#felt like i need to roll that one around in my brain like a gas station hot dog grill

[thetimecrystal]

fun fact

i am rewatching arcane for the fourth time this week

[higgity-diggity-dummy]

These Strings That Bind Us

first chapter; previous chapter

So this is the first chapter of this fic that I’ve posted since a few of my irl friends have started following me and now they get to see the crazed fanfiction maniac I am and I don’t know if they’re ready.

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chapter 3:

Nico scanned the room he was left in. He knew logically that he was safe. That he was allowed to be… gay. And that the people that just overheard his conversation with Percy likely didn’t hate him for it.

They probably do hate you though. Even you can’t like yourself.

He just… didn’t like that knowledge to be floating around. 

It was then, after observing all the sleeping and uninterested patients that he saw the face of a particular blonde peering through a corner. 

“Hey. Sunshine. I see you.” Nico said trying to mask his worry. 

How long had he been there?

Will exhaled a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… stalk…? I was going to check up on you but you were talking with Percy and I did to want to interrupt.”

“How much did you overhear?” Nico asked, deciding to cut to the point. 

Will turned pinker. “Nothing! I swear I wasn’t trying to listen into your conversation. I was just watching,” he said getting redder. “I mean-! I wasn’t like ‘watching’ watching. But I was also not listening. I was just waiting for an opening is all. So I could check up on you. Because that’s what I’m here to do right now. Check up on you that is.”

Will snapped his mouth shut, trying to stop the word-vomit from getting worse. He had a flight-or-flight look in his eyes, as if how Nico responded would be the deciding factor in how this interaction went. He wished Will hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t pin down the exact reason why he liked hearing that incoherent mess of speech, but he did. It took a bit longer for him to realize that while he was brain was occupied by the rambling of the boy across from him, it was too full to waste energy on worrying. 

Nico tried -really tried- to think of something comforting or cringe-reducing to say but he could help it when a laugh slipped out. 

And another. And one more. And five seconds later he was miserably failing to stifle his giggles with his left hand. 

“Wha-“ Will started. “What is it? Are you ok?Did one of my siblings but you on laughing gas or something? It was Kayla wasn’t it?!”

This made Nico laugh even harder. “Oh gods no. You’re just really weird. In a good way. You kept on saying more and it made it get worse and worse.” He laughed again. “Thank you for that. Holy hades I needed a good laugh.”

Will didn’t even flinch when Nico described his little speech as pathetic. If anything, it seemed to make him more confident. Composed. “Well I’m glad you feel joy at my expense,” he said rolling his eyes. “And you have a pretty laugh too. I like hearing it.” He smiled at Nico, his gaze moving to the glow between them. 

Oh right. 

Stop getting comfortable. Especially with him. 

Nico shifted in his seat, moving so his arms are crossed with his left ring-finger covered by his arm. He failed to avert his gaze from Will’s disappointed eyes. 

See? Even if it weren’t wrong, you could never be with him. You fail everybody, and Will is no different. 

A few beats of silence. 

“So uh… checkup?” Nico suggested. 

“Yes! Right. Let me just…” he trailed off. Something about clipboards and procedures that Nico did not have to energy nor interest to pay attention to. 

Will got the information he needed. Apparently a lot of Nico’s story was already in the documents.

“Like I said: I know your history,” Will stated with faux-intimidation. Nico rolled his eyes. 

When they got to the physical checkup Nico started getting jittery. He felt awkward saying something to Will about it, but he really didn’t like being touched so much. Especially because Will’s hands were so… methodical. It was bringing him back. 

To the times of your torment? Good. Revel in it. In the feeling of pain. Relive it all. Maybe if you look tortured enough somebody will even pity you. Why do you think you want that so badly? You know how hard it is to be yourself. Trying to share that burden with somebody else is plain selfish. 

Will noticed. Probably. He didn’t point it out, but he tried to lighten the mood, albeit with terrible references to things Nico did not have the current cultural knowledge to understand. 

Something about Nico being “Mr. Perfectly Fine” when asked about he was feeling. Or responding to Nico’s remarks about his werewolf scratches with saying, “oh! ‘Tis but a flesh wound I see!” (He seemed really proud of himself with that one). And he kept calling Nico a “padawan”?  What even was that?

Yet, despite the utter confusion that had overtaken Nico, it was a good distraction. Will had or hadn’t brought a laugh out of him a couple of times. Nico was or was not starting to feel a lot more comfortable, especially with Will around. 

And the string they shared absolutely was not glowing more warmly with each passing moment they spent together.  Of course not. Never. 

~~~

After that checkup, Nico offered to help around the infirmary. He did this, of course, hoping that his complete lack of any medical knowledge and “aura of death” would be enough for Will to refuse the offer.

He did not. 

Figures. 

What Will did do however, was introduce anyone and everyone imaginable to Nico. Whether that be random patients, his siblings, his Roman siblings that he (being the social-magnet-golden-retriever that he was) had gotten close with after the war, or some poor soul that happened to be within the vicinity of the two of them. It was weird. Nico didn’t know how to feel. Nobody had treated him like a person they could show others to. He was usually hidden away. Chose to keep himself hidden away. 

Nico was starting to like being seen though. It helped that Will was there too. Unlocking the prison of isolation Nico had made for himself and dragging him into interactions when they were in the middle of filing paperwork. When he introduced Nico to a new person, he almost sounded proud. Like knowing Nico was something they could envy about Will. 

“Oh hey [person] have you met my friend Nico?” Will would say. “Yeah he’s the coolest kid in camp! Go on Nico say hi,” pride radiating from his voice. “We met a few days ago when he almost stabbed me haha. He really saved my skin out there. Even if he was seconds away from passing out while doing it.”

Nico would never admit it, but he kind of liked the attention Will was giving him. It was as if Will’s words of affirmation were able to fight off the self-doubt demons would otherwise occupy much of Nico’s thoughts. 

Not only that, but he also liked meeting people. 

Yes. Him. Nico di Angelo. The son of Hades. Well known social recluse. Enjoying the communion of others. 

Was that new? He thought he was an introvert to the core. The idea of people was supposed to make him want to hide under a rock a perish. Was it just that he was so much of a social outcast that he fooled himself into thinking that?

Dear gods, he was not going to spend the time going down that rabbit hole any further. 

Nico felt a tug on his string finger. Will had started doing that in order to touch Nico without touching him. Nico hadn’t decided yet how he felt about it. Well, his heart obviously had, but he’s choosing to ignore that stubborn organ in all matters pertaining to Will. He looked up, slowly bringing himself back to reality. 

Back to the storage/office room they were (as Will had put it) “chillin’” in. Back to the smell of antiseptic spray and old files. Back to the blonde idiot staring into his soul, seemingly trying to solve a puzzle. 

“…what?” Nico broke the silence. 

Will stared for a beat longer. “You were staring off into space for a while. Are you ok?”

He thought for a moment too long. 

“Yes,” was the response Nico decided on. 

Will stared even deeper with a curious look. “…ok… sure. What were you thinking about then?”

Nico was just about to bark out a basic response of “oh nothing”, or something like that, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to hold himself back. Not when Will was looking at him in that eager and open way that he does. 

“I was thinking about how much in my life has changed,” since you entered into it, “in the past few days.”

Maybe he didn’t say the whole truth, but Will was enough to make him no outright lie. 

“Really?” Will backed off some, face turning from questioning frown to genuine smile. “How so?”

Oh. So this was gonna be some cheesy heart-to-heart, was it? Nico was not opposed to that idea. He looked back up at Will’s bright expectant eyes. 

He actually rather liked the idea.

He talked to Will. He was trying to keep it short (Will was always busy) but the more he talked, the more they kept talking. And talking. And talking. Somehow they moved from life the last few days to life in the past few years. Family, in all possible definitions of the word. Friends, in all their shades, hues, and complexities. Enemies, in all their surprising humanity. 

Will’s voice changed depending on what he was saying. He slurred together his words when they were talking about old interests. He would pause or stutter when they transitioned to deep topics, and slowed down when they got comfortable there. His voice got all jittery and slightly more high pitched when he was excited about something. 

And the way he listened… the way it felt like he hung onto every word Nico said like it was written in scripture…

Nico kept wondering when Will would leave. He would find some excuse about having to check up on a patient, or outright say he didn’t want to stay there. 

Wouldn’t want to stay with you. Why would anyone want to spend time with you. You’re boring him and he will leave you—

But Will hasn’t left. How long has they been there? They sat down on a nearby desk a while ago. Will was still with him. 

Will, talking about his mom and how much he misses her. Will, listening to Nico’s stories of his childhood in Italy. Will, leaning into the beats of silence that would occasionally fall between them with a rare comfort. Will, inching closer to Nico with each passing second. Will, making their string glow impossibly brighter with the effect he had on Nico. Will, coiling the string around his fingers until there was no space between his and Nico’s hands. Will, cutting himself off mid-sentence just to graze Nico’s hand. 

Will. Will. Will. 

How long had it been? It was dark outside. Not that Nico cared. In the moment all that Nico cared about was right by his side, chatting animatedly, listening with care, leaning against Nico as he got more tired. Nico couldn’t imagine falling asleep now. His heart was beating so fast one would think he was about to be killed by some monster. 

For some reason this moment felt more important than any of those past life-or-death experiences. He was safe. Nobody was in danger. But all those times he was fighting to live. Now he’s living to be alive. 

With Will. 

He looked over at the boy now resting on his shoulder and smiles. His mouth slightly open and he’s just barely snoring. It’s adorable. Nico’s heart warms with affection. 

Affection. He liked using that word in this moment. He smiled. 

He liked using that word for Will. 

