#i might return n dig into this deeper later

[unprocione]

For those who didn't catch it in the trailer, Luis refers to Ashley as 'Dulcinea', and himself as 'Sancho Panza'. Both are references to characters in the novel Don Quixote.

Dulcinea, in full Dulcinea del Toboso, fictional character in the two-part picaresque novel Don Quixote (Part I, 1605; Part II, 1615) by Miguel de Cervantes. Aldonza Lorenzo, a sturdy Spanish peasant girl, is renamed Dulcinea by the crazed knight-errant Don Quixote when he selects her to be his lady. Don Quixote perceives Dulcinea as a golden-haired highborn young woman of incomparable loveliness for whom he will perform brave deeds as her paladin. The name Dulcinea, like Dulcibella, came to be used generically to mean mistress or sweetheart. (source)

Sancho Panza, Don Quixote’s squire in the novel Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, a short, pot-bellied peasant whose gross appetite, common sense, and vulgar wit serve as a foil to the mad idealism of his master. He is famous for his many pertinent proverbs. Cervantes used the psychological differences between the two characters to explore the conflict between the ideal and the real and based much of his novel’s narrative development on their personal relationship. (source)

This leaves Leon in the role of Don Quixote.

As part one opens, an aging minor nobleman named Alonso Quixano, enamoured by chivalric romances, sets out from his home village of La Mancha on a quest for adventure. Christening himself Don Quixote, he recruits peasant Sancho Panza to be his squire, promising him an island to govern at the completion of their journey. The pair stumble into a series of comedic misadventures in which Quixote imagines the mundane world of the Spanish countryside as something more exciting and dangerous. In one memorable episode, he attacks a row of windmills, believing them to be gigantic knights. (This is the source of the common phrase “tilting at windmills” to mean attacking imagined enemies.) Quixote evades attempts by friends and countrymen to safely bring him back home, while proving himself, despite his obvious madness, to be good and honourable, and winning Panza’s admiration and devotion. After numerous humiliations, he finally casts aside his illusions, returns home, and dies. (source)

[norrisleclercf1]

Slipping Through My Fingers

pairing: Mafia!Jenson Button x Assistant!Reader

Words: 1.3K

Rating: R

Warnings: Blood, language, guns, hospital, etc.

Requested: Yes/No

Request: Hi If you are taking requests I might have one if you would like, obviously you don’t have to it’s just an ask So like Mafia!Jenson where like the reader gets injured and like ends up in the hospital and him being all worried. If you want of course.

A/N: I'm not sorry for this

Jenson turns in his chair, dropping the pen hanging from it. Your smile fades and turns to irritation as you know he didn't hear you. "I'm sorry, pretty girl. What'd you say?" Trying to cover up the fact he was completely ignoring you. "I asked; I'm going to pick up lunch later. What would you like?" You repeat, watching the thoughts move through his eyes.

Eyes you haven't been able to stop thinking about since Greece, and the way you two were so close, nothing came of it. His meeting had gone horribly, Fernando had sided with Jenson, but the newcomer to the business felt like he was being fucked around. Jenson didn't let you join, but you still remember the way the newcomer stared at you and the way Jenson was close to ripping his throat out.

"Don't, I'll order food, and we can eat here. Don't go outside without me." Jenson begs, voice softer than you've ever heard it. "Mr. Button, it's the annual luncheon. I have to go get the lunch." Jenson leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. "Pretty girl, please stay here where it's safe." Sighing, you fully enter his office and close the door with a soft click.

"Jens, what did that man say to you?" Jenson rips his eyes away from you, refusing to answer you. "Jenson," Moving, he hears the clicks of your heels and then the soft warmth of your fingers lifting up his chin. Dammit, he didn't want to look at you because he knew he'd cave looking into your eyes. "What did he say?" Jenson gives into his craving, splashing his fingers over your hips, and pulls you in, his forehead resting on your stomach.

"Nothing, he didn't say anything. I'm just being paranoid." He whispers and moves, turning his head and melting into your warmth; fingers digging into his hair, you tug it, feeling his breathing even out. "Jenson, I really need to pick up the lunch." His arms tighten before slipping away from your body. "Take Lewis with you." Wanting you to take him would give him a sense of security, but he already knows you are shaking your head.

"Lewis would try to control my every movement. Mr. Button, you said I'd have free control of my life and that you wouldn't let your…main job interfere with my life. This is interfering." Jenson hates it when you call him Mr. Button; it's just a show of the wall you have placed between each other. "You're right," Throat tight, he clears it and sighs. "Please be back in 40." You nod, step back, and walk out of the office.

He'd do anything to place a guard on you, but he didn't want to pull you deeper into his world. He refused to let his life be the thing that ended yours.

You rush out of the restaurant, holding a special lunch for you and Jenson. It was from his favorite steakhouse, and you knew it'd make his day. So what if you're about 10 minutes past when you said you'd be back. It'd be worth the strict talking if it got Jenson to smile.

You bump into a man and apologize as you dig through your purse for the blaring phone. You don't even look at the phone as you answer it, laughing. "Yes, Jenson. I know I'm late, but I'm returning now. Even have a little gift for you." You two might have flirted in Greece, but this was full-on; you only wanted him to ask you. If he didn't, you sure as hell would.

"Mhm, a little gift. Would this little gift require me to see it on you?" Jenson teases, losing all his anger about you not being back yet. You already saw that one in Greece; maybe this one is in the bedroom. You hear Jenson's chair tip and him cuss and things falling. "Jens, you okay?" You walk towards the crosswalk and hit the button, waiting for it to let you walk. "Yep, yeah, of course, just tripped into my desk." You laugh and turn slightly, noticing the man you tripped into is staring at you, but you just shake it off.

"Aww, baby, don't worry. I'll let you be in control tonight." You tease, and Jenson snorts. You hear screams and turn, seeing a large SUV screeching up before slamming on the brakes. It all happened so slowly, where the man from earlier shoves you forward, and loud fireworks are set off. Except you feel a piercing burn fill your body. More screams, more deafening, and all around you.

"Pretty girl?" Jenson's voice sounds so far away as you stumble back and crumble on the road. Something warm pools at your back, yet your body feels like ice and fire pokers stabbing you all simultaneously. "Pretty girl?" His voice is filled with such terror, vision blurring. The man from earlier leans in close and takes something out of your hand. Jenson's voice grew distant with each second. The man chuckles and places your red-covered phone to his ear. "You should've taken the deal." Coughing, you make this gurgled sound, almost choking on the thick iron in your mouth.

The man drops the phone before slapping his heavy boot down on it. "He should've taken the deal." He growls in your face before running off as sirens lull you to sleep.

"JUST TELL ME!" Jenson roars at the nurse, slamming his hands down on the counter. The older nurse just stares at the disheveled man before her and sighs. "Young man, I can't tell you anything because I don't know anything. There is no, Miss. Y/n L/n that's been admitted here." She sighs as Jenson makes the sound of a broken animal.

"Ma'am, any Jane Doe's?" Mark steps in, pulling Jenson back as he paces before flinging himself into a chair and sobbing. Lewis moves and hugs his friend as Jenson doesn't even care about his men flooding the hospital trying to find you. "Oh, yes," The nurse blushes and pulls up a medical record. "We have one, horrible really. Shot 5 to 7 times, they believe it was a drive-by. They do have a birth." "There's a birthmark on her hip shaped like a bit of heart." Jenson fills in, and the nurse sighs, giving Jenson a heartbreaking look.

"Oh darling, she's in CCICU." Mark tenses like Lewis, and Jenson stumbles into the desk, pulling at his hair. "What, what is the CCICU?" Jenson asks, rubbing the snot away as he tries to pull himself together. "Critical Care ICU, that's where they send those who are close to death." Jenson immediately runs before he gets directions. He's bolting through the hospital, trying to find it.

He does. And he about rips the palce to shreds. "Pretty girl," He whimpers, seeing you with 2 policemen standing guard. "Sir," One steps forward but stops seeing who it is and quiets. "She hasn't woken up. They're worried she never will." He whispers and returns to his position as Jenson trudges into the room.

He hates this room. Hates how it has no color. It's dark and grey and sad. This isn't you, he thinks. You're color, the brightness in his world. He should be fighting for life, not you, not his pretty girl. You shouldn't be in a room like this. He wanted to see the sun on your skin. The way you light up as you read and enjoy the beach. He never should've left Greece with you.

"My pretty girl," His voice breaks, dropping to his knees and cupping your broken and pale face. "I should've done it; I should have just taken that deal." He whispers as his face shatters, and he buries into the bed, holding your hand. Jenson was going to kill the man; he was going to burn the world down.

[fuckingstrange]

Sweeter than a lolli

——————————————————————————————————————

WARNINGS: SMUT - NSFW, Sub!Spencer Reid, handjob, minor praise kink(?), Spencer is such a sweetheart and NOBODY PRAISES HIM FOR IT, Somewhat Soft!Dom reader?, Cumming early-ish, Reid cums on his shirt.

WORDS: 662

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x m!reader

——————————————————————————————————————

a/n - IS IT WEIRD I CALL THOSE LOLLI'S?? I KEEP GETTING CALLED BRITISH OR SMT.

——————————————————————————————————————

Reid's hands grasp at the side of your head, pulling you into a deeper kiss as you unbuckle his belt and manage to tug his pants down while he remains seated on the couch with you kneeling over him. He whimpers into your mouth when your fingers wrap around his cock, stroking at a slow, teasing pace.

You might be trying to tease Reid, but the slow pace is all he seems to need right now as whine after whine falls from his lips and drowns in the deep kiss. Your hand comes up to caress his cheek, feeling the skin heat up whenever he accidentally thrusts into your hand.

“Babe, please..” Reid pleads oh so sweetly, not even having to really ask before you're understanding, and giving him, what he wants. You adjust your grip on him, letting your thumb slide up to brush over the head of his cock while you continue to slowly pump. The gasp he gives you in return is rewarding enough, watching his head knock back from the pleasure makes you bite your lip.

Your free hand slowly moves to support his head, holding onto the back of it as you speed up the movement of your hand. You know he's yearned for your touch since he was taken out on a nearly two-week long case, so you plan on giving him everything he asks for, not letting him lift a finger.

Reid whimpers in an almost pathetic manner, but you can't help but find it adorable. He lifts his head to press his lips against yours again, the feeling of his tounge brushing along yours making his heart flutter. He starts moving his hips in time with your strokes, moaning in a boyishly needy way. His hands move to your shoulders, slender fingers ever so gently digging into your skin, making sure not to hurt you while needing something to hang on to.

“You're so sweet, Spencer.. Being so sweet..” You praise, words a bit muffled against his lips while you gently squeeze his cock when it twitches in your hand. You can feel the amount of pre that's been rubbed over his tip from your never-ending circular motions on it, your thumb gliding that much easier to spread more as it runs in a nearly steady stream from him. Reid’s cheeks heat up more at the praise, cherry red dusted over his face and the tips of his ears.

He pulls back from the kiss to bury his head into the crook of your neck, whining “I-I think I'm gonna- gonna cum,” in a softer tone than the other noises that's spilled from his lips. You've been with him long enough to understand he definitely is close just from the difference in his tone.

You respond by speeding up the pace of your hand, your thumb now swiping back and forth over his slit. He gasps and begins to writhe beneath you, body shaking and hips thrusting up to meet your hand while strings of curses slip from him. With how long he went without your touch, or even his own, it's not that much later that his orgasm washes over him.

Reid presses his face into the crook of your neck as his hips still, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt while he ruins his own with the mess of his own cum. You can hear him choke on his own tears, your free hand moving to start caressing the back of his neck while you gently work him through the high.

“There you go, sweetheart..” You murmur in his ear once he starts to untense, cock beginning to soften in your hand before you let go. You know you should get him into the shower, or at least get a rag to clean him, but he seems so tired from the week that you decide to strip him of his dirtied shirt and let him lie down on the couch.

