chest.He nodded,agreeing. “What movie do you want to watch?”He asked,helping you out of the pool so you could sit next to him.

“I dont know,maybe a horror movie.I feel like it’ll get my mind off of reality.”You replied,squinting as the sunlight hit your eyes,not aware of the silver car that had just pulled into your driveway,someone walking right into your house as you sat at the pool with your friends.

@sweetlittlegingy @nicolefarley603 @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @newsies-yeet @butgilinsky @jjjmaybank @gracelovesbroadway @one-stella @outerbongs @copper-boom @httpstarkey @teenwaywardasgardian @drewswannabegirl @simonsbluee @jiaraendgame @khiaraaa-in-spacee @on-socks-off @spn-marvel-nerd @i-love-scott-mccall

Comment with a star if youd like to be added to the series taglist.

#topper thornton #topper thorton x reader #topper thorton imagine #topper imagine #topper x reader #kelce outer banks #kelce imagine #kelce obx #kelce x reader #rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you

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whump-me-all-night-long · 4 years ago

Text

Charleigh’s Doll - Acquisition

So this is a new idea that I’ve been working on for a little bit, instead of any of my current WIPs. What can I say, the creative juices flow where they flow. Anyways, I can’t say how often this will update or how consistently, but I have high-ish hopes!

Tagging some people who expressed an interest (let me know if you want to be added or removed!): @cupcakes-and-pain @lave-e @killtheprotagonist

CW: lady whump, pet whump, dehumanization, referring to people as “it,” lady whumpee, lady whumper/caretaker, lines between whumper and caretaker being blurred, that’s all for this chapter I think, but please let me know if I missed anything!

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Charleigh sighed, tapping her foot impatiently on the store floor, her eyes trailing over the items lining the shelves of the pet store. She glanced at her watch yet again before pursing her lips and nudging the girl next to her, who turned around to frown at her.

“Sorry, Charleigh!” she said lightheartedly, tossing her natural unnaturally red hair over her shoulder, sounding not very sorry at all.

Charleigh just gave a sigh before her lips turned upward into a reluctant grin. “It’s fine, Rey,” she conceded. “But if we don’t get going soon, we’re gonna miss the movie.”

Her best friend, Reyna, gave a dismissive wave of her hand, turning back to stare at the shelf in front of her. “Don’t be such a worrywart. We’ll get there in plenty of time. You’re just sad because we might miss some of the previews. And you love those.” She gave Charleigh a teasing grin over her shoulder. “Weirdo.”

Charleigh snorted a soft laugh, and was about to reply when a commotion came from the back of the store, where they kept the pets. She didn’t know what made her do it, but she left Reyna behind in the accessories section staring at the selection of toys in front of her with nothing but a wave and followed the noises.

She pulled up short at what she saw when she reached the area. She’d never been a big pet person - never seen the appeal, quite frankly, or had the time - but taking in the pets lining the back wall in their cages, the rather poor, uncomfortable conditions they were kept in, her mouth twisted into a grimace. She dragged her eyes over the scene in front of her, brows raising in surprise.

Two store employees were struggling to drag a sobbing pet towards an empty cage. The pet, young with long dark hair covering most of her face, was flailing about, bawling and whimpering. Charleigh had no doubt that the pet would be begging if not for the tight black muzzle secured fast around her face.

A few other shoppers had stopped to watch the scene, and one, a middle aged woman with a bleach blonde bob, leaned over to loudly whisper to Charleigh, “God, don’t they know how to make pets behave anymore. If my pet acted like that in public..” She trailed off with a distasteful look on her face before shaking her head and walking away. Charleigh couldn’t help but feel bad for that woman’s pet.

Slowly, the small crowd dispersed, until all but Charleigh were gone. One of the employees, a young woman about Charleigh’s age, glanced up and made an apologetic expression towards her, before soundly slapping the pet, who froze, a hand drifting up to clutch her cheek.

Charleigh winced slightly in sympathy, craning her neck to see the pet through all the hair.

“That’s it, pet!” the employee snapped, yanking the now-stunned pet up by her collar. “Behave yourself. Or do you want your removal date moved up?” The pet let out a broken cry at that but stopped struggling immediately.

The employees got her in the cage and fastened the door securely, leaving the pet curled up in a shaking ball as far back as she could get before turning around to leave. Charleigh caught the attention of the other one, a lanky teen boy, probably only working here as an after school job, and he moved over towards them.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asked, a forced smile matching his overly cheerful tone.

She gave him a small smile back, remembering her own teen years working in customer service. “Yeah, um, hi, I had a question. About that pet.”

His smile wavered for a moment before he responded. “Of course. What would you like to know?”

Her brow furrowed a bit. “What did that other employee mean, when she said ‘removal date’?” She gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, I don’t have a pet. I’m just here with a friend.” She hitched a thumb over towards Reyna’s general direction.

The boy gave a polite nod. “Not a problem at all. Every pet has a sale value connected to them - how much they’re worth - and based on that, a removal date is issued out. If they’re not sold by that date, then they’re removed. Pets who are considered more high demand have further out dates, whereas pets considered less desirable have dates that are closer. It also depends on their health, their temperament, what company and store they’re being sold in, and if they’ve been bought before. For example-”

Charleigh cut him off, frowning slightly. “Wait, what do you mean, they’re removed?”

He looked at her like she was crazy - or just very dumb. “When a pet reaches their removal date without being bought, they’re euthanized. After that point, they’re deemed to cost more than they’re worth. It’s all very humane, of course.”

Charleigh felt sick. She pushed out, “And, um, when is that pet’s removal date?” She gestured over to the one from before, who had quieted down and simply folded up on herself.

The man gave a small shrug. “Tomorrow, after closing. That’s when removals take place.” He added with a small laugh, “Of course, it might be removed tonight, after all the trouble it’s caused. Nothing but a problem since we got it. It is a used pet, after all. Not the first time we’ve removed ‘em before we’re supposed to. Especially with the troublemakers.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink before moving on to help another customer.