~~~

The Apollo Cabin did not cut him any slack when he brought a sleeping Will back in a bridal carry late into the night.

~~~

“Hey! It’s Mr. Perfectly Fine!” Will exclaimed to his siblings when Nico had entered the infirmary office. 

Nico had caught a glimpse of Will hunched over his desk, with an exhausted expression written on his face just as Nico had walked in. It seemed like he was talking to his siblings, Kayla and Austin, about how he can “totally handle all this work” and that he’s “not burnt out”. They however, were willing to drop that conversation to snicker at Nico regarding whatever it was Will had just said. 

“Seriously? You have no other jokes,” Nico retorted. “What is that referencing? I’m convinced you’re making it up at this point.”

“Oh please, at this point it’s your fault for not being a part of the Taylor Nation,” Kayla chimed in. 

“I’ve been here for two days!”

Kayla crossed her arms. “That’s two whole days of Taylor Swift that you could have been listening to.”

Nico rolled his eyes and looked to Austin, the one person left who hadn’t taken a side against him.

“What?” He responded. “They’re right. All the effort you’ve made to avoid Taylor Swift is really some Kanye behavior.”

Nico hated his past self. Why did he decide to start hanging out with the Apollo Cabin? They were one mess of snarky comebacks joined together by their obsession over various musicians. 

“I’ve been helping out! Would you really rather have me be wasting oxygen while listening to Swift?” Nico asked the cohesive mass. 

“Yes!” They all shouted in (a partially harmonized) unison. 

Nico groaned and sat on the chair he had placed next to Will’s desk the last time he was in this office. He’s only been here for three days and yet he has a spot for him. Next to Will. 

The siblings talked about some infirmary stuff. Work schedules, post-war stuff, some new Roman ailments they learned about. Nico tuned it out, picking at his hangnails. 

Some time later, the door Nico had just come through slammed open with an uninterested Drew Tanaka on the other end. 

“Hey shitheads! I need drugs!” She said. 

Nico raised an eyebrow at her and turned to look at Will, hoping he would translate. 

Without looking up from his desk, Will rolled his eyes and said, “Sweet baby Zeus, can’t you just say ibuprofen like a normal person?”

He pushed back on his chair to get up, but Kayla pushed him right back. 

“Nuh-uh. I’ve got this. You stay here and take a break with your,” she looked at Nico, “dude-best-friend.” She winked at him.  

She headed out the door, with Drew on her heels. 

The three left in the room looked at each other. A silent conversation played out between Will and Austin that lasted for much longer than a silent conversation has any right to last. Nico was glad to not be involved in it, whatever it was. 

Austin sighed. “I guess I’ll go with them to make sure they don’t blow anything up.” 

“Again,” Will added. 

With a quick finger-gun-snap to his brother, Austin left. 

The door creaked it as it closed. 

“Wait,” Nico put his elbows on the desk. “How many explosions have they caused?” He thought for a second. “How do they even cause explosions to happen?”

He waits for a second more. Will is writing something down. Nico probably shouldn’t have interrupted by talking. He needed to be more conscious about his actions. Especially now that he is friends with Will. What was it Kayla said? “Dude-best-friend”? Yeah. He needed to be a better dude-best-friend. Not that they were “best friends”. It was probably just some slang or something. If they were even considered to be best-

Thunk. 

Will face-planted onto his desk. 

“Shit.” How long had he been working? “Are you ok?” 

Will held up a hand to give a thumbs-up before dropping it back down to his desk. Will started snoring. 

Nico knew there was a right way to react to this. Will probably had the answer for him. But Nico couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stare. Stare and think. Like he was moving in slow motion but the rest of the world wasn’t kind enough to take note.

Was this normal for Will? Did he just collapse at his desk from time to time? No. He was always preaching his gospel of “taking care of yourself” and whatnot. This had to be a one-off thing. 

He’s probably fine, right? Sure, he’s probably a little bit burnt out, but it’s not life and death or anything. 

Yeah good idea. Bury your problems. Maybe one day you’ll share a grave with them.

How could he even think like that? “Not life and death,” so many things are not life and death but they are still worth worrying about. 

Nico is a terrible friend. He needs to be worrying more about Will. Will needs help. 

And how the hell do you expect to help him? Name one time you weren’t a burden to somebody. Every time you try to do something it fails. Just stop. 

Gods. He was pathetic. His friend was passed out in front of him, and he was standing there, frozen. He should do something. He needed to do something. He just. He- he had to-

You always let people down. You’re too pitiful to help anyone. 

No! He could help! 

Will laid there fully unaware of the warfare happening in Nico’s mind. Someone looking in would likely find his state of rest to look peaceful. He was just a tired kid doctor in a tiny room filled with papers and files. 

Outside that room was a couple of teenagers bickering about ibuprofen and explosives. It was a conversation severely lacking in context for the onlookers not in said conversation. 

Even further beyond there were children doing dangerous and mundane activities. Somewhere a kid first encountered a monster. A man proposed to his girlfriend to the joy of an entire restaurant. A man proposed to his boyfriend to the shock, disgust, and joy of a small park. A child wrote a letter that never got read to her father fighting in a war. A species that was never discovered went extinct. A group of teenagers got high on the roof of a parking lot. A tired mother decided to quit smoking for the third time that year. A grandparent met their first grandson. 

And back in that small room with too much paper and a sleeping boy, a damaged kid sees nothing but the worst of it. 

Nico’s mind is a tunnel with no light at the end; flashing horrors crowding it out and letting no logic or hope in. 

This was life-or-death. If Nico didn’t do something, he would be responsible for whatever happened to Will. 

Will would know what to do. If Nico just knew Will better. If he just payed a bit more attention while Will worked. He must have been a terrible friend, having not cared enough to know how to handle this. 

Finally, something you’re right about. 

Gods! How could he even be drowning in this self pity now? Will needed help. He needed… caffeine? An intervention? He needed something and Nico needed to help. He could help. He needed to help. He needed-

His hand met a warmth. He looked down to see his and Will’s hands touching. Nico didn’t know when he started reaching for his hand. He let it sit there for a few beats of tense, heavy, warm silence. 

His fingers moved without his consent to gently coil their string. 

People say that, for soulmates, strings are able to pass emotions. The way one touches their string and the feeling they have while holding it are felt by the person on the other side. 

Nico could… send some comfort? The thoughts would have made him laugh in any other circumstance. Him. Being the bringer of comfort. But in this instance, he could. There wasn’t anything else he coulddo. 

No you cannot. You will lead yourself to heartbreak. 

Will groaned. Nico flinched. 

His hand twitched to reach out. To let Will know that “I’m here”. That “you can talk to me”. 

You can’t do that. 

He couldn’t do that though. 

You don’t know how to comfort people. 

He didn’t even know how to comfort people. 

Just look in front of you, you let this happen under your watch. 

He’d let this happen. 

And here you are thinking to yourself instead of doing anything. 

Gods! He just needed to focus. Think of some solution.

Just think! Just think! Just think! Just-

A door opened and Nico’s throat dropped, feeling like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have done. Which was stupid. He knew that. 

He uselessly held his hands up and backed up, turning to the door. His body was frozen as thoughts of the thousands of ways the next few seconds could go all competed for his attention. He was a deer in the headlights, weakly looking past the person who was on the other end of the door. They looked at the scene in the room and raised an eyebrow.

“Nico? What happened?” Austin asked. 

Austin! Thank the gods! He can-

“Help.” Nico creaked. “I don’t know what happened. Will, he…” Nico cut himself off. His throat was so choked up it was barely letting him say anything. It hurt. He didn’t realize he was this close to tears. 

Fucking baby. 

Austin rushed to his brother’s side and after a few moments sighed a breath of relief. “He’s fine. Just exhausted.” He took a few moments to give Nico a worried look. “Are you fine?”

Nico couldn’t respond. His body was still in fight-or-flight mode. He could only hear the pounding of his heartbeat, so strong it was like it was coming directly from his ears. There was to much happening. He just needed to calm down. He also had to respond. He had to look normal. He had to help with- 

“Everything is fine.” The mantra he repeated in his mind. “He’s just exhausted. He’s ok. I’m ok.” 

No you’re not. No he’s not. 

Austin just confirmed that there was nothing to worry about.

You just don’t care enough about Will to keep worrying for him. 

“I’m ok,” he finally responded, voice even more shaky. 

Austin made a doubtful look and walked over to a shelf, pulling out some ball. He handed it to Nico, placing it in a hand he had not realized was shaking until then. He squeezed it and it was cushiony, but firm. 

“Breathe with me,” Austin said simply. 

And they breathed together. Slowly in.  Holding it. Slowly out. Holding it. 

After a minute or so he asked “would you mind if I brought Kayla here too?”

Shrugging, Nico lied. “I don’t mind. I’m fine really.” Although he didn’t know why he was still trying. 

“No, you’re not.”

Austin steps out of the room and sticks his head out the door, peering down the corridor. “Kayla!”

Nico heard a muffled, “What?! I’m busy!”

Again shouting back, “Just come over here please!”

Some shuffling. Some footsteps. “What’s up?”

Austin stepped aside and let her view the scene. Her eyes softened and she walked over towards where Nico stayed standing. 

“Oh Gods Nico, what’s wrong?” She asked him. 

He tried for a dry laugh. “Nononono I’m fine. I was just a little-“ he choked. He hopelessly tried to steady his voice. “Just a little worried for Will is all.”

Kayla’s eyes immediately went wide with panic at the mention of his brother’s name. “What happened? Is he ok?” She looked over to his desk. 

Austin stepped up to his sister, putting a hand on her arm. “He’s alright Kay. Just a little exhausted,” he said. They looked like they were having a silent conversation for a moment after that ended when they both looked back at Nico. 

“Do you want to sit and talk for a bit?” Austin eventually asked. 

“It doesn’t have to be about anything important,” Kayla added. “Or anything at all. Like, if you need silence with company we got you. Or silence without company. Or company without silence. Or any other combination. Or some other secret option. Or-“

“Company without silence is just the first choice you said,” Austin interrupted

Kayla thought for a second. “It is, isn’t it? It feels like there should be more combinations of those words though.”

“No company with no silence.”

“Ok but does that actually make any sense? Unless you talk to yourself professionally you wouldn’t be alone and without silence.”

“I would say that I can be alone without silence. I’m an interesting guy, I have fun talking to myself.”

“Yeah well, you’re just lonely so-“

A laugh escaped from Nico. They both looked at him. 

“Sorry,” he said, for once with a steady voice. “The way you guys talk to each other is really funny to watch.” It reminded him of how he was with Bianca when they were younger. They used to argue all the time, sometimes escalating into screaming matches. Their mother would always step in and say something wise and meaningful that completely went over Nico and his sister’s heads. If Bianca were both alive now, would it be like this? Would their arguments not be out of malice but sibling love? What would that have looked like with them?

Kayla rested an arm on her brother’s shoulder as he looked at her with fake disgust. “We are, aren’t we?” She asked him. 

“I really don’t think you’re ‘funny’. If anything funny looking.”

Kayla walked over to a circular table and sat down. “Oh please. I’m the hottest sibling. No contest.”

Austin followed her, taking a seat for himself. “If that’s what you want to believe, I will let you continue living with that lie.”

Kayla scoffed and looked back at Nico. “Wanna join the order of the round table?”

Yes. 

“I uh… Are you sure it won’t get in the way of,” he waved his hand around at the general vicinity, “infirmary duties?”

“Not really,” Austin answers. “We did rounds this morning and everybody just needs more time to heal with the meds and magic,” which he embellished with spirit fingers, “and we already gave them their afternoon doses. Unless there’s some random emergency-“

“Or Drew comes back demanding drugs again,” Kayla added. 

“Or that, then we’re just chilling.”

Nico wanted to say yes.

Don’t fool yourself kid. They don’t want you there. You’re just being a burden. They seem to be having a great time without-

Nico squeezed the ball. He moved to the table. He smiled and they smiled back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author’s Note:

thank you so much for reading!! To that one person who commented on my last fic saying they needed more: thank you specificially. And I’m sorry specifically for you because the wait for the next one is going to be worse than a cartoon hiatus. Tho I’m actually going to be spending that time writing instead of feeling guilty for not writing to that’s a win. also I have an Ao3 now so that’s cool

[minx-scribbles]

all apologies (part two)

warning: nsfw 18+, suggestive language, drug use, alcohol use

pairing: rock band au! college au! armin arlet x fem!reader

synopsis: Y/N meets the band and enjoys a little pregame with Sasha and Connie. But that blondie keeps looking at you...

tags: tequila...

notes: pregaming losers, we love it. i think the next part will be my absolute favorite. tehe

word count: 2.3k

part one | part two | part three coming soon

The drive to The Rocks seemed like it went by in less than a minute when in reality, the drive was fifteen, plus having to stop at the gas station to get Jean his energy drink. Sasha ushered you in, and you picked out a snack to chew on so you wouldn’t get bored at the bar since it was so early and no one would be there for another hour. 

The high was still messing with your brain and you didn’t want the panic to rise while you were in public so you didn’t make any eye contact with the cashier, even though your brain was telling you that they one hundred percent know you are higher than a kite right now. Sasha was pretty good at being a trip-sitter, which is a good thing since you are a lightweight with anything. 

Once all four of you arrive in the back parking lot of the bar, you all launch yourselves out of the crowded vehicle. You were excited about the fact that you were going to be seeing a live show, and from what Jean and Connie were saying, they all got special back-stage passes. But you knew that they were being sarcastic. 

Connie wraps his arm around you and Sasha’s shoulders while Jean leads the way into the back door. The alleyway was surprisingly clean with only a few weeds peeking out from the foundation of the other buildings. The large black door that read, “Employees Only!” in red sent a warning to solicitors. 

Jean opens the door and holds it for the three of you and with the dim lighting. The backroom that you were led into is what you guessed was the breakroom for employees. It was lit up softly with multicolored LED lights and decorated with comfy leather seating that you could literally sink into. There were three different doors with different signs that read, “Stage”, “Dressing Rooms”, and “Exit to Club”. Actually being in the building was giving you butterflies; you were nervous to meet the rest of the group. Will they like me? Will they think I am weird? You felt yourself rubbing your hands together nervously. 

Sasha knocks you out of it, “Hey, do you need something to drink.” Her golden gaze looked worrisome, “Connie, I knew you letting her take a hit was going to make her sick.” Her eyes stare daggers into the tall man between you two. 

Connie doesn’t respond but does roll his eyes at her and leads the group over to one of the inviting couches. You all plop onto the couch with Connie’s arm still wrapped around the both of you; and to be honest, it was grounding you. 

Now that you were seated and not as overwhelmed with the new environment, you could hear some music coming from the door that read “Stage”. You notice Jean was on the phone pacing around the room, chattering to someone about how they are late or something. He sighs as he puts his phone in his pocket, “Well that was Floch and he said he won’t be here for another 40 minutes since he has to do something with his girlfriend.”

You finally had the balls - probably the weed - to ask Jean who this person was, “Who’s this Floch dude?” 

Connie speaks up this time with an annoyed look, “He’s a douche that doesn’t care about this band. He always puts his wants before the band’s needs and I’ll give it to him, he’s fucking killer as a DJ and a producer so they can’t really risk losing him at all.” 

All you can think about is how can they risk losing him if they go to a university full of talented musicians and artists. Like hell, you’d do it if you knew what the hell all those buttons meant. 

Jean continues Connie’s explanation, “Floch is amazing, and we have tried to see what other producers go to MIA but not many have the same vision as us. They like their own things and so do we, and Floch seems to genuinely enjoy our music. That’s the main reason why we haven’t thrown him to the side. Plus, we get more people to come when they see that Floch is the DJ while we play.” Makes sense.

Sasha joins in, “Yea, I mean, if he wouldn’t slack all the time I really feel like he would get somewhere with producing. But he’s always with his numerous girlfriends being a man-whore.” Numerous? Damn. 

Jean shrugs and walks over to the stage door, “Whatever, he will only be a couple minutes late so it’s better than most times.” He almost leaves all the way before pushing his head back in, “if you guys wanna come watch, you definitely can.”

That makes you perk up and you look at Connie and Sasha with excited eyes. Connie notices and stands up, taking you with him by the hand, “Sure, let’s go see.” The three of you that were on the couch follow the tall man through the door. 

Stepping into a small dark entryway - you assume the wing - that leads two ways, you almost trip from something on the ground. You look down to see long black cords connected to the large machines to your sides leading out to the stage to your right. The left led to backstage. You tried your hardest to not step on any of the big black cords laying everywhere. Jean continues to the right towards the stage. 

The dance floor inside the club was massive. Two bars sit on opposite sides of the room with the stage sitting in between them in the back of the building. The stage wasn’t disappointing either. It was huge, big enough to hold all of the scattered band equipment that was littering the floor. The band equipment looked picturesque and it was impressive to see such expensive machines owned by university students. But with how Jean bragged about his band, it seems like a reasonable investment. 

The musicians on the stage left you breathless. How come this school has such attractive students? The four of them all notice the group and put down their instruments to greet Jean, Sasha, and Connie. 

The tallest one with dark, almost black, brown hair and light brown eyes seems to brighten up when he sees Jean. He softly smiles at Jean as they give each other an intimate hug. After they pull away, you notice that the boy has style. He was wearing a mesh jacket that left the eyes wandering over his exposed tan skin. His black ripped jeans were held up with a black belt with silver accents, with black combat boots to complete the look. He had silver wire bracelets and a chain that laid nicely on his chest. His chest was also painted with multiple freckles, along with his face. Noticing his face, you saw he put on the prettiest shimmering highlight and a smokey eye. Jean’s boyfriend was so beautiful, it made you jealous of him. 

The other person who had the perfect smokey eye was a girl that was originally at the microphone at the head of the stage. Her black pixie-cut hair was styled to look like a mess but it looked too good on her. Her pale skin had no blemishes other than a cool scar that illustrates her left cheekbone and pretty dark eyes. Her petite, but jacked, figure was emphasized by the sheer thigh-highs and short lace-decorated skirt. Her tall leather-buckled boots fit perfectly with her leather jacket. Black leather garters hook onto the thigh-highs, making her thighs look even better. She seemed shy but nice, giving you a small smile. 

The man who had his arm around her shoulder fit her whole aesthetic. He had a longer leather jacket on, and like Jean’s boyfriend, that left little to the imagination from having no shirt on. His lightly tanned skin was a portrait. Tattoos that were so close together, there seemed to be barely any room for more tattoos. A silver chain dusted his broad chest along with one singular black bracelet and black nail polish to pull it all together. His baggy jeans covered his pointed leather boots. He had multiple ear piercings, including a bar on his right. He also had a cool black septum piercing, making his light green eyes pronounced. He seemed cool, but a little smug. The smirk that he was wearing kind of wanted to make you slap him, but he was too pretty for that. 

The last one looked the prettiest to you. With layered blonde hair with brown roots and a matching scruff on his jaw. His bright blue eyes looked shaded, but his pink lips spread to give you a kind, bright smile. He didn’t have any piercing other than a pair of silver diamonds. His pretty pale skin was covered by a tight-fitted black tank top that stretched on his broad shoulders. His loose fitted, worn-out jeans hug low on his narrow hips. His hands had small tattoos with multiple silver and black rings. Black combat boots peek from the hem of the jeans. This man stood out among the other darker-aesthetic people in the room. 

Sasha took the liberty of introducing you to all of her friends, “Guys this is Y/N, be nice or I’ll beat the shit out all of you.” Everyone smiles but the tall boy holding onto the pretty girl rolls his eyes. Sasha continues her introductions, “the one that is loving up on Jean is his boyfriend Marco, and that couple is Mikasa and her douchebag boyfriend Eren. This blondie is Armin.” 

Everyone crowds around you like you're a new puppy, asking you questions about what your major is and where you originally lived. You don’t mind too much, everyone was just too attractive, oops. “Well I used to live in a smaller sized city, it isn’t too far from here. I realized I wanted to do something bigger with my art so I decided to come here to study.” 

Marco asks if you have liked MIA, “So far, I’ve loved it. Seeing all these creative ass people helps me let loose and destress.”

Eren quips, “Plus you will be letting loose in a few minutes when we start playing. Trust, it’ll help, especially since we have the best singers at MIA.” His arm pulls Mikasa in closer and a light pink blush dusts her face. Marco also gives Eren a small smile. 

From what you have seen, you wouldn’t doubt it. Their set-up just looked veteran level and their outfits look so effortlessly perfect on the group. The black drum set, although it had the best shine you've ever seen, had white paint splattered on the sides and black lettering with the band name Embers and Stones on the front. The guitars and bass were similar but had different phrases and stickers littered all over them. Even their large speakers in the corners had multiple stickers on them; some of them with memes and some with band names. 

Armin speaks up, “Speaking of playing, we should probably start preparing for a crowd. The bar opens in like 20 minutes.” All the members agree and they give their goodbyes to you, Connie, and Sasha. Connie leads the three of you off stage to the bar to start off with the pregaming. 

Once at one of the bars with three bartenders who seem to be preparing for a large party, Sasha orders shots, “A round of three tequila shots, please.” The bartender gives a nod and walks away to start cutting limes. 

Your stomach churns at the thought of tequila, “Damn Sasha, tequila this early? It’s only like 8:45.” You internally shed a small tear. 

Connie and Sasha give each other a look and smirk at you. “Oh, this is just the beginning sweetheart,” Connie says to you while putting his hand on your shoulder. “Sasha and I know how to start a party, and end a party.” He pulls away to grab his phone from his pocket, getting a text. 

Sasha nods, “Yea, once it starts it doesn’t end until one of us blacks out.” That was hopefully sarcastic, but we’ll see. 

In three minutes of Sasha and you talking about the best types of liquor to take shots of and Connie stressfully texting, the bartender arrives with three blue translucent shot glasses full with salt and lime hanging onto the rim. 

Sasha gets so excited that it reminds you of a toddler seeing its favorite toy. But Sasha quickly turns over to Connie and grabs onto his phone, “Stop texting her, she’s obviously still being a bitch and treating you like shit. Let loose man.”

Connie looks at his empty hands and back at Sasha with a mock-shocked look, “Sasha it’s not like that anymore. She’s just… going through it right now.” You just sit there witnessing the confusing argument. 

“Since when have you had a night where you weren’t there to comfort her while you were OUT. Like at a PARTY. With your FRIENDS. She doesn’t let you do shit with your friends ever. She just wants you to be obsessed with her 24/7,” Sasha states back while holding out his shot. “Take the shot and I’m holding onto your phone for the night. Hitch can come later.”

Connie looks defeated as he takes the small glass, “Fine but if she goes berserk, that’s not on me.” 

Sasha shrugs and puts his phone in her tiny purse that barely holds her necessities. She grabs the remaining two shots and hands one to you, “To a stellar night!”

[whositmcwhatsit]

Stay the Same

A/N: I am so close to the wire with this one! Angsty smut written for last week's prompt: army Elvis (We're sort of army-adjacent because I'm a rule bender.)

As always, shout out to my people: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @ellie-24, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @vintageshanny for love, support, encouragement and deep, depraved horniness.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“I need you, darlin’. You don’t understand. I need you somethin’ awful.”

It played over and over in Kitty’s head as she sped along the dark highway, praying that none of the wildlife she glimpsed skittering about at the edge of the road decided to do a suicide run in front of her car. She could explain away taking the car, an emergency maybe, a sick friend or someone who was having trouble at home. Lots of her friends were getting married right now, and there were always dramas in the early days. It was plausible. What she wouldn’t be able to explain to her mother was why her station wagon had an armadillo smushed in the fender; not many of them wandering around their suburban streets.

Oh Lord, what was she doing? She lifted her foot off the gas slightly and started to look for a place to safely pull in. She was not a flighty, foolish kind of girl. Ask anyone who knew her and they would tell you that Kitty Cowan was not the spontaneous type. For a girl who graduated early so that she could travel around performing in a country and western duo with her brother, Kitty had a surprisingly level head on her shoulders. Or she used to, until a certain Hillbilly Cat had wandered onto their roadshow with his Blue Moon Boys and promptly melted the sense right out of her mind.

Back then, all he’d have to do was stare at her with those shy, hooded eyes and flutter those long, thick lashes and she would be doing his laundry and pressing his shirts like she was a combination laundress/housewife. Her brother Chick, knowing how she pitched a fit when their mama asked her to help out with chores at home, would gawp at her like she had gone and sold her brain for a dime, but all Kitty needed was that lopsided grin and the press of Elvis’ soft lips against her cheek when she handed over the clean, pressed clothes and it seemed worth it. More, she felt like she had done something important for someone who was worth it.