[ladylooch]

hi babe!!! i was wondering if you could do a nico fic where reader has her period and is just not feeling good and he takes care of her and tons of fluff? 🥺💗 thank you i literally adore your writing!!!!

A/N: Thank you so much!! I’m glad you’re enjoying my content! Seriously, comments like this never get old and fill my lil cup right up! 💕 Sorry this is a little late. I was floating all over the place late last week hehe.

Word Count: 814

Warnings: Pretty fluffy, always a swearword or five from me, talks of periods, and pain. this is so sweet you might get a cavity. No I do not reimburse dental bills because of my writing 😉

You and Nico are out to brunch, enjoying a quiet, week day break in the middle of a bustling city. All around you, people rush to work, to-go coffee’s clutched tightly in their grips. But not you two. You and Nico casually lay back in your chairs, your foot in his lap across the table. His thumb strokes absentmindedly at your ankle as he reads the menu. 

“I think I’m going to get the eggs benedict.” He concludes, shoving it away.

“I’ve been dying for french toast all week.” He reaches for his menu again, sliding it back to read the description.

“Salted caramel too.” He nods in approval.

“Yeah, I want anything sweet.” You gesture to your cup of coffee which you dumped four sugars into. You know you’re PMSing hard and warned Nico about it on your walk here.

“Whatever you want, babe.” He murmurs, dipping his thumb deeper into your foot beneath your sock. You watch him from across the table, drinking in his dark stubble, plumped morning lips and melting chocolate eyes. He scans the street out the window behind you as you sigh when he hits just the right spot. “Hey now.” He warns. 

“It’s too late.” You tell him, placing your hand on the building of cramps in your lower abdomen. She’s here.

“Boo.” He frowns.

You blow out a heavy sigh, hoping that will help relieve some of the pressure. You order, then being chatting about the Devils’ upcoming road trip.

“Carolina, Nashville, Detroit, then home.” You nod, imagining the grind he is about to go through. He’ll leave tomorrow after practice. His nails scratch at his stubble as you adjust in your chair, removing your foot from him. You lean further over the table, trying to relieve the pain that is shooting through your uterus. 

“Ow.” You moan. A concerned crinkle forms between his eyebrows. 

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah. I just need some Advil.” You dig in your purse, frowning when you don’t see the travel pack that is usually there. “Shit.” You mumble, digging further, getting desperate to see the small, circular cylinder. “I guess I’ll have to wait until we get home.” You wince again, digging your hands deeper in to provide counter pressure to the cramping.

“No. There is a drug store like two blocks down. I’ll go get it.” He stands immediately, taking one last sip of his coffee.

“Nico, it’s fine.” You call to him. He ignores you, walking out of the restaurant without even looking back for further discussion.

Ten minutes later, he returns just when your food comes out.

“Thank you.” You say graciously to him, popping the two pills into your mouth and swallowing them.

“You know seeing you in pain wrecks me.” He shrugs, stuffing a bite of his breakfast between his lips. 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re my favorite.” His cheesy smile makes you chuckle.

The pain eventually begins to subsided, but you feel bloated and a bit queasy, so your French toast is relatively untouched by the time Nico finishes his meal. You put it in a box but know it’s kinda pointless- you’re not going to eat it. 

“Ugh.” You complain as you walk through the apartment door, putting your hands on your lower back where the muscles are tense. 

“Go lay on the floor.” He points to the living room. “I’ll work on that and we can watch a movie. Whatever you want.”

“Really? Even catch up on The Bachelor.” He closes his eyes in regret, but opens them and nods. You can’t even pretend. Your laughter bursts from your mouth as you reach for the remote. “I’m feeling nice today. How about Mighty Ducks?” You begin to pull up Disney+ then lay on your stomach, waiting for Nico and his healing hands.

Together, you are quiet as his fingers work into your sore flesh. Your head is propped on your crossed arms, eyes closed, listening to the movie rather than watching. Eventually, your eyes are shut because you’re falling asleep. Between Nico’s hands and the pain medicine, you’re feeling considerable better and just want to cuddle. 

“Baby, let’s go to bed.” He suggests before you can. He turns the TV off, then rolls you onto your back so he can help you up. He throws an arm around your shoulder, smooching your temple as you enter your room.

“Snuggle me so hard I can’t move.” You request as you both slide beneath your heavy, white comforter. 

“You got it.” He chuckles, wrapping his large hands around you, pulling you to him by your butt. You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. He squeezes you to him to the point you can only take in shallow breaths. 

“Yeah, just like this.” You confirm as your legs intertwine between his knees. His thigh secures you in place.

Sleep pulls you further from reality as Nico ghosts his lips over yours then works against each side of your chin. 

“Love you.” He whispers. 

Nico Hischier is just what the doctor ordered.

[lychee-drinks]

hewwo!!!! open requests??? don't mind if i do!!!

could you write some headcanons of gun and goo (separate) falling in love with a ridiculously strong (male if you can if not can be whatever) reader. like reader is strong enough to yeet people away with a flick of their wrist. unfortunately tho reader is poor as shit like daniel level poor. bbuuutttt they don't really care for money and just want to live peacefully. i wanna see the two fighting obssessed dummies pine for someone who doesn't want their money and will kick their asses if they bother them.

Headcanons for Gun and Goo falling in love with a strong, but poor Male! Reader who doesn’t care and wants a peaceful life

(A/N) It’s been awhile since I last really wrote headcanons like this so sorry if it kinda sucks or is too detailed because I kinda wrote a lot 🙏. Also do use he/him pronouns like once for reader in this.

Jonggun Park

When Gun first met you, it was infatuation at first sight. There was a big fight with many of the main cast that you somehow got yourself caught up in. Showing off your strength, Gun took off his glasses and was amazed.

After you managed to fight off some fodder fighters, Gun approached you with an offer.

“Join me, and you’ll be making hundreds of thousands.”

You obviously rejected and returned to your business.

Gun was really pissed, but he tossed it aside and decided to remember your name. But you definitely stayed on his mind, and he thought about you nonstop. He’d be hanging out with Goo and suddenly, he gets reminded that you just completely walked out on his offer and gets pissed.

But it wasn’t like how it was when he met Zack, Vasco and all the other guys. His infatuation was even deeper. Gun never heard of you before because you managed to keep such a low life. So, he did a bit of digging and learned that you were dirt poor.

So, Gun’s wondering why the hell you don’t want to become a fighter or crew later that could be making hundreds of thousands to help your current situation.

So, one day, he finds you out in public and approaches you.

“Fight me.”

You were clearly bothered. All you were doing were running errands and Gun, the guy who’s always involved in this gang stuff that you despise is asking you to fight him.

And Gun’s somewhat offended. He continues to ask you why. And you’re really annoyed, you list your reasons such as wanting to live a peaceful life, and the money didn’t matter to you if your life was always gonna be on the line.

He’s only a little bit more questioning until you turn around and try to kick him away. He barely blocks it, but there is a gear in him that turns at the kick. After that kick, he couldn’t help but just let you go.

So, it goes on. Gun’s thinking of you, every other encounter you get with him, he’s asking for you to join him and you reject. It almost always ends in you punching or kicking him.

Goo teases him, “You’ve got a crush on that guy don’t you.”

And Gun sits back and realizes that that might just be the case. Gun didn’t care when he saw a lot of the other cast members show off their skills. Your form was perfect, you didn’t want his money, you wanted a peaceful life, you cared about all the people in your life and… you were kinda handsome.

So, Gun really does have a crush on you. He can’t tell if it’s really just infatuation because you’re strong or that maybe it’s something more that he never felt, but he’s determined to get to know you.

Gun approaches you again. No offers except he just wants to know if you want to eat with him. It’s a lot different from how he usually is you notice. He caught you on a bad day where you had to miss days at work because you were sick, so you barely had anything to eat that day. Hesitantly you agree.

The two of you eat, and at the same time you get to know each other. He’s asking about your life, and you tell him. You grew up poor and still are, but if it means living a peaceful life, then you’d rather stay that way then get involved with gangs.

Although Gun’s usually quiet and reserved, he opens up. If he was going to explore this strange infatuation, then the least he could do was talk about his life when you knew so much.

But just as you thought this would be a normal interaction of two people, Gun asks to fight you at the end of it. And you’re obviously pissed and decline. But that’s not the end of him in your life.

Joongoo Kim

Usually, Goo is the type to mess around. His first encounter with you is him witnessing you fight. He’s blown away, glasses falling off his ears blown away. 

You make eye contact and ignore him, ready to just leave, but he approaches you and is upfront. 

“Become my secret friend.” He tells you, and you say no, walking off. He even offered you money, but you declined. 

Goo talks with Gun about you. How Goo met some cool guy recently and is very impressed by his talent (you). Goo is certain that he’ll cross paths with you again so, next time, he’ll just fight you. 

The two of you meet again eventually. It’s another gang war that you didn’t want to but got dragged into. Goo has a sword aimed at you, he’s not gonna take the fight seriously. but he wants to test you. 

Pissed off, you decide to go against him, but you weren’t gonna full on fight. Just try him out. 

Your hits are strong, strong enough for him to take it seriously. He’s struggling trying to block your attacks, which he likes. But once Goo is pinned down, you punch the concrete next to his face. 

“I don’t want to be involved in any of this gang shit.” And storm off. 

Goo does his own researching on you, and he discovers that you’re dirt poor and a strong fighter. So, he’s confused as to why you’re not exploiting your skills to get involved with him and Gun. Because he’s seen it before. 

One day you and him meet again, faced to face. He’s got a weapon in one hand aimed at you, “Why aren’t you taking my money?” 

You tell him that this gang stuff isn’t something you want long term. You want a peaceful life, even if it means you’re poor. It’s a typical story he’s probably heard millions of times, someone who would rather be poor over having millions. But he feels a bit of sympathy for you. 

When one gets involved in gangs, intentionally or not, it’s hard to escape it. But each time Goo meets you, it’s after some kind of fighting event. And he just asks you in his cheerful tone to join him, take his money, or both. And obviously you reject. 

Gun points out that Goo seems to have a crush on you or something because Gun has never seen Goo act so persistent with anybody. And it hits Goo. Maybe it’s the playing hard to get, but he’s curious about you and will stay persistent. 

[new-revenant]

A so Called Tamaranean | Part Three

Danny is in the Watchtower, and he finally gets some answers, with yet another answer to look for.

Also, NicktoonsUnite is technically cannon in this, but it is not a crossover with them because I don’t want to make this story too complicated.

Ao3

Tagging list(adding on from the list from last time, and there so many of you??<3):

@spectralstardustandphantomnights - @skulld3mort-1fan - @ballzfrog - @toomanyfandoms11 - @blueflipflops - @everest-nightshade - @terzatheunderscorerima - @thegatorsgoose - @mnemovoid - @ace-aro-as-shit - @pikakaistudios - @phoenixcatch7 - @alice-hazelwood - @idfk-man10 - @ballzfrog - @keimiwolf - @cankokingg - @dxrksong - @learning-to-fly-on-my-own - @chaoticmistake - @ectoplasm024 - @akikkobara - @nerdypaintbrush - @stargirl1331 - @treepainting - @that-awkward-fae-nerd - @kawaiikenna - @raspberry-muffin - @jaguarthecat - @busterkeel - @writer-extraodinaire - @amercurio - @gin2212 - @mj-arts-n-stuff - @wanderer-of-worlds - @sunflowershine03 - @manglethemingle - @stargazer-luna - @theauthorandtheartist - @crystalqueertea - @jotaroslooseeyebrowhair

☆★☆

Danny had no expectations for what the Watchtower would be like. He was far too tired to care anyhow. He’s been awake for what? 17 hours so far? He didn’t know, he can’t count. But he could very well see.