Charleigh stood there for a moment, feeling the ground sway underneath her. She thought she might be sick. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, she had moved over to the cage where the pet had been shoved in.

Tapping softly on the glass, she tried to get the pet’s attention, but it was as if the pet had left her body, staring blank, glassy green eyes through the hair still hanging in front of the majority of her face. Seeing the thin piece of paper hanging from the cage, Charleigh grabbed it and skimmed over the information.

It listed her height, weight, hair color, eye color, all the details about her that a potential owner might like to know. Charleigh’s eyes widened at the age. 22. That was only three years younger than herself or Reyna. Swallowing down her disgust, she continued reading.

Temperament: Unruly unless strict discipline is shown.

Charleigh gave the pet a quick once-over, finding it hard to reconcile the terrified, softly whimpering girl in front of her with the one the employee and booklet painted.

Charleigh’s lips parted and she murmured softly, “Hey there. I’m not going to hurt you. Can you turn around for me, please?” The pet stiffened, before reluctantly shifting herself so that she was facing Charleigh.

She reached through the thin, widely spaced bars of the cage to place two fingers underneath the pet’s chin. Lifting the pet’s head, Charleigh couldn’t contain the gasp as she saw the pet’s face, subconsciously raising a hand to her own cheek.

The pet was extremely pretty - or, she would’ve been, if not for the jagged scar going down the left side of her face, from the top of her hairline, through the far corner of her eye and ending at the edge of her mouth. It was if someone had taken a knife to her face and yanked it down as roughly as they could. Charleigh leaned back slightly, her other hand going to cover her mouth. The pet’s big green eyes watched her warily, tracking every movement.

Her otherwise flawless pale skin spoke of a pet that had been otherwise well cared for, if a bit sun-deprived. Charleigh forced herself to look down the rest of her body and, while she couldn’t see any other visible marks, she did note that the pet seemed unhealthily thin.

“Oh my,” Charleigh whispered. “What happened to you?”

The pet seemed to pull back from that, as if expecting to get hit. Charleigh winced at her words, realizing how they probably sounded to the pet. She pulled the informational booklet towards her again and continued reading, a half-thought pushing into her head that she wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet.

She caught note of the words facial disfigurement and grimaced before continuing searching for what she was looking for. The price was listed at the very bottom of the sheet, in bolded print.

Charleigh sucked in a breath, at once surprised at both how expensive and relatively inexpensive the pet was. Most pets, she knew, were sold for tens - or even hundreds - of thousands of dollars. This one was only a few thousand. Only, she scoffed at herself.

The thought, the one she didn’t allow herself to think, kept poking at her, and she just stared at the pet until a hand dropped on her shoulder, snapping her out of it.

She glanced up to find Reyna standing above her. “Hey, Charleigh, I’ve got what I need. Wanna head out now?” she said, lifting a plastic bag, before glancing at the pet with raised brows. “What is that?”

Charleigh shrugged, dropping the paper and standing. “Nothing. I was just looking at something.” She hesitated before taking a step away. “Anyways, you’re right. We don’t want to miss our movie.”

Yet, as she tried to move, she found that she kept staring back at that pet, still curled up and watching her mournfully, with eyes both too old and too young. Reyna let out a big sigh. “You keep staring at that pet. You’re not seriously considering…?” She trailed off, arching a perfectly shaped brow.

Charleigh gave her a weary look. “I don’t know. She is kinda cheap. Only a couple thousand. I’ve got plenty saved up. Plus, she- her removal date is pretty close.” She gave a kind of helpless shrug, taking a tiny step back towards the cage. Then another one.

Reyna just rolled her eyes, following her back to the pet. “Fine. She is pretty cute. Except for that hideous scar. No wonder they pushed up her removal date.” Rey grinned, nudging Charleigh with her shoulder. “But for that price, it’s a steal. Plus maybe she and my Sadie girl could have pet playdates!” She laughed, and Charleigh could tell she was now thinking about her own pet at home, the one her parents had bought her as a graduation gift.

Charleigh crouched in front of the pet, reaching hand back in. “Here, girl,” she commanded softly. The pet stared at her for a moment before obediently, if a bit reluctantly, pushing her head into the hand. She scratched the pet’s scalp a bit, wondering. “Hmm, what do you think? Should I take you home?” Her hand trailed downward, brushing a finger against the large scar, before moving to cup the pet’s chin. She turned the pet’s head towards her, brushing a couple strands of the dark hair out of the way.

The pet watched her, unreadable expressions warring across her face. But she didn’t pull away, or show any signs of disobedience or defiance that Charleigh would’ve expected from her temperament description. Instead, she seemed content to sit there, drying tears on her face, and be held by Charleigh’s hand.

Charleigh glanced up at her friend, before giving a small laugh. “Look at this face. How could I say no?”

Reyna threw her hands up in mock surrender, still grinning like a fiend. “Okay, if that’s how you wanna spend your money.”

Charleigh shrugged, flagging down an employee. She pointed towards the pet. “Hi, I’d like to buy this pet.”

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moondustis · 4 years ago

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keep it lowkey (m)

pairing: seo johnny + reader genre: smut, fluff, angst!! / idol x trainee!au word count: 2,4k summary: A moment shared between two people that could use some more time.

You remember a time, when you had just started training, that sneaking past managers to go to a internet cafe made you break into a cold sweat. It didn’t take you that long to realize, though, that they didn’t really care about where trainees go if they return in one piece and ready for a full day of practice when morning came.

The manager in charge of your dormitory merely sneaks a glance when you pass through her room, bag in your arm and a mask being adjusted into your face. “Don’t come back too late.” She says absently. “And don’t eat anything that’ll make you bloated.”

You roll your eyes, but still humming in agreement as you finally leave the dorm. Free for a couple hours, is what you think and a sigh escapes your covered lips.