Only, all that craziness had ended a couple of years before when Elvis had moved up to the big leagues and Chick and Kitty, having grown bored of the same old shows at the same old places, decided to stash their guitars in the garage and settle down for a real, normal life. There was never a question that they could follow him, Elvis paved his own pathway through the wilderness and none of them were quite talented enough to follow it.

Which was fine, Chick had got a job at a radio station, putting that gift of the gab to good use, and he was doing well at it, travelling around again as an emcee for the new rock n roll shows that had burst onto the scene, feeding off the teenage excitement. Sometimes he’d run across Elvis and get to spend time shooting the breeze backstage.

‘He’s just the same,’ he’d report back to Kitty, ‘His performance has gotten real smooth, but off stage he’s still the same old unassuming fellow. Everyone I talk to can’t say enough about him.’

It seemed like no one could say enough about him. Kitty couldn’t read a newspaper without an article about how that shy, charming boy was ruining the youth of America. She often thought about him quietly playing gospel songs on the piano between shows when she read that pastors were denouncing him as Satan in sideburns from their pulpits. When she saw him on television, jiggling and gyrating right there on the screen, she could still see the playful, bashful boy she knew, but there was something else now, something shiny twinkling in his eyes that she didn’t think had been there before. She wondered if that was what had everyone so flustered and furious about him.

Now that dangerous threat, that affront to polite society, was headed to the Army. Chick had spent night after night for the past few weeks fielding calls to the radio station from wailing girls calling to protest their heart throb being stolen by Uncle Sam and also requesting his new single. Chick said he couldn’t work out if it was career suicide or promotional genius, because everything Elvis released was shooting up the charts. And Kitty hadn’t thought much about it at all until the phone rang at home and Chick, up in Memphis for a series of dances, was shouting down the line saying that he had someone with him that wanted to speak to her.

“Hi Kitty Cat? You there?” Kitty’s stomach did a strange loop de loop that had her dinner almost returning the way it came. She recognised the voice immediately, even though it was louder than normal, much louder, trying to be heard over the racket in the background.

“Elvis? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me, darlin’. You forgotten me already, huh?”

“No, no, of course not. Only I can hardly hear you! Where are you?” She heard fumbling and Elvis’ voice off in the distance, followed by some loud guffaws, then a thumping noise. When he got back on the line, it was quiet in the background.

“Had to shut myself in the dang closet,” he informed her, chuckling quietly. “Hi, hi Kitty honey, how are you? It’s been a hundred years. Where are you?” Kitty frowned at the receiver.

“You called me at my house, Elvis.”

“I know,” he laughed in that silly, self-conscious way he had. “I meant, why ain’t you here? Why ain’t you here where I need you, baby?”

Kitty didn’t know quite what to say. She cradled the receiver, feeling how cool the plastic was against her rapidly heating cheek.

“Hey, you still there? Damn stupid-ass phone, I-“

“I’m still here,” she murmured, touching her face, her hair and the back of her neck like she was reminding herself that she had a physical, material body that prevented her from floating down the telephone line that she wanted to.

“Oh, huh, thought I lost ya. You can come, can’t you, honey? You know they’re sending me away soon and I might not have another chance to see you before I go.” He’d had the last two years, a cool, doubtful voice in her head pointed out and she nodded at it before she disregarded it completely.

“Come where? Where are you?”

“Oh, right now? Right now we’re at Hotel Chisca, helpin’ out my pal Dewey on his, uh, show. Red, Hot and Blue, you know it?”

“Yes, I’m aware of Dewey Phillips and his show.” She wondered if he thought she had stopped existing the minute he had left her behind. Perhaps he thought she had been packed away in a closet with her guitar.

“How soon can you get here, darlin’?”

“Tonight? Elvis, I-”

“Now, I don’t wanna hear that you can’t make it. My days are numbered, honey. I tell ya, I just wanna see as many folks as I can before- before it’s all over.” He went hoarse at the end like it choked him up to even say it, and her heart panged for him. In her head she was already imagining herself running upstairs to change and sneaking her mother’s keys from her purse.

“Will you still be there?” she asked finally. “At the Hotel Chisca, by the time I get there?”

“I’ll wait all night if I have to. I need you, darlin’. You don’t understand. I need you somethin’ awful.”

After several aborted u-turns and a whole two-way argument with herself as she hit downtown, Kitty pulled into the parking lot for the hotel. She had been listening to Red, Hot and Blue on the way and Dewey had been hyping up his listeners with the news that Elvis was haunting the corridors and was even choosing some of the records he was playing, so she wasn’t surprised to find the lobby of the hotel packed with kids. Luckily, she spotted Chick having a laugh and a joke with some of the girls up on the mezzanine floor where WHBQ had its offices and booths and she called to him, beckoning with her arm as much as her little black bolero jacket would allow. His eyes widened and he hurried over.

“Kit, what in God’s name, girl?” He waved to the security guard, letting him know that Kitty could be allowed through. “Do Mama and Pop know you’re out this late by yourself?”

“I’m a grown woman, Charles,” she informed him. “And of course they don’t.” She felt bubbles of anticipation in her belly as Chick opened the door into the corridor and revealed a lively group laughing and talking over each other. At the edge of the group, but somehow still seemingly the focus, was an unmistakable tall, dark-haired boy.

“Well, folks, look what the cat drug in,” said Chick in his charming brotherly way.

Leaning against the wall, laughing and about to take a sip of Pepsi from the bottle in his hand, Elvis glanced over his shoulder and straightened sharply. The look on his face would have been comical if it hadn’t crushed Kitty so completely. He looked shocked, like he had not been in the slightest bit serious when he had begged her to come, like he had not thought her stupid enough to rush off into the night the minute he asked. Her face burnt with embarrassment and she leant back against Chick’s hand that was between her shoulder blades, trying to retreat.

As her vision fractured and blurred under the sting of mortification, Elvis shoved his bottle into his cousin Gene’s chest and strode towards her, giving Chick’s shoulder a squeeze even as he was pushing him away. She exhaled sharply when Elvis crashed into her and squeezed all the air out of her body. His arms were locked around her, his face buried in the crook of her neck and his hips were jammed against hers. She was trapped. The guys in the corridor snorted and guffawed like it was part of a skit for their entertainment, but the longer Elvis remained clinging to her, the quieter they became.

“I can’t believe you’re really here!” he murmured, finally drawing back, but only enough so that she could stare up into his heavy-lidded eyes and feel the breath from his mouth as he spoke. “You came all the way up here just for me?”

“You asked me,” she returned, the edge still in her voice because it still stung. Not that he thought she was pathetic now, but that he thought she didn’t care enough to come when he asked.

“Not everybody would’ve,” he said softly, adjusting his tight arm around her waist, tugging her in just a little bit closer.

“I’m not everybody,” she returned, studying his face.

“I know,” he said in a small voice, pecking her softly on the tip of her cold nose. He was almost cross-eyed staring so intently at her with their faces so close together. All of a sudden, that irrepressible, dazzling smile spread across his face and she had turned away from the glare. It hurt to look at.

“Come meet everybody.” He grabbed her hand and yanked her before she had absorbed his words, making her totter a little on her heels as he rushed back to his group. “Hey y’all, this is that little girl I told you about.”

Kitty’s inside froze when she heard those words, her chest tight and heavy. He wouldn’t have told them, he promised!

“Chick and Kitty here were real kind to me when I first started out. Man, I was so green, most everybody laughed me off the damn stage, but Kitty Cat-” He wrapped his arm around her waist again, tugging her into his side and pulling her off balance, making her stumble into him. “-She made sure I didn’t go down in flames inside of a week.”

The guys nodded politely, most of them eyed her chest and ran their eyes down her legs, but it was the handful of girls in the group that examined her most closely. Kitty could feel them measuring and portioning her up, their sharp eyes noting the body language and the way that Elvis couldn’t seem to bring himself to loosen his grip on her. Women saw things that men missed.

They lingered longer in the corridor, someone explaining that Dewey was about to interview Elvis, and everyone was laughing and joking. Elvis was boisterous in a way that Kitty had never really seen before, fooling around with his cousin like they were the two stooges, play fighting and talking in made up words that no one else could understand. The girls kept trying to join in, grabbing his arm and knocking into him, and he would get distracted for a minute, before he retreated back to where Kitty was standing with Chick. She was wondering what she had dragged herself out of the house for, because it wasn’t this brash, loud boy whose thumb had just ‘accidentally’ grazed a pretty blonde girl’s breast as she grabbed him by the waist.

Taking a couple of clumsy steps backwards, he wrapped his fingers around Kitty’s wrist and angled his head behind him, motioning for her to walk backwards with him. In the most ridiculous pantomime, they slipped away, giggling as they ducked inside a door, and Kitty found herself standing in a storage closet, a bare light bulb hanging over their heads.

“Was this where you were when we were talking on the phone?” she asked, glancing around at a broom and the cans and bottles on the shelves.

“Huh? Oh yeah, this here is my office at the Hotel Chisca,” he intoned in a deep, officious voice. “Not much room, but just take in those spectacular views!” She scanned the narrow cupboard and then frowned at him, flushing when she caught his eyes sliding down her body.

“Stop it,” she muttered, shoving him. He instantly placed his hand over hers on his chest and held it there. She could feel his heart pounding beneath the warm cotton of his shirt. “You used to be such a nice boy!”

“I’m still a nice boy,” he returned absently, his free hand slipping onto the small of her back and pulling her in. “Just like you’re still…” He bit his lip and his nostrils flared slightly before he exhaled. “…Sorry, what was I sayin’, honey? I lost track.”

Kitty shook her head, but she was grinning as she sank against him, her mouth finding his as if no time at all had passed. He tasted the way he always had, sweet and warm, which, when combined with the soft muskiness of being enveloped by him, brought her straight back to cheap motel rooms and hastily snatched minutes and hours on the road.

“Hell, I miss this,” he sighed, pulling her with him as he leant against the far wall and the sign that said, ‘All items property of the Hotel Chisca signed by Management.’ “Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty I don’t miss about those early days, the lousy motel rooms, havin’ to grab shut-eye in the back seat while Bill drove my car like a damn madman, washing up in dirty dressing rooms… No, but this, this I miss.”

“You mean to tell me that a big, fancy movie star like you doesn’t have girls just hanging off him at every turn? Because what I saw out there makes you out a liar.” He ducked his head so she only caught a glimpse of his wide, radiant grin.

“Naw, I ain’t saying that,” he admitted to his shoes. “There’s girls, there’s girls all right… None of them are you, though, honey.”

No one else could have said that so sincerely, she reflected, and had it received that way too. She didn’t feel like laughing, because she desperately wanted it to be true even as she knew it probably wasn’t.

“And I ain’t gonna be a movie star much longer.” The light faded from his smile, doors slamming shut and windows being shuttered. “Just gonna go back to being little ole Elvis, whoever the hell he is.”

Kitty put both her hands on his chest, a little surprised at how easily the old familiarity came back. Chick was wrong, she reflected, he wasn’t the same, but somehow he wasn’t any different either. Sliding her palms down his chest, she caught the way his breath hitched as she continued down his stomach towards his belt.

“He was- is- a sweet, talented, devastatingly good-looking man and no amount of time in the army will change that,” she informed him with absolute assurance.  He huffed a laugh, tugging her hips in against his, and she tried not to notice there was a firmness poking against her pencil-skirt now.

“Devastatingly good-looking, huh,” he replied with a grin. “I seem to remember you thinkin’ I was pretty goofy looking at first.”

“Well, that ain’t my fault, you were!!” she protested and he burst out in loud laughter, throwing back his head.

“You turned out all right though,” she continued with a playful wink. 

“I wore ya down,” he nodded, his features growing calmer and still, those sleepy looking eyes back and fixed on her. “Wore you down pretty good if I recall.” Kitty felt a wave of goosebumps crash down her spine as his hands descended, cupping her ass.

“Elvis,” she murmured, turning away her face, but making no effort to break free of his hands. “We should-“

“Get a hotel room?” he finished with a small smile and a lift of an eyebrow. He said it in a way that meant he could make it into a joke if she refused, but also sounded serious if she agreed.

“My brother and half of Memphis are outside that door,” she reminded him.

“I can handle Chick,” he murmured. “No one would even notice, honey, I promise.” He seemed to realise at the same time that she did how that made him sound: practised, and skilled at impulsive sex in hotel rooms. In response, he draped himself over her, his lips pressed into the crook of her neck, hot breath against her skin.

“I just- I just wanna- Wanna spend some time with you without everyone watchin’. I want you all to myself again, darlin’, like we used to.” She opened her mouth to respond. “You know, I’m heading off to war soon…”

“There’s no war, Elvis,” she answered slightly reproachfully, as if she was stupid enough to fall for that.

“Well, you never know,” he shrugged diffidently. “And you gotta get your kicks while you can.” The effect was ruined by the smirk he was wearing.

“Aw, Hollywood went and got you real good, didn’t it,” she remarked, shaking her head.

She didn’t mean it as a condemnation. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that he had become more confident, more aware of the effect that he could have on people, girls mostly, but she was a little sad. She had liked that boy, the one that had trembled when she first sat on the end of his bed and unfastened the buttons of her blouse. She still sometimes caught herself thinking of how he used to look, mouth open and eyelashes fluttering as he moved above her; the little lip curl as he flushed with pleasure, twitching in her hands.

Whatever she intended, Elvis’ face dropped and his brows drew together, making him look like a confused, sad little boy.

“Now, wait a minute,” he said, starting forward and somehow looming over her in the confined space. “How is that fair, huh? You got no idea the- the bullshit I gotta go through. I mean, I ain’t complaining, I’m blessed, I know that, but… If I act like I’m enjoying myself I’m big-headed and- and I’ve forgotten where I came from. If I try to seem humble I’m ungrateful and a liar… Hell, what am I supposed to do? How do I keep everyone happy?”

“Well, you can’t,” Kitty replied, reaching up and giving one of his beseeching hands a squeeze. “Nobody can make everybody happy all the time, honey, not even you.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else, but someone started banging on the door, disillusioning them that they had ever sneaked off unseen in the first place. They were calling him for his interview with Dewey and he hollered out that he was coming.

“Don’t go nowhere,” he instructed her, squeezing her arm as he sidled past her to the door. “I mean it now, Kitty.” She scoffed as he watched him being dragged along the corridor by his pals, wondering where he got the audacity to demand anything from her. But, of course she stayed, even as she judged herself for it, standing with Chick in the producer’s office, looking through the glass window into the booth where Elvis was teasing the girls peering in and grinning at Dewey’s hyper antics.

“You know what you’re doin’?” Chick asked out of the side of his mouth as they stood smiling.

“Rarely if ever,” she replied, shooting him a wry look. “Relax, Chickadoo, it’s just one night.”

“Yeah, those sound like famous last words.”

After the interview, Elvis strode out of the booth like he was on a mission, announcing that he was hungry and they were leaving. He rushed past Kitty, grabbing her wrist as he passed and not even slowing in consideration for the fact that she was wearing heels.

They took the service elevator down to the kitchens, Elvis bouncing on his heels and humming to himself. He started nudging Gene and they inexplicably engaged in some sort of battle to kick each other in the shin, even as he was entwining his fingers with Kitty’s.

Sneaking through the kitchens, they skidded around cooks and waiters, bursting out into the delivery bay at the back of the hotel. Kitty started to move towards her car, Elvis towards his and they engaged in a little tug of war that ended up with her skittering into his side because of her stupid shoes.

“What you doin’, we’re taking my car,” he said, looking at her like she had lost her mind.

“I need to drive home,” she countered. “I’ll need my car.” He gritted his teeth and looked intensely frustrated for a minute, before shrugging it off and announcing that Gene would drive her car. Gene seemed as unimpressed with this idea as she was.

“Look, everybody needs to stop coming up with goddamn problems!” Elvis snapped. “Y’all are doing my head in.”

It seemed a disproportionate reaction for a minor inconvenience to Kitty, but no one else seemed perturbed or surprised by his outburst. She handed over her mother’s keys with misgivings, making Gene promise, promise, that he would drive carefully what was technically a stolen car.

A bunch of people piled into the big, gleaming Cadillac and Kitty felt hemmed in pressed into Elvis’ side as he swung the wheel, trying to avoid the knot of people that spotted him and immediately tried to crowd the hood as if being run over by Elvis Presley would be an honour.

They drove over to Krystal and the car was flooded with greasy bags of their little square burgers.

“Didn’t you boys get Krystal’s last night too?” asked a blonde girl in the backseat, squashed very much like a slab of meat between two large guys.

“Yes, ‘cause they’re damn good,” one of the men said, shoving nearly the entire small bun in his mouth.

“Gotta make the most of it, huh, EP? They don’t serve chow like this in the service.”

Elvis had been fiddling with the radio knobs, moving his head in time with the music as he chewed, his cheeks filled like a hamster. At his friend’s words, his eyebrows dropped and he shot the guy a death look, which shut him up quickly. It seemed like Elvis was getting sick of hearing about what his life was going to be like after induction.

The atmosphere in the car got a little dense with nobody knowing what to say to ease the tension, when Elvis ducked down, his head pressed against Kitty’s chest, as he sucked on her straw from the cup in her lap.

“Hey!” she cried, overacting to counter the quiet, “that’s mine, you got your own!” She had her hand on the back of his neck and gave the hair at the nape of his neck a quick scratch with her nails, which made him shiver adorably. 

“I drank it already,” he shrugged sheepishly, sitting back up and pouting. Sighing, she offered him her cup and he grinned as he took it, repaying her with a lip-smacking kiss on the cheek.

“I like the hair,” she said softly, making the most of the relative quiet while his goofy, boisterous friends were still regrouping. “The black, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, well, it just looks better on film. Actors have been doing it all the way back to Tom Mix and Douglas Fairbanks, honey, right up to Tony Curtis today. Uh, I mean, I’m not comparing myself to them-” She nodded, reaching out a finger to snag a lock that had fallen across his forehead, giving it a gentle tug.

“It looks good,” she told him. “You look like a real movie star.” His lips curved into a more natural smile and he took another pull from the straw, his cheeks colouring slightly.

They drove around for about an hour, listening to the radio while Elvis took her on a whistlestop tour of significant places to him. They drove to Sun Studios. He wanted her to meet Sam Phillips and he thought that Sam might be up late like he often was, but the lights were out and the place all locked up.

“You know, I already met him a few times,” Kitty reassured him when he sighed and let himself drop back against the sooty wall at the back of the building. “Back when we were touring with y’all. I think Chick even talked to him about recording here, but it didn’t work out.”

“I was just hopin’ to see him,” he mumbled, his head bowed as he kicked out at a clump of grass that had fought its way through the concrete. “It feels like… like time’s runnin’ out.” She moved closer and gripped the bottom of his boxy striped sports jacket, giving it a tug.

“It’s just a pause, not the end,” she promised him.

“You can’t know that. No one knows for sure. I’ll tell ya, the Colonel and the folks at RCA Victor, and Mr Wallis, they all say right pretty things ‘bout how it’ll be when I get out, the plans they got to keep people interested and remembering me while I’m gone, but-“ He sighed a deep, chest-heaving sigh and drew Kitty in by the waist, squeezing her against him like he needed the comfort. “Look at how quick I came up, ain’t no one to say I won’t go down just as fast. Or maybe someone else’ll come onto the scene and all my fans’ll-“

“I know, because I know,” Kitty interjected, seeing how he was spiralling, one of his hands rubbing his face with increasing vigour. “I remember when I saw you sing for the first time, you were shaking and could barely put two words together between your songs. Even then I knew that you were something special, that you were different from the rest of us, and I was right, wasn’t I? I’m right about this too.”

“You know because you know,” he huffed a laugh and cupped her cheek with his hand, rubbing gently with his thumb. “Well, I’m convinced, Kitty Cat, by that stunning argument.” She gave his chest a shove with her forearm and ducked away as he laughed, trying to kiss her.

“You laugh now, boy, but when you’re out there in a couple of years buried under gold records and adoring fans, starring in all the movies, I expect you to come find me and beg for my forgiveness. On your knees!”

“Oh, I’ll always come on my knees for you, baby,” he intoned in a low, bass voice into the crook of her neck.

“You are so bad,” she giggled, smacking his shoulder. He nuzzled and nibbled on her neck, gripping her in a bear hold to stop her from wriggling away. Although they were sheltered by the shadows of the parking lot behind the studio, Kitty was aware that they were in public and that, at any moment, one of his friends might get bored waiting in the car and catch them.

“Elvis, Elvis honey, come on now, stop, people can see. Elvis!” She grabbed a handful of the hair at the back of his head, giving it a sharp tug to get him to let her loose.

“Come home with me,” he said one breath, squinting down at her, looking deliciously rumpled and excited. “I wanna show you- I can show you-”

“What about your family?” she asked in a low voice, her palms sliding up beneath his jacket, twitching as she followed the lines and curves, lingering over the peaks of his erect nipples beneath his shirt. He shuddered and didn’t waste time trying to answer, hooking her by the waist and merely lifting her over the low wall that separated the parking lot from the alleyway at the side of the building.

“We’re heading home,” he mumbled to his passengers, slamming his door. The car peeled away from the kerb with a high-pitched squeal. Nobody spoke and the journey passed in a blur of silence. Kitty’s eyes stayed fixed on Elvis’s white knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. She barely registered the gate with the music notes, the winding drive or the impressive portico and columns.

“Well, I’ll see y’all later,” was all he said as he climbed out of the car, hands grabbing for Kitty’s forearm and tugging her towards him as he backed towards the brick steps. Kitty wasn’t sure whether anyone answered as she was too busy focusing on keeping up with him as he opened the front door. He turned back to her, grinning like a little kid and put his finger to his lips, pointing towards the stairs. Kitty slipped off her shoes, exhaling as she stretched her toes, and managed to grab them before he tugged her again, taking off up the stairs at a breakneck pace. She hissed at him to slow down, but he just shushed her and she could hear him laughing under his breath.

Kitty barely registered the dark room before Elvis shut the door behind her and pressed her into it, his hot mouth on hers snatching away her breath. Safely away from prying eyes, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned into his mouth, pressing herself against him. He froze and pulled back, but she could barely see his face in the darkness and was about to ask what was wrong, when he gathered her up in his arms and threw her onto the bed. She shrieked, hastily slapping her hands over her mouth as she bounced on the mattress.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” he murmured, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket onto a chair like he was competing in a race. “This room’s supposed to be soundproof. Let’s test it out, huh.”

It was reassuring to see him clamber awkwardly onto the bed and throw himself down next to her just like he used to, a sign that the boy that she had cared for was not all gone, just hidden in pockets and alcoves of behaviour and words. 

“Kitty honey?” he asked suddenly once he had settled himself down on the pillows and was looking up at her with a slightly furrowed brow. “You know we don’t have to-“

She dove down, mouth catching his and draped herself across him. She felt his lips curved into a smile as his hands settled onto her back, soon grazing her curves until they were palming the weight of her ass, squeezing slightly.

Kitty’s body was buzzing and tingling, she could already feel the muscles contracting in her stomach and lower down and she tried to find some relief from the ache, but could barely move her legs within her tight pencil skirt. 

Elvis tried to follow her up as she withdrew, moaning a little when she pulled away, and she snorted at his forlorn expression as she drew up to her knees on the bed. His eyes widened as she shrugged off her jacket and started to unbutton the body-hugging blouse beneath.

Like a true gentleman, he was up on his knees too in seconds to help her. He was more a hindrance than help, his long fingers getting in the way of her slipping the tiny buttons out of the holes, but he seemed to want to be useful. He stared down at her bare chest and bra like a boy who had never seen either, which was funny because Kitty knew for certain that he had. Then, slowly, carefully, he reached out to cup the back of her head and bring her closer, kissing her like she was one of his co-stars and he was the romantic hero.

It was an intricate dance of shadows, Elvis moving with confidence and tenderness, while in her head she was seeing the first time when his hands had trembled and his ripe bottom lip glistened as he had panted, moving too slowly and awkwardly. She had had to guide him, her hands on his hips, around his ass, urging him to move faster, to stop apologising and asking if she was okay.

None of that now, it was more than a dance, it was a routine. Her eyes followed him as he kissed between her breasts, the tip of his nose grazing her skin as he made his way down, taking a detour to lick her nipples, circling them with his tongue before sucking. She arched up into him, noting the contrast of his hair as it splayed against her pale skin.

As his fingers grazed the inside of her thighs, she thought about how his body had changed, filling out and becoming broader, and there was hair on his chest that wasn’t there before. She raked her fingers through it as he moved between her legs, his eyes sparkling with tenderness and a little amusement.

“You okay?” he murmured, biting down on a smile, though his eyebrow twitched against his best efforts.