He was in space. There was giant window facing towards the Earth, and it was the most beautiful view he’s ever seen. He could stare at it for hours. Sadly, Nightwing and Starfire would not let him, saying that he’s “injured” and “might pass out soon.” One day he’ll return to that stellar view, one day.

Nightwing and Starfire directed him down the hallways towards the infirmary, meeting a few other heroes along the way. All of which thought that Danny was their son, and Danny didn’t blame them honestly. This Booster Gold guy gave him what was obviously half a container of leftover fries, that was nice. Danny finished it very quickly, and Nightwing took the empty container from him to put it away later.

When the trio actually got to the infirmary, Danny was suddenly hit with the realization of just much he has messed up the situation his was in. What would he do when everyone realizes he’s, in fact, not a Tamaranean? He’s been thinking about this before, but he’s actively digging a deeper and deeper hole for himself, like he always seems to do.

So there Danny was, standing right outside the infirmary doorway, contemplating his own existence. He felt like he wanted to cry honestly. Actually, it seemed like he was going to cry, as he was tearing up already.

“Are you okay Nightgale?” Starfire asked softly. Danny shook his head no before rapidly nodded yes and began to inch inside the infirmary. Starfire and Nightwing looked at each other worryingly, before Nightwing slipped inside before Danny even had a single foot in.

“Okay, there is only one person inside-say hi Green Arrow!” Nightwing said. A voice said hello from somewhere Danny couldn’t see. Granted, he was leaning away from the room, so he decided to finally fully step inside and look around.

Now, he could finally see this Green Arrow person, whose left leg was in a cast. He had a green hood and green-possibly leather-armor, with a green bow and quiver. Really living up to his name. His eyes widened under his eye mask upon seeing Danny enter.

“Holy shit, is that your kid from the future?!” Green Arrow exclaimed. Nightwing and Starfire quickly denied that, before sharing a look and looking at Danny inquisitively.

Danny repressed a smirk as he commented in a raspy voice, “I don’t think it’s-“ Danny coughed, “-very likely.”

The three all let out a sigh of relief, “I didn’t think that was true, but I’m glad that it’s confirmed that wasn’t the case,” Nightwing responded.

“Agreed,” Starfire added, “No offense, but it would make things…very complicated to say the least. Now, how about you lie down on one of the beds and I’ll get you water and and some traditional Tamaranean food! At least, something other than a handful of fries. How does that sound?”

Danny tried to say yes, but couldn’t push himself to do it, so he just gave her a weak thumbs up. Starfire gave him a small smile before darting outside the room. Nightwing guided Danny towards the bed that almost right in front of the door, two beds away from Green Arrow. Danny lay down, trying to get comfortable.

“So, what got you in that cast?” Nightwing asked Green Arrow. Arrow groaned, loudly, a hand going down his face.

“God, where do I even start?” Arrow mumbled, “So, I was just walking around Star City, patrolling as usual. The skies were clear, I was talking with Speedy over the phone about how he was doing,” -Arrow paused, looking over at Danny- “Speedy’s my kid and sidekick and all that jazz if you’re wondering. Sorry, I’m not hope I’m not boring you kid, or something.”

“I have never been more interested in a story ever,” Danny answered very quickly, trying not to strain his voice, which obviously didn’t work. He was also not telling the complete truth, but he was definitely more interested in this then anything he had to do for school. Which is something he completely forgot about up until now.

Shoving that thought and similar ones that accompanied it down into the darkest corners of his mind, he focused in on Green Arrow’s story.

“So there I was, climbing up a fire escape, trying to figure out what-or who- I saw from a couple of buildings down. Then-and I shit you not-a god damn pirate-that’s right, a pirate-jumped down from the building with a fire escape facing towards the fire escape I was climbing, and threw a shuriken at. My. Leg.”

“A pirate threw a shuriken at you leg?” Nightwing questioned, “That’s not the weirdest thing I guess, but why a shuriken? And why your leg? Wouldn’t it make more sense to aim for your arm?”

“Yeah, it would, which is why after the surprise of him ambushing me and pulling out a shuriken at what felt like the speed of light, I thought he would aim for my arm, so I positioned my bow to deflect it since I definitely wouldn’t be able to shoot back-not at such a close distance and in so little time. That’s why I was cut off guard and got injured.”

“Oh, but why the cast? Surely you would’ve just need some bandages right?”

“I pulled out the shuriken mid-fight, like an idiot, and right after I did, he threw a sword at me. At the same leg. It was one of those long, squiggly swords, and it was honestly impressive that he managed to scrape the same leg.”

“Ouch. Throwing a flamberge at your leg? Was his whole thing just using non-pirate themed weapons to catch people off guard?”

“Yep. Anyways, after that whole thing, I captured him, and then he fucking kicked me in the leg.”

Nightwing chuckled, and Danny suddenly, loudly, burst out into laughter, doubling over. He was previously sitting on the edge of the left side of the bed, leaning way too far towards Green Arrow, which meant that he obviously fell over. Nightwing caught him quickly and put him back onto the bed.

“Woah, be more careful ‘Gale, you’re pretty hurt,” Nightwing said.

“Yeah, are you good kid? What happened to you guys anyways?” Green Arrow asked.

“I’m-I’m fine,” Danny stifled the rest of his laughter, “Not expect that guy to just kick you, sorry.” Danny coughed, his throat was hurting a lot. He definitely needed some water right now.

“Just take it easy,” Nightwing told him, “Now, I forgot to introduce the kid to you-Green Arrow this is Nightgale, he’s a Tamaranean that I found from him falling from the sky and landing in Blüdhaven.”

“Damn that’s got to hurt way more than having a sword thrown at you,”Green Arrow commented, “Then again, aren’t Tamaraneans super resilient or something?”

“Definitely more so than humans I’ll give you that,” Nightwing looked over Danny with concern. Danny could tell they were examining him for injuries, and quickly gave him a thumbs up. Would Tamaraneans know what a thumbs up mean? Eh, he can just say he saw someone do it in the warehouse.

“The blood’s not mine,” Danny said with a smile. Nightwing sighed, slight frustration creeping into their voice.

“Yes, but that bruise on your face is yours.” Danny touched his right cheek, a bruise was definitely there. Weird, since he usually healed fast enough that it would’ve already faded away. If only that meta-or at least, what Danny assumed was a meta-didn’t punch him in the face when he was just trying to help. The lack of ectoplasm in the air probably was the cause of his unbearably slow healing.

Nightwing turned toward Green Arrow, “‘Gale decided that it would be a fantastic idea to run off and fight criminals hosting a meta fighting ring to learn English.”

Green Arrow burst out into laughter, “Oh that’s hilarious,” he said with a clap, “And wait, his name is Nightgale? Are you sure he isn’t your kid from another universe at least?”

“Another universe?” Danny said. These people were aware of the multiverse? They might not be aware of how big the multiverse is, but now Dannywas regretting not telling them the truth even more. If he did, he probably could’ve been home already!

“Considering that reaction, probably not,” Nightwing answered. Boy they did not know how wrong they were.

“Sorry I’m late!” Starfire’s voice came from down the hall. That meant Danny could get some water-and food! Danny sat straight up, before falling right back down.

“I’m here!” Starfire exclaimed as she brought in a tray of familiar looking food, and some clearly alien looking food. And a bottle of water. Danny sat up again, but fell right back down again.

“Kid, you’ve gotta get up slower,” Green Arrow told him, “You don’t have enough iron or whatever the Tamaranean equivalent is. Is there iron in Tamaranean blood, Star?”

“Hmm, I can’t remember actually,” Starfire answered, “But whether or not there is iron, Tamaraneans still need to eat occasionally. So here Nightgale, eat up!”

Danny looked over the food set in front of him. The odd looking food was clearly the ones he should eat first, since it was almost definitely Tamaranean food. One of them was moving, but was certain it wasn’t reanimated, so it was free game. Honestly, he’d eat anything that wasn’t reanimated food or literal dirt. After downing at least a quarter of the water inside the bottle, Danny dug in. To his surprise, the Tamaranean food was very good, and he could feel a smile form on his face as he ate.

“Are we allowed to eat in here?” Green Arrow asked. The other two shrugged, not knowing either.

“Don’t eat too fast now, alright ‘Gale?” Nightwing said. Danny looked up at them, just now noticing how they shortened Nightgale to just Gale. Danny was not expecting to somewhat enjoy being called that but whatever. Danny nodded, before continuing to eat his food that he was already a third of the way through.

“And don’t forget to drink your water!” Starfire added. Danny nodded again, taking a few sips from his bottle before continuing to eat.

“Again, and I know I sound like a broken record, but are you sure he’s not your kid? How old is he? Where did he even come from anyways?” Green Arrow asked.

“That’s…a good question,” Nightwing responded, “He looks like a twelve year old-in human standards at least-which means he’s probably still a kid in Tamaranean years, but we don’t know where he came from.”

Danny stiffened. It kinda sucked that he looked like a twelve year old here-he was fourteen, almost fifteen! But he knew that people looked different in different dimensions based on how close the dimensions were to each other, he had some personal experience there. But that’s not what bothered him the most. Now he has to explain how he came here. Which meant more lies and half-truths for him.

“Nightgale-“ Starfire began, before Danny cut her off.

“I was chased through a portal,” Danny said, putting his food down and trying to not make direct eye contact.

“So he could be-“ Green Arrow began, before Danny cut him off too.

“No, I’m not their kid from another universe. That’s stupid.” Danny honestly did not know the possibility of that happening, but it probably wasn’t too unlikely given how the three were considering it. Still, he didn’t think that was the case for him at least.

“Well, do you remember anything before being chased through a portal?” Night wing asked, “You don’t have to tell us anything-“ this marks the third time Danny cut someone off in this chapter.

“Lab.” Danny took another sip of water from his bottle before setting it and the half-finished tray of food on a table nearby. His throat was feeling much better, so he could elaborate, he just didn’t want to.

Danny lay back down on the bed, his face scutched up, hoping to nonverbally signal that he did not want to continue this conversation. Thankfully, the trio seemed to get it, and looked at each with a lot of concern. Which was understandable, since just saying “lab” was very vague and could indicate a lot of…uncomfortable possibilities.

“Er, sorry kid,” Green Arrow said, “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine, I’m just tired,” was all that Danny said. He really was tired and definitely could use a nap any minute now. Or some actual sleep. When was the last time he had a full night of sleep?

“Alright kid,” Nightwing said softly, “You definitely need all the sleep you can get. Me and Star are going to try to figure out how to stabilize your powers, so don’t worry about it alright?” Danny hummed in agreement.

“Sweet dreams!” Starfire said in Tamaranean, a soft smile on her face with worry in her eyes. She and Nightwing departed soon after.

“Welp, good night kid,” Green Arrow said, “I’m probably going to be gone when you wake up, so don’t be concerned or anything.”

“Okay, good night-“ Danny yawned, “-goodnight Mister Arrow.” And with that, Danny swiftly fell asleep.

☁︎

There was an endless sea of stars before him, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Danny could point out the constellations spread all around him, from both the northern and western hemispheres, as if he was the Earth itself.

Out in the purple star speckled landscape, space began to distort. Up at the northern star, the lightly colored dots of surrounding it seem to combine together, creating a face. A face Danny was familiar with.

“Nocturn!” Danny exclaimed. Sure enough, the Nocturn was there, smiling at him.

“Hello ghost child,” Nocturn said, his voice calm and booming, “It’s nice to see you again, under less…aggressive circumstances.”

“Yeah, you trapped everyone in my town in their dreams, and then I beat you up.”

“Correct, but I am not here to trap you or your new friends. In fact, I’m here to help you, but we’ve haven’t have much time before you wake up. Now, ask away.”

“Ask away?” Danny didn’t expect that. But he definitely wouldn’t pass this opportunity up. “When can I get back home-how can I get back home?”

“When is not something I can answer, how, however, is that you need to pass this ‘test’ Clockwork has come up with.”