The black car parked just a little far from the dorm, to avoid suspicions, awaits for you and with giddiness on your steps, you make your way to it. Your heartbeat quickens by the second because it’s the first time you’re doing something like this, sneaking out to see someone, and it sends a thrill through your whole body.

You had met Johnny in 2010, when you were still naive enough to think joining a big entertainment company was a good idea. He had been there a little longer than you, probably with plans to debut sooner than it would really happen, and it didn’t take you too long to realize how popular he was with the female trainees. Whenever a party happened and you were able to interact with one another for more than a couple hours, the girls you trained with wouldn’t shut up about how handsome and tall he was. It even came as far as him being nominated and winning a silly competition that crowded the most beautiful trainees. And just maybe you weren’t safe from his charms either.

Your relationship with him, if one could even call it that, took a while to bloom. Shared glances that became stupid jokes, a friendship that turned into something else. Something else being whatever you could do when most of the times you felt like you were being watched and the other half of the time Johnny was far away in another country. It was quick kisses shared inside a small cupboard and late nights conversations on kakaotalk that were just shy of becoming something more than friendly, but stayed like that.

After his debut it was even harder to let things go further, because how does one let go when they are in fact being watched all the damn time? The kisses became quicker and rarer, the texts sparser, and you go weeks without even hearing of him on somewhere else than the news, while you train for a debut that was promised to happen a long time ago.

Right now though, all of that is pushed to the back of your head because when you open the car’s door, he’s right there, smiling at you through a mask of his own. You get into the car in a rush, the click of the seatbelt sounding as he takes off, greeting you and asking how you had been.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, removing the mask now that he deems it not necessary anymore and you do the same. His face these days is something familiar, yet feels completely out of reach from seeing it on the tv so many times. “I know they got you doing those crazy diets.”

You chuckle, shaking your head even though he can’t really see from having his eyes on the road. The words of your manager echoes in your head. “Not really, I had dinner already.”

“Does sweet potatoes really count as dinner?” He asks and you laugh.

“I’ll let you know they let us have rice too now.” You joke back at him, earning a laugh that now that you hear it in person, you realize you have missed very much.

“Good, good.” He hums. “Still, I’ll buy you something delicious on the way back.”

You agree with a little cheer, accepting his hand when he puts his to rest on your thigh. This is something couples do, your foolish mind provides, making the butterflies in your chest go a little crazy and you urge them to stop. “Are you going to take me to the Han River?” Your teasing voice makes him laugh again.

“Sure, we need to do this dispatch scandal right, don’t we?” He rhetorically asks, squeezing your hand and it’s funny at the same time it sets your stomach lurching at the mere idea of being found out. Still, you try not to think about that. “But really, I’m taking you somewhere better.”

And by better he meant more private, because he drives you to a place that looks a lot like your first guess, but that you had never heard about. It looks vacant and when he parks near a cliff you can see the whole city shining down from where you stand. “This is really nice.” You turn to look at him when he unbuckles his seatbelt, leading you to do the same. “How did you find out about it?”

“Sehun told me about it. Said it was a good date spot.” He grins at you, making you wonder if he had told about this to his friends and that’s why they were so gladly giving him tips. Or that he was doing these things with someone else. You pretend that the last thought didn’t cross your mind.

“A date spot?” You gasp in fake surprise. “What kind of scandalous things you have in mind for today, Johnny Seo?”

His laugh is contagious, your own face breaking into a grin when he comes forward as much as the car’s middle will allow. “None at all.” He lies through his teeth, because his hands are sliding to rest at your neck as he brings you closer, to finally, finally, press a kiss to your lips.

It’s a gentle kiss, the traces of both your smiles still there but it soon dies with the deepening of it. Call it distance making the heart grow fonder, call it two people that were usually forbidden this finally getting it, call it whatever. Johnny molds his lips to yours with an ease that makes your body bubble with the begging of arousal, sucking on your lips until you part them enough to let his tongue in.

Now this, the way his tongue slides against yours and how sucks in a way that makes you tingle and a small moan bubble in your throat, is not new but it’s not yet familiar. There was never enough time to do anything but quick kisses back then, but now you feel like you have all the time in the world. So you follow his movements, bringing him closer by the thin fabric of his t-shirt, letting your tongue move in what you hope doesn't comes across as naive inexperience.

Because Johnny knows it, knows the only person you had ever kissed was him, so he guides you, makes you whimper when he bites just slightly on your bottom lip. Presses small kisses until you’re chasing for more and then moves down to your jaw, to your neck, sucking just lightly, careful to not leave any marks but enough to make you want more.

What is new is the way one of his hands move down on your body, leaving small sparks wherever he touches, until he finally stops it at your thigh, squeezing it while kissing you deeply again. What is new is the way his fingers trace patterns on it until he’s dipping them inside your skirt, tentatively touching the hem of your underwear in a silent plea.

And you, well, you’re nowhere near being in a state that would justify denying him so you express your enthusiasm to it by kissing him harder, moving as if to guide him. He does it so gladly. There are no words needed between two people that have waiting too long for this.

Breaking the kiss, his eyes continue glued to yours as he brings two of his fingers to his lips and licks them until they’re shining with a coat of wetness. You watch the whole thing mesmerized, shaking just a bit in anticipation and anxiety.

The moment his fingers come in contact (finally!) with where you wanted them the most, you let out a gasp and he pushes it by kissing you again. It’s similar to how you touch yourself when you can get some privacy to do so, but at the same time it feels completely different. Overwhelming in some sense because someone else… No, not someone. Johnny, because Johnny is touching you like this.

He moves his fingers, circling your clit in motions that make your end approach too fast, like he knew somehow exactly how to do it. Your eyes fall shut, slightly squeezing as your try to calm yourself down but it’s a difficult task when he presses with a little more force and a wave of arousal crashes on your body.

You grip at his shirt, moaning quietly with a hint of shyness to your noises and he uses that moment to shift his fingers, his thumb now pressing down on your clit and his middle finger dipping slowly inside your entrance as you cry out in surprise and enjoyment.