“You know, I told you that if you ever asked me that again I’d pummel you,” she gasped, tilting her hips so that he was grinding down onto the right spot, her nerves fluttering out and down the inside of her thighs.

“I know, I know,” he laughed breathlessly, his open mouth going slack as he started to inch into her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, tightening her thighs to bring him in closer, faster, harder. One thing hadn’t changed, he was still too careful and gentle with her. He got the message though, thrusting hard until their hips were pressed together, slamming a hollow moan from her as he grunted.

She adjusted her grip on his shoulders, realising that she might need a tighter grip, and stared up at his face. His bottom lip was between his teeth as he adjusted to being inside her, to the friction and the pressure, but under the weight of her eyes, he tugged his upper lip up into his famous sneer, drawing out and then grinding back down just as quickly. She gasped and pressed her feet down onto the back of his thighs, finding a way to cling on as he demonstrated exactly how he had earned one of his cruder nicknames.

Somehow, they got turned around and they were horizontal across the vast landscape of his enormous bed, Kitty’s head hanging back off the mattress. He grabbed a handful of her hair as it trailed down towards the carpet, pulling her head back further, nipping and sucking at her pulse point at the same time as he pressed and rubbed and circled her clit and filled her too. Each time she opened her eyes he had this sly, mischievous look on his face like he knew how good he was, like he was proud to show her what he had learned.

Flushing with warmth, buzzing and trembling, she felt the crest of the wave beginning to build between her legs and she whined a little, gasping for air, wanting the sensation to only ever build and never peak. He tugged at her hair again, this time a little sharper, so that she opened her eyes and her vision swam and then slid back into crystal clear focus.

“Say it, darlin’,” he mumbled breathlessly. “I wanna hear you say it.” He drove into her harder and faster, making her cry out and he tugged her hair again until she relented and cried out his name as she came.

Seconds later, he pulled out and she felt him pulse against her belly as he crushed her mouth beneath his. She could barely breathe with his heaving chest pressing down on her, but she didn’t mind, it would be a wonderful way to go.

Finally, he pulled himself away, passing her his shirt to clean up, and he pressed himself to her back, tugging her backwards onto him like a blanket.

“You know why I kept asking if you were okay that first time?” he murmured, exhaling deeply into her ear as he drooped with exhaustion and satisfaction.

“Why?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer.

“Because I was fuckin’ far from okay,” he giggled, his words slurring and sliding together. “I was scared half to death, thought my heart was gonna pound itself right out of my chest… ‘Bout how I feel now I reckon.”

“You were fine then and you’re gonna be fine this time too,” she promised, reaching up to squeeze one of the arms he had folded around her chest.

“I sure hope you’re right.” He yawned, pressing a kiss onto her neck before dropping back onto his pillow. “You usually are. I just hope everything stays the same.”

 It seemed a strange and futile thing to wish for, especially for a man whose life had not stopped changing in the past three or four years, but she crossed her fingers as she relished the time that she had left in his arms and wished it alongside him. Let everything stay the same.

[blackbatcass]

(takes place somewhere towards the end of GA 2001)

Mia Dearden woke up in a cold sweat. She was shivering- more than that, really, more like trembling. Convulsing. Like an earthquake in her bones.

The sheets were wet against her back. It was…sweat, her sweat, she could feel it plastering her pajamas to her skin, dripping through her hair down to the nape of her neck. Shit, was her first thought, as if through a haze. These are Ollie’s. A too-big t-shirt and sweatpants, pilfered from his closet when he wasn’t looking. She had been pretty sure he wouldn’t mind. They were comfy, anyway, and Mia had a habit of snatching things first and thinking later. They were all rumpled with sweat now, though…would he get mad? Would he be angry at her, for ruining his clothes?

Hmm. How would Ollie’s sweatpants fit her? Actually, maybe they were Connor’s. Dinah’s?

She couldn’t remember. Mia had a lot of stolen clothes scattered around her room. She considered it an endearing trait and not a sign that she was a budding kleptomaniac.

“What,” Mia croaked to herself, out loud. Her eyes were still closed. She couldn’t remember…She knew she was in her bed. She knew she was wet, and sticky (gross.) She knew her muscles were sore. Why were her muscles sore? Oh, right, from the shivering.

Earthquakes. Mia didn’t know a lot about earthquakes, but she’d watched a documentary about them once upon a time. When she was really little…elementary school, probably. Though she poked fun at Connor for watching them now, Mia had quite liked documentaries when she was a little kid. Mostly just because she’d liked learning things, even back then. They didn’t really have many books in the house, so she’d turn on the Discovery channel and listen to one gentle old man or another teach her about nature or animals or history. It was nice.

Mia hadn’t actually been supposed to mess with the TV when she was that age, but when he had been out of the house she’d always told herself she didn’t give a shit and made sure to put the remote right back in the exact place she’d found it when she was finished. She remembered the earthquake documentary being a little too scientific for her young brain. It talked about fault lines and plate tectonics and seismometers, and all she could think of was how maybe that would happen to her one day. She would just vibrate out of her cells, and no one would know she had ever existed.

“Fault lines in my skin,” she whispered to herself, and then thought that was really funny. She giggled to herself for a minute, curling up into a tighter ball.

Mia gulped in breaths of air, all of them shallow. Her teeth were chattering. She was cold. She was aware of the fact, all of a sudden, that she was miserable. She wanted to go back to sleep. She wanted her limbs to stop shaking. She wanted to get out of these awful fucking sweaty sheets. Mia pushed them off of her, except it was more like she was halfheartedly kicking and flailing at them, because actually reaching out and untangling them when she was so exhausted sounded impossible. The sheets got batted to the other side of the bed, except…no, it wasn’t the sheets that were moving, it was her, and then she couldn’t feel the mattress anymore and then she was tumbling down to the floor.

“Fuuuuuck,” Mia groaned, rolling over onto her back. The floor was cold under her. She stared at the ceiling, which seemed really far away. She blinked a few times, her vision coming in and out of focus. Mia shivered and rubbed sweat from her face. She felt strange. It was like there was a fog in her brain, so thick she couldn’t think through it. If she looked hard enough, she thought she could see birds dancing on the ceiling, but that was dumb. Wasn’t it? She was too tired for this.

“I need…” she whispered groggily to herself, “I need…” she needed something. What was it? A washcloth, maybe, to wipe off all the sweat. To get one of those she’d need to make it all the way down the hall to the closet, and then to the bathroom, to get the washcloth wet, and Mia didn’t even think she’d be able to sit upright. Just the thought made her want to puke. And-

There was a noise from the hallway outside her door. A creaking floorboard. It was strange, because suddenly she couldn’t remember who else lived in the house that could be making that noise, and she couldn’t remember whose house she was in, and she couldn’t remember where she was. It was all a hazy blur, and her vision was tunneling, and she didn’t want anyone else to know she was here. She clamped a sweaty hand over her mouth to stop her teeth from chattering. She couldn’t make too much noise. Mia was great at making noise, but that had gotten her in trouble over the years, and she knew better now than to make noise when she was scared. Anyone could be outside her door. Anyone could find her in here, shivering and huddled on the floor, and that made her stomach turn.

She rolled over onto her elbows and started to crawl. Walking was out of the question, but dragging herself along the hardwood floor only made her feel a little bit nauseous. It felt like it took her forever to make it to the bedroom door, because the floor kept warping on her every few feet, rolling sideways and backwards and turning uphill like a mountain. She kept blinking and it would look different. But mama hadn’t raised a fucking quitter, and Mia eventually slumped against the doorframe, letting out an exhausted breath. She reached one arm up and clicked the latch that made the door lock from the inside. Okay. Okay, it was okay, she was safe now. No one could get in if she didn’t want them to.

Weird thoughts kept sloughing through the fog. How come she could lock the door from the inside? She never could before. And the floor looked different, too…wasn’t it supposed to be some ugly-ass linoleum? She couldn’t…she couldn’t remember. Mia idly scrubbed a hand over the hardwood, feeling the polish and the cracks between panels. Weird.

She had thought the floors were nice, when she first came here. She remembered that. Ollie had taken her around and let her pick out which room she wanted and shown her the doorknobs. They only lock from the inside, see, he had said, tapping the latch with one finger. So you can lock it if you want. Nobody can keep ya in. I want you to feel safe here, kiddo.

Mia remembered feeling a bit sheepish at that, for months afterwards. It wasn’t like Connor needed special locks in his bedroom to feel safe. But it made her feel better anyway. She’d twisted the latch the first couple nights, when Stanley had still been there, and…she didn’t anymore. When had she stopped locking it?

Mia wrapped shaking arms around herself, leaning her cheek down on one shoulder. She didn’t remember. She didn’t…nothing made sense. She couldn’t think straight. She needed to lie back down. She needed to get away from this door. Swallowing her exhaustion, Mia slowly crawled back across the floor before collapsing on top of the rug in the center of her room.

It was soft. She curled up in more-or-less the fetal position, burrowing her cheek into its threads. It was dark in her room, but she could just barely see the little pink flowers sewn into the yellow rug.

“Stupid,” Mia said, a goofy smile on her face. It was stupid. It was bright and silly and childish and probably belonged in a kindergartner’s room. That was sort of why she’d picked it out, though.

Ollie had taken her shopping, a few weeks after she’d moved in. After he got his memories back, after Connor was settling in, after the Stanley Dover mess had finished. They had wandered through a Star City department store, just the two of them. “You can get anything you want for your room,” Ollie had told her, walking down the lamp aisle. “And I mean anything.”

“I want the Mona Lisa,” Mia had said with a grin, just to be an asshole.

Ollie had raised one bushy eyebrow. “Well, that one might be a bit of a tall order, kid,” he had grunted. “But, you know. I’ve had my run-ins with those under the radar types over the years. I could probably-”

“I was kidding, Ollie, god. I don’t actually want the Mona Lisa to decorate my bedroom. What would I do with it, anyway?”

“Look at it, I s’pose.”

“Can I get that one,” Mia had asked abruptly. She had stopped in front of the kid’s section, staring with big eyes at the rolled-up area rugs.

“Hm?” He’d looked over to where she was pointing. “Oh, the rug? Of course. I said anything, didn’t I?”

Mia had turned to him, then, almost defiant. “You don’t think it would look stupid?” she had asked.

“Shit, Mia. I don’t know anything about interior design, or whatever. Or much care. If you want the rug then get the rug.”

She had pursed her lips and nodded. “Okay,” she had said. “I want this one.”

“Yellow,” Mia said now, smiling into the rug. Bright yellow, like Speedy. She liked yellow. It was a happy color, bright, the same as her hair. For some reason that kid’s rug had pulled at her the moment she’d seen it. Her room, when she was a little kid…it hadn’t had anything in it that was really hers. In a way she’d picked out that rug for a Mia who wasn’t around anymore. A little tiny Mia who never got to have a silly yellow rug with pink flowers on it.

Yellow meant safe. Yellow meant Speedy. Yellow meant…

Mia coughed suddenly, hacking into one fist. Her lungs felt too small for her body. She still hadn’t stopped shaking. God, her muscles were sore. She was so cold. She was so fucking tired. All she wanted was to go back to sleep. She was crying, all of a sudden, fat tears trailing from the corners of her eyelids onto the rug. Shit. Mia just felt miserable.

She was tired of being cold. She was tired of being sweaty. She was tired of being alone in this room.

She needed…she needed…

(It was what he’d said, after showing her the doorknob. “Listen to me for a minute, kiddo. I won’t pretend to know everything about your past, and I won’t ask either. But I can tell you’ve been through hell. And I want you to know, right now, here, that nothing is gonna harm you while you’re in this house.” He had looked at her with those hard eyes of his. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not a thing, sweetheart. Not one single thing.”)

Mia let out a sob. She needed her fucking dad.

“OLLIE!” Mia shouted at the top of her lungs. It took all her energy just to get it out. Her throat hurt but she didn’t care. “OLLIE!”

In less than ten seconds she could hear the sound of pounding footsteps. “YEAH?” he called back. Mia could have died of relief. She wished she had the mental capacity to answer him.

The footsteps got closer until he was right outside. He knocked on the door a few times, then rattled the doorknob.

“Mia? Mia, are you in there, what’s wrong- Why’s the fucking door- ROY! WHY’S THE DOOR LOCKED? I-”

“Ollie,” she choked out, through the sobs that wouldn’t stop wracking her fragile chest. “Help…”

“MIA! Are you okay? I…Shit! The door’s locked! Can you open it for me, kiddo?”

She was too tired. She couldn’t even find the energy to say anything, much less make it all the way to the door. All she could do was lay there and cry.

“Shit, I…Shit. Goddamn door. One sec, Mi, watch out.”

There was a horrible crunching noise, and the door swung open with the force of a typhoon. There he was, in all his blond mustachioed glory.

Ollie ran the few steps into her room and knelt beside her on the rug. Mia closed her eyes and felt herself being scooped up into his arms.

“Mia?” he asked, in a quieter voice. “Are you-

“Sorry,” she managed to hiccup. “Couldn’t move. Think I’m…sick.”

Ollie grunted. “I’ll say. Jesus, kid. You’re shaking more than a goddamn maraca.”

“Earthquake,” Mia corrected quietly.

“An earthquake, sure. I gotta- fuck, you’re burning up. Boiling, really. When did…doesn’t matter, I guess. I better get you to a damn hospital.”

“‘Kay,” was all Mia could reply.

She shivered as Ollie gathered her up in his strong arms and stood, cradling her like a baby. He started out of the room and down the hallway, careful to hold her steady. She nuzzled into his chest.

“What was Roy doing anyway,” Ollie muttered to himself, stopping in the kitchen to grab his wallet and car keys. “Wasn’t it his job to watch you, make sure you didn’t get sick?”

This comment caused some of the fog in Mia’s head to fade. Right. She’d had a cough and low fever yesterday, and Ollie and Connor had joined forces to insist she stay home from school. They both had stupid superhero stuff to do, and Roy had planned on visiting this weekend anyway, so he had brought Lian down a day early to watch Mia. She had been fine all day, really. They had mostly been playing stupid board games and watching soap operas.

“It’s not Roy’s fault, Ollie,” she huffed. “I was fine until now.”

“Hmmph. Guess not. Oh, look, the man of the hour.”

“Dad?” Roy’s voice came from behind Ollie. Mia peeked over his shoulder to see Roy leaning into the kitchen, clad in his pajamas, blinking sleepily. “You were shouting?”

“Mia’s pretty sick,” Ollie explained, laying a kiss on her forehead. “She’s hot as my chili. I’m gonna run her over to the hospital, make sure everything’s okay.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. I can ride with you if you want-”

“Nah, I got her. Just let Connor and Lian know when they wake up. We’ll probably be back soon. Just- shove my wallet and keys into my pocket there, would ya.”

“Sorry, Speedy the Second,” Roy said sheepishly, tweaking her nose as he grabbed both items from the kitchen counter and slid them into Ollie’s back pocket. “Guess I’m not a very good babysitter.”

“The worst,” Mia said fondly, just to be an asshole. He stuck his tongue out at her. “Bye, Roy,” she said sleepily as Ollie carried her out of the kitchen.

“Feel better, sis.” Roy waved from behind Ollie’s back. Mia would have waved in return if she had literally any energy left.

They made their way through the house. Mia glimpsed the front door, and for some reason the sight of it made her start giggling madly. Maybe she was delirious, but she couldn’t help it.

“What’s so funny down there, blondie?”

“You broke down a door for me,” she said, laughing into his neck. “Stupid old man.”

“Hey! Nothing stupid about it!” Ollie shifted her in his arms. “You needed me. Was I about to let some dumb door come between me and my daughter?”

“Guess not,” she whispered. “Thanks, Ollie.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Ollie twisted the front doorknob with one hand and they stepped out into the cool night.

“Cold,” Mia whispered.

“Mia,” Ollie grunted, stepping through the grass of the front lawn. “Why’d you lock the door?”

“Dunno.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Was scared.”

“Mm.”

“I called for help,” she said, very faintly. “Help. You came. Knew you’d come. You said…not one single thing.”

Ollie was quiet, for a moment. “That’s my girl,” he said, in a voice so soft it should have been illegal. Then, “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you in this car.”

On their way to the hospital, so quiet she thought she had imagined it: “I’ll always come, Mia. You can bet your fucking boots.”

[this-is-all-unreal]

My Dear Friend

Part 12

Masterlist

Warnings: Blood, Injury, Needles, worse of all clowns 🤡

      My flashlight hardly illuminated the dark alley. It didn't help that my hand was shaking so bad the spotlight was moving all over. 

      "Sir?" I ask one more time. The man starts to laugh before slowly turning to face me. His white face was almost glowing from the artificial light shining on his skin. His smile unnaturally long, just like the news lady. It was the Joker.

       "Sir? So formal." He taunted. "You and I are buddies right?" He asked as he took a step closer. 

        "No no we are not buddies! Felix help!" I cried out. My brain was screaming at my legs to run but they wouldn't budge. The clown's expression turned to an over exaggerated frown. 

        "Well why not? I wanna be your buddy."

        "Felix please God do something!" I begged in utter horror as Joker closed the distance. Just as he reached out for me he was yanked by his coat with such force he did a somersault backwards into a bunch of trash cans. He just laid on the trash covered ground. Not moving an inch.

      "Did you kill him? Batman is going to be so mad." I hesitantly take a step closer to the pile of trash cans. He still didn't move. Rain started to pour down from the sky. Large heavy drops pelted against everything. Suddenly Joker sat up and looked up at the sky. 

       "That's not fair! I was going to spray you. That rain is gonna ruin all my gas!" He said as he held out a fake flower likely filled with that laughing gas. He finally looked back over at me and eyes widened for a second. Then his lips twisted into a sinister grin. "Well that's more interesting than any laughing gas." He said as he pointed behind me. I turn around and see the silhouette of my old friend outlined by the rain falling against him. Felix turned to look at me. I had never seen such a clear outline of him myself. He was much taller than I remember him being. He was even taller than Jason. His silhouette disappeared and the rain fell to the ground as it normally would. 

       "Two new bat brats. Daddy bat is busy." Joker said standing up. 

        I was much closer to him now than ever before. My legs seem to lock up again. In a way I was thankful for it because I was sure if I ran he'd chase and that's a race I'd never win. Felix began to laugh again. It was unnerving. Having someone laugh inside your head is maddening. 

         "Don't come any closer. I don't want to have to hurt you." I warned, most of it was a bluff but I was mostly banking on Felix snapping out of it in time. He laughed in my face. 

       "Oh you got a tiny Batarang? Is the partner going to pull me again?" He came a bit closer but this time Felix did not pull him back. Just feet a away from me he stares with a big smile that never reached his eyes. My legs felt like jelly but at least I could feel them now. Felix laughter stops abruptly, the silence was deafening. 

       "Last chance." I say in a small mouse-like voice. 

        "You know I could be your babysitter. Since the big invisible guy left. I bet batman would do anything to get a fledgling crime fighter back." He was going to hold me for ransom or something. 

       The rain only seemed to get heavier as we stood there. Part of him has to be buying my bluff why wouldn't he just grab me by now. 

        "Margaret can you hear me? Why aren't you answering me?"

         "What?"

         "I said you need a ba-"

         "Not you! Felix can you hear me?" 

        "Finally." The evil clown was flung back again. This time Felix stood over him blocking out the rain. The Joker just laughed. A fight broke out between them. Both men rolled around on the wet garbage and trash cans. Without the rain outlining Felix the Joker would have looked even crazier. I took the chance to run. I think even the Flash would have been impressed with my speed. I looked back to see if he got away from Felix and saw nothing. My body collided with something, the force knocked me flat on the ground and the back of my head bounced against the concrete. I looked up to see 4 or 5 Jasons looking down at me. 

      "Magpie? Can you hear me? Why don't you look where you are going! Who runs full speed and looks behind them?" He grabbed my arm to pick me up but I was still seeing stars so a limp noodle was the best he was gonna get. I mumbled to warn him about the dark alley. "What? Jo who is Jo?"

       "Joker, Felix has him." Finally my head stopped spinning enough for me to figure out how to speak again. I lift my arm to point in the direction. Dick and Tim were running to us when Jason straightened up and took out a gun and cocked it. Without a word he walked off. Dick reached me soon after.

        "Where is he going? What happened? Did someone hit you?" It was too many questions to answer. I sat up and felt the back of my head. A warm sticky liquid cling to my fingers. I Pulled my hand in front of my face to see the substance. It was blood. Seeing it snapped me back to reality. 

        "Joker, he is down there." 

        "Shit. Stay here, you too." He said pointing to Tim as he raced down to the alley. Tim helped me to my feet. 

         "Did he hit you?" Tim asked as he put his hand on the back of my head making me wince.

         "No I fell when I bumped into Jason." 

         "You must have fell hard. It's gushing."

          "What!-

          "I mean um it's fine um just keep your hand on it." He said as he moved his hand to make room for mine. There was a shot fired then shouting all from the alley. They must have caught him. Tim and I look at each other for a second then we both run in the direction of the yells. The alley now lit up by Tim's flashlight, we could see Dick and Jason struggling against Felix. Jason took a step back and emptied his mag into the invisible man the bullets stopped dead in their tracks and fell. This enraged Felix who picked Jason up and lifted him over his head.

       "Felix no!" I screamed and the online disappeared, Jason was dropped. Him and dick rolled around on the ground for a second and caught their breath. 

        "What the fuck! That thing was Felix?" Jason said as he stumbled to his feet. 

         "I had him until that big clobbering idiot showed up. He let him jump the fence." Felix sounded mad. 

          "Why was he attacking Red Hood?" Dick asked trying to keep a level head about thing. 

         "He shot at me before you guys even showed up!"

         "why did you shoot at Felix!" 

         "I didn't even notice he was there! I was aiming for Joker!" 

          "Everyone calm down. Let's get back home and patched up. Then we can rip each other's head off." Dick reasoned. My head was pounding. I could feel the blood start to run down my neck.

        Jason and Dick argued for a few minutes. Jason wanted to go looking for Joker. He was a dog with a bone. Finally Dick just let him go. Tim retrieved his bike from the bridge and Dick and I rode home in the Batmobile. The whole drive he was trying to hand me napkins to stop the blood but it just kept coming. 

         "First night in charge and one go's AWOL and another gets brain damage. I'm screwed when Bruce gets home." 

          "I thought you did alright as leader. And I'm not brain damaged!" He laughed a little. 

           "Well thanks, that means a lot." I could tell he wanted to ask me about Felix. The whole situation would undoubtedly be told to Bruce in a variety of different ways. We got home and Tim went to shower. We changed and Dick took the first aid kit upstairs to the kitchen for better light. 

        I sat up on a stool as he parted my hair looking for the cut. 

        "Shit" He whispered under his breath. 

          "Oh my God! I can see your skull! Is that brain?! Nah I'm just kidding. It's looks gross though." I rolled my eyes at Felix's antics, at least he seemed to be in a better mood. 

           "So I'm going to have to look up a video. I need to brush up on my stitches." He said as he took the gloves off and pulled out his phone. 

        "I need stitches!?" I say lifting my head and turning around to look at him. His eyes widened realizing he messed up. 

         "No no I mean my quilt stitching. I'm working on a quilt for Barbara. Why don't we move to a sofa or something." He said looking back at his phone. I knew he was lying Felix didn't need to tell me. 

        "You're not a doctor Dick you can't give me stitches."

        "Relax Alfred has had to show me plenty of times how to do this. It's easy. He'll teach you too." I shake my head as he helps me to the sofa in the living room. He laid down towels to keep the expensive furniture clean. Then patted the sofa.  

          "Lay down on your stomach." He was still looking at his phone as he slyly tried to hide a needle. 

         "He won't be teaching me because I'm not going back out there! And I see that!" I say pointing to the syringe. 

          "It's just a numbing agent. It's a local anesthetic. Just a small pinch in the back of your head then nothing."

          "No, it's not happening! It's going to hurt!" I yelled at him. He sighed and sat on the arm of the sofa. 

       "Normally I'm cool with some defiance. Hell I think it's funny usually but this is serious. I'm not going to have your head keep bleeding and have Bruce wondering why I couldn't handle a small wound. So you are going to lay down on this sofa or I'm going to make you lay down, Your call." He sat the needle down on the table as he crossed his arms and waited patiently. I had neve heard him use this tone of voice.

       "Let him try. What is he gonna do flip around you?" I shook my head no as he looked across the room at me. He raised an eyebrow before getting up from his spot. It was like he was walking towards a wounded animal. He was slow as he kept his hands in sight. 

         "Don't make me manhandle you. You have a head injury Margaret." He warned. I wasn't sure if I'd have Felix's help on this. He might find this entertaining. I grab the lamp from the table and toss it at him before running for the dining room. He grabbed the lamp out of the air and set it down then chased after me. Before I knew it he picked me up over his shoulder. I wiggled and kicked as hard as I could. The front door opened as he carried me back to the living room. A soaking wet Jason was standing in the foyer. He took off his mask and watched the show. 

      "She needed stitches?"

      "Yep." Dick said as we passed him. 

       "Just let her head be split open if she doesn't want to be patched up. Maybe that will fix her imaginary freak problem."

       "Real mature Jason. If you're not going to help, just go to your room." Dick said as he put me down on the towel covered sofa. I tried to turn on my back to stop him from touching my head. He kept me on my stomach and grabbed my arms and pushed them under me pinning them down. "Please Margaret just calm down! I don't like this either!" I panted as he spoke. I didn't have nearly the stamina he did. 