“Oh, of course it’s all Clockwork’s fault,” Danny groaned, “He’d once said that me cheating on test would cause everyone I loved to die and me to take over the world. I still don’t believe that.”

“Neither do I,” Nocturn admitted, “Perhaps he was trying to ‘hit two birds with one stone,’ he wasn’t the cause of you ending up here, but he is the reason you cannot leave yet.”

“Did he at least say what I need to do?”

“No, he did not. It was very much left out on purpose.”

Danny groaned, it’s not like he could do anything except play along. Or try to get the Justice League to help, but he’s far too deep into his lie now to do that quickly.

“Alright, fine, how about…why do I apparently look like I’m twelve to everyone here huh?”

“People tend to look different in different dimensions.”

“I already knew that, I didn’t even need to ask I guess,” Danny mumbled, “Okay, so why can’t I turn back into a human, and why does my arm hurt whenever I use my powers?”

“It’s quite simple really,” Nocturn said as stars began to move and change shape right in front of Danny, “This is your realm, or universe,” a handful of stars combined together, with the smaller stars moving out of the way,  creating a huge space between the newly combined star and the other, smaller ones, “and these are the universes closest to yours, but they’re not alternate versions of your universe, that would be much too complicated to show,” a bunch of stars the same size as the big one appeared, with empty space still between them and the smaller stars, “I’m sure you’ve been to at least one of these before right?”

Danny nodded as he remembered that one time-well, it was definitely multiple times-he had saved the multiverse before.

“I thought this was the whole multiverse, but I’m guessing I’m wrong about that huh?”

“Correct. This-“ the stars shrunk and shrunk until Danny couldn’t even see the original dot that was his own, but instead a small dot resembling his own section of the multiverse was there, which another dot of the same size appearing a bit aways from it.

“This, is the section of the multiverse you’re in.”

“That’s…” Danny ran his hand through his hair, “That seems kinda…far away, isn’t it?”

“Correct again. However there is some good news-currently, every minute that passes in your own universe, a day passes here.”

“Oh thank god,” Danny heaved out a long sigh, “I wasn’t even thinking about that.”

“You think?” Nocturn replied snarkily.”

“Oh shut up you damn disgrace to space, just answer my question please.”

“Alright then. The Ghost Zone, as you may well know, is also known as the Infinite Realms, for a good reason as well.

“The Infinite Realms is connected to the entire multiverse, some claiming that it’s the glue holding it all together. Whether that’s true or not, you can travel from this universe and your universe as easily as you travel from your universe to another universe from your own section of the multiverse.”

The two dots suddenly went back to their original size, looking like they were from the same section of the multiverse.

“As you may guess, that means it is easier for ghosts to travel across the multiverse compared to others.”

“What if I came here in human form?” Danny asked nervously.

“Well, for one, you would almost definitely stick out as an ‘extra-dimensional being,’ and two, you might not survive since you traveled here from the Ghost Zone.”

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’ indeed. Your arm hurts because that was where the catalyst of your current state occurred.”

“You mean that’s where I got zapped by the portal and got turned into this thing,” Danny corrected as he waved a hand up and down his body, “My parents may be scientists, but I am a C-student and can’t understand your stupid jargon.”

Nocturn sighed, “It wasn’t jargon, I was trying to be polite, and your status of being a C-student is unrelated.”

“Just get on with the explanation please, we’re running out of time!” Danny complained.

“I was-bah, whatever, you’re a dumb, bratty child-your ghost form is trying to keep you alive even if you most likely don’t need to stay in it. Thankfully, since you are able to consume food and such because of your human form, you won’t permanently become a ghost, or disappear because of the low amount of ectoplasm needed to sustain a powerful ghost such as yourself.”

Danny gasped a bit cheerfully, “I’m powerful?”

“Compared to most ghosts in this section-and I would say most sections if not for the multiverse going on infinitely-yes, you are.”

“So basically, I’m stuck in this little loop of my ghost form trying to not get my human form killed, to my ghost form basically killing me because I can’t normally get the energy I need with it, to my human form allowing me to get the energy my ghost form needs to keep me in it. Is that right or am I stupid?”

“You’re correct. You are far smarter than you give yourself credit for young ghost.”

“That’s…kinda bad, like the system’s very counterproductive.”

“A lot of things are counterproductive, especially when it comes to humans. Now, I feel like our time’s about to run up. Ask any other questions you need to, quickly.”

“Oh uh, um, is the Justice League evil, are the people from there I’ve met so far evil?”

“Not in this universe. Now, it is time to wake up.”

Before Danny could get another word in, he opened his eyes.

☁︎

Danny barely had any time to process what just occurred in his dream before sitting up to focus on what exactly woke him up. The door to the infirmary had opened, and someone had stepped inside. It was Batman.

“Ah, it seems you’ve just woken up, correct?” Batman asked. Danny gulped. He remembered that Batman had access to his DNA, and was likely going to confront him about that. Danny looked over to the bed where Green Arrow was, only to find it empty.

“Green Arrow just left as I came inside here, he told me tell you that he hopes you’ll feel better soon,” Batman answered Danny’s unspoken question for him as the former walked further inside. Danny shrunk back into the bed as far as could while still keeping an eye on Batman. Thankfully, he stopped in his tracks once he noticed this.

“I have no plans on hurting you, I just want to talk.” Danny was surprised with how much Batman sounded genuinely concerned for him, even if it was covered in a mostly monotone voice.

Danny shifted in place, trying to think of what to say, “Well, you seem kinda scary with that mask on I guess.” Danny was hating every word that came out of his mouth, but he can’t turn back time right now, unfortunately.

Batman made a humming noise, probably thinking about what to say. He answered quicker than Danny expected, “I’d take it off if wasn’t concerned about you shooting me in the eyes.”

“Oh god Nightwing told you about that didn’t he?”

“And Beast Boy.”

“Erm, yeah you have a point there I guess,” Danny fiddled with the bedsheet, “I…don’t want to hurt you either. I just…” Danny trailed off as he considered his options. Batman definitely knew he wasn’t Tamaranean, but if Danny told him the truth, would Batman tell anyone else? Danny fiddled with bedsheets even more as he started to panic. He was panicking a lot recently wasn’t he?

“Everyone with super hearing within the Justice League is either on world or otherwise not in the Watchtower,” Batman stated, capturing Danny’s attention back to him, “The walls in the Watchtower are reinforced so that it would be easier for those with super to focus on the sound coming from the room they’re currently in. No one would be able to eavesdrop on us, so you wouldn’t need to worry about that.”

“T-thank you???” Danny was honestly surprised, yet again, about how kind this Batman was being. Like, he seemed so menacing when he first saw him-and still looks menacing-but hot damn he cared so much. And he cared this much about this random child who was definitely lying to him and everyone else.

“You’re so fucking weird, I’m lying to you, I’m lying to everyone, yet you’re so god damn nice for no reason, you’re not my dad, what the hell is wrong with you?” Danny was not expecting to word vomit all of that out, but he did just wake up. Did not help from him feeling super stupid though.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Mister Batman sir, I uh, thanks. Please kill me-actually no, dying hurts please don’t do that, I just need to stop talking, preferably forever, just don’t hurt me,” Danny was also not expecting to be tearing up while saying that, but at least he finally had shut up.

“You are just a child, aren’t you?” Batman asked.

“Should you even believe me?”

“Perhaps not. But, that doesn’t mean I won’t give you a chance to explain yourself, ‘Nightgale.’”

Danny sighed, rubbed his eyes free of tears, and began to speak, “Danny. My name is Danny. I’m a ghost, I’m not from here, not the universe, not even this section of the multiverse, hell, I’m not even a full ghost-I’m not sure of what I am!” Danny threw his arms up in the air before letting them fall down his face.

“I’m just a freaky boy, with freaky little powers, and I was just minding my own business before I got stuck here, because some time ghost-god-thing named ‘Clockwork,’ wants me to complete this test, and I don’t even what that test is.” Danny felt tears rolling down his face as he spoke. Batman was sitting nearby on a chair, not too close, but close enough that he could probably punch him or something.

Danny finished his little rant with a sentence that was almost a whimper, “I just want to go home. And I can’t. He won’t let me. And I’m scared, I know everything back home is fine, but what about here, what am I supposed to do-what can I do?

“I’ve fought some of the most powerful ghosts in the Infinite Realms and I’ve won. But I’m weak, I’m weak now, I can’t remember half the things I can do, so how should I know what I should do?

“I’m fourteen, technical almost fifteen I guess, but here I am! Worry about how adults would feel if I tell them that I’m not actually a Tamaranean, that I’ve been lying to them, about whether or not they would fight me, and about whether or not they would be heartbroken.“

Danny curled up, pulling his knees towards him and setting his head on his knees. He looked at Batman expectingly, “What should I do?” Danny asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Batman put his hand to his chin, thinking.

“They wouldn’t fight you,” Batman said, in such a way that made it sound like the absolute truth to Danny, “They might be disappointed, or feel betrayed, but once you explain yourself, they would do everything in their power to help you.”

“I-“ Danny paused, and took a deep breath in and out, “I want to believe you, I really do. I guess…I just have a problem with telling the truth once I’ve lied enough I guess.”

“Understandable.”

“You…you aren’t going to tell anyone about this aren’t you?”

“I won’t. Not now, only if you need me too.”

“Thank you,” Danny grabbed his water bottle and took a sip. He noticed how the veins on his left hand and arm weren’t glowing as much, so he was probably fine using it for a little bit. “I honestly thought you were going to kill me,” Danny muttered as he untied his gloves from his belt and put them back on.

“I wouldn’t. There’s no reason to.”

“Oh, thanks. I wish I could repay you, but, I’m kind of trying not to fully go ghost from using my powers too much. My left arm is kinda, not great. I’m not usually like this by the way, but I dunno, I’m still really tired and I don’t know what else to say.”

“That’s alright,” Batman got up from his chair, “I’m leaving now, do you need anything?”

“Well, I’ve got food, I still have some water, so…” Danny looked around, before looking down at himself, “I think I need some new clothes. I’ve been wearing this suit in this form ever since I sorta died, so if you could get something, that would be nice. But if not that’s fine.”

“Alright, I’ll get something sorted for you. Have a good sleep Nightgale,” Batman walked towards the door before Danny made a noise resembling a ‘wait!’ Batman stopped a turned around, one eye going up ever so slightly in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” Batman asked.

“No, but I was wondering, are you like, a vampire or something?”

“No.”

“So are you just some guy?” And Danny couldn’t have ever expected what happened next. Batman, one of the kindest and simultaneously most menacing and stoic person he’s met, smirked at him, which was gone in almost an instant. Danny had never felt so offended before, and that fact showed on his face.

“So why are you even called Batman? Are there a lot of bats where you live?”

“In my Bat Cave, yes.”

“…Are you sure you aren’t a vampire?”

“Not in this universe.”

“Okay, one of these days I need a rundown on how you guys know about the multiverse, not now though because I’m too tired to remember stuff like that.”

“Then I guess I’ll be taking my leave then.”

“I guess you will, as long as you don’t ever smirk again.” Batman turned away so Danny didn’t know if he did smirk or not, but he didn’t care all too much. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

After talking a bite of one the pieces of food that was still left and putting the water bottle back, Danny let out a long sigh. He had no idea where to go from here, but maybe some more sleep would help him sort out his thoughts. Yeah, that makes sense.

So Danny quickly fell asleep, with Nocturn fortunately not showing up again.

[fireandspiceland]

in which Arthur and Allen and Gilbert are a couple of twinks exploring their sexuality by making out in Arthur's room after school

a/n: whats that? plot? in MY porn? 👀 they are baby gays, this happens a while after the other thing I once wrote a while ago (too tired to look for it rn but might add the link later). blowjob, handjob, and a bit of angst in the end.