It’s a weird angle, one that makes it somehow even more of a tight fit than it already was. You know he feels it by the curse that falls from his lips and the way his head drops to your shoulder. He pumps his finger in and out tentatively and you whimper, too far gone now to think about how you’re doing this in a car in the middle of nowhere. To think that the first time the man that you absolutely adore, or any man on that matter, touched you had to be like this. Not that you were complaining, really, but the car was too cramped, restrictive and even with the A/C on you still felt a little too hot with sweat forming on your hairline.

“O-Oh my god.” You wail when Johnny curls his fingers in a way that makes you see stars because he hits that exact spot that you had learned about some time ago.

He groans in return when you clench around him. “Shit, I… I wish I could fuck you.” He confesses and your mind spins with the heaviness of his words.

Still, you feel bold enough to ask. “W-Why don’t you?”

That makes him let out a strangled laugh, finger pushing deeper inside of you. “Come on, don’t say things like that.” He begs and you can’t help but to let out a broken chuckle. “You deserve better than having your first time on a car. And I didn’t bring a condom with me.”

You barely manage to roll your eyes at him, conflicted by the jokingly sweetness of his statement. “Maybe you should have had.” Is all you say and it makes him move his fingers fast, moans the only thing leaving your lips now.

“I’ll fuck you next time, I promise. Somewhere nice.” In the back of your head you think about how this sounds like an empty promise. Neither of you knew when the next time would be, because with his tour soon arriving, you would probably only get to see each other months from now. And how would you even manage to find somewhere nice, when right now, in this car in the middle of nowhere, is the only place you can do this freely.

A lump forms in your throat, tears ready to fall but instead you cry out for different reasons with how quick his movements get. Your orgasm is a good one, not blinding because of your head being somewhere else, but your body still shakes and you still let his name fall out from your lips as your eyes flutter.

When you calm down enough, you both move in a lazy rush to get his pants down enough so his hardness stands out flushed and with the tip an angry red. It’s the first time you’re seeing one in real life and as much as it is intimidating, it makes something spark inside of you. He tells you to lick your palm, which you do, and then he guides your hand up and down, squeezing and moving just as he likes.

You watch mesmerized as he bites his lips, makes some rare but beautiful noises and leans his head on the car seat. When he comes is with a long sigh, hand squeezing against yours as he twitches and liquid spurts of his orgasm coats both of your hands, yours small and manicured underneath his big manly one.

It’s a while until you both calm down enough to clean yourselves with the baby wipes he kept on the car’s compartment. After that, he kisses you again, asking when you had to be back and pouting when you see that is already a little past midnight and inform him you don’t have any time left.

The car ride back to your dorm is spent mostly in silence and empty conversations that are used to avoid saying things that are better left unsaid for now. He insists in buying you a kimbap that you put inside your bag with a promise to have it tomorrow for breakfast.

He parks just a few meters ahead the entrance of your dorm when it’s already 30 minutes past midnight, car coming to a stop and you don’t know how much longer you can keep the tears in. It all feels too much, with him looking at you with sad eyes, the feeling of him still warm in your hand and your own arousal making a mess of your ruined panties.

“I’ll see you soon.” His voice sounds broken when he makes the false promise.

You look back at him then, eyes watering. “Okay.” There’s a lot more that you want to say, that would probably be meaningless because words would never be enough to change the reality. Tomorrow, he’ll go back to his idol life to be NCT’s Johnny and you’ll be back to the training room to prepare to be whoever they have planned for you.

So you only say that, basking in the last moments where you can just be two stupid kids kissing inside an empty cupboard, with not that many cares in the world.

When he kisses you one last time, you let it be enough. It has to be enough. For now, at least.

#JOHNNY SMUT #johnny scenarios #nct smut #nct scenarios #short and SAD #im sorry

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timebird84 · 4 years ago

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar 2020 🎄

By @a-partofthenarrative

“Silver and Gold”

A/N This is a sequel to my 2018 Advent Calendar piece, “Evergreen”. It is not necessary to read that first, but it might be helpful as there are some references to that here. Regardless, I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading. Happy Holidays, y’all!

Christine loved New York at Christmas.

The sights, the sounds, the smells…every moment of strolling through the city streets, block by block, had brought an exhilarating thrill that had been absent from her heart for far too many years. Even hours later, as she stood in the kitchen, elbow deep in pie dough, she had been unable to wipe the smile from her face.

Ms. Fleck had disappeared to somewhere or another at one point, claiming “errands” and leaving Christine to wander lower Manhattan for the better part of an hour. Weighed down by the variety of shopping bags, she had meandered uptown at a leisurely pace, stopping to admire the newly erected Christmas tree in Washington square before making her way up 5th Ave. to Herald Square, where she would find Ms. Fleck and Erik’s odd horseless contraption that had initially spirited her to Coney Island.

As she passed the stream of elaborate shops boasting anything any man, woman or children could ever desire, she lingered here and there, casting appreciative eyes to the elaborate window displays attracting crowds along the sidewalk. One particular window snagged her attention: a fanciful tower of toys teetering precariously on top of one another, held aloft in some miraculous defiance of gravity.

Biting back a smile, she stepped away with a silent resolution to return with Gustave. The poor boy would be positively beside himself when he saw the treasure trove in front of her.

She had located her shopping companion only moments later and, with confirmation from both parties that their feet and funds were exhausted, bags and passengers were located into the carriage for the trip home.

At least...she hoped it would become home. Goodness, but it did feel like home; this crazy, complicated family she had formed in a strange netherworld of curiosities. Upon returning to Erik’s home, it had been discovered that they had beaten “the boys” back to the residence, so with no tree to decorate, Christine had set her attention to another one of her favorite holiday pastimes.

Now, planted firmly in the large kitchen, covered in flour and holiday cheer, she rolled the stubborn dough into a thin sheet, a pie plate stuffed full of apples set to the side patiently waiting for its cover. Satisfied with her work, her fingers had just curled around the edge of the thin sheet when a commotion drew her attention to the front of the house. Brow furrowed, she wiped her hands on her apron and left the kitchen to investigate.