        "It's going to hurt!" I cry out as tears roll down my face. 

         "It's alright. It won't be bad, You're tough." His tone was much softer now.  He kept me down on the sofa with one hand while he reached for the kit with the other. Jason walked over and handed it to him. 

          "Here trade me spots so she can lay her head down." Jason suggested. They switch around. Dick kneeled on the ground with the kit as Jason held me down and turned my head to the side to give Dick as much room as possible. I didn't really fight too hard knowing it was useless. 

           "He's lucky there is a needle so close to your skull right now. As soon as he lets go I'm going to hit him for you." I knew it wasn't for me. Felix just wanted to hit Jason for earlier.

          "No Felix don't." I sobbed out. 

          "It's okay." Dick said softly. I felt a pinch then a burning on the back of my head. "There That's all it was. You won't even feel the stitches. Can Jason go get changed now?" Dick asked as he fiddled with something in the kit. I nod as Jason takes his hand off my back. 

            "Kids man, I don't understand why Bru-" he was interrupted by what can only assume was Felix hitting him. "You want round two you creepy little-" 

         "Jay, just go upstairs please." 

         "Yeah Felix, just leave him alone." I add, this was bad enough without people fighting. Once the room was empty Dick touched around the gash. 

         "Can you feel this?" 

         "No but I can hear it." He laughed 

           "Yeah I know what you mean. Alright, just try to relax, it shouldn't take too many stitches." He paused. as I hear the sound of paper and gloves rustling. "I'm sorry I had to do that but you couldn't just walk around with a hole in your head. I don't ever want to be that guy but I was worried." 

        "I'm sorry for running. And about the lamp."

        "Hey it was a good distraction you just didn't throw it hard enough. You're pretty quick. And hard to predict." I smile thinking it was funny he was complimenting me on my ability to get away from him. "Just don't do something like that to Jason. He's not as patient, or gentle." Dick really wasn't a bad guy, not at all. He just wants people to trust him Most of all Bruce. 

      "Are you almost done?"  

      "Kinda. Why don't we talk about something else. Felix is really tall, I kinda figured he was your age." 

     "No, he's always been an adult."

     "Is he a ghost?" I let out a chuckle. 

     "Don't be silly, ghosts aren't real. He's just my imaginary friend. He's always been there."

     "I get that but I had an imaginary friend growing up and he never could do what Felix does, mine wouldn't even talk to me. You have to realize that he's not a normal imaginary friend" I could feel Felix closing In on the conversation. He wasn't liking it.

      "Tell this pretty boy to mind his own business. He's a loser, that's why his imaginary friend never talked back."

       "No I know but he is just Felix I can't explain him. It's like trying to explain why the wind blows."

       "Actually we know why the wind blows and I hope one day we can find out why Felix is here. To help him and you. Alrighty we are done. Don't ever shave your head because that's definitely gonna leave a scar." Dick said as he helped me sit up. I was proud Felix didn't attack him for asking so many questions. 

         "Thanks Dick." I say as I dry up the last of my tears. 

         "Don't worry about it kid. I'm gonna go soak your suit so it doesn't get blood stains." He said as he ruffled my hair like Bruce does. He walked off and only Felix and I were left. 

         "So what's the deal you weren't answering me back there with Joker." I touched the back of my head softly trying to feel the stitches. 

         "You were the one laughing. You weren't asking me anything." 

        "Margaret I wasn't laughing, I was screaming at you." I got chills just thinking about the idea that something could prevent me from hearing Felix like that and why did I hear laughing. He hates being ignored. No telling what he might do if he feels ignored. 

         "I don't know but I do know I'm never going out with them again. I haven't been so scared in a long time. I hate clowns." 

        "I went to bed that morning wondering what happened with Felix, why couldn't I hear him and why was he so big all of a sudden. Was I getting smaller? No Dick thought he was really big too. Maybe I should keep track of his height. Like a growth chart or something. What was making him grow? Was he taking something from me? Feeding off me somehow.

[clementinefight]

(toy’s version)

Many lawn chairs circle the kidney bean shaped pool, but I’m the only person stranded in one. Beg yourself to be normal don’t you, on evenings like this, when loneliness is a leash, and it makes you a fence, and nobody, nobody, nobody can come inside. Go inside, I wish I would. Go inside, maybe I will in a minute.

Have been out in the backyard for over an hour, under swelling tree shadows, waiting on Immi to arrive. I’m always waiting on Immi to arrive, and always wanting to wait on Immi’s arrival. Nothing better than that. Only, thinking about her showing up now, the bells in my chest teeter over into an excruciating anxiety. I exhale roughly, sit up and then hunch over with aims of crushing the pain away. It stays, but this does feel better. Contorted, I spot a few beautiful white blossoms on the vivid blue-green surface of the pool. Blood vibrates like mathematics in my forehead. The thoughts, my thoughts, aren’t enough of a kaleidoscope; everything is clearly screaming. My thoughts hurtle me into rooms that spell pain in every corner.

My pain transmutes, and for a minute, I can stomach it. I sit normally again, with my shades shielding me from a bit of the saturated colour around here. Pink plastic flamingos in the garden, and gnomes with red hats punctuating soil and high weeds.

Something else has been happening today, something aside from thinking about her, and pain. On Squid Street, where I live too, nobody else seems to notice the trembling sentience of the leaves in Bruce Mau’s backyard. No comment so far has been commented on that there is more electric singing from the trees this lavender dusk than usual; none about how each green leaf seems energetic and physical in its hanging expectantly there, like they’re not just hanging but lifting, launching; like each leaf is a hand with a brain that operates it, like each brain has a lettuce domination agenda and that agenda is to get close to human skin and, once close enough, to eat it.

That tree wants to smell me, touch me, be a part of me, I think.

My gaze rolls up the trunk of the tree closest to me. Maybe life as the object that is pushed down the throat of Warm and into the stomach rivers of Acid wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it would be good and nice, and I would be just like a bare foot slipping into its perfect satin heel; found and held by the blue-black-green enclosure like I’ve never felt held by anything else before, not childhood, not people, nothing else. That tree is so beautiful, slanting down over this suburban backyard like a swan neck, that for a minute or two I think we’re in love. I let my body relax, and because everybody else is inside, I push my hips upwards towards it. The tree reacts. Bony white blossoms erupt from its branches like silent, soft and fuzzy bombs. One tiny petal, loose like a broken wing, falls down onto my lip and sticks to the gloss there.

My shiny lips, my purple eyeshadow, my hair wild as—

I did all this to attract her, to walk her into my net again.

A branch is like textured brown vertebrae. A branch is an itch I can’t scratch. If Immi were here already, she’d tell me what else a branch is like. Maybe she would say something that would get me thinking about her all night. Something suggestive. Whip, pencil, road of many forks. She doesn’t need to stoke it. All nights, I already think about her.

Still the tree is too big. That tree is so big it’s going to eclipse me, not even eclipse me but bury, put me down.  Suddenly, we’re not lovers; I cool towards the whole thing. I envision my soggy eyeballs like silvery flower-heads growing on stalks up, up and through a barrage of green density to wave like pink flags of birth upon a whole new world. At that thought, I’m warm again. I will be queen of the conquered land, the fallen humans, the scratching yellow woods that have overcome, brother to time, the shopping malls, the movie theatres, the diners, personal kitchens and bathrooms and cars, the gas stations, the wooden gymnasiums, the funeral homes, the pale hospitals, the polka dot dressing rooms, the amusement parks, the baseball diamonds, my body self. 

And with no body, the fallen petals of my hands will flutter in a cold wind after Immi’s ankles.

Last time I was here in Bruce Mau’s backyard, the trees just weren’t this important; they weren’t like a frustrated ceiling pulsing to an inward peak over my head. Maybe the way I look at the world automatically suffocates, but it’s like I’m in a closed lime-room rather than outdoors. It’s like I’m in a house of leaves, and the house is breathing, the house is hungry.

I want you, too, maybe, I think, low from in my lawn chair. But only because you’re preferable to tonight and tomorrow.

All that proves I’m still outside and not locked away at the bottom of a wizard’s jar is the balmy, pushing air. I look up again, up at the trees. Yes, they are getting closer. They arch over my head like a dark green canopy and, as I stare, a kelp-smelling wind rustles through the thick enchanted broccoli treetops, coming from the sea at the bottom of town, way down at the end of Squid Street. The wind lifts my curly hair, tossing the dark strands wildly around my head.

“You want me?” I whisper. “Say you want me.” Do you ever practice intimate things with empty air? But it is her eye at the end of each leaf.

It’s all real. Can’t get out of it. It’s all real. Can’t get out of it. 

The light isn’t tricking me, the light just is, and while bright it can still exist in the dark minutes.

I’m not sad because of the gigantic trees that hunger for me, but because last night feels like the furthest night of my life when it should feel the closest; I couldn’t take a boat to reach it, those hours with her in my bed — coconut nectar skin, her hair on me like multiple collapsing breezes. I’m sad because she’s not here yet, hours after she said she’d be, I’m sad because this makes last night slide further and further off; until last night is an white island I spot in the black distance when I was just right there. A fear cold as moon scale lands in the divide between now and then, and though maybe I look business as usual on my outside screen, where my face pokes up unmoved, inside my body-house it is dark with a clawing dark, my nerves feel hole-punched and knuckle-clenched, my eyes are hot and watery behind my sunglasses, and I don’t know anybody. Everybody’s been to a party like that, where they sit in a individual court and don’t know anybody.

So take me, treacherous court of leaves, take me.

I was last here in the winter, here in Bruce’s backyard. That was when Immi was dating Bruce and from that alone I nearly died, but somehow I lived and laughed in the meantime; the war-town backyards were bare still and white still and piled window high still with crystal mattresses of snow still. Even the brightly striped lawn chairs all appeared pale and salted and dim then. Things take up more space in August than they do in December, don’t they? Sure they do. People, oh, people do. Immi especially lifts like a neon balloonist in the summertime, a July giant, she is a strange hot plasticine that seeps and takes, with the power of eight pitch-black octopus arms, over my heart’s deserted beaches.

But if people become gems in the summer, what happened to me? I’m statuesque, peanut-butter brittle, an icicle in an environment so beautiful and warm that it, in natural reaction to me, has now turned hostile. Out here alone on the lawn chair, I’m getting smaller, smaller. Nobody who saw me would even believe I’m thinking like this. To them I’m just somebody sitting  dumbly in a chair. I wonder if I even look like I’m waiting for confirmation? If my roaring bellyache emits a visual signal, or if this is all a whine that only the neighbourhood dogs can pick up. Miniature Toy. Couldn’t move if I wanted to. Do you ever think like that to yourself, that you’d like your body to be more liquid and play more to current events. But you can’t, you’re locked in yesterday, or in the last ten years. You’re down and out and nobody knows it, they only think you’ve got a bad, shy, or awkward attitude.

Put it plainly. I’m going to lose her. I’m an ant, anyway, an ant about to lose her queen. Because I showed my cards, and tomorrow I’m out of here on a plane to the other end of the country. There’s just not enough space now to let the strangeness loose, to let it roam. And there’s too much space to jump back to how it was before. Ordinary friendship, nothing hot, nothing hot. I can picture the dead end of our letters already. Cool like the splash on the fire makes.

It occurs to me; I have to go inside, I actually do. Into the party, amongst the shadow bodies, and have things there like Polite dish soap or Responsible toilet paper or Chaperone broom or Playful darts to capture and bring towards my being as props. I look towards the house; the red bricks are beginning to decline into block of shadow under the maroon belt of dusk, but two big window-boxes glow orange still, and pastel blue, pink, and gold streamers flutter against the glass. If Immi does look for me, I can’t be found out here, open, heart on the ground, defenceless; like that, our eyes and hearts will naturally meet in too exposed a meadow; everything will be obvious. If she has come with a hammer for me and my desire, then it will be too obvious, and I will have no props to stop me from appearing exactly as I am; crashed under the blow, and with a broken dream generator still dreaming of her knees.

Through little gaps in the tree-palace leaves, spots of orange sunset jump and flicker, excited cinders. Real evening already, and no my-girl, no gift-eyed Immi. I want to take those bars of slipping sun and break them over the knee. I don’t want another day. I want just last night, last night, capital L and N, L is the captain of lakes, locks and listening, N the controller of navigation and nickels. I want last night alone, and not the subtraction after.

[emoticonheart]

woah, chapter four of the burp soulmates story inspired by @mylilhell is finally here!! unfortunately, it's very short with not a lot going on, but i can assure you that the next chapter will be much more exciting. in the meantime, i hope you enjoy!!

Conner sat in the back of the class after lunch. This wasn't his usual spot- he was more of a center seat kind of guy- but he had too much on his mind, and he didn't want people staring at him during his mini internal freakout.

He clicked and unclicked his pen repeatedly as his thoughts continued to race. There was no way it was a coincidence that his random burst of gas in the cafeteria happened at the same time and lasted just as long as that girl's. But if it wasn't coincidence, then... what was it?

His brain was only supplying one answer, but he couldn't bring himself to even entertain the idea. After all, many studies have shown that the chances of living on the same continent, let alone the same state, city or neighborhood, as your...

Ugh. He didn't even want to say it.

The point was, the chances of this girl being that was slim to none. Sure, there was a time he thought the same thing of Lizzy, but that was Lizzy. They grew up together, and they had so much in common, so it was a lot more likely that she would end up being that person for him. But this random girl who gets a kick out of disturbing everyone during lunch? How was he supposed to get along with anyone like that?

He didn't know, and if he was being honest, he didn't want to find out.

"Hey, dude," the kid sitting in front of him turned and glared. "can you calm down with your pen, please? I can't concentrate."

Conner nodded as he shoved the pen in his pocket. He didn't even fully register that he was clicking it in the first place. "Oh, yeah, sorry about-"

Suddenly, Conner slapped a hand to his mouth as yet another rush of unexpected gas rose up his throat, and the resulting belch rumbled loudly in his cheeks for eight seconds. As soon as it was over, he blew the gas away as subtly as possible, already feeling his entire face go red. "Excuse me, I-"

"Gross, man!" He waved a hand in front of his face before turning back around, a sneer etched on his face.

Unfortunately for Conner, however, the kid wasn't the only one that had heard that.

"Conner?" Mr. Gonzales said, an unamused look in his eye, "care to explain why you felt the need to disrupt my class like that?"

If his face was burning before, it was practically melting now from how hard he was blushing. He didn't know what to say- he didn't even know what was going on with him in the first place. "I... well... uh..."

He noticed motion outside the classroom door's window, and when his eyes followed it, he noticed familiar blonde hair and an even more familiar bright red T-Shirt.

The last time he saw this person was in the cafeteria... surrounded by people...

"Actually," Conner said frantically, eyes still glued on the door, "I really don't feel well at all. Can I go to the bathroom?"

Mr. Gonzales didn't look happy, but with a roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand, he said, "Fine, but make it quick."

Conner stood and grabbed the hall pass from off the wall before rushing out the door, all without saying a word.

He spotted the girl down the hall, back facing him.

"HEY!"

She stopped in her tracks before turning slowly, a single eyebrow raised, "Um... yeah?"

Conner froze. He didn't know what he was doing. He had no idea who this girl was or what he even wanted to say. This was all so last minute, there was no time to think of anything.

He began to walk over, slowly. "I, uh. I just wanted to ask you something."

"Well, can you spit it out? I'm already late to class."

What was he supposed to say to her? That he thought there was a chance her burps were affecting him somehow? How would they even go about testing that? It wasn't as if he could just ask her to burp for him in the middle of this hallway. And even if he could, there was no way they wouldn't get in trouble for it.

She gave him an irritated look, "Well?"

Conner didn't know what to say, so he just said the first thing that popped into his head.

"What's your name?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "That's what you wasted my time on?"

Conner blinked. Why was he making this so awkward? He just had to talk normally!

But before he could think of a way to recover from that, she turned around and began to walk away. "Goodbye, weirdo."

"WAIT!"

A door on the other side of the hall opened, "Who keeps shouting out... oh."

Conner recognized the voice. Even worse, he recognized the irritation behind it. He slowly turned around and, sure enough, Mr. Gonzales was staring right at him.

"So much for feeling sick, huh?" he said. "Wait there, let me grab the detention slips."

Conner nodded, hoping that Mr. Gonzales hadn't seen-

"Ah ah ah, you too, young lady!"

-Nevermind.

With a sigh, the girl walked over and stood next to Conner.

"Thanks a lot, genius." she hissed under her breath as Mr. Gonzales handed them both a detention slip.

Yeah, this was gonna be a long day.

[xxgwenstacyxx]

Spare the Rod - Chapter 1

Summary: After the war against Kronos, Nico is cursed with obedience by Demeter. Unable to leave the camp or tell anybody about his dilemma, Nico’s only hope is for somebody to figure out what has happened.

Too bad nobody at camp knows him well enough to tell that something’s wrong.

°°° °°°

Nico had almost made it past the camp border.

He should have just taken a short-cut through the shadows – he would have, had he felt physically able to – but the battle against Kronos had drained him, and he hadn't wanted to risk fainting as soon as the shadows spat him back out. He hadn't had any other choice than to sneak out at night like a thief.

Except she'd been waiting. And though Demeter was not feared in the way other Olympian deities were feared, Nico had spent too much time among immortals to believe he might trick his way out of whatever conversation she desired.

The goddess of the harvest demanded an audience, and Nico was in no position to decline.

"My lady." Nico forced his body into a bow as low as his tired muscles would allow.

Demeter looked almost exactly like she had on the rare occasions he'd seen her in the Underworld, only closer in size to a mortal than a goddess. "Already off to your next grand adventure?"

Something in her voice told Nico he needed to tread very, very carefully.

"The battle is won," he said slowly. "I've done what I could."

"Yes. The battle." She sniffed. "Do you know how long it took to clean up all the wheat I had to grow out of monsters? Nasty little crops they made. No nutritional value."

Nico thought of all the funeral shrouds they'd burned over the past week. Of how he would have left days ago, had there not been another, and another, and another demigod to honor. It wouldn't have felt right to leave without witnessing their rites of passage to the Underworld.

But gods forbid Demeter needed to clean up a wheat field or two.

"We are very grateful for your assistance, my lady," he bit out, though he could tell that he wasn't doing a good job sounding genuine. "Yours and your daughter's, as well."

"Oh, she would have been far better off sitting out this horrid mess in the castle. But no, Hades just had to cave." She rolled her eyes carelessly. "Any self-respecting god wouldn't have bowed to some half-blood's pestering, but he's always been–"

"I wouldn't have needed to pester him if he'd agreed to help from the start," Nico snapped.

Some part of his brain was screaming at him to stand down. To fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness. Demeter wasn't intimidating like Ares, or Zeus, but she still had the power to vaporize him.

Another, angrier part of him had spent days at the funerals of people he'd felt die in battle. He'd had no time to heal, he hadn't slept – how, when he had no cabin of his own, and he most certainly wasn't going to creep people out in the Hermes cabin – and he had no patience left to placate a goddess who'd done the bare minimum and now dared to complain.

Demeter clicked her tongue in displeasure. "In previous times, half-bloods still had respect for the gods. Especially their parents. If you were my son, you would have known not to overstep after being told no."

"Times changed," Nico said curtly, still ignoring the part of his brain blaring alarm sirens at him to stop. "These days, respect needs to be earned."

"And what is that supposed to mean, child?"

"Back in the day gods may have been worshiped just for existing, but maybe it's time you made an effort now that your kids were the ones to save Olympus."

Demeter frowned and crossed her arms. "I do not appreciate your attitude, boy."

"I'll live." Nico turned on his heel, drunk on sleep-deprivation and righteous anger.

Demeter made a disapproving sound with her tongue. "That won't do. Turn around. Don't turn your back on me again."

Nico had no time to debate whether to obey her before his back went rigid and his body turned on its heel without his permission. A shiver ran over his spine over what he had just done.

Demeter gave him a look of consideration. "I can tell that scolding you will not do any good. Your father has been far too lenient with you. Typical."

"My lady.” Nico did his best to keep the alarm out of his voice. “I apologize for stepping out of line. It has been a long week, and–"

"Oh, no. My dear, you've had attitude problems long before this whole mess with Kronos started."

"If you will just allow me to request an audience with my father–"

"Like you've 'requested audiences' in the past? Bursting into the palace whenever it suited you? But of course you would. He let you. No, Nico, I rather believe we're past letting your father handle your parenting." She made a thoughtful expression.

The foreboding sensation in his gut morphed into one of terror. Nico tried to reach for the shadows for a swift retreat, not caring if he lost consciousness afterwards, but he was frozen in place.

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[unknownjpegs]

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It wasn’t actually very often Benji let Xavier drive. Probably, because he wasn’t very good at driving—which Xavier vehemently denied and argued against. C’mon, he’d drag out with a laugh. I’ll use my blinker this time, promise. Lots of snorts of disagreement, cute little eyebrow raises from Benji and then Xavier usually ended up passenger anyway. Which was never bad, because he could tuck himself, long legged and awkward and tilt to face him, wind a hand over, rest it on a thigh. Fuck with the music, be distracting, annoying. Get a smile.

But, maybe Benji could sense Xavier needed the distraction—needed to be doing something, not sitting still. One hand flexing on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, even though this was an automatic. Old habit. He’d learned to drive with a manual, was all. Now it comforted him, to stay like that, chewing idly at his lip.

It hadn’t been a fun conversation. They had those sometimes. Never a bad one, with Benji. Couldn’t be called that; necessary? Maybe—he felt that occasionally, too. Like they’d get into the meat of a topic that felt necessary for two people to share. Their voices pitched low, their heads coming close together, or sometimes, they sat at a distance and still found a way to touch. Benji’s foot in Xavier’s lap, while he held it with one giant hand. Xavier’s hand trailing up his shin. Both of them, sitting on the couch and—

Well, the conversation wouldn’t leave his head now. He’d asked Benji, late night soda run? Because his fountain drink addiction was embarrassing, and Benji had agreed because they both knew he actually just wanted to move. Needed to move, or he’d get stuck inside his head.

Xavier didn’t really know how to cope with the knowledge that people had hurt Benji before. If it was tangible, it’d be easier, right? If someone punched him, he’d solve that. Fast. His own bloody knuckles the solution. This wasn’t that kind of hurt. And maybe it was worse hurt because of that, because it wasn’t something you could look at and see. Wasn’t something Benji could cover with a bandaid—wasn’t visible at all. But Xavier had a sense that hurt had been there, for a very fucking long time.

Because of men like Charlie.

Benji had said, that’s why I didn’t like givin’ oral and Xavier’s body flinches at that memory, of his voice around those words, of his face when he’d said them; not necessarily looking at him when he said it, little bit angled to blow cigarette smoke somewhere else as an excuse to not be looked at either. He nearly misses a stop for a red light that has them both yanking against their seat belts.

“Fuckin’ hell, Xavier—”

“Oops,” he tries for levity as he rolls his head to the side and looks at Benji. It’s night, so he’s mostly in shadow, but still so fucking beautiful. The outline of his profile is just there, from the red light, washing across him through the windshield. He has a hand up, elbow tucked onto the car door, a finger wrapping around a curl. His other hand taps a beat on his thigh and Xavier wants to hold that hand so bad, but can’t move off the gear shift.

How could anyone hurt you? He wants to ask. How could anyone look at someone so beautiful and want to hurt them?

It makes some old, mostly forgotten part of his brain stir. Makes something a little dark slip across the inside of his skull, drag fingernails around the calcium. A familiar feeling that had been easy before. Something like going away and disappearing and letting his hands do something dangerous. He likes the feeling.

“S’green, mate,” Benji’s hand touches his and he almost jumps at the sensation of being pulled out that dark water. “Alright?”

“Wanna hear a knock knock joke?” The car jerks a little with how hard he pumps the gas, but Benji blessedly ignores it.

“All your knock knock jokes are trash.” There’s a bit of a pause before Benji sighs and Xavier can see him moving out his peripheral, adjusting so he’s facing him more. Which is go ahead in Benji body language.

“Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Tara.”

“Tara who?”

“Tara McClosoff.”

Benji’s groan makes Xavier laugh, hard, his hand on the gear shift flipping up and catching his boyfriend’s before it can move away.

“Get it, tearing my clothes off?”

“Was not lost on me, mate.”

For a moment, things feel better. Xavier still has this knot in his chest, suspiciously close to where his ribs always hurt, but it feels better, hearing Benji laugh. Holding his hand, tucking it close over his own thigh. A purpose in mind; go to the store, buy drinks, get something salty to snack on, maybe park the car somewhere and sit in the back and continue the hard conversations, but in a setting Benji can’t turn away from him. Hold his face, and make him look him in the eye when he says it all it doesn’t get lost. Xavier will look at him and absorb every detail, so Benji is never alone with them again.