„Mhmm.. Allen.. fuck.“

Arthur thrust his hips upwards a little, pushing deeper into Allen’s mouth, but the other was quick to pin his thighs back onto the bed and pulled away for a moment, teasing Arthur’s tip instead before completely pulling away for a second.

“Here..”

Arthur’s hand was guided to the back of Allen’s hand. He grabbed his hair, pushed Allen’s head back down immediately.

“Fuuuck.. how do you do this.. god, Allen..”

The mindlessly spoken praise was only answered by a muffled noise when Allen moaned with Arthur’s cock shoved down his throat.

Arthur threw his head back, burying it deeper into the pillow when he thrust his hips upwards again and pushed Allen’s head down a little more until he felt Allen’s nose nuzzled into his pubes. Fuck, did that boy even have a gag reflex? Arthur would be brooding with envy regarding Allen’s ability to take him down all the way flawlessly if he wasn’t to busy focusing on the pleasure said ability granted him.

Another muffled, almost breathless sound made Arthur realise that he should give Allen room to breathe. He loosened the grip he had on Allen’s hair. Some strands were still sticking up, but Arthur brushed away one that was stuck to Allen’s sweaty forehead, took the time to watch him suck the tip and flick his tongue over it until Allen caught his breath and went back to work Arthur's dick with his mouth and throat again.

Allen shifted a little and Arthur witnessed him pulling one hand up from.. from.. had he been jerking himself off while sucking Arthur’s dick?

Fuck. The thought alone would’ve been enough to make Arthur cum then and there, but he bit his lip hard and tried to hold back. Not yet.. please.. just a little more.. a little longer..

The tight grip on Allen’s hair returned when he went to gently massage Arthur’s balls. The soft vibrations of a low moan went straight to Arthur’s dick, making it jerk in Allen’s mouth and causing more precum and saliva to dribble down his length.

Allen quickened his pace. He moved his body with every bob of his head, grinding the erection straining his boxers against the crumpled up bedsheets beneath him, now that both of his hands were occupied fondling Arthur’s thighs and balls.

“No! Fuck, go back I’m gonna- Allen!“

Allen had pulled away for only a moment to run his tongue piercing over the sensitive tip of Arthur’s cock, but was immediately guided back down again. Who would’ve know that all it took to push Arthur over the edge was another flick of his tongue? Allen would take note of that.

Arthur pushed Allen’s head down far enough to force his nose into his curly pubes again. With a breathless moan Arthur came down Allen’s throat, pulling his hair and digging his nails into his skalp.

Pleasure and exhaustion had taken over Arthur’s body all at once and it took Allen lightly tapping his thigh to snap him from his blissful high and let go off Allen’s head. He mumbled an apology when he noticed tears threatening to spill from the corners of Allen’s eyes.

“Don’t worry, it felt.. good..”

Allen’s voice was a little hoarse and he cleared his throat before gathering a drop of Arthur’s cum that had escaped his lips on his index finger and licking it clean. Fuck, Arthur thought as he watched Allen’s lips wrap around his sticky finger and let his head fall back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes for a moment but opened them again when he felt Allen laying down beside him.

Arthur turned to his side and made a little more room for Allen on the bed, it being only a single once forcing them to stay close to each other. Close enough for Arthur to feel Allen’s still very present erection nudged against his thigh.

“So you liked it?” Allen asked with a rather playful smirk on his lips that Arthur couldn’t help but stare at. He had wiped his mouth after cleaning his fingers with relish, but Arthur wondered if he would still taste himself if he kissed Allen now.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh shut it, you wanker.”

Before Allen could ask if the crude moniker was an omen for him having to get himself off tonight, his lips were occupied by the kiss Arthur had just fantasised about being brought into action. Complaining was out of question, especially when Arthur nibbled his bottom lip, knowing it would make Allen weak. He parted his lips to moan, but the sweet noises were quickly swallowed by Arthur, kissed and licked off Allen’s tongue as the kiss was deepened.

“Wait,” Arthur ordered and pulled Allen’s hand away from where he wanted to palm himself through his boxers, “let me do that.”

“Oh, o-okay..” Allen stammered, but lifted his hips when Arthur tried to pull down his boxers. Together they made quick work of pushing them down enough to expose Allen’s cock. It was flushed a dark shade of red, just like Allen’s cheeks.

Arthur couldn’t help but huff with amusement, causing Allen to hide his face in embarrassment. It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other naked or aroused before, no, and it wasn’t the first time they got each other off either. Hell, Allen thought to himself, they’ve been friends for years and he’d just had Arthur cum in his mouth. Yet this is what he’s getting embarrassed about? His best friend, who’s dick he’d just sucked, seeing his own throbbing erection that’d been caused by said dick sucking action?

Allen groaned, initially with frustration but Arthur immediately started stroking him with just the right amount of pressure and turned Allen's groan into one of pleasure.

Arthur's lips turned into a smirk when Allen became undone so fast under his ministrations. His low hums and moans were an even sweeter sound than the new mcr album playing in the background.

"Can we kiss again?"

The question caught Arthur off guard, making him falter for a moment, before he nodded sheepishly. He wanted to shuffle closer to fullfill Allen's request, but was pulled into a clumsy kiss by Allen's harsh grip on the front of his t-shirt.

Their noses bumped against each other's, teeth clicking together a few times before they found the right position to properly find each others lips. Arthur brushed his thumb over the slick tip of Allen's cock, drawing another moan from him. Allen greedily bucked his hips into Arthur's hand on his search for the right angle, the right pace, the right touch.

"Hmm, Artie..." Allen murmored against Arthur's lips inbetween kisses. He felt so hot, a scorching heat that had spread from his abdomen to every end of his body until he could hardly take it anymore.

"Yes?" Arthur whispered innocuously. But Allen could feel the smirk on his lips when he pulled his friend closer again, clenching Arthur's already crumpled t-shirt even harder and nudging the tip of his tongue against Arthur's lips to coax them apart. The other happily obligued and carded the fingers of his free hand through Allen's hair. When they reached the back of Allen's head Arthur grabbed a fistful of his soft hair.

The sudden light pain of his hair being pulled made Allen's jaw fall open and his eyelids flutter. Arthur made a mental note to use that move on him more often.

Together with the increased speed of Arthur's strokes and the prickling feeling of Arthur's lips and teeth now on his neck, the sharp pain made Allen shiver and desperately snap his hips.

"Artie..." Allen's voice was almost inaudible. "Fuck, I'm-"

"Yes.." Arthur mumbled into Allen's neck, hot breath tickling tanned skin.

With a shudder, Allen came, spilling all over Arthur's hand and the hem of his shirt. The stains would be hell to clean, Arthur thought to himself, but seeing Allen's features relax slowly, his lips swollen from kissing and parted with a silent moan, eyelids fluttering with every twitch of his cock in Arthur's ha-

"Arthur? Your brother let me in, he said-"

He had been lying with his back towards it, but when he heard the sound of his bedroom door being opened Arthur immediately rolled over.

"Gil?!"

To say the look on Gilbert's face was surprised would be an understatement. He blinked a few times, as if he couldn't believe what was happening right in front of him. Or what had been happening, judging by the discarded underwear and by how flushed Arthur's and Allen's faces were.

"Oh shit..." Allen scrabbled about for his boxers, cursing under his breath when he tried to reach them while keeping his decency (as far as that was even possible anymore).

The sound of Allen's voice snapped Gilbert from his thought and he covered his eyes and hastily turned away, but the image of his best friends.. in bed together.. naked from the waist down.. It would take a while to forget this, if it would be possible at all. Gil's cheeks were burning with a blush that turned his pale cheeks bright red. "Fuck! Sorry.. I- I'll leave."

Gilbert pulled the door shut, but didn't move. His eyes burned as they filled with hot tears that he tried to blink away as good as possible. Arthur and Allen always claimed to be nothing but best friends.. but first he caught them kissing in their smoking spot behind the school and now this.. Seeing his crush with someone else was already painful enough, but that someone being their shared best friend.. and worst of all, Arthur didn't even know how bad he hurt him.

A few shaky breaths later Gilbert felt ready to at least get back to the front door and out of the house without attracting Arthur's brother's attention, but the moment he set foot to finally leave, the door behind him was ripped open.

"Gil!" The surprised look on Arthur's face and the way he startled made it obvious that he had expected Gilbert would be long gone by now. But then again.. was he going to run after Gilbert only in boxers and a t-shirt? The idea was oddly flattering.. "Please don't go."

[unitedbydevils]

Season review: 2022/23

It was a solid season for Manchester United, finishing in third place and thus returning to the Champions League, as well as snagging the Carabao Cup in the process too.

Digging deeper though, how good was the season? How well did the players - and manager Erik Ten Hag - do in the grand scheme of things?

David De Gea - 7/10. The beleaguered keeper is a conundrum. He won the EPL Golden Glove for the most clean sheets and made some sensational saves, but the stats don't lie: 5 major errors in all competitions, a nearly non-existent cross claiming percentage, and a surprisingly lower than thought shot block percentage. The reality is that the now-departed Spaniard is a United great and should be respected and fondly remembered for the good times, but his time was most definitely up. Too weak in the air, with his feet, and with his distribution, the saving grace for De Gea was his Premier League accolade.

Heaton - N/A. Didn't play enough to really question his ability. A reliable backup if necessary.

Wan Bissaka - 7/10. Started the season off poorly and fell behind Diogo Dalot quickly, but bounced back later in the year. Seems much more confident in his understanding of team tactics and positioning, which has enhanced his attacking movement, but he still lacks in awareness and decision making.

Dalot - 7/10. Started the season off well and fell behind AWB later in the year. He's a much more rounded full back or wing back for the attack/defence duties, and links with Antony well, but he will need to find another level this season else risk being replaced next summer by the likes of Jeremie Frimpong.

Maguire - 5/10. He's strong in the air but hardly scores from set pieces with his height and strength. Defensively he's good when the team's back is against the wall, and he's a decent dribbler, but his distribution is so so and his lack of awareness is criminal. The man has seemingly no peripheral vision and it's a danger to the back line.

Lindelof - 7/10. A good end to the season saved Victor Lindelöf. His run of form in place of the injured Martinez showed his composure on the ball and passing range, but he still lacks the world class drive and vision that Lissandro offers, as well as the confidence in the air. Still, a good backup to have.

Varane - 7.5/10. The Rolls Royce of defenders oozes class, but his injury issues have been and continue to be an issue.

Martinez - 9/10. The Butcher. My player of the season. He's short, fiesty, and just an all round baller. Many argue we miss Casemiro more than him or Rashford when out, but I disagree. I think with Case in and LM out we're so much weaker at handling teams pressing us. So glad we got him and not Timber.

Malacia - 6/10. A decent season but nothing more from the Dutchman. He has the right physical attributes and personality to do well, so it's not game over at all, but Shaw is levels above him currently - though he has shown glimpses of the gem he could become.

Shaw - 7.5/10. Shaw is one of the best, if not THE best, Left Backs in the league. His positioning and awareness is far better when next to Martinez, and even Lindelof, and he provides on the offensive. He could have done a bit more on that front this season, but the world cup might have taken a bit of the wind out of his sails.

Sabitzer - 6/10. He was competent and professional, and looked promising at times, but injury hampered a loan spell and killed any potential showcase to secure a permanent move.

Van De Beek - N/A. Injury stricken.

Fred - 7/10. A good season for Fred, albeit marred by the occasional howler. This is why he's a backup CM, and why a sale to Fulham or whoever isn't that awful. Useful but flawed, but when he's good...

McTominay - 6/10. An uninspiring season from McSauce, dotted with a few good moments - especially early doors. I think he's being utilised wrongly, and perhaps better suits a Fellaini role as a physical CAM to either bully defenders or surprise people with his technical ability.

Casemiro - 8.5/10. If he could avoid getting suspended every 5 seconds he'd be at a 9 or higher. Keeps the team ticking, scored some crucial goals, and brings much needed composure.