Ms. Fleck was already present and Christine cast her a questioning look before another shout snapped her eyes to the foyer.

Dr. Gangle stood just inside the door, the sole member of the group lucky enough to claim the prime position out of the cold, although one’s definition of luck would depend on one’s opinion. The poor man’s arms were wrapped around the top of one of the largest evergreen trees she had ever seen, this one seemingly dwarfing the childhood giant she had described to Erik only hours before. No doubt this had been Gustave’s doing. As his father before him, her son had a tendency to want to “one-up” anyone or anything that he deemed worthy of bragging rights and she bit back a chuckle despite herself. Maybe it was time her beloved masked enigma had a taste of his own medicine; the fact that it was delivered by his own progeny was turning out to be a delightful twist of Fate.

Shouts echoed from beyond the door, phasing in and out in a cacophony of chaos as the tree twisted and turned in a macabre dance in attempts to be pushed over the threshold.

“Left! Move it to the left!....No, the OTHER left!”

“That IS left! Watch it! You’re going to take the paint clean off the frame!”

“Gangle! Squelch! If either one of you idiots scratches the paint, you’ll be repairing it yourselves with Ms. Fleck’s mascara brush!”

Both women watched in stunned silence at the tenuous exchange before Christine glanced down, brow furrowed and voice weary. “Goodness, but it sounds like they’re having some trouble, doesn’t it?”

The smaller woman shrugged. “Frankly, I’m impressed that the Master knows what a mascara brush is.”

Christine blinked, unable to answer before the tree moved just so, allowing a small blur through the doorway and straight into her skirts. “Maman!” Gustave beamed up at her, thick snow caked in the hair along his brow. “Look at the tree we found! Isn’t it wonderful? I think it’s even bigger than yours!”

“It is..something!” she exclaimed brightly, hunkering down to look him in the eyes. “What happened, cherie? You look as though you’ve been caught in a snowstorm.”

Gustave pulled off his hat and swiped a carelessly palm over his hairline, sending clumps of snow to the wooden floor. “We had the best time! Dr. Gangel and mr. Squelch had a hard time cutting down the tree, so Mr. Y stepped in to help them. Well, the three of them began to argue over which way was the best way and while they were yelling at each other, the tree started to creak and then fell- right toward the sleigh!”

Christine gasped, feeling slightly “Oh no…”

“Oh yes!” The boy chattered on, seemingly oblivious to the picture he was painting. “That seemed to get their attention and then they ran toward the sleight. I didn’t get to see much after that because Mr. Y grabbed me, but we ended up in the snow. You should see him, Mama! He looks so funny!”

“Gustave, do you realize any of you could have been hurt or worse?! Mr. Y likely saved your life!”

Gustave rolled his eyes in a fashion so similar to Erik that Christine’s breath caught. “Maman, I’m fine. The tree didn’t even land anywhere near us.” His little brow furrowed as he glanced at the tree in the doorway, a frustrated Dr. Gangle staring at its branches with open disdain. “Do you think we’ll be able to get it inside?”

“I..don’t know, love. I’m sure Mr. Y and the others are doing everything they can.”

More grunts and shouts caused mother and son to glance up and Christine quickly snatched Gustave and stepped back as the tree hurtled forward, succumbing to a final desperate push from Squelch and Gangle. With one hand planted firmly on her son and the other pressed to her chest, she watched wide-eyed as the men muscled the enormous evergreen deeper into the house, and a masked figure stumble in behind them, shutting the door with an echoing bang and slumping against it with a weary sigh.

This man looked nothing like the impeccable figure she had always known. Instead, the man before her was a disheveled mess; wilted against the doorway, chest heaving, hair caked with snow, overcoat askew and one glove and his cravat missing (although really, who wore full evening dress to trek through the woods?).

With a quiet word and a promise to reconvene soon, Christine sent Gustave upstairs with Ms. Fleck to clean up before pasting a sympathetic smile on her lips and moving to his side. “Oh, my poor Erik,” she soothed, taking his gloveless hand in hers. “Something tells me today did not go exactly as planned.”

He cracked one eye open at the sound of her voice. “Christine…” Even his voice was exhausted. “Never again…”

“But Gustave is happy, Erik. You did well.”

“...and nearly killed us both in the process.”

“Yes, well, he did mention that,” she muttered. “But thankfully no one was killed or maimed and the tree was delivered successfully…”

Both eyes opened to regard her now and she only sighed and smoothed a hand over his snow-wet face. “I am nearly done with an apple pie. I meant it to be a surprise, but given the circumstances…” She chuckled at the faint light that came to his gaze at the mention of his favorite dessert, another newly discovered similarity to their son. “Go and clean up while I finish and then we’ll all decorate our new tree together.”

This brought another groan as Erik let his head fall back against the door with a thump. “Christine, I have a bountiful staff. This is what they are paid for.”

“Not this year.” she countered. “Besides, decorating is the most fun of all. I’ve already laid out the popcorn to be strung and I picked out some lovely ornaments in the City today.”

“The City? Christine, you went to Manhattan alone?!?”

“Of course not, Erik. Ms. Fleck accompanied me” She squeezed his hand. “Now up you go.”

“But Christine!”

She met him eye for eye. “Don’t! I am a grown woman. We were perfectly safe. Now go upstairs, change into some fresh clothes and decorate the Christmas tree with your son.” Stepping back, she helped him to his feet, smoothing her hands down the sleeves of his overcoat and pressing a kiss to his frozen lips. “I shall join you as soon as I get this pie in the oven.”

*********************************************************************

Nearly an hour later, the pie covered and browning nicely, Christine untied her apron, let down her hair and migrated to the living room where the festivities already appeared to be happening in full swing.

The tree now stood in the place of honor in the front corner of the room, beautifully centered in front of the large bay window, creating a lovely visual for anyone who happened to pass along the street. Dr. Gangle, Squelch and Ms. Fleck had taken up positions nearby, sorting through the packages and parcels from their shopping excursion, taking turns to comment on the contents of each.