You can let those bad things live inside my head too, Benji. For a moment, things feel better. Then, Benji is snorting; not his laugh, but a nasty, annoyed sound.

“Ironic.” He taps knuckles against the window softly. He’s speaking almost in a whisper. “S’his car.”

“Whose car?”

“Charlie’s.”

Xavier’s foot hits the brake pedal without him thinking much of it. Someone behind them blows a horn, swerves around them, a window rolled down to yell at them loudly. Xavier’s in autopilot as he flips the gear switch to reverse.

“What you doin’, Xavier?” Benji is crunched toward him in the passenger seat, a little wild in the eyes. But he’s not looking at him, one arm thrown behind the head rest so he can reverse until he reaches the parking lot they’d just passed. It’s to a pub, a really snobby one by the looks of it. Xavier hasn’t figured out which ones are decent and which aren’t; but he can really tell by the parking lot.

“Which one?” He asks, staring into it.

“What?”

“Which car?” his eyes slide Benji’s way, skate off those big brown irises and down to his chin. He can’t look at him in that moment, can’t remember, that’s why I didn’t like givin’ oral, pieced together with a flinch he’d seen in Benji’s body once; the few times he’d ever given for Xavier and that memory, of someone named fucking Charlie had invaded that moment between him. “Which ones his car?”

“Yellow. I don’t fuckin’ know car brands, Xavier, you know that—”

Xavier’s palm slides over the steering wheel, nice and smooth as he turns into the parking lot. When he does it like that, he can see all the scar build up on his knuckles, from years of breaking them. Over and over and over. For some reason, his other is still wrapped around Benji and he’s holding it tighter than he’d like. When his fingers slip out from that grip, he has to flex his hand a few times. He parks Benji’s car with an absolute snap of the gear shift and pauses, staring at the only yellow car in the lot.

“Renault Sport Clio.”

“Sure—yeah, he fuckin’ loved his car. Was real big on it. Think it’s kind ugly, if y’ask me.”

“Oh, yeah. It is.” Xavier clips off his seat belt. “Stay in the car.”

“What?”

He leans over quickly, taking Benji’s cheeks in his hands. They’re so warm. Every time he holds him like this, he is so filled with the sensation of heat. Staring down into those brown eyes, that he has memorized in every way. How they look when he’s sad or angry, or thinking, or when he’s bored, or when he’s staring off into the distance and might be somewhere else for a moment. Xavier looks at those eyes and thinks, I wish I knew you at that age. Wish I knew you when I was younger, when you were younger. We’d have done it different, you know. Would have gotten it right.

Then he says, “Stay in the car.” And he jerks the driver side open and steps out.

The gravel of the parking lot crunches underneath his sneakers—Xavier remembers a time when all he wore was boots. He remembers the diligent way he’d lace them into regulation. Lace, lace, lace, tie off around the top. He remembers his left boot always coming undone. He remembers, too, a man who hurt him so similarly to the way Benji has felt hurt, tying his for him. Those boot laces haunted him sometimes. What have you fucking done to Benji, what haunts him, what random piece of clothing, or what color, or what smell, makes him remember these things.

Xavier jerks open the trunk. He reaches for the crowbar like it was left here for this exact moment. Swipes it up and feels the heft of it—he remembers violence in his bones. It’s been so long since he’s felt like breaking something, been so long since he’s actually broken something. His fingers twitch as he walks toward that yellow car. The gravel continues to crunch under those sneakers. Trainers, he thinks and it makes him smile.

It’s an ugly smile that someone in the parking lot accidentally catches and turns to walk in a different direction.

When he reaches the car, there should be some sort of hesitation. He should pause and recall that he’s technically living in the UK illegally. That he is Xavier Wolffe, but that his records are all out of wack because they’re not real. He should remember that he’s laying low, because he’s defected from a para military company. He should think this through, but instead, as he gets the tail light, nothing inside him stops.

The teeth of the crowbar slam into the tail light. The glass breaks and he moves onto the other one.

“You fucking—piece—of—shit—” Xavier snarls it out with every single slam of the crowbar. Over and over and over into the side. He feels the plink, plink, plink of glass from the back window hitting his arms. For some reason, he can’t actually see the damage he’s doing. He feels the shake of it up his arms with every single swing—it connects into metal and makes his bones shake and he can feel that. But his vision is blurry, fuzzy around the edges as he slams the crowbar into the drivers side window.

He can’t see the car. He can only imagine Benji in his head, younger than he is now. Maybe he was slimmer back then, or maybe he had shorter hair. He’s imagining that version of his boyfriend when he climbs up onto the hood of the car. He’s imagining a Benji who had things taken from him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he screams it as he brings the crowbar down. The teeth get stuck for a moment and he has to use his weight to yank it out. Windshields are strong—durable. He slams again. “Fuck!” He yells it, one more time as he brings the crowbar down and sees the way it splinters across. One more and he might get it to fully cave. His weight is putting dents in that ugly yellow metal.

Someone else is yelling, but he can’t hear that either. He’s hearing the pain laced voice in his head. He’s hearing Benji’s voice wavering. Hearing him make a shitty joke to cover it up.

Xavier slides off the hood, stumbling a bit. He arcs the crowbar down and snaps the mirror off the side—and then he finally hears the man.

“My car! My fuckin’ car!”

He’s breathing hard, panting from all that work. Xavier’s hair has gotten longer, because he’s been bad about cutting it now that he doesn’t have to. So he pushes it back from his forehead and turns to the man. For a brief moment, Xavier almost sees him, but decides he doesn’t matter. It does not matter if he’s a brunette or a blond, or if he’s handsome or ugly, or if he has a good smile or pretty eyes. Xavier does not care what he looks like—he should be blotted from the fucking records.

So when Charlie with the new fucked up car steps toward him, Xavier swings his hand out. The crowbar slides in his palm until the end taps against Charlie’s chest. It’s a gentle, almost soft touch.

“I could fucking kill you right now,” he says. His voice is not obstructed by his heavy breathing—it’s almost a whisper. Xavier finds the statement to be true, as well. That’s something inside him that seems like it’ll never be healed right. The bone didn’t get reset in time. He will always have that capability inside him. The violence. He taps the crowbar a few times and smiles. “You’re lucky it was just your fucking car, man.”

The gravel crunches again. It’s a satisfying sound to him as he returns to the car. Xavier doesn’t run, doesn’t even hurry. He dusts his hands off on his jeans as he slides back into the drivers side of the car. Xavier is calm as he switches gears to reverse and pulls out of the parking lot. Fluid and practiced with his motion as he jerks it back to drive and then pulls away.

“Xavier—fuck—Xavier, mate—”

“He fucking deserved it,” Xavier finds his snarl louder than he means for it to be. Doesn’t wanna turn all that caustic energy onto Benji. Never. But the adrenaline is making his hands twitch on the steering wheel, making him jerky and shivery. His eyes vibrate in his skull, keeping his focus on that little white dividing line to ensure he’s on the right side of the fucking road.

“Turn into that lot and kill the lights,” Benji’s voice is also shivery, a little shaken and for a moment, Xavier is absolutely washed with guilt. He’s thinking of police somehow finding him, in that old home in the woods, making trouble for Benji. Having to use SAS connections to get him out—having to ask that asshole Simon Riley, or whoever their Captain was again. So instead of arguing, he does as instructed. Pulls behind a store that’s closed at this time of night, turns off the car.

“Benji, I’m sorry—”

But he can’t complete the sentence because he’s suddenly shoved back against the door. He feels almost the entire weight of the other man on him. Arms shoving around his neck, jerking him close while also pinning him. The see-saw tug of it makes Xavier’s long body crunch in a weird way. Benji’s lips seal over his mouth and Xavier’s blinking in surprise. For a moment, his hands are hovering in the air before he’s sliding them up into curly black hair.

Then they kiss, like that, for what is probably only a minute, but to his adrenaline addled brain feels like an hour. When they part, they’re both panting, both looking at each other with shiny eyes.

“Get in the back seat,” Benji demands in a way that makes Xavier comply very quickly.

—

“Are those sirens?”

“Huh. Should wait those out.”

“Trying to keep me in this back seat all night, Benj?”

A hand lifts and catches Xavier’s chin, jerks it back and forth a little in a way that makes him laugh, makes him loll out his tongue and say ahhhhhh. Benji’s back is to his chest and he can feel the way he’s breathing harder. They have to get a van, Xavier thinks. Something with more space—but he’s always been so stupidly fond of having Benji in these tiny little spaces. His hand rests on the other mans bare tummy, fingers dragging up and down through the trail of dark hair that his nose had just been very close to.

They hear the distant sound of the sirens pass and Xavier closes his eyes again. He feels satiated in too many ways—like the violence had also calmed some strange part of him, when he knows that it shouldn’t have. That he shouldn’t have done that. Doing it hadn’t changed anything. Didn’t undo whatever Charlie had done, didn’t make the scars go away. But it had felt fucking good.

Benji shivers when Xavier’s hand slips a little lower, drags across a thigh. They’re only half clothed in the most awkward of ways and everything they’d just done had been frantic and fast and a little hard and rough—in a good way. The way Benji liked.

When they do get their clothes back on (which is difficult and cramped and Xavier almost elbows Benji in the eye and Benji does elbow Xavier in the collarbone), they crawl back into the front seats—Benji will drive them home, decidedly, because he can’t trust Xavier not to run a red light and Xavier is fine with it now because it means he can sit there and stare at Benji the whole way.

He can’t help but lean over and fix a little bit of hair that’s gone wild and astray with the way they’d just been senseless in the back seat.

And as he’s leaned over, one hand in that beautiful hair he loves so much, Benji’s hand slips up and wraps around Xavier’s wrist. He feels almost comically unmoored by that action because it is something he does to Benji so frequently. Holds him right there.

“Love you,” Benji says, staring at him. Xavier doesn’t get tired of hearing it. Never will.

“Wanna hear another knock knock joke?”

“Xavier, shut up, mate.”

“Love you, too.”

[duskamethyst]

stranger danger.

a/n: did i sit on top of my car to imagine this? sure did. a part of the jujutsu hub collab! thank you vee @suna-reversed for organizing this horny event for us horny people.

word count: 3.8k

genre: smut, nsfw, pwp

warnings: dubcon, literally dumbass porn, degradation + praising kink, daddy kink, gun play, mentions of alcohol consumption, dui and death, public sex, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, implied kidnapping

pairing: criminal!toji x f!reader

summary: dozing off in a parking lot seems dangerous but it seems like the right thing to do. that is, until a mysterious man taps on your window.

you shouldn’t have trusted yourself. you’ve vowed to yourself not to drink tonight, especially when you were driving to the city by yourself. maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt, you thought. but that one drink led you to another until you eventually found yourself light headed and could barely walk in a straight line let alone drive home.

so now you decide it’s best to just stop in a random parking lot and doze off for a couple of hours until you’re certain that you’re sober and ready to continue your journey back home. thankfully the lights are on and there are a few other empty cars in the lot, giving you somewhat a sense of security.

even though you aren’t completely sane at the moment, you make sure the doors are locked, turn off the engine and roll your windows down slightly to allow ventilation. if you could avoid a possible car crash, might as well avoid dying from inhaling some fatal gas. so you push back your seat and close your eyes to let sleep take you over.

but it isn’t for long until you hear a knock on the window.

startled and confused, you instantly get up thinking it would be one of the securities patrolling the area, telling you to scram but you’re only met with a rather handsome man, tall and brawny standing next to your car.

he leans down to your eye level and glares at you intimidatingly before he speaks, “get out.”

in such a panicky situation, your heavy cluttered brain doesn’t really tell you what to do nor what the hell is happening so you only stare back at him tongue tied, unable to properly gauge the situation thanks to both chemicals in your system and adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“are you deaf?” he snarls with anger distorting his face.

the sharp eyes piercing through you coupled with the discernible scar on his lips go so well into his menacing demeanor and you’re aware he’s getting impatient. unsure of what to do, your hand reaches for your keys to turn on the engine, thinking it’s best to leave but he bangs on the window as if to tell you that isn’t what he wanted.

“i only told you to get out. so, get the fuck out. now.” toji waits for you to comply, but instead you just sit there frozen and he sighs in exasperation. “look, i have a fucking gun. and if you don’t do as i say, i won’t hesitate to shoot your brains off. you don’t need it anyway, right?”

toji fishes out his gun, waving it in front of you in warning. “and you’d be fucking dumb to think it isn’t loaded.”

the threatening sight of the firearm is finally what makes you unlock your doors and he immediately swings the door open and pulls you out from your vehicle by the wrist. toji eyes you up and down, taking a special interest in the mini skirt you don with a filthy smirk across his face. he peeks inside the car briefly, delighted over the fact that you’re all alone in the middle of the night– in some deserted parking lot, no less.

“where were you from?” he suddenly asks with less gruff in his tone. the eyes raking up and down your smaller frame so flagrantly makes you feel small and vulnerable.

you lick your lips to return moisture lost to parched skin as your eyes shift from his gun to his face. “a party.”

“a party, hm?” he does a double take on your whole skimpy outfit, sending a plethora of titillating thoughts to run in his head and waking up his primal instincts. he hasn’t gotten his dick wet for a while and opportunities don’t come by so easily when he’s a man on the run. he’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip through his fingers.

“must’ve put a lot of thought on your outfit tonight. why don’t you give me a little twirl?”

toji deliberately taps the gun on the side of his thigh, reminding you what could happen if you either scream or run. getting the hint, you decide to entertain him, knowing well that you could end up with a bullet in any part of your body if you try to escape.

but do you oppose the idea of a sickeningly attractive man trying to check you out with a weapon in his hand? not really. if anything, the alarming nature of the affair only gives a delicious thrill to your already messed up nerves.

his predatory gaze is fixed on your voluptuous curves and the little sway of your hips as you gracelessly turn around in your heels, making blood rush straight down to his cock before telling you to stop.

“get in front of the car.” he urges.

“huh? why?”

toji cocks the loaded gun in front of you, his expression turning stern and serious once more. “no talking, just do it.”

you walk towards the front with the gun behind your head, careful not to miss your step until you’re facing your car.

“hands on the hood.” he demands, dark eyes silently watching you do as you’re told like a well-trained dog.

you’re certain he can see your ass cheeks peeking underneath the hem of your skirt as cold air hits your skin. the thought of a pair of eyes staring you down hungrily forms an anticipative knot to pull tightly in your stomach as your mind wonders about the dirty things he might and could do to you.

the next thing you feel is the cool metal of the barrel under your skirt, making you shudder as it caresses your puffy folds before dragging upwards to hike up the hem of your unbearably short skirt in favor of checking your panties but oh, what a delightful surprise– not a single thread underneath it all.

“no panties?” he bites back a groan when he notices the glistening slick coated around his black gun. “don’t tell me you’re getting off to this?”

“‘m not–” you deny meekly despite the blossoming heat between your thighs growing bigger when you feel the tip of the barrel against your drenched cunt again.

“don’t lie. you’re a little slut aren’t you? went to a party without your panties on– something tells me you’re an attention whore.” he mocks, poking the gun against your entrance only to observe your little squirms.

“not a slut!” you whine giddily as you spontaneously grind against the long barrel in seek of relief for the dull ache that has formed in your core.

“no? you’re gonna tell me you’re not jerking off to my gun right now?” he chastises with a satirical smile on his lips, feeling his cock harden even more from watching the way you’re eagerly rubbing against the gun he currently holds in his hand.

“i– i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you try not to let your words slur as you play coy, even when breaths are already hitching in your throat.

“oh yeah? ‘cause that cunt is positively leaking right now.” you whimper at his words, being bad and filthy never felt so good– especially to a man you don’t even know. “bet you want me to fill that needy cunt.”

“mhm!” you mewl, gyrating your hips even more salaciously once you manage to find an angle to rub your sensitive clit, sending waves of sensations to every fiber and nerve in your body.

“now that’s an honest little slut.” he coos with amusement lacing in his voice. “why don’t you beg for it?”

you tilt your head back towards him, bottom lip jutting out into a cute pout and eyes pleading. “please..?”

toji lets out a huff, “not good enough, sweetheart.”

your eyes narrow at him, hoping he can read the desperation in them as you call him in the softest mewl that you've used to numerous guys before. “daddy.”

“hmm?” he strokes your clit by rubbing the gun back and forth and watches you quiver with a lopsided grin across his face.

“w-want– need your cock, daddy.” you pant in a shameless expression of your need for him.

“what do you need daddy to do to you, pretty girl?” he studies the barrel, now smeared with your slick.

“need daddy to fuck me– fuck my little tight cunt.”

toji draws his gun away and raises it at the back of your head. “then, get on your knees.”

you don’t need to be told twice as you instantly turn around and face him, the gun now pointing directly to your forehead and follows you even until you’re already kneeled in front him.

“you went a little too fast there, didn’t you?” he chuckles, the sound is smoky and alluring. “so eager. now, take off my pants.”

your hand reaches up to unbuckle his belt and undo his button before pulling the zipper down and tugging off his pants and briefs hastily. your mouth waters at the sight; his thick cock is already throbbing, tip flushing red and leaking precum with a prominent vein on the underside – causing you to quickly disregard the life-threatening weapon in front of your head.

seeing you blatantly gawk at him causes pride to spiral in his chest, as if you’ve never seen a dick before. but is it bad for toji to assume that you've never seen a dick as big as his?

“getting nervous now?” he teases. “fuck that. put it inside your mouth.”

toji exhales sharply once your tongue carefully licks off the salty pre on the tip, rousing him further with only kitten licks until the barrel nudges your head in warning, forcing you to stop your ministrations.

“are you asking to get a hole through your head?” he scowls, showing apparent irritation.

“no.” you answer meekly.

“then? i told you to put it inside your fucking mouth.”

“‘m sorry, daddy.” you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and give it a few pumps up and down his shaft in hopes to please him and calm him down. “promise i’ll be a good girl.”

“then stop fucking around.”

without a second to waste, you wrap your lips around his cock and hollow your cheeks, squeezing and milking his cock with your tongue and throat as your head bobs up and down. you graze your tongue on the underside and slowly drag upwards, following the curve of his vein before giving a harsh suck on his tip, drawing out a loud groan from his throat.

“look at daddy.”

and you do, fixing your gaze with his darker ones as you slobber his cock with so much drool and you relax your throat in order to force yourself down to the base, devouring him whole even as he tilts the gun next to your head.

“wish i had my phone right now. you should see how you look.” his other hand reaches the top of your head, holding you in place and causes you to choke slightly before jerking his hips forward and begins to fuck your throat.

squelching noises resonate in the silent air, mingled with his grunts. drool starts to seep from the corners of your mouth and tears begin to well up in your eyes as his heavy balls slap against your chin.

“boys must really love you, hm?” you can feel the tension in his fingers as he puts monumental effort into restraining himself and he finally draws his gun away. “just taking it like a good girl.”

you can only whimper around his cock, the praise making you feel hotter that you find your hand between your thighs to push a finger inside your wet cunt.

“fuck– yeah, keep touching yourself like that.” he growls, the sound rumbling in his chest as the vibrations from your muffled moans are slowly sending him to the brink of an orgasm.

you’re too immersed by your own finger pumping in and out to even care about the ache that has formed on your jaw but the moment you feel his cock twitching, you both know it won’t be long until he breaks down.

“you’re gonna swallow all of it. got it?” he states more than questions, feeling his balls tightening as he starts to lose the last remaining control he owns.

you hum in response and flutter your eyes close and you wait until his hips still before he spurts thick ropes of cum down your throat, invading all your senses with the bitter taste of his load.

once he has emptied, you pull away with your tongue gliding along his length, not forgetting to lick off the sensitive slit to clean off any remnants.

“open your mouth.” he demands. you part your puffy lips and stick your tongue out, showing your obedience to his prior order and a delightful smirk makes its way on his face upon seeing that you’ve downed every drop of his cum. “good girl.”

“to be honest, i didn’t think you’d cum quickly.” you blurt out bluntly.

his brows furrow and his face contorts into a scowl. “‘fuck did you say?”

you shrug nonchalantly. you don’t know where it’s coming from either– the alcohol still lingering in your veins or the fact that you feel beyond proud that you’ve made him, some guy who claimed that he wanted to rob your car cum so fast. “well, all the guys told me i give the best head but none of them ever–”

“get up. face the car.”

toji clicks his tongue as you blink at him in confusion and he grabs your arm to pull you up on your feet before spinning you around and bending you down on the hood with his body pressing against your back. you swallow nervously when you feel a nudge against your ass, his dick is still hard despite the fact that he has cummed just a minute ago.

“you’re gonna regret that. once i fucking ravage that little cunt, you’re gonna be begging for me to cum quick.” he leans down to your ear as he threatens, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“i’m sor–”

“no. i won’t give a shit if it hurts you or when you cry for me to stop.”

toji gives a harsh smack on the plump flesh, making you jolt in surprise. with your hands down on the hood, he lifts up one of your knees on top of the car, causing you to spread wide open in an instant before he impatiently pokes the tip of his cock against your pulsating hole.

“but that’s what you want, right?”

your eyes roll back, lips parting in an appreciative squeal as you feel his fat cock stretches you out accompanied with a delicious burn when he sinks in deeper.

“mmh– s-so big–!”

“yeah? never had a dick this big before?” toji pulls out almost completely, eyes fixed on the cock glistening with your slick under the street lights, not missing the white cream attached onto the skin.

“n-no– ah–!”

toji cuts you off with one hard slam of his hips, drilling his cock into your tight pussy in a brutal pace while you keen and whimper as it brushes against your walls, each stretch and drag inside you so exquisite while deep crescent shapes of his nails form on your pliant skin as he holds you firmly by the hips for leverage.

“no wonder you’re so fucking tight. stupid boys didn’t know how to fuck you right.” his words thrum in a burst of heat as he growls in your ear, breaking through your every thought.

you tilt your head towards him with heavy lidded eyes and meet his lust addled gaze. your mouth is gaping in breathless moans, tongue slightly lolled out from your lips as you try to reach closer to his scarred lips, wanting to crash your lips onto his before it stretches into a devilish smirk and you feel warm liquid lands on your palate.

“you looked like you were begging to taste my spit.” he mocks. toji watches as you eagerly swallow it down your throat and he lets out a brittle chuckle. “dirty slut.”

your pussy flutters upon hearing how he degrades you, causing you to buck your hips wildly against him in an attempt to meet his thrusts.

“you liked that, didn’t you? i can feel you clamping down on me like a fucking whore.” he derides, fucking you harder and deeper until your world is reduced into nothing but the way he makes you feel completely stuffed and filled, the cockhead kissing your cervix with each deep strokes.

“please– make me cum, daddy–” you keen as pressure pulls taut in your lower stomach, the slick noises are so loud that the both of you can hear them even through your moans.

your body flushes against his, so close together and you can only focus on the sounds of flesh against flesh, the salacious rhythm making you more delirious.

“then, cum for me. let me feel you gush all over me.” toji brings his fingers to rub against your clit, easily tipping you over the edge by pressing tight circles until you find yourself crashing down with an orgasm exploding throughout your body.

“you want more?” he taunts, helping you ride out the aftershock by continuously rutting his hips into your cunt and not giving you the slightest chance to recuperate.

“ah– ‘s too much–” you whimper as soon as the pleasure begins to numb and you clutch onto his wrist tightly to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive clit.

“too much? don’t think that i’m done with you yet.”

toji finally draws away from you, but only turns you around to face him and effortlessly puts you on top of the hood with your elbows propping your weight. with his hands, he spreads and keeps your legs apart before sheathing his cock back inside your pulsing cunt again, completely mindless of your pathetic sobs. he lifts up your top, not surprised over the lack of bra underneath and he intently watches the way your tits bounce with each merciless pound of his cock.

“s-stop– please–” you whimper feebly as you try to shut your trembling legs together but he doesn’t budge and only keeps his grip on your thighs even tighter, stretching out your pussy for him wider.

“fucking take it.”

toji ignores your plea and his head dips low to your chest, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples and starts to flick it with his tongue coupled with harsh sucks until he pulls back with a pop and watches as the nipple stands erect before assaulting the other, swiftly sending sparks of pleasure down to the bundle of nerves.

“might as well keep you around. be my personal fucktoy. would you like that?” he grins up at you to see your jaw slacking, mouth falling in a wide ‘o’ as the burn down your core begins to cease.

“yesyesyes– make me your slut–!” your toes curl, making your heels drop down to the ground while your knuckles turn white from squeezing your hands into balled fists too hard.

“yeah? you’d do anything for a good fuck, huh?” he sneers at you, although he’s fascinated with your state of arousal.