Fernandes - 8/10. The creative maestro who, if he had a proper CF, would have similar stats to KDB. We must not waste his output, but equally he has to cut out a few of his stroppy moments too.

Eriksen - 7/10. Reliable, creative, but ageing. He's a health risk with his heart more than an injury risk, and his lack of pace or defensive involvement is an issue - and why Mount is such a good signing.

Sancho - 6.5/10. Some shining moments after his return from special the Netherlands training camp he went to but not much to write home about. It feels like something might be going on behind the scenes which, if true, is a shame, because he oozes skill. Sancho is incredibly talented and could really achieve great things at United.

Pellistri - 7/10. His appearances were few but when he played, he played. He was direct, loves to run at defenders, and he compensates for his small stature with agility and tenacity. He's wiley, and United have lacked that impetus on the RW with Antony still settling in and Sancho wobbly.

Garnacho - 8/10. Wonderkid. A little raw but he has pace, skill, vision, and bags of energy. He's direct but knows when to slow play down, and he can score a mean goal. More gametime next year for sure.

Elanga - 6.5/10. He needs a loan or to be sold. Plenty of talent but it feels like he needs a fresh start having burned out under Ole and not really rekindled that fire under ETH. Maybe preseason though...

Martial - 5/10. Made of glass. "Availability is the best kind of ability" say football coaches, but our would-be number 9 is never available and, when he is, it's not for long enough to find form. A class player, like a Saha Lite, but time's up on the Frenchman after a feeble year.

Weghorst - 5/10. Loved his cup goal and crying at Old Trafford but the man missed a million sitters. Good energy, decent loan, but ultimately poor.

Antony - 7/10. Like Lindelöf, he grew better as the season went on. He has the technique but is so predictable on his left foot. Robben was too, but he was so good with it that it didn't matter. Antony needs to get better on his left or use his right more. Either way, he stopped just slowing down play and cutting back in and actually started to push past players, perform 1v1s, and swing crosses in. His ball retention and pass accuracy are very high, which is incredibly reliable when trying to move in Rashford/Bruno/the CF for attacking opportunities, so if ETH can get more out of Antony... oh boy.

Rashford - 8/10. A naff end to the season stole half a point off this score. 30 goals in a season is incredible, and the first since RVP did it is not to be shirked at, but this 'mega season' was similarly matched by the 'past it' Mo Salah who also got 30 goals, and actually got 16 assists in all comps too - 5 more than Marcus. The point here isn't to diss MR, but show that he had a beautiful post-WC purple patch unmatched in any of the top leagues, but that patch fizzled out. With a CF like Harry Kane... his lack of goals might have been replaced with assists, who knows, but this is Ten Hag's challenge for next season: keep Rashford at this level at least, and have others help him shoulder the burden of getting United wins.

Erik Ten Hag - 8/10. Winning a first season trophy AND securing top four is a good start, and he's said it himself: it's good, but not enough. That attitude will do him well going forward, and if he can rebuild the squad in his image, to fit his tactical plans... perhaps we could see a title back at Old Trafford after far too long without one.

Season rating - 8/10. It got too close for comfort at the end, and there were some stinker performance in the mix - especially in April - but ultimately we got the job done, won a cup, and made another final, all despite no proper CF, Martinez and Eriksen injured for large periods, Casemiro suspended, and a goalkeeper who loves to hoof it to the opposition at any opportunity.

Roll on new signings and the new season. It should be a blast.

[silversatoru]

i made this instead of doing my stacks of homework ^

step bro!itadori yuuji x f!reader

synopsis: i don’t think i even have to say this but you get stuck in a dryer and your step-brother yuuji fucks the shit out of you

t/w: 18+!!!, aged-up yuuji, stepcest, noncon/dubcon, manipulation, filming without consent, mild impact play, creampie, mild overstimulation, mild dumbification (but also reader is just dumb), mention of masturbation

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: hey!!! i joined this super fun collab hosted by my new gf @suna-reversed​ (thank u for letting me be a part of it!!) so if you enjoy this i highly recommend checking out the rest of the talented writers in this collab :) the jujutsuhub masterlist is here !! also,, biggest thank u my lovely friend @brandmeyelena for helping me to plan and perfect this fic throughout the entire process <333

you were a good daughter, certainty not the sharpest or the most intelligent, but you were helpful and compliant and you always did your chores. and you truly didn’t mind helping out around the house either; sweeping the floors and doing the dishes was easy enough, but there was one task that plagued you a bit more than the rest — doing the laundry. the buttons were just so confusing, and there were so many of them! and on top of that, your short stature made it nearly impossible to empty the fresh clothing out of your top-loaded dryer. 

you were struggling with that exact issue right now, pushing onto your tip-toes as you tried to reach that last pesky sock stuck at the bottom of the dryer. your finger tips brushed over the warm fabric, just an inch short of being able to snatch it into your hand.

you wiggled your hips a little further, your feet lifting off the floor and your weight shifting so you fell deeper into the dryer. you were finally able to grasp the sock, but you were unable to push yourself back out, feet swinging wildly as you tried to squirm your way out of the machine.

“hey, what are you doing?”

your face flushed at the sound of your step-brother’s voice coming from behind you, your senses becoming suddenly aware of how far your dress was riding up your thighs. a pitiful whimper of embarrassment slid past your lips as you realized you couldn’t even pull your dress down — you needed both hands to hold you up and prevent you from falling into the dryer. 

“ah! yuuji! ...i got stuck,” you pouted shamefully, thankful that you couldn’t see his face right now.

“again? isn’t this like... the third time?” he asked it like a genuine question, but you still felt stupid for getting stuck in the same predicament multiple times.

“mhm, can you help? please?” you whined at him, still wiggling your hips in a poor attempt to free yourself.

this only made your dress slide higher, the underside of your ass cheeks becoming prominently visible against the edge of the fabric. yuuji couldn’t help himself, gabbing his phone and snapping a few secret pictures of your exposed back-side. he planned to save those for later, maybe jack off to them if he was bored, but then a different idea flooded his head — you were no position to stop him from doing whatever he wanted right now.

he propped his phone up on top of one of the various laundry baskets, starting a video recording without your knowledge. then he waltzed back over, sliding a single finger under the fabric of your dress and tracing his finger around your round ass cheek. the sensation of touch made you flinch, your mouth gaping open as you fumbled over your next word.

“y-yuuji?” you stammered, trying to move away which only caused your ass to jiggle and shake more than it already was.

“shh, i’m helping,” he murmured, stroking his finger all the way down to your thigh.

he moved his other hand over your pretty cunt, the fabric of your panties hugging perfectly against your folds. he brushed two of his fingers up your clothed slit, causing you to yelp and continue to wriggle around.

“step-brother? what are you doing?” you continued to question him, your voice light and laced with confusion.

“i’ll help you get unstuck, but you have to repay me somehow, little sister,” he clicked his tongue at you, an evil grin that you couldn’t see stretching his lips.

he continued to poke and prod at your soft, clothed pussy, his mouth salivating as he imagined the things he could do to you in this position. every brush of his fingers coaxed gasps and whimpers from your lips, your worries and protests falling on deaf ears.

“y-you’re my brother, yuuji! w-we can’t do this!” you continued to argue, but his gentle fingers were starting to feel really good — small streams of fluid flowing out of your cunt and seeping into your panties.

“it seems like you want me to,” he observed, poking his finger at the small wet spot that was forming now, “and mom and dad won’t be home until later. no one will find out”.

you felt his strong hands weave their way underneath the straps of your undergarments, swiftly pulling them down your thighs and letting them dangle from your ankles. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling of your wet cunt being exposed to the cool air, shifting your hips and filling yuuji’s head with more sinful ideas.

you couldn’t see anything (with your head still being stuck in the dryer) but you heard your brother’s own pants fall to the floor, a loud clank of his belt buckle against the tiles confirming your suspicions. everything about this felt so wrong, but at the same time, you’d always been shamefully attracted to yuuji — eyes lingering on his chiseled chest for a little too long when he walked around the house shirtless.

your head was swirling with thoughts like: would it really be that wrong if the two of you indulged in each other while no one was around? it’s not like you were actually blood related or anything.

on the other hand, yuuji had a one-track mind, and he wasn’t having any of the doubts that you were — he had a tendency to listen to his dick instead of his brain. and right now your round, plump ass was staring him in the face and begging to get fucked. how could he not take advantage of this opportunity?

he lifted his hand and gave a firm slap to your right ass check, earning a gasped yelp from you which made his dick twitch and strain. he mumbled under his breath, something along the lines of ‘i’ve always wanted to do that’ but it was kind of hard to hear from the depths of the dryer.

he’d used a reasonable amount of force, a puffy handprint forming on the surface on your skin. he decided that the other cheek should match, delivering another firm strike to the other side and watching you squirm and whimper at the impact.

he grabbed his phone and pulled it over for a few close ups, showing off the swollen skin to the camera. he then placed a finger at the front of your entrance, the puffy, slick walls sucking it in as he delivered a few warm-up strokes with his hand. the camera picked up on all the grotesque squelching noises made by his finger in your cunt, as well as the embarrassed yelps and moans leaving your lips.

now that you had two matching, swollen hand prints, and your pussy had been properly prepped, he decided he was ready for the main course. yuuji returned his phone to its spot on the laundry basket before grabbing a low stool from the corner of the room and setting it in front of the dryer so he could stand on it for easier access. his cock was red and veiny, begging for entrance into your tight cunt as he wrapped one hand around it to position himself.

you’d always imagined your step-brother’s dick to be lengthy, and your assumptions were proven correct when your felt a tight pressure in your core. his girthy size pushed and stretched at your walls, pained mewls leaking from between your teeth as you clawed at the bottom of the dryer.

yuuji let out a groan that was almost animalistic, throwing his head back and placing a firm grip on either side of your hips. the way your pitiful form was positioned on the dryer gave him excellent access, the curve of his dick allowing him to stretch you deep, reaching all the way to the spongy patch of tissue that made you feel so good.

a jumble of grotesque noises filled the room, a chorus your sloppy moans, yuuji’s pleasured grunts, and the steady slap of his hips on your ass. he’d imagined what this would be like more times than he could count — fucking himself into his fleshlight and mumbling your name while he did so. but no matter how many times he’d dreamed of this moment, he never expected your walls to be so tight — so perfectly snug around his cock.

“yuuji!” you repeated his name a few times, head so dazed from the overwhelming bliss that you’d forgotten all about the initial guilt you’d felt.

“see, i knew you’d like this, little sister. your big brother would never steer you wrong, would he?” he knew his words were manipulative, but god, you were much too dumb to understand or grasp the concept of manipulation — you’d just agree with him like you always do.

“no! he would never!” you whined, letting your head dip lower into the dryer so he could fuck you at an even better angle.

your messy cunt squelched and squeezed a small stream of juices down your thigh as he picked up a deeper, faster pace, your moans becoming higher and more unsteady in response. he could feel your sloppy walls fluttering and constricting against him, his fingertips digging deeper into your hips as he let out a few breathy moans.

the tip of his cock slammed into your pleasure spot with every stroke, voiding your brain of any cohesive thoughts you might have had hiding in there. you moaned and whimpered over and over, whining yuuji’s name like a mantra as drool spilled from your lips.

yuuji could almost imagine your perfectly fucked-out face — your eyes rolling into your head and your mouth hanging open lazily. he grunted at the thought, deciding that the next time he fucked you it was gonna be somewhere that he could watch your face and really enjoy the show — because there was definitely going to be a next time.

there was a tight coil forming in your stomach, building up more and more the longer that your step-brother railed himself into you from behind. you hardly even noticed how sore your hips were getting or how numb and tingly your legs were from being bent over the dryer, yuuji’s dick filling you up so well that those things became an afterthought.

after a few more pounds to your oozing cunt that hit deep enough to graze your cervix, you felt a heightened wave of pleasure begin to crash over your body. surges of the most blissful sensation you’d ever felt racked through your systems, your whines becoming borderline screams as yuuji fucked you through your orgasm.

the way your warm, messy walls fluctuated and gripped around his cock pushed him close to his own climax, but he wasn’t quite ready to be done with you yet. he continued to provide heavy, forceful thrusts, abusing your now sensitive cunt and moaning loudly as your juices squelched out around the edges of your entrance. the disgusting sounds of your fluids squeezing out around his cock nearly sent him over the edge again, but he was determined to ride this out for as long as he could.