Muttering from the back corner turned her attention to Erik and Gustave, both dressed in fresh shirtsleeves, waistcoats and trousers, and seated side-by-side on the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them. Gustave was attempting to teach his father to string the snack food to create a festive garland that would be just perfect. Erik, bless his heart, listened indulgently as he tried to copy Gustave’s motions. Unfortunately, while the former Opera Ghost was a master of innumerable things, the muttered curses and muffled cries of pain indicated that the needle was making better progress connecting with skin rather than kernels.

The rustling of skirts announced her presence to the room and Erik immediately set the string and bowl aside as he stood to greet her. “Ah, there you are, Christine. Would you care to ah...take over the garland crafting?”

Biting back a smile at his attempts to cover his inadequate stringing skills, she gave him an impish grin as she drew near. “And deprive you of the experience? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“It’s all right, Maman,” Gustave commented, never taking his eyes from his work. “He’s not very good at it.”

Erik’s gaze snapped to hers as if to say There! You see? but she quickly and quietly tempered it with one of her own. “Not everyone excels at the same things, Gustave. But if there is one thing I know about Mr. Y, it is that he has quite the eye for making beautiful things.”

“Except popcorn garland,” Gustave supplied.

Erik’s expression was positively indignant as she worked to suppress the quirk of her lips. “So it would seem.”

“We’ve got all of the ornaments arranged for you when you’re ready, Boss,” Squelch announced, waving a hand over the various boxes of colored bulbs laid out beside the tree. “Ms. Christine picked up quite the selection.”

“Wonderful. Thank you, all.” Erik managed, taking Christine’s hand as they approached the tree. “Shall be begin?”

The three glanced between themselves, then back at the Master and his lady. “You want us to help?”

“Of course!” Christine smiled, “besides, none of this would have been possible without you.”

No further permission was needed by any of the parties. Gustave, finished with his popcorn garland, wound it around the tree, accepting assistance from Erik and Dr. Gangle at different points depending on height and availability. Christine, Squelch and Ms. Fleck declared themselves in charge of the myriad colors of ornaments and directed where and what were hung until the tree was transformed from a blank green palette to a wonder of color and light.

One of the most important purchases for Christine had been a set of candles for Advent. “This was one of my favorite traditions growing up,” she remarked as she struck a match. “With all of the traveling my father and I did, there were many of our traditions that we were forced to forego, but he always made certain we had a set of candles for Advent.” With a radiant smile, she lit their first candle, relishing in the pop and crack of the wick catching fire. “This one represents hope.”

“The second represents faith,” Passing the match to Gustave, she helped him light the second candle before offering it to the masked man standing at her side. Wordlessly, he accepted it, his expression unreadable as he set the match to the wick and the third candle spring to life. “And the third,” she supplied, meeting Erik’s gaze over the flickering flame, “is for joy.” A ghost of a smile crossed his lips then and her heart squeezed a bit tighter in her chest.

“What about the other candles?” Gustave asked.

Christine blew out the match and smiled down at him. “Traditionally, there are four Sundays in Advent and each week one more candle is lit. The fifth is lit on Christmas Eve. We’ve started a bit late this year, as it’s nearly Christmas, but all will be lit as the season progresses.”

Gustave studied the candles, then glanced at her “Did mofar teach you any other traditions that we can have here?”

“Oh, cheri, so many! Although, we rarely had the chance to partake in any of them given that we were never in Sweden much after my fifth birthday. The legend of St. Lucia, julbord, julklapper.” She brightened. “I may be able to make julmust for Christmas Eve if I can find the proper ingredients. That is, if you don’t mind, Erik?”

Slipping an arm around her waist, he remarked. “I want to know everything that is important to you, ange. If it makes you and Gustave happy, then consider it done.”

The boy’s attention shifted to him then. “What about you, Mr. Y? Did you have any traditions growing up?”

Erik’s panicked eyes immediately shot to her and Christine smoothly took control of the conversation. “Gustave, I’m sure Mr. Y knows many of the same holiday traditions that you do.”

“But he’s never even had a Christmas tree before…”

“And there were many years where I did not either. Like myself, Mr. Y has spent a great deal of his life traveling, haven't you, Erik?”

“I have,” the masked man confirmed, but offered no further explanation.

Thankfully, this seemed to satisfy the boy for the moment. “So... we’re blending. Maman’s traditions with Mr. Y’s?”

Christine glanced at Erik, who looked as lost as she felt. “Er…”

“In a sense, I suppose,” Erik supplied. “But perhaps it is more accurate to say that we are starting our own traditions. As a..” he trailed off suddenly, his normally stoic face slipping into something akin to sudden wonder.

“As a family?” Gustave ventured.

“Yes, my love,” Christine whispered, fingers covertly creeping into Erik’s palm as he held her hand like a lifeline. “Exactly that.” Drawing him close to her side, she bent down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve had an exciting day and according to that clock in the hall, it is much past your bedtime. Say goodnight to everyone and I’ll be up in a moment.”

“Ah, actually, Christine, may I speak with you for a moment?” Erik cut in.

“Come on, little master,” Ms. Fleck said with a wink, catching Erik’s eye. “If you can get your nightclothes on, I’ll read you a story before your mama comes to tuck you in.”

Gustave broke into a grin, pecking Christine on the cheek before dashing for the stairs. Christine watched him go with a loving smile before tipping her head back to smile up at the man stationed behind her. “Look at how happy he is, Erik. You gave him one of the best days, despite all of the trials that came with it. That boy worships the ground you walk on.”

“I care for him in a way that I never knew I was capable of,” he admitted, tucking her hand in his arm and turning to the tree. “I would move heaven and earth for that boy.”

“Welcome to parenthood, my love,” she whispered.