“mhm– need daddy to fill me up with his cum–” your back rests against the car, reveling in the feeling of his cock abusing your swollen cunt like you’re nothing but a sex doll.

“but daddy’s not gonna cum yet. not even when you’re tightening around him like this.” toji slams your hips down closer to him, fucking into you deeper and harder with his heavy balls smacking your ass.

“t-too deep–! daddy, i’ll–” you babble, losing the ability to form cohesive words as you feel a strange knot twisting rapidly in your guts. the feeling is too intense and unbearable– the refined drags of his vein brushing against your spongy walls is anything but agonizing.

“come on. use your big girl words.” he drags out slowly and quickly pumps back into you ruthlessly. “or are you too dumb already?”

“i’m gonna–”

toji lifts up your legs over his shoulders as he leans down closer to you and he nips on your pulse point, causing your body to tense as your hands find home in his dark locks and tight shirt.

as soon as he lets go, your pupils are blown wide as pleasure washes throughout your body and you feel yourself gushing around the cock still buried inside you along with a broken moan from your lips. the release is oddly more relieving than your prior orgasm, making your body feel lighter as your mind ascends to a state of euphoria. you find yourself panting heavily as you squirt all over him, staining his black shirt with clear fluid and with some of it dribbling down to his thick thighs.

“making such a mess on daddy.” he groans as he feels your walls convulse around him rapidly, milking his cock dry and slowly dragging him down to his own high for the second time of the night.

you can only look at him in a cockdaze with no particular thoughts running inside your head, each one formed gone like popping bubbles. your eyes glued onto every bit of his features; the brows furrowed in concentration, the lips parting in grunts, the damp matted hair against his forehead and you drink the sight of it all even when you’re not sure if you’ll remember it all the next morning.

“fuck– it’d be a shame to not cum inside this pretty cunt, right?” his thrusts turn sporadic, dick twitching as a telltale of his pending orgasm that’s soon to crash down over him. he didn’t need to hear your answer as he ruts into you faster, hips stuttering out of control before a low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he shoots hot ropes of cum, flooding into your womb and stuffing you full with his seed.

and once he lets go of your legs you can feel your whole body sore all over, but you can’t bring yourself to care nor whatever is going to happen after this when the man in front of you has given you what you truly wanted and made you feel satiated like you’ve never felt before.

toji pulls out his spent cock and runs a hand through his hair before putting his pants back on. a cocky smirk graces his lips at the sight of your fucked out body, still splayed on top of the hood with his cum dribbling out from your pussy.

he presses your cheeks together with one hand and forces you to look at him, even as your lids are getting heavy to lift.

“i was serious about you being my fucktoy– and stealing your car.” he cackles. “so, do you wanna be in the back seat or do you prefer the trunk?”

duskamethyst © 2020 • all rights reserved. do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

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[sluttywonwoo]

something more || h.js x reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time- your roommate walks in on you masturbating and things escalate from there

Warnings: swearing, smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )

Masterlist

additional warnings: additional warnings: masturbation, unprotected sex, choking, degradation, lowkey spit play

“Joshua! Come look at this!”

There were a lot of things you liked about your apartment. Cheap rent, nice views, mostly functioning air conditioning… however the gaping hole in your bedroom ceiling was not one of them. It had started out as a small leak a couple of weeks ago, water dripping from some imperceptible hole in the plaster that had slowly turned into a trickle and then a steady stream, until finally the ceiling had collapsed in on itself, unable to hold the weight of all of the water any longer. You had filed a maintenance request when you first noticed the leak, but it had gone ignored. Maybe now, now that your bed was covered in drywall and pipe water, now that you could see into the apartment above yours, your concerns would be important enough to be addressed.

“What is it?” your roommate called back.

You heard him approach and waited for the gasp that would follow. “Y/n…” he hissed, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping your shoulder in shock.

“I know.”

“Holy shit.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed and took a tentative step forward into your room, wincing when your sock made contact with your damp rug.

“I’ll call maintenance,” Joshua offered and turned on his heel to grab his phone.

“I’ll… try and figure my shit out, I guess.”

His footsteps faded into the background as he retreated into his own room and you looked around your room with a frown, surveying the space for anything salvageable. You were surprised you hadn’t started crying yet. But apparently your brain hadn’t quite caught up with your eyes because all you felt was a numb sort of apathy as you gazed at the mess in front of you.

There was no way you could sleep in your room tonight. Even if you managed to dry everything and clear the debris, there was still a giant fucking hole in the ceiling. The mere thought of trying to fall asleep underneath it made you uneasy. You would have to crash somewhere else.

“They said not to touch anything-” Joshua shouted from the other room. You froze in place, afraid you’d already done something you weren’t supposed to and decided to join him in the kitchen instead.

Your socks left wet footprints against the concrete floor as you padded over to where Joshua was. He shot you a look of sympathy as you peeled them off and tossed them to the side, shifting his attention back to the notepad on the table in front of him to write something the person on the other end of the phone was saying.

The pen hovered above the paper momentarily, and Joshua rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow? Is that the earliest- yeah that’s fine.”

The little hope you’d had that the issue would be resolved tonight fizzled, and you blew out a breath of frustration. You pulled out your phone and began scrolling through your contacts, mentally making notes of who might let you spend the night at their place.

Joshua thanked whoever he was talking to and hung up, pushing the notebook away from him with a groan.

“They’ll be here tomorrow morning,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Seungcheol.”

Joshua made a face. “Seung- why?”

“I’m going to ask if I can sleep over.”

“You haven’t talked to him in months,” your roommate protested.

“He’ll say yes to me,” you assured him.

“That’s because he expects you to sleep with him.”

“I know.”

“Y/n! You’re not seriously going to have sex with him in exchange for a place to stay, are you?”

“Well when you put it like that…” you trailed off and sighed. “Whatever, I’m not above it. It’s been a while since I’ve been laid anyway.”

“Seungcheol couldn’t even last thirty seconds-” he paused when you gave him a look, “I know from what you’ve told me. Not because I slept with him.”

“You know saying that makes it sound like that’s exactly why you know.”

“Please, y/n, I have taste,” he said matter-of-factly, easily dodging a swat from you. “You’re not sleeping at Seungcheol’s,” he said as if he’d decided, as if he had final say on the matter.

“Well, what am I supposed to do, Joshua?” you demanded. “I can’t sleep in my own room, and you know I can’t sleep on the couch so what do you suggest?”

“Take my room,” he offered simply, shrugging like it should have been obvious.

“What?”

“You can have my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch. You don’t even have to fuck me for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well what do I have to do for it?”

You could tell Joshua wanted to say ‘nothing’, but knew you wouldn’t accept his offer without feeling like you could give him anything in return so he settled for “fried rice”.

“You want fried rice?”

“I want your fried rice,” he clarified with a grin. “You know it’s my favorite.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “Fine. Thank you, Joshua.”

He gave you a knowing smile and nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

-

Joshua kept his room colder than yours. Your wet hair from the shower only made the chill worse, but you didn’t want to mess with the thermostat and throw off how he liked things. You were even hesitant to touch the pillows on his bed. You knew Joshua wouldn’t care, but you still wanted to respect his space.

Joshua was literally the most easygoing person you knew, which offered a nice balance in contrast to your high-strung, perfectionist personality. One time you’d bled on his sheets while you were just hanging out in his room and he was completely unphased. He just threw the bedding in the wash like nothing had happened and mentioned that he’d been needing to wash them anyway while you practically cried in embarrassment.

“It’s okay, y/n. I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“Yeah, but I’m not your girlfriend!”

“We live together, close enough.”

To be fair, you knew that this kind of thing happened all the time, but you were still mortified. You didn’t even pay attention to the rest of the movie you and Joshua had been watching. To this day you didn’t know how the Lego Batman Movie ended.

“You need something to sleep in?” Joshua had asked on your way from the bathroom back to his room, having noted your state of undress.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to make the trips to and from the shower in nothing more than a towel, but he knew you wouldn’t be able to go back into your room tonight, and that most of your clothes were still damp from the ceiling anyway.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

He just nodded from where he was on the couch and gestured past you in the direction of his door. “You know where everything is. Pick out whatever.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You’d chosen an old t-shirt from a gas station souvenir shop, one of many in his collection of road-trip tees and a pair of panties you had managed to snag from your dresser before Joshua had yelled at you to get out of your room earlier.

You hung your towel on a hook attached to the back of his closet door and sprawled out on his bed, pulling the comforter around yourself.

It was late. It had been late for a while, but you and Joshua were night owls. You both kept busy schedules, so at night you liked to take some time for yourselves before bed. Still though, you knew you should sleep. But you couldn’t.

You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax your muscles.

If you were being honest, the idea of getting laid had been exciting and you were a bit disappointed it wasn’t going to happen for you tonight. It had been a while since you’d been with anyone, and you were craving the intimacy, even if it was coming from someone like Dylan.

Your skin was beginning to feel hot and sticky, and you pushed the covers off of you in your frustration. You had just been cold a few moments ago, and all it had taken to make you sweat was the mere thought of sex. It was pathetic, you were pathetic, and you knew it.

Your fingers inched toward the waistband of your panties almost unconsciously before you stopped yourself. You were in Joshua’s bed. You shouldn’t be getting yourself off in his bed. That was wrong. It wasn’t your room, there must be some sort of boundary for this sort of thing. Roommate code. What if Joshua walked in on you- no. You clenched your fists by your sides and sighed. The idea of your roommate walking in on you with your hand down your pants should not be turning you on. It should be having the opposite effect. But you couldn’t help it.

You had managed to suppress your attraction to him for this long, being in his bed shouldn’t be the breaking point. Maybe it was because his sheets smelled like him, or maybe it was because you were wearing his shirt…fuck, you wished you had your vibrator. The little pink toy was sitting in the drawer of your bedside table, likely water damaged beyond repair. God, hadn’t you lost enough?

“Forgive me, Shua,” you whispered hoarsely into the empty room as you resigned yourself to your pleasure.

Your pussy had won over your head and you’d given into your desire. Familiar sparks of arousal flickered faintly in your stomach when you brushed the tips of your fingers over your panties. You weren’t shocked to discover that the material was already damp from where your wetness had seeped through.

You tried to think about Seungcheol, about your celebrity crushes, about anyone other than the person behind the other side of the door, but your mind kept drifting back to your roommate. You thought about what Joshua’s fingers would feel like instead of your own. They were so much longer than yours… you stifled a moan as you curled a finger into yourself and let your thumb begin to circle your clit, imagining Joshua’s head was buried in between your thighs instead.

Getting yourself to the edge was usually difficult for you without the help of toys or a third party, but you surprised yourself when your thighs began to tense in anticipation as you worked your fingers over your g-spot repeatedly, orgasm just out of reach. You were trying to be as quiet as possible, but you kept letting quiet sighs and curses slip from between your lips as your focus began to blur.

You pictured Joshua pushing himself into you, pictured how his face would scrunch up in pleasure as he felt you clench around his cock for the first time, how he’d kiss your neck and praise you for taking him so well- you bit down on your knuckles to stop yourself from screaming.

The invisible string inside of you snapped right as the door to Joshua’s room swung open and you were forced to rip your hand away from yourself as you came and your pussy clenched around nothing.

The light overhead flicked on and you squinted, groaning at the sudden blinding intrusion.

“Sorry,” Joshua apologized sheepishly. “I just forgot a pillow.”

You used your dry hand, the knuckle-bitten one, to throw him one of the pillows from behind you. He caught it with ease and you thought that would be it, but he zeroed in on your hand, narrowing his eyes at it with a confused expression on his face.

You hoped he couldn’t tell that you were still trembling from the aftershocks of your ruined orgasm, hoped he didn’t question why you were so flushed and breathless.

“What happened to your hand?” he asked, tossing the pillow aside and taking your hand into his own to observe. “You’re bleeding.”

Damn, you hadn’t meant to bite your hand that hard.

“It’s nothing,” you said and tried to yank your hand out of his grasp, but he was holding onto you too tightly.

“I have some Band-Aids in the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Shua you don’t have to-”

He was gone before you could finish your sentence, and back before you could protest any further. While he was in the bathroom you hurriedly wiped your other hand on your- his- shirt in an attempt to erase any evidence of what you had been doing just moments before he had interrupted.

“Give me your hand,” Joshua instructed, taking a seat on the bed so that he was facing you.

You outstretched your arm so that he could see the damage and watched as he dabbed a tissue at the specks of blood on your skin, applying pressure to stop the flow.

“It’s just a little scrape,” you insisted.

“Still, we don’t want it to get infected.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

Once he was sure that you had stopped bleeding he dabbed a tiny bit of Neosporin onto your knuckle and wrapped a Spider-Man Band-Aid around your finger.

“Thank you.”

“Wait, I’m not done!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have to kiss it better.”

You rolled your eyes but gave in, lifting your hand to his face princess style. He pressed a gentle kiss to the Spider-Man Band-Aid and took a moment to admire his work. It was only when he was holding your hand closer that he noticed the indents in all of your other knuckles.

“Why were you biting your hand?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

There was no use in lying about it, the marks on your hand were clearly teeth marks. He would know you were bullshitting if you tried to play it off.

“I wasn’t.”

So much for that.

Joshua blinked. “Show me your other hand.”

“What? No.”

“Show me.”

“No!”

You grabbed the comforter and pulled it tighter to you while Joshua tried to wrestle it from your grasp.

“I swear to God, y/n,” he muttered under his breath.

You put up a good fight, but he was stronger than you and tugged it off of you within seconds of struggling. He pushed you back onto the bed and used his body to pin you to the mattress so that you couldn’t wriggle away. Now that you were stuck underneath him he was able to assess the hand that you had been trying to hide. You whimpered in embarrassment and watched in horror as he brought the hand… brought the hand to his…

“Joshua, what are you doing?” you breathed out.

He looked at you brazenly and then put two of your fingers in his mouth. You shivered as he sucked the arousal, the evidence, from your fingers to confirm his suspicion.

“You’re a liar,” he said finally.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.

Joshua chuckled to himself and let your hand fall back to your side. “And a brat too.” You scoffed in offense but Joshua just leaned down to kiss your forehead sweetly. “I already knew that, though.”

“Excuse you, but I am fucking delightful!” you argued.

“I never said you weren’t!”

“You just called me a brat!”

“Two things can be true at the same time.”

“I hate you.”

“So you… don’t want me to… give you a hand there?” he asked.

You paused. Was he really offering to-

“We’re friends, Joshua. You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. I want to.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat and in your pussy. Joshua was your best friend and your roommate… but was there something more? Right now you wanted him more than you had ever wanted anyone. This couldn’t end well.

“Joshua?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

Joshua was back on top of you as soon as the words left your mouth, pressing his lips to yours while one of his hands tangled itself in your hair. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned softly into his mouth. You found yourself wishing the moment could last forever, but you quickly changed your mind when you felt Joshua pressing his thigh up in between your legs. Lazily making out was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He brought a hand to your hip and urged you to move. He guided you until you were rocking back and forth on his thigh at a steady pace.

“Feel good?” he asked.

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your panties were the only layer between your pussy and Joshua’s leg, and although they were certainly ruined by now they still provided the means to create friction that went straight to your clit.

Joshua’s hands fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you were wearing and he tugged at the bottom of it, motioning for it to come off.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

Another nod from you and he was whisking the shirt off over your head without a second’s hesitation. He was pulling his own shirt off next, tossing it into a pile on the floor with yours. His fingers found the waistband of your panties soon after, and he played with the elastic impatiently, eager eyes searching yours for approval. You lifted your hips off of the bed so that he could take them off, leaving you completely naked before him.

Joshua let his gaze travel down your body, shamelessly admiring every dimple, curve, and freckle that was now exposed to him. You shifted under him self-consciously, silently wishing you had shaved. If you had known you’d be fucking your best friend, you would have, but it was too late now and you could only hope he wasn’t bothered by a little hair.

“How are you real,” he murmured to himself, earning an eye roll from you. Joshua reached out and dragged a finger through your folds, smiling when you flinched. “So sensitive…” he noted. “Did you cum already?”

“Yes, but it was ruined,” you admitted.

“Poor thing,” he tsked in fake sympathy, bringing his hand back up to his mouth. “Just wanna nother taste. You’re too sweet to resist.”

“Shua,” you whined.

“What is it, baby?”

“I need you.”

He smiled down at you and took you by the chin, tilting your face up towards him. “You already have me.”

“You know what I mean!”

“But I want to hear you say it.”

You groaned stubbornly and twisted your head out of his grip, only to let out a yelp when he closed a hand around your throat.

“Stop being a brat,” Joshua spat as he forced you to look at him again. “I’ll give you one more chance to be a good girl, got it? Good girls use their words to tell me what they want. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you choked out desperately.

“Are you going to be a good girl?”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“So what is it that you need, love?”

You swallowed your pride and opened your mouth to respond. “Your cock, please.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Joshua asked, cupping a hand around his ear as if he couldn’t hear you.

“I want- I need your cock, please.”

“Atta girl,” he praised and eased the grip around your neck. “Was that so hard?”

You shook your head weakly and watched as Joshua pushed his boxers down to his thighs, then onto the floor, letting his cock bounce up against his stomach. He was fully hard already and you wondered how long he’d been like that, wondered how he had so much self-control when you barely had any.

“We can stop whenever you want, okay?” Joshua said, face softening and hand gently cupping your cheek. “Let me know if it’s too much. Just tell me what you need, baby.” You nodded obediently and met him halfway as he leaned down to kiss you. He broke away from the kiss suddenly and held a hand underneath your mouth. “Spit,” he ordered.

You complied and sat up a little to spit into his hand. He worked that same hand over his cock a few times, using your spit to lubricate it before positioning himself over you.

“Is this a good idea?” you blurted right as Joshua was about to push himself into you, suddenly aware that you wouldn’t be able to go back from this as soon as he did.

You had shoved any feelings you’d had for Joshua down for so long and it would be impossible to keep doing after sleeping with him. But you had already come this far.

“Probably not,” Joshua answered with a shrug. “Do you want to stop?”

“No. Do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Great.”

A brief moment of silence lapsed while you both stared into each others’ eyes, not quite sure where to go from there.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” Joshua said casually after thirty more seconds of silence.

“Yes, please do.”

You braced yourself for the stretch as Joshua pushed into you at an agonizing pace and sank your teeth into his shoulder to relieve some of the pressure. Joshua groaned at the feeling of you pulsing around his cock, a feeling which was only heightened by you nipping at his skin.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“You’re… so big,” you echoed back.

He allowed you a few moments to adjust before he moved. You were already so worked up that he slid in and out of you easily and it wasn’t long before he was pounding into you at a fast tempo. He pressed hurried kisses to your jaw and neck, leaving a trail of hickies to remember him by.

You cried out each time his cock hit your g-spot, overwhelmed and still sensitive. Joshua kissed you to drown out your moans, clamping a hand over your mouth in his stead whenever he came up for air. His other hand was up against the wall for stability, though it wasn’t helping much.

“Joshua,” you gasped.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you choke me again, please?” you all but begged.

Joshua smirked. “Of course.”

He did as you asked and cursed when you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him in closer.

“See what happens when you’re a good girl and ask nicely?” he teased, cocking his jaw arrogantly. “You get rewarded.”

You could feel your orgasm building in your abdomen as Joshua continued to thrust into you and wondered if he was close too. You guessed that he was from the way his hips had began to falter.

“Up,” Joshua commanded suddenly.

He slipped out of you and grabbed you by the shoulders, hauling you into a sitting position.

“On your hands and knees,”

“And if I don’t?” you challenged.

“You don’t want to find out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Should I finish myself off, then?” he asked, pumping his cock lazily as if he expected you to call his bluff. “Leave you here needy, not let you cum?”

“No, please!”

You quickly got into position on all fours with your back to Joshua praying that he wouldn’t make good on his threat.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. You could hear the smile in his voice.

You fell forward on your face when he shoved his cock back into you only for him to tug you upright by your hair. He fucked you like that in doggy for a minute or so before he snaked an arm around your upper body and pulled you flush against his chest. Being seated on his lap allowed Joshua the ability to touch practically anywhere on your body. He took advantage of the new position by grabbing your tits.

He was so fucking deep in you like this you couldn’t stand it. Every tiny movement brought you closer to the edge and you weren’t sure how much longer you could last.

“Shua, I’m close,” you warned through broken gasps.

“Don’t cum yet.”

“Why not,” you whined.

“You’re not allowed to cum until you answer this question for me,” he said breathlessly.

“What is it?”

“When you were touching yourself earlier, who were you thinking about?”

“I-”

“Was it Seungcheol?”

“No.”

Joshua’s fingers found your clit and began rubbing circles around it, making it that much harder not to disobey him.

“Fuck, Joshua…”

“Who was it?”

“It was you! I was thinking about you!”

“Do you always think about me?” he pressed.

“You only said one question,” you accused defensively.

Interrogating you while he had you on the brink of orgasm was not fair.

“Fine, cum.”

You cried his name as you finally came. He held you through it, your orgasm triggering his own as you clenched around him repeatedly. Your name tumbled from his lips too, while he lost himself in the midst of pleasure. You couldn’t see his face as he came, but you could imagine it, like you had hundreds of times before. The way his hair would stick to his forehead, the way he’d bite down on his lip and squeeze his eyes shut as he let go of control…

You couldn’t see him as he came, but you could feel him. You felt his entire body tense behind you, felt the warm spurts of cum fill you up, felt the way he instinctively grabbed at your throat to anchor himself.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity as you both caught your breath. Joshua collapsed on the bed with you in his arms, cock still buried inside of you. He brushed your hair out of your face and turned your head so that he could look into your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded sleepily and gave him a weak smile. “I’m good.”

“Are you sure? I wasn’t too rough?”

“No, you were perfect.”

He kissed you again without a second thought and you kissed him back. It felt familiar and warm, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Here let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, pulling out of you.

You winced at the empty feeling, but laid in bed motionlessly and let Joshua dote on you. He used a warm washcloth in between your thighs and wrapped a new Spider-Man Band-Aid around your hurt finger. He slipped back into his boxers and tossed you another pair of his to wear before fetching you a glass of water from the kitchen and making you drink it all.

Joshua returned to bed finally and snuggled up to you instantly. You nestled yourself into the crook of his arm and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I thought I didn’t have to fuck you to sleep in your bed,” you said quietly once he had gotten comfortable.

“Shut up.” There was still a lot to discuss between the two of you, but nothing that couldn’t wait until morning. For now you were content to fall asleep in his arms and ignore all of the unanswered questions bouncing around in your mind. “For the record, I still expect my fried rice.”

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[ygreczed-3]

The Walking Dead/Detroit Become Human AU

(so basically I was tempted to make a post to apologize about the mess my blog has become lately - feels like I’m posting AUs, artworks, sketches and comic updates in such a chaotic way… I’m really sorry about it ahaha 😅 Hopefully it will get better soon)