“it’s too much!” you wailed between heavy breaths, every stroke sending jolts of overstimulation through your clit.

you wiggled and whined, legs clenching together in defense and causing your pussy to wrap even tighter around yuuji’s dick. the added pressure and increased pleasure was something he could no longer surpass, succumbing to his own orgasm just moments later.

“fuck, feels- too- fucking- good- shit,” he grunted a long string of mostly profanity, emptying his hot release into your caverns as you continued to cry out and whimper underneath him.

yuuji had fucked you even stupider than you already were, your head way too dazed for you to even realize he was filling your insides with warm, sticky semen. he milked his orgasm all the way through and then some, his cock aching and twitching by the time he finally pulled it out of your white-stuffed cunt.

he wrapped his toned arms around your waist, finally pulling you out of the dryer and attempting to stand you up. but between the lack of blood flow to your legs from being stuck, and the good fuck yuuji had just given you, your lower extremities were in no shape to hold you up. you sunk right to the floor, your messy pussy spilling everywhere and leaving puddles of fluid and semen.

“thanks for helping me get un-stuck, big brother,” you looked up at him with admiration, blissfully unaware of how he was using your utter stupidity to his advantage.

“of course, you want me to carry you to bed?” he gave you a sympathetic look, squatting down with his back to you.

you hummed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and climbing onto his muscular back. he carried you down the hall and into your room, laying you down and handing you an old towel for you to clean yourself up with. you were a pitiful site, hazy eyes and an ignorant smile resting on your face as yuuji admired your damaged little cunt for a few more moments before returning to the laundry room.

he grabbed his phone and ended the video, thankful that you were much to oblivious to notice that it was recording the entire time. he was definitely going to hold onto the recording for safe keeping and later use — and shit, maybe he’d even upload it to pornhub and make a quick buck too.

[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,”

[221bshrlocked]

do you trust me?

Paring: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Words: 3708

Warning: Lots and lots and lots of touching because Din is getting a massage. Blindfold. Handjob. A sort of foot/hand fetish if you like squint...really really squint.

Summary: It's been a while since Mando came for a massage but things get heated when he asks you for a favor...

A/N: Ok so there was this one anon message I was writing a fic for yesterday when I lost the 1.5K words and it was something along the lines of "imagine Din frequenting your massage parlor and you're a masseuse" so I added a little twist to it because Shy!Din who doesn't want to cross that line until he's 1000% sure you're okay with it does something to me so here you go. I hope you enjoy it people and I'm sorry I lost your message anon. I'll reblog with the taglist later. This is not beta'd!!

You can’t help but smile when your boss comes in and tells you that one of the regulars was asking if you were available for him today. You know who she’s referring to but still tell her that he should be serviced soon since he probably doesn’t have that much time. When she tells you that he specifically asked for you, you tell her that you’ll take him up in the next slot.

It was strange to have someone like the Mandalorian come in for a massage. His people weren’t necessarily known for letting their guard down, especially in an establishment like this. But you felt a sense of pride every time he came in. Granted it was every once in a while, but you enjoyed those sessions immensely. You remember how weird and intimidating it was when he first walked into your room. You couldn’t see a single inch of his skin and you wondered why he would come into a massage parlor when he wasn’t allowed to take off his clothes. He’d quickly explained to you that it was only his helmet that he couldn’t take off. It was a little sad though because for those first few times, he only ever took off his beskar armor. You told him that you would unfortunately not be able to use any of the oils on him since he chose to keep his clothes on and he nodded in understanding.

But then something shifted in the dynamic between the two of you and over the span of a few cycles, Mando, as you liked to call him, began to strip off his layers. You never questioned him about his decisions, ensuring to follow his lead and tell him that he was very much in control of what happened in the room. But as patient as you were, you couldn’t help but feel guilty because maker, why couldn’t he just take off his clothes? It was the most mind-boggling thing you’ve ever experienced. You had adonis on your table come in every day, but just seeing his arms and his waist had your mouth watering. It was pathetic too because no matter how many times you saw him, your heart still skipped a beat when you touched him.

As you finish with your current client and prepare the room, you remind yourself to try and be on your best behavior for his sake. It took the man almost five months to finally feel comfortable enough with you and take off his shirt so you couldn’t go and destroy all of that work. When you’ve set everything up and replaced the candles, you walk out and head towards the front desk. You don’t have to glance around for too long. It’s hilarious how much he stands out next to everyone. As soon as you look at him, Mando’s posture changes and he sits up, his hands clasping his knees as he waits for you to nod at him. You ignore his rigid attitude and whisper something to your boss, smiling back when she turns to Mando and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Come on, I don’t have all day.” You call after him and watch as he stands up and struts towards you. No matter how many times you saw him walk, it’s always a little intimidating when you’re at the receiving end of such a powerful hunter.

“You could have been on your merry way Mando.” You say as you lead him through the hallways. “That’s not how I see it mesh’la.” You stop and turn around to look at him, narrowing your eyes when he almost bumps into you and mirrors your stance. “Are you ever going to tell me what that means?” You think he’s looking past you when he responds and rings his fingers nervously. “You don’t have all day.” The curt comment lets you know he isn’t going to answer your question and you shake your head before you continue to walk towards your room. Before you unlock it, he clears his throat and grabs your wrist to stop you from going any further.

“I- I can come back later, if you’re already booked for today.” You’re a little surprised by his comment but you shrug your shoulders and push the door open for him. “I cleared my schedule just for you so you better not change your mind now.” He turns away from you and stares at the floor before he steps into the room and you let out a breath when he begins to take off his weapons and place them on the corner table.

As you shut the door and move towards the table with the oils and towels, you’re met with a silence like never before. Thinking that he was probably not in the mood to chat, you shut your eyes and count back from ten to calm your nerves. You could do this.

But then you turn around a couple of minute later and you almost drop the bottles of oils when you see Mando’s state of dress. He’s standing in front of the table, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, staring at you through his visor.

You can’t do this.

“Is- is this okay?” Mando asks and you clear your throat quickly before moving the oils to the massage table. “Y-yeah of course. As long as you’re comfortable. Like I said, I don’t want you to think that you have to do anything.”

“I know…I- I trust you.”

Those three words do little to calm your nerves and you look up at him as soon as the admission registers in your brain. You aren’t sure if it was normal to react this strongly to such a simple declaration but you turn away from him to give him some privacy as he hopped onto the table.

“Can I ask you something mesh’la?”

“Hmm.”

“Do- do you trust me?” His question catches you off guard yet again and you tilt your head at the odd timing of it before you nod. “Of course Mando!”

“Then can you do me a favor?” You hope he’s about to ask you what you’ve been silently craving for months but then he brings out a simple cloth and you’re confused.

“I would like to feel…relaxed, and this helmet makes it difficult to- to…I can’t take it off in front of anyone. I understand if this is too much but if you don’t mind, could you maybe-” You know what he’s asking as soon as he brings up the helmet and without missing a beat, you walk around and take it out of his hand.

“Sure, but I won’t be able to see if I’m doing something that you don’t like. I tend to read body language but this will be more difficult, so you’ll need to speak up. Deal?” You wait until he gives you his confirmation before you return to table. As soon as you see him move to lay down, you turn around and wait until he’s comfortable before you raise the blindfold to your eyes. Mando watches as you twist it tightly around your eyes before you tie it, waving his hands several times in front of you to make sure that you don’t see him.

“Ok, I can’t see anything so…um, hand me the urn with the light-yellow oil please?” You call to him and force yourself to stay quiet when he takes your hand in his and places the urn between your palms. You thank him and wait until he tells you that you can begin. As you test the temperature of the oil, you hear a soft hissing sound coming from the top of the table and you stop your movement when you hear Mando setting down the helmet on the floor.

“Just umm, let me know when I can begin yeah?”

“Go ahead mesh’la, I’m ready for you.”

It never occurred to you that he might sound different without the vocoder and you grip the urn tightly as his voice rings through your ears. It was much deeper and hoarse than you thought it would be and for a moment, you wish you could hear it as he whispers the filthiest desires across your skin. But you bite your cheek and keep yourself under control as you step forward.

“Here, let me help you.” Without warning, Mando grabs your hand and rests it on his chest, and you think that this is probably the moment where you die of sheer sexual frustration.

“Thank you,” you whisper to Mando as you bring the urn above your head and begin to slowly pour the oil across of his chest and stomach. You vaguely feel his arms moving but you say nothing and put the urn aside as you begin to spread the oil across his skin. No matter how many times you massage him, you always felt giddy touching him. He wasn’t exactly ripped per se but he was muscular enough for his job, with some softer muscles here and there.

As you dug your fingers into his skin, you hoped he wasn’t staring at you because you were sure your skin was flushing deeply the more you felt him twitch and flex beneath you. You could tell the past month or so has taken a toll on him because the more you kneaded and stretched his muscles, the louder his gasps and groans grew.

But then you passed over his nipples and you swore he was murmuring curses beneath his breath. Opting to just move on and not apologize, you dig your knuckles into his pectoral muscles and hold back from commenting on how solid they felt. As you move to his shoulder, you could tell that he really was in need of relaxing because there were too many knots in just a small area. Mando is keeping silent the entire time and you thank the maker that he was a usually a quiet guy because there was no way could survive hearing his voice for a long period of time.

Taking a deep breath, you pour some more oil on your hands before you take hold of his arm and begin to stretch it. Mando says nothing as you bend it and move your fingers across his biceps and if he flexes for you, it’s a completely unintentional reflex. When you reach his hand and push your fingers into his palm, Mando swears again, turning his full attention to you as you try to loosen his ligaments. You know you don’t need to spend that much time on his hands but you’ve always loved how much bigger and thicker they felt compared to yours. It also felt a little intimate feeling someone’s hand relaxing between yours, but you kept that bit of information to yourself, not wanting Mando to feel nervous around you.

You slowly walk around the table and apply the same attention to his chest and left arm, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way you were clenching your thighs together as you felt his fingers curl around your wrist as you massaged his forearm.

“Moving onto the legs so if there’s anything you’re not comfortable by, let me know.”

“Yeah,” you almost jump when you hear Mando’s response because…was his voice this deep earlier?

Deciding to just go for it, you twist the towel far enough until it reaches his thighs and begin to pour oil on his thick muscles. You swear he didn’t look this tall but you realize that perhaps the armor didn’t make him look big, just more intimidating. As you squeeze the flesh of his inner thighs, you hear his breathing become erratic and you stop for a second to give him a chance to say something. When he doesn’t, you return to the task at hand and try your hardest to not think of the appendage that was not too far from where you were touching him.

Fuck, this should not be turning you on this much.

You’re not sure what it is about this situation that’s making you this needy and you think that’s it’s perhaps the blindfold but you brush the thought aside immediately, knowing that your brain would not be shy from thinking of more inappropriate scenarios involving blindfolds and liquids should it wanted to.

Pretending you weren’t just daydreaming about the Mandalorian bending you over this table and fucking you into the next parsec, you move to the other side and attend to his other upper thighs. Maker, this man really as built like a hunter. Well, he was an actual hunter so-

“Where did you go?” Mando’s voice breaks you out of your haze and you take your hands off of him when you realize he may have actually been staring at you.