With a sigh, Erik moved to stand before her, cloaked in the colors cast by the candles flames against the glass ornaments of the tree. “Christine, I admit I’ve been struggling when it comes to you and Gustave. I am not proud of it, but you must understand that I spent the majority of my life in utter solitude. Even in our...early acquaintance, the very notion that someone would care for me, let alone that I would one day have a son of my own…. was laughable.

“Both of us know how the last story ended and quite frankly, as far as I was concerned, that was the end,” He shook his head, glancing down to the floor. “But then our paths converged again, ten years later with the knowledge of Gustave...and almost losing you again...it awoke something in me, Christine. Something that made me realize that I never want to feel that way again.

“You, my darling, are the only thing that matters to me. You and Gustave and, if it is agreeable to you, you would make me innumerably happy if you would remain in Coney Island.”

Her breath caught as the weight of what he was asking began to sink in. “Erik, are you…?

He gripped her hands tighter, gaze steady, but pleading. “Stay with me, Christine. Be my wife. Let’s give Gustave the family we should have been from the beginning.”

‘Erik…” she whispered, leaning her forehead into his chest as tears flooded her eyes. “Truly?”

In response, he pulled a box from his vest pocket, flipping it open to reveal a diamond solitaire. On one side, a band of gold, warm and radiant, linked a band of silver on the other, cool but elegant, joining in metallic harmony to cradle the diamond that winked up at her.

“Oh, Erik…” she breathed again, “it’s stunning”

“I know the tradition is bended knee, but I seem to have had a traumatic incident with a rather aggressive evergreen,” he replied dryly, “so I hope you’ll forgive...”

“Yes.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yes. I’ll marry you. We shall stay.” Christine beamed up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “With all of my heart, I love you, you stubborn boar. The answer is ‘yes’.” Curling her fingers around the edges of his waistcoat she pulled him forward in a flash of motion and kissed him thoroughly in front of said evergreen tree.

A chorus of enthusiastic cheers broke the spell a moment later and the couple turned to see Gustave, Ms. Fleck, Dr. Gangle and Squelch positively glowing at them from the stairs. “Way to go, Boss!”

“Yes, well...” Erik sputtered, looking to Christine for assistance. She only chuckled, kissed him deeply again and extended her left hand, to which he responded by obediently sliding the ring on her finger.

Gustave rushed down the stairs to embrace them both, begging to see his mother’s ring, then beaming up at Erik as if he had just been handed the world on a plate. “Does this mean I can call you ‘Father’ now?”

Christine’s breath caught as her brown eyes collided with Erik’s mismatched ones, which looked slightly watery again. She watched as his throat bobbed, silently struggling for control before managing an answer. “Of course, my boy. You may call me whatever you wish,” he said, stooping down to look the boy in the eye. “You are my son and I am sorry if I’ve done anything to make you feel as though I’ve held you at arm’s length. I..love you, Gustave. I always have.”

Christine pressed her hands to her mouth, tears flowing anew as the boy’s mouth trembled and he launched himself into the arms of the masked man whom he had come to idolize. Erik caught him, holding him in an awkward embrace as he met Christine’s teary smile, unbidden moisture already beginning to track down his visible cheek.

Erik stood, bringing Gustave with him and Christine moved forward to join the embrace. As Erik’s free arm came around her and Gustave’s little hand held tight to hers, she was sure her heart would burst.

Her father used to say that a broken, battered path often led to the most beautiful destination and as she stood in the embrace of the two men she loved most in the world, bathed in the silver and gold glow of the candles and Christmas lights, she knew that she was finally home.

With a family of her own making.

As it always should have been.

Eyes slipping closed, her fingers languidly trailed up and down Erik’s spine and smiled as the large hand at her waist squeezed her imperceptibly closer.

From this day forward, as it always would be.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #Door 15

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tamakiamajikistentacles · 4 years ago

Text

broken. {Dabi}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted- between holidays, work, and this being a generally not great time of year for me there hasn’t been much room for writing. As you can see though, recent manga events totally inspired me for one last story in 2020 for ya!

He liked going out once the sun had set. Daylight hadn’t been his friend for a long time, and whatever lurked in the shadows grew disinterested as the glow of his cigarette illuminated his staples when he passed, aware of who they were seeing but uninclined to make a report.

How could they really? By day they walked the streets freely, unassuming, but beneath the moon they found sick pleasures in ways that would make any hero grimace. As dangerous as they were it couldn’t compare to the likes of him—the deranged and recognizable with only a quick glance that sent chills down the spines of millions.

He slept during the day and rose at dusk to begin sowing chaos. After all, the freaks come out at night.

The long since burned out butt of his cigarette dropped from between his lips as he approached one of the seedier bars in the slums of town. Whatever its name is or was had been lost to time and inattention to the sign hanging askew over the door but damn, they had the strongest liquor in the city and a reputation for looking the other way when criminals passed through the door. Hazy smoke stung at his eyes and throat as he entered but he’d been used to that for nearly three decades and really, what was another lungful when they were burned to hell as it was?

The blonde bartender gave him a curt nod from across the room, already reaching for the amber bottle he knew Dabi favored. Around the room were other patrons that gave an assessing glance in his direction before turning back to their drinks. All but one turned his way.

In the darkest corner of the bar sat a woman with her back to the room. He couldn’t see her face, just the contrast of her revealing shirt against the skin of her chest, but he was interested. The mysterious chick vibe always did do him in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here alone?” he asked as he approached her table.

“Cute?” she scoffed, dark-lined eye rolling in clear annoyance. “You really think that?”

In what seemed like a well-practiced move she tossed her hair over her left shoulder and pulled the already low collar of her shirt down further to expose more of her chest and shoulder. Smooth skin bled into a gradient of marled blotches of red and purple burn scars, the severity of which he’d only ever seen in the mirror.

“You wanna rethink that ‘cute’ comment?” she challenged without so much as a glance at his slightly parted lips.

“Yeah,” he breathed out with a nod. “Think I wanna change it to gorgeous.”