So this post is me drawing for hours and forgetting to eat on my break day (I finally did !!! Don’t worry ahaha) because I became obsessed with an idea again. Also I like to make concept arts and storyboards as if I was working on a professional project for a TV show/animation. I find it fascinating ! This time I don’t really have any plot or finished story, I just wanted to draw these scenes badly so… I just did.

I’d like to draw your attention to Connor’s curly hair and Hank’s design (strongly inspired by Kristoff from Frozen). I just LOVE these details.

⚠️Remember this is NOT a new series. Just me having fun with characters and a universe I like (aka The Walking Dead) ! 

Anyway, more ideas below 👀

*POW*

Hank open his eye again. The walker was shot in the head. Hank pushes the walker away, it falls dead on the concrete.

Looking up, he sees Connor with a gun.

Hank : Jesus… Thank you.  I thought I was…

Connor : I wouldn’t have wasted a bullet for you if it wasn’t for your kid back there. Your car, does it work? Hank : … Yeah… I just… I was looking for some gas when… well… Can I drive you somewhere? Connor : Not really, I’m looking for someone.

___________________________

Hank and Cole are walking in a gas station with jerricans and pour what’s left of gas from the pump.

Cole : Dad, that mister from earlier, do you think he’s gonna be okay ? Hank : I think, pumpkin. He was the one helping us. Cole : Being alone sounds dangerous… He should have come with us. Hank : …

___________________________

It’s nighttime, Cole is sleeping in the backseats with a blanket, Hank is sleeping in the driver seat. He wakes up brutally as he hears something tapping softly against the car window : the young man from earlier. He rolls the window down.

Hank : You ? Connor : I’ve looked around the whole city. Now it’s too dark… I need a safe place to have some sleep, I was thinking you could let me in. You owe me after all. Hank : … Yeah sure. Get in.

Connor gets in the car. He takes his bag off and keeps it by his side, out of Hank’s reach. He takes his coat off but keeps a gun near him. Hank stares at him with narrowed eyes.

Hank : … You’re safe here, really. You can trust me. Connor : Sorry, but I only trust myself.

___________________________

It’s dark outside, Hank can’t really sleep with the stranger next to him. His guts dictate him to stay alert. He watches carefully as Connor turns his head to him, half-opening his eyes.

Connor: Can’t sleep ? Hank : … Well you were right… I don’t know you. What about you ? Did you sleep a little ? Connor : … No. I’m too… cautious. My brain won’t let me sleep with a stranger next to me. Hank : … My name’s Hank. You ? Connor : What the hell are you doing ? Hank : We agreed we couldn’t sleep next to strangers. I’m introducing myself. Connor : It won’t make it any better… *after a silence* I’m Connor. Hank : Nice to meet you. Connor: … Where were you before ? You… you act like a newborn in this hell… Hank : … I had a neighbor with one of those bunkers… with tons of food, water, enough to live for months. We… We were hiding there with her until… until a few weeks. Connor : What happened ? Hank : She thought she had heard a chopper. Thought someone was out there to rescue us… she opened the hatch and she was… attacked by those things… Connor: … the kid… he’s yours? Hank : Yeah… Cole. Connor: … Where’s her mom ? Hank : He’s never known her. Connor: Sorry.  Hank : Don’t be.

*silence*

Hank : I think… I’m starting to relax… we should try to sleep huh ?

Connor is already sleeping.

___________________________

Connor takes his backpack as Hank and Cole take a breakfast with some fire.

Hank : You sure you don’t want to eat anything ? Connor : No thanks, I have my own stock. You should save your food for your kid. Hank : … Hey, if you ever need to find us… after you’ve found what  you’re looking for, I have a police radio. Frequency 58,7 kHz. Connor: I won’t need it but- thanks. Good luck.

Connor leaves.

___________________________

Cole : What should we do now? Hank : … We need to find more food… and weapons. I’ll go downtown today. You… You’ll stay here alright? Cole : No I… I want to stay with you… Hank : I know you’re scared Cole… But it’s too dangerous. You’ll be safe hidden in the car. Cole : You’ll be quick? Hank : Back before sunset, pinky swear.

___________________________

Hank finds an axe on a bar counter.

Suddenly : *BONG BONG BONG BONG*

Hank : What the-

He runs outside and hides against a wall as walkers pass nearby, heading to the source of the ringing.

He looks up and sees Connor climbing on a ladder but a Walker is trying to grab his leg.

Hank comes and kills the monster. Connor : You..! Follow me !

On the rooftop, they see the church. It’s an automatic bell, the walkers are massively getting around the building. There is something painted on the wall that says “Find Jericho” with black paint and scribbled under it “Find 9s”

Connor : Nines… Hank : What is Jericho ? Connor : … A safe place for survivors. It’s hidden… to keep the thieves and killers away. Hank : … The church. Connor : What ? Hank : Jericho, it has to do with the bible. The message is written on a church’s wall. It’s not a coincidence, there might be… a hint in there. Connor : … But we can’t get inside with those creeps around… Hank : … Maybe they leave when the church stops ringing the bells. Connor : Or maybe we should try to lead them away with… Hank : With what ? Connor : … Your car.

___________________________

Connor : So, let me get it straight. You drive around the town honking. It will attract the creeps away from the church. I get inside the church and look for any kind of hint. When the bells start ringing I get out before the creeps come back. And what do we do with Cole ?

Hank : He’s going with you. I don’t want to have him in the car with hundreds of undeads trying to get me. Connor : … I don’t- Hank : Don’t worry. He’s a smart kid. He will do as you say. Right Cole? Cole : …Hmm. Connor: … Fine. Let’s do it.

___________________________

Connor and Cole sneak into the church. Connor kills two of the Walkers still inside the church as Cole follows him cautiously. 

Cole : … Look. *he points out a book on the altar* Connor : … It’s a bible… The chapter about the Battle of Jericho… it can’t be a coincidence. *They look up and see something written with old blood on the wall behind the altar. It says “Rahab the harlot defied the King of Jericho. Here lies the key to the fortress.”* Cole : What’s a harlot? Connor : … You should… ask your father. Now… I have to read… and think. Cole : … We only have one hour left before the bells ring again… Connor : I know.

___________________________

Connor : … I don’t get it ! There must be something I’m missing ! Cole : … Connor, I found a map ! Connor : Not now Cole, I’m trying to focus… Cole : Connor, look ! Connor : Cole please I really need-…

Cole shows him the map… there is a “9s” written on it.

Connor : Nines ! Cole : Does it help ? Connor : … I don’t know-…

The bells ring suddenly.

Connor : Crap… we have to get out of here. Give me your hand, buddy.

___________________________

Hank is waiting for them : he has lit a fire and when Cole sees him, he lets go of Connor’s hand and runs to hug his dad.

Hank : I gotcha, pumpkin. *looking up at Connor* Did you find something ? Connor : I think…  Hank : You think ? Connor : I have this map my brother left for me inside the church… there was some kind of riddle on the wall, and it must have something to do with this but… there is nothing noted on it. Hank : What’s the riddle ? Connor : “Rahab the harlot defied the King of Jericho, here lies the key to the fortress.” Rahab was a prostitute, she helped Joshua by hiding spies he sent inside the city… and Joshua spared her when he took the fortress. But I… I don’t see the connection. Hank : … Let me see the map.

Connor gives it. Cole sits next to his father, near the fire, and soon falls asleep. After some time thinking and overthinking it, Hank finally points to a town on the map. A city called Defiance.

Hank : Look. Connor : Defiance… Of course. The key lies in Rahab’s defiance… Defiance is a town… Fuck- You’re a genius…! Hank : Man, I was feeling like a Detective again… felt nice for a moment. Connor: You were a Detective? Hank : A police Lieutenant, to be specific. But yeah. Detective works too. Connor : … I don’t think the treasure hunt is done yet. You’re gonna need your supercop sense again ! Hank : … It’s good to see you all excited. Feels like meeting the real Connor under the survivor’s shell. Connor: It’s nice… that Cole and you don’t have that shell yet… humanity is a rare thing to find down there. Hank : … So, who is “Nines” ? Connor : My little brother. We lived together, in the same group of survivors. Our camp was attacked… we got separated. Hank : Looks like he’s smart. He solved the riddle all by himself. It took the two of us to understand the hint. Connor : He’s always been a nerd. Hank : Pffft… Well we should try to get some sleep. We should be able to reach Stoneton, then we’ll have to find more gas.

Hank gets up and carries Cole to the car seats.

Connor: … Hank…? Hank : Yup ? Connor : Can I… Can I come with you two ? I could go to Defiance by myself but… if you’re heading there too, maybe we could… Hank : What the heck ? Of course you’re coming with us. With our two half-brains we’re gonna need each other’s help to find Jericho and your brother, don’t you think ? Connor *chuckles* : Right.

[grapementos]

I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH!!!!Can I ask for a cheater bakugo, kirishima or deku? ( can you do all three? That would be awesome 🥲) and pls make the ending v angsty (on the other persons side lmaooowjwisj) like, y/n dates their best friend or something LOL

This is literally my first time, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense 🥲

meliora

(adj.) latin for “the pursuit of better”

a/n: AHH NONNIE ILYSM TY FOR THIS REQUEST. i’ll have all three characters i promise, but for now take kiri. i hope this angst is up to your standards 🥺 and your request made sense dw mwah xoxo also— AGED UP CHARACTERS.

midoriya’s part. bakugo’s part.

cw: cheating, crying, mentions of alcohol/under influence of alcohol, suggestive if you squint, kissing.

kirishima was indescribable.

you'd never before met a man that was so utterly wonderful in every way. every move he made was perfect in your eyes. he could do no wrong.

and he loved you just as hard. he was willing to shout it from the rooftops the second you had an ounce of doubt. you were never his secret--you were his most prized possession; he loved showing you off and flaunting the fact that he, 'had the best partner in the world.'

every one of your friends put money on the two of you getting married and staying together (even bakugo, surprisingly.) you were counting on that outcome.

still, you had disagreements from time to time, just like every other couple, but you had enough patience and sense between the two of you to be rational. you openly discussed your insecurities with each other, only to be met with open arms and gentle reassurances.

you didn't tend to entertain the idea of soulmates, but what other explanation was there? what other phenomenon could be held responsible for your seemingly destined relationship?

whatever it was, you were in love with your soulmate.

that's what you thought, at least.

that's what you thought until he cheated.

he cheated at a party you didn't even want to attend. but, because you loved him, you did. you attended the party only to find your drunken boyfriend eating some random person's face in one of yaoyorozu's million guest rooms. you remembered it so vividly.

it was a sight that was branded in your brain--you couldn't even blink without seeing them together, kissing with such desperation, such hunger.

"ei?" your voice had quivered, phone dropping to the floor, "what.. what're you.."

you wanted to scream when his dazed eyes met yours, glazed over and burning with a look you'd never seen in them before.

"y/n? that's not.." he stammered, looking back and forth between you and the person, "i'm not.. who's this?" as if finally realizing that was not, in fact, you, he shoved them off, crossing the to move towards you.

"you tell me, kirishima! you're the one with your tongue down their throat!" your eyes stung, every part of you trembling with utter betrayal.

"i.. i thought'was you!" he slurred, eyes pleading as he reached out to grab your arm.

you jerked back as if you'd been burned, "me? kirishima, i look nothing like them!" fat tears rolled down your cheeks as you stepped back, blinking quickly to clear your vision.

"s'tp calling me that.. s'not my name." he frowned, "m'so sorry, so sorry.. let's go home, please. let's just go home." he begged, eyes still unfocused. he was definitely not in any condition to drive.

so you decided to take care of him. one last time.

you drove him back to your shared apartment that night, ignoring the questioning looks you received from everyone.

they knew. they'd seen kirishima go upstairs with that person, and yet they let you see it for yourself. likely because you wouldn't have believed that your perfect boyfriend committed such an unspeakable act.

you helped him into the apartment after a long drive consisting of a stop at a gas station to buy some water and kirishima's loud wails and apologies. the entire ride you only spoke three words to him:

"drink your water."

he clung onto you as you guided him to your bedroom, helping him change into more comfortable clothes.

and then the two of you were seated on the bed. silent. alcohol long worn off.

"y/n, please-"

"i'll be gone by the morning. i'm taking everything in one trip." you couldn't look at him. if you did, you'd see his eyes that made you weak, and your resolve would crumble. you would forgive him, you were sure of it. all it took was a look.

"no!" he nearly shouted, sobs racking his body, "no, y/n, you can't. you can't leave me, it was a mistake, i'm so sorry!" his hands tangled in the duvet, presumably because he was too scared to touch you.

"and why can't i," you cursed the way your voice cracked, "kirishima? tell me, please. tell me right now that there is no reason for me to leave you. tell me that you did nothing wrong. tell me that what i saw tonight wasn't real. please tell me i made a mistake, and that i'm crazy, or- or i need glasses or something."

he was trying to talk over you as your voice kept raising, growing more and more desperate as your resolve cracked.

"tell me i didn't see you kiss them!"

he was silent, for his deed was there. out in the open. and he knew he couldn't tell you any of that. it would be a lie. a cold, hard lie you wanted nothing more than to believe.

"thought so." you muttered bitterly, getting up to start packing your clothes. just as you stood, another tsunami of misery slammed into you. you paused, back facing him.

"i just.. don't understand." you whispered, "i thought we were so happy. were you bored? is that it? we've been together so long that you got tired of the same old thing?"

before he could speak, you spoke again, voice heavy with tears, "and why don't i want you to feel the same hurt i do? i should, right? i should be angry and cursing your name and not want to be anywhere near you. i should have left you there at the party and let someone else take care of you."

"why didn't you?" he mumbled after a beat of silence.

"because i'm truly in love with you." you finally looked over to meet his gaze, "i guess soulmates really don't exist, huh?"

-

true to your word, you were gone by morning. you had everything in your car, leaving a note on the counter for kirishima to read once he woke up.

thankfully, you'd arranged to stay with a friend while you searched for a place to relocate. you expected it to take less than a month if you looked consistently and weren't too picky.

what you didn't expect, however, was a message from the one and only katsuki bakugo.

it was him requesting to meet up with you at a coffee shop you were familiar with, which you reluctantly agreed to. as soon as you sent the text, however, you knew it was a bad idea. he was friends with kirishima and was probably only meeting with you because he asked him to.

it was too late, you decided, so you went to get ready for your mysterious rendezvous.

once time rolled around and you were seated at the table with him, you were shocked to find that he met with you on his own accord.

"i don't do people favors. especially cheaters." he’d explained after you mentioned your concern.

it stung. the reminder.

bakugo must've noticed because he swiftly distracted you.

"stop staring off into space, idiot. i invited you here for a reason."

you found that he wanted to help you. when asked why, he just looked off to the side, as if contemplating.

"i know how you feel. let me help you."

"i thought you don't do people favors, bakugo?"

"listen, do you want my help or not?"

you did. you really did. you felt so alone and tired.

so you agreed. and the rest was history.

BONUS:

you eventually fell out of love with kirishima. he'd always have a special place in your heart, but time managed to heal the wound you thought would be the death of you.

of course, you still had love for him, but when you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes after you exchanged vows with bakugo, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel any regret.

you likes? eh? eh? 👀 seriously tho i hope this was what you wanted 🥺 reblogs appreciated !

are you in pain, @zuroki ? hope so <3

[inkykeiji]

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

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

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

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needy little bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Three months earlier

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

You aren’t supposed to be here.

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

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

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

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

“Whadda we have here?”

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

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

Dabi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,”

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

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

“Okay,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

“Something funny, princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, I’m glad,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So. Food?”

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to touch them?”

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

“Keigo—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

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

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

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joyrides.

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

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

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

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

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

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

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

Yes, he hid it well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this—this becomes a habit.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of it mattered.

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

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

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

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

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

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

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

“To-Todo—”

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

“Your coa—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He isn’t good for you—”

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

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

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess, I…”

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

“You’re overreacting—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they aren’t.

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

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

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

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

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

“Marginally—”

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

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

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

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

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

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

“You don’t understand—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never thought he would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

“He hit me,”

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

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

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

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

[henry-and-the-seven-lords]

I have had this song stuck in my head for DAYS and I think about the Brothers everytime I hear it... so here is some little song blurbs.

I Don't Miss You at All

Inspiration ~ I Don't Miss You at All by FINNEAS

Find the full Lyrics Here.

Brothers Masterlist | Dateables Masterlist

💙 Lucifer

But I think our song is comin' on

And now I wanna crash the car

But I won't

Make that mistake again and fall

Lucifer sits in his office after another long day listening to his favorite record with a cup of Demonus in his hand. He swirls the liquid as the song he was listening to comes to an end. Slowly the next one begins. He closes his eyes and takes in the harmonic sound. Opening his eyes, he realizes why this song is so important to him.

Lucifer guided the human in the waltz for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Can we please have one more dance, Lucifer?"

He sighs staring at their big pleading eyes. It almost makes him want to say yes, "I have work, MC. Maybe after."

They rush to him grabbing his sleeve before quietly speaking, "Please?"

His eyes prick with hot tears at the memory. Without a thought he stands up, making his way over to the machine before snapping the record in half.

Upon realization of his actions, Lucifer collapses. Hot tears streaming down his face at what he has lost.

💛 Mammon

I don't get distracted by your smile

And miss the green lights drivin' home

No sign of stoppin'

The house isn't far

Mammon had gone out driving to blow off some steam after Lucifer threatened him. He was going pretty fast until he saw the light turn yellow and began to stop.

As he stopped at the red light, he his attention to the passenger seat out of habit expecting to find an awaiting MC.

"How about we play a game. At every red light, I ask you a question and you have to answer." MC smiled at him as the car slowed to a stop.

He turned his gaze to them, gently putting his hand on the side of their seat, "Sure, ask away."

A small smile crossed his face as he watched them think of a question.

"What was your favorite birthday and why?" MC turned to him with a smile as they awaited his answer.

"Hmm," Mammon thought hard before finally remembering, "Probably my 1,500th. We were still in the Celestial Realm at the time and all the angels sang happy birthday to me. It was really nice." A blush filled his face at the thought of all that attention.

MC gently touched his arm pulling him out of his thoughts, "It sounds amazing."

Mammon is pulled out of his memory by incessant honking behind him. With a quick glance he sees that about ten cars have gotten in line behind him.

He looks up at the light and sees it's green. He puts his foot on the gas, speeding through red lights, going as fast as he can back to the House of Lamentations as hot tears fly off his face in the cold wind.

🧡 Leviathan

But I won't

Break down at 2 AM and call

'Cause I don't

Miss you at all

Levi stares at the computer screen at it flashes the words "Two Player" at him.

His brain slowly rakes through all his friends u til he glances over at his D.D.D.

Levi looks down at his phone to see a message from MC.

MC: I can't finish this mission unless I have a player two... are you busy?

Levi smiles. Before sending his own response.

Levi: Are you sure it isn't just to use me for my levels?

MC responds with a shocked reaction before sending another message.

MC: Of course not! If I am being honest, I can't sleep and I wanted a distraction.

Another smile spreads across his face at the thought of MC coming to him for help over his brothers.

Levi: My door is open, but you better know the password!

Levi begins to reach for his phone, but hesitates before pulling his hand away.

His hand slowly travels back to his controller as he exits out of the game with tears in his eyes.

💚 Satan

All but forgotten

About those eyes

The shade of green that if he'd seen

Would make F. Scott Fitzgerald cry

Satan splashes water on his faces quickly before looking up into the mirror. The demon stares back at himself before he meets his striking green eyes and freezing.

"Satan, your eyes are so vibrant." He chuckles at the human's comment as they stand behind him in the mirror.

His eyes trail their body before focusing on their eyes in the mirror.

"Well I think yours are just as striking." He smirks at them as he watches them blush and chuckle.

"Sure. But mine aren't as amazing as yours. I could see authors writing using thousands of words to describe just how beautiful they are." Their eyes are dreamy as they stare deep into his eyes.

Satan's face contorts into one of frustration and anger as he stares into his own green irises.

His hand moves without warning as it balls into a fist and moves towards the mirror with all his force. A scream emerges from his throat as well as his knuckles make contact with the reflective glass causing it to shatter.

He stares again at the now broken mirror, a fraction of its former self. In one swift movement, he washes his now cut hands of blood before pushing his hair back and leaving the mess behind him as his eyes begin to sting.

💖 Asmodeus

'Cause, no, I can't

Recall your scent

Jasmine, tuberose, and lily

Or your silly French accent

Asmo was taking inventory of his perfumes and colognes as he does every month. As he makes his way through each scent he comes across one that is all too familiar to him.

"Asmo! This one smells amazing! How did you know I love jasmine, lily and tuberose?" MC gently held the glass bottle in their hand as they sprayed it on their wrists again.

"I have my ways. I even bought one for myself so when people on the street see us, they know we are together." Asmo smiled as he stared at them happily gazing at the bottle.

"I really do love it Asmo. Thank you." Their eyes sparkled with adoration as they looked deeply into his.

Asmo narrows his eyes at the bottle before spraying it on his wrists and putting it away.

He walks away with a scowl on his face, giving up his previous need to inventory his scents. But for the rest of his night, he smells his wrists and let's out a small sob after.

❤ Beelzebub

And I barely still remember

Who's in the pictures on my wall...

...And it feels so good

Eating alone

Beel pulls out his instant Ramen from the microwave. Carefully he makes his way to the table with the delicacy in his hands.

He begins to prepare to eat as the intoxicating aroma hits his nostrils and sends him deep into a memory.

MC carried their own bowl of Ramen up to their room as Beel followed slowly behind them, "Come on Beel I want to show you my new photos while we eat!"

When the two finally get to MC's room the sit on the floor. Beel begins to slurp his noodles as MC grabs photos and thrusts them into Beel's face.

"Don't they look great?" Their voice was filled with excitement as Beel stared at himself during a Fangol game.

He slowly nods as he takes a sip of the broth.

"I am glad you like it. I want to take pictures of all seven of you every week and then put them on my wall."

He looked up to see past pictures as he began to hear them slurp next to him.

Beel takes a quickly look around the room only to find himself alone before he looks down at his Ramen. He sighs.

He still digs in with just as much fervor, bit it tastes saltier than he remembers as his cascading tears mix with the noodles.

💜 Belphegor

And I'm sleepin' fine

I don't mean to boast

But I only dream about you

Once or twice a night at most

Belphie squeezes the warm mass in his arm before opening his eyes and seeing MC's back. He smiles at the human in his arm.

"Is my little human still sleepy?" His voice is hoarse from the lack of use.

MC giggles as they roll over and stare him in the eyes, "Nope!" After they finished speaking, MC bolts from his arms with a smile on their face.

Belphie lurches awake with a start. Frantically he looks around the dark attic for the figure he just saw in his dream before he starts patting the bed.

"MC!? MC!?"

After a minute or so of frantic searching, he is confident he is alone.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes and he turns his gaze to the ceiling.

Loud screams fill the room as Belphie begins to pound the bed with his fists. And just as fast as it began, it stops. Belphie falls back onto the plush pillows and returns to his slumber.