“S-sorry I was just- well, it’s nothing important. Never mind.” You smile embarrassingly at him before you move to his feet and spread them apart. Mando’s sudden intake of breath sends a panic down your back and you take your hands immediately off of him.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No! N-no, you’re…carry on.” He’s quite breathless as he speaks to you and furrow your eyebrows before you return to knead at his feet. And just like earlier, your thoughts take a turn for the worst when you notice just how large his feet were. They were much bigger than your own little hands and you think that maybe, just maybe, they might be proportional to his-

“That tickles,” Mando’s chuckle would have brought you to your knees had you been focusing on what he’s saying and you apologize before moving onto his other foot and finishing it quickly.

“Alright, turn for me Mando.” You tap his legs and wait for him to move, all the while trying to not think of him turning you around and spreading your legs to-

“Ready.” You silently curse him for always cutting off your train of thoughts but you bite your tongue and move to the other side of the table. Standing right in front of his head, you pour more oil on his back and attempt to ignore his whimpering which you were sure he wasn’t aware of. Once there is no more oil, you mirror your actions from earlier and dig you knuckles into his shoulder blades, finding the tense muscles and tendons much more difficult to relax than his front.

“Maker…you’ve been working hard haven’t you Mando?” You only get a small groan in return and you chuckle when you massage a particular spot that has him reaching out and grabbing on your legs.

“Oh…uhh please,” if it was possible to choke on air, you would have done so as soon as he moaned for you. This was not what you signed up for when you first woke up today, and you hated how much more relaxed he felt in your presence because the lower you moved down his back, the more confident his groans grew and before you knew it, he was whispering your name and speaking in his mother tongue. You weren’t sure if he was saying good or bad things, but from the way he was reacting to you, you had an idea of how he was feeling. And by the time you got to his calves, the man has pretty much melted underneath you.

As you finished up and moved away from the table so he could take his time to get up, you felt a strange haze wash over you. Something about the way he moaned your name along with expletives and maker knows what else had you wishing he could just muster up the courage to step over that line with you.

Slowly turning around, you wait until Mando begins to sit up before you speak up.

“I hope you don’t take too long before you visit again…it’s difficult to get you to loosen up when there’s so much pent-up energy.” You smile and hope he can tell that you’re joking with him, not realizing how much danger you were in just from being near him.

“It won’t help.”

You’re shocked by his response because he’s never actually insulted you before and you’re about to bite his head off when he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards him.

“M-mando wh-”

“It’s not going to help, because I still have a lot of pent-up energy mesh’la. And you’re the one to blame.”

It’s like a zap of lightening has struck you down because as you try to free yourself from his grasp, you accidently brush something beneath the towel he has around his waist, something that was tenting the fabric and making it much harder to the touch.

“I’ve been trying to convince myself to visit you for so long sweet girl, but I stop myself from pushing in the coordinates when I remember how good it felt to have you worshipping me with your hands, your strong, soft little hands that I dream of touching me elsewhere…where I need you, crave you, fucking burn for you.” His words are laced with promises that you’ve longed to hear from him and you don’t realize that he’s waiting for you to answer until his grip tightens around your waist and he pulls you in closer.

“Mando,” you whisper to him as you lean into his neck and before he can ask you again, you slowly leave a trail of kisses across his jaw and down his jugular, not caring for how rough you’re being as you descend down his chest and leave bitemarks across the beautiful skin of his broad torso. He’s already somehow a moaning mess underneath your touch and the more you lick and kiss him, the more needy his groans become.

“Please, let me.” You plead as you raise your lips until they’re brushing against his and as Mando slowly tilts his head to capture your lips in a kiss, you dip your hand beneath his towel and firmly grasp his cock. Mando is distracted for a moment and he lunges into you when he feels how your warm hand massaging his dick. Although he normally doesn’t prefer any display of emotion, he can’t hold back from moaning your name as you slowly stroke his length. You’re not surprised by his size, but you’re a little shocked by how hot he runs and as you twist your palm around the bulging tip, Mando leans into you and shoves his tongue down your throat, making sure you don’t run away from him as he slips one arm around your back and keeps you as flush to him as possible.

The room is suddenly filled with the sounds of Mando’s heavy breathing and groaning, and you smile to yourself when you remember how desperate he said he was for you. You’re glad you weren’t the only one feeling such an intense neediness and it’s your turn to gasp when you dip your hand and grab his balls. Mando’s hold on you tightens and you’re sure he’s giving you bruises but you can’t find it in yourself to care because this monolith of a hunter was falling apart just from your hand.

You break the kiss and slowly push him down so he could lay on the table again and as he follows your lead, you smile down at him before you grab the oil and pour a little more of it on his dick. He twitches at the warm material but quiets down as soon as you bring two fingers and shove him in his mouth.

“Be quiet for me baby, don’t want the other clients to think they’ll be getting this treatment too.” Mando bites down on your fingers as he nods and you try to hold back from jumping on the table and sinking down on his cock.

Fuck, it felt like it was beautiful and you hoped that you’d get to see it at some point in the near future. But you were satisfied with what you had now and as you worked him closer to his orgasm, you wished you could see his facial expressions as he surrendered to you.

You could feel him buzzing with energy on the table, and you giggled when he stretched out and grabbed your leg to bring you closer to him.

“Please…oh fuck, please I-”

“Cum for me Mando…cum for me, let me taste you on my lips baby please. You’ve been so good to me, letting me take care of you and trusting me to keep your secret. Go ahead darling, and cum for me.” He suddenly sits up on his elbows and you let go of his mouth before grabbing his balls and massaging them until he fell over the edge. As he growled his release, you couldn’t hold back anymore and leaned down, taking as much of him in your mouth as possible as you sucked on him and tasted his seed. There was so much that you swallowed and you marveled at how much he still had as you continued to milk him dry. When he finally finished and fell to his back, you stroked him softly a few times before licking across his navel to clean him up.

As you stood next to him, you felt a little shy at what was to come. But Mando seemed to see you overthinking because he didn’t waste another minute, sitting up quickly and pulling you in his arms. You stood in between his legs and smiled when he leaned down and began to kiss across your eyes.

“You…you’ve been so good to me mesh’la.” He whispers hoarsely as he nips at your shoulder and you giggle when his scruff begins to tickle your skin.

“So have you.” Mando sighs heavily at your confession and you repeat it one more time so he could believe that you were telling the truth.

“I- I think I’ll start coming more often. You know, so the muscles aren’t too knotted like you said.”

“Hmm, is that all you’ll come for Mando?” You smile when he pecks your lips and brushes your hair aside.

“No sweet girl, I’ll be coming for you too. More than you think.”

[temilyrights]

break the mould (emily prentiss x reader)

Summary: There were plenty of moments where you could have put a stop to what was happening, but the thing about being in love with someone, was that when they finally kissed you, the reasons for staying away were forgotten and all that mattered was the woman you loved might, just maybe, love you back. 

Word Count: 8k (It’s a long one folks<3)      AO3 Link

A/N:  This one was a journey! It took a long time to write and actually made me sad so I hope it was worth it. I think I'm proud of this one but we are all aware I'm dependent on feedback so we'll see what you all think before I form an opinion<3 Thank you so much @prentisspoppet for proofreading it for me because I couldn't look at it a second longer - you're a lifesaver!

Warnings: alcohol, cheating, affair, swearing. angst!! happy ending though<3 16+ 

Las Vegas lost its appeal the second or third time you’d been there on a case, but Rossi always managed to convince the unit chief to stay an extra night so he could go waste money in the casinos. 

(Hotch gave in to him way too quickly every single time, and Emily wasn’t much better at saying no. This afternoon she hadn’t cared enough to argue, especially after seeing Alvez’s and Tara’s hopeful expressions). 

Tara had coaxed you into having one too many drinks at dinner, so even with the food, you were feeling a little tipsy. Not quite enough to join them when they all disappear to go out, but enough that you and Emily decide to remain at the table drinking wine and laughing for over an hour after everyone else has left. 

It’s the waiters getting annoyed you were taking up such a large table that finally gets you to leave. Emily buys a bottle of wine on the way out, ignoring your protests about heading to the nearest shop instead to save money. 

“It’s too far and I’m too lazy.” She said as she paid the bartender. She then finds your hand and drags you along with her to the elevator. 

You end up in her room. 

Half a bottle later, she’s stretched out across the floor, eyes closed but still awake, while you sit beside her, back resisting against the bed and taking swigs from the bottle.

“You’re going to fall asleep.” You comment, looking down at her and ignoring the way your heart clenches at the sight. It had been happening more and more frequently over the last couple of months and you didn’t understand why because you’d thought you’d gotten these feelings under control years ago. 

Emily doesn’t open her eyes as she responds. “No, I won’t. This floor is uncomfortable as hell and I’m not nearly drunk enough to forget how badly my back will hurt if I pass out here.” 

“Okay.” You chuckle, only half believing her. “Want more wine?” 

She scrunches up her nose. “No, it’s gross.” 

It was. “You spent $50 on it.”

She groans, rolling her head to the side. “Please don’t remind me.” 

“I guess it’s better than that time you bought yourself a hot tub even though you don’t have a garden.” You snort. Drunk Emily was the queen of stupid purchases. She had ended up giving it to JJ because the store wouldn’t let her return it. 

“Fuck off.” 

You laugh, and Emily shoves your leg half-heartedly. 

It falls silent again. She lays still while you take the occasional sip from the bottle, drawing patterns into the carpet with your finger. 

You aren’t sure of the time (your phone had been abandoned somewhere in the room when you’d arrived and you didn’t care enough to search for it) but you know it’s late, and it’s because of that and the wine in your system that you ask the question you do.

“Are you happy?”  

Emily’s brows furrow as she opens her eyes and stares up at you. 

“With Mendoza.” You clarify, fingers digging deeper into the carpet. “Are you happy?” 

“Of course,” She says, smiling in a way that doesn’t meet her eyes. “He loves me a lot.”

“Right.” You nod, “Good.” 

Emily clears her throat, looking away. “He’s, uh, actually asked me to meet his daughter.” 

“Oh, wow. That’s a big step.” You take a gulp of wine. Why did you do this to yourself? Why ask? 

“Yeah. It is.” She sighs and pushes herself up. Grabbing the bottle from your hands, she sits beside you and takes a long swig. 

The tension in her body is obvious but before you can reassure her that she’ll do amazingly, Emily’s trying to refocus the attention on you. 

“Are you happy?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug, snatching the bottle back. 

And you were, practically. Maybe a little lonely, but it’s your own fault for being in love with your best friend. 

“You’ve seemed down recently.” Emily comments, looking at you in question.

You take another sip of wine. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but I’m always here to listen.” 

“I know.” You nod, smiling weakly at her. You push the wine bottle back into her hands and watch her tip her head back and take a sip. A bit of the red liquid spills and runs down from her lip. 

Your thumb swipes out to catch it, brushing the edge of her mouth much too slowly. 

Emily lowers the bottle, watching you closely, and you can’t decipher the emotions in her eyes but it stops you from pulling away. 

Her gaze drops to your lips before slowly meeting your eyes again, and your heart beats so loudly it reaches your ears.

You drag her chin forward, and she follows without protest. Her eyes drop back to your lips before falling close and meeting your mouth in a kiss that’s soft and slow. 

You release a shaky breath when she pulls away, scared to see what would surely be regret, but instead, she just places the wine bottle down, mutters a “don’t wanna spill that” before she leans back in, her hand caressing your cheek as she kisses you. 

There’s no urgency to the kisses, both of you taking your time to explore each other’s mouths. Your hand falls to her thigh to steady yourself and Emily mews into your mouth, causing your thighs to clench together. 

She grabs the fabric of your shirt and tugs you forward, signalling for you to get onto her lap which you do without protest, she releases a small whine when you detach your mouth from hers momentarily and it makes you chuckle.

Your hands find her hair, while hers start at your hips and slowly begin to slide under the back of your shirt. 

“We should stop.” You say between kisses, because you should, but god you don’t want to. 

“Yeah.” She sighs but grips at you tighter.

“Emily,” You try