“Look, if you wanna know how I got ‘em just ask so I can tell you to… fuck off… already…” her voice trailed off after she looked up, haughty attitude dropping as she took in the darkened skin on his face and chest. She marveled at the handsome features still so clearly defined beneath the burns and the glint of his staples in the fluorescent lights.

Seeing interest cloud over her eyes as she trailed them over his face and down his body, he seated himself in the chair across from her and folded his hands around his glass on the table.

The rough rhythm of his hips against hers scraped her back against the gnarled wood of her bedroom door and drove the staples in his lower stomach into hers but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when it felt so good. As thin as he was he was able to lift her thighs around his waist and hold her with one hand while the other pressed against her throat.

“Fuck, please,” she panted, head spinning but wanting more.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he teased, “you already got two and I haven’t even had one yet. Not exactly fair, is it?”

“Dabi!” she groaned.

He huffed out a laugh as he buried his face in her shoulder, licking at the bead of sweat that trailed from her hairline. He was close so she really wouldn’t need to wait long considering the pleasure pooling in his lower stomach was building with each smack of skin on skin.

His hand left her throat to wrap around her other thigh so he could quickly readjust his grip. Pulling her back from the door, he bounced her against him as he carried her the short distance to her bed. He sat back against the wall and guided her hips against him, smirking at her eagerness as she started riding him desperately.

She gasped when one of his hands drifted between her legs and another type of warmth spread through her. “Fuck!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he scoffed, his other hand coming up to grip her throat once again.

A few more rotations of her hips had him surging forward to sink his teeth into her scarred shoulder as his hand between her legs drew tight circles on her clit, both of them breathing hard as they met their ends.

She slumped forward, breathing heavily as he held her steady against him while they caught their breath and heartbeats slowed. When he finally felt the calm sweep over him he guided her down to lay beside him before reaching to her night table for the pack of cigarettes he’d spotted. Placing one between his lips, he ignited a small blue flame at his fingertip to light it.

“Is that how you got your burns?” she asked in a whisper, eyes half-lidded.

He stared straight ahead, cheeks hollowing even further as he took a drag. Without looking he took it in two fingers and passed it towards her through a cloud of smoke. She grabbed it and placed it between her own lips.

“Mine are from a hero,” she said after blowing out her own puff.

His eyebrows raised and he looked down at where she laid, interest alight in his turquoise eyes.

“I used to work in this high-rise building in the western district, did normal office type shit you know? Sent faxes and filed documents everyone thought I was too fuckin’ stupid to understand because I grew up poor and quirkless,” she started. “Some low-level villains attacked a few blocks away and when the heroes came the fight was small enough that we didn’t get evacuated. We couldn’t even see anything, all we heard were sirens and for that district its background noise anyway. But then Endeavor showed up.”

Dabi stiffened as she handed the cigarette back though she didn’t seem to notice as she continued.

“He blew the fight out of proportion to make a bigger show of capturing the villains I’m sure, but when he did it lead them towards our building. Three quarters of the floors were engulfed within ten minutes.”

“Lemme guess, your floor was lucky enough to be one of ‘em?”

She hummed. “Yeah, lucky enough to land me some wicked burns and a high as fuck medical bill.”

“What? The Hero Commission didn’t cover it?”

“Nope. None of it. Despite being told not to evacuate because we were farther from the initial attack and then being caught in the crossfire that we literally had no choice in, we were told that only loss of life would be covered by their insurance payout.”

“Zero casualties?”

“How’d you know?” she drawled, reaching for the cigarette once again. “Never fucking mind that I have limited mobility with my left arm that literally impacts my day to day life or how I can’t go anywhere without being stared at like a sideshow act or that the company I worked for dissolved their branch in the district. All because of some asshole looking for glory from a fight he didn’t need to be in.”

He chuckled as he watched her finish off the cigarette and stub out the last few embers in the ashtray on her opposite night table. This chick was something else.

“How’d you feel if I told you I got my burns from Endeavor too?” he asked.

Now it was her turn for her eyebrows to rise with intrigue. “I’d ask how, when, and why the fuck you didn’t melt his face off.”

“I was just a kid,” he shrugged.

“Endeavor—��

“—wanted to make sure his son could surpass All Might. Didn’t go according to plan, at least not with me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Pushed a bit too hard on a kid who could produce flames so much hotter than his. Surprised it took so long if I’m honest, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill him.”

She sat up, slowly bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, eyes twinkling with wonder. “You’re really going to kill him?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, baby,” he said with a smirk. “What—you wanna watch?”

“Fuck yes,” she breathed out. “He needs to burn. Just like we did.”

A blue flame ignited and danced in his palm. She could feel the heat on her face but it didn’t scare her like most would assume. The fire wasn’t at fault for her pain, the false hero who wielded it had been.

She looked between the flames and his handsomely stapled face.

“How can I help? I want to be a part of taking down Endeavor.”

He closed his hand and the fire disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Reaching over, he fisted the hair at the nape of her neck and brought her closer.

“I’ll let you help sweetheart,” he laughed, “but the best thing you can do right now to help me is to put that pretty mouth to work. You’re still at three while I’ve only got one.”

“THE PAST NEVER DIES!”

The corners of her lips curled upwards in a smirk as the broadcast overtook the large billboard in downtown Tokyo, projecting the voice of a now white-haired Dabi. He steamed from his quirk being overused but also from the outpouring of emotion he was finally able to confront his family with.

“Oh Dabi,” she sighed fondly.

Vengeance years in the making was unfolding in front of the entire country in real time and she was privileged enough to know it had been coming. She knew the plan and she knew the backup plans and she was essential to the very last resort plan too. Her own revenge was being carried out though not by her own hand. At least not directly.

She looked down to the slightly rounded bump beneath her sweater, caressing it gently.

“If he doesn’t kill him, I’ll make sure you do for him,” she murmured with a smile.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Good heavens, its been a while since I’ve done smut so that was an experience lmao. Anyway, Dabi is such a fun character for me to write and I love exploring different emotions for him!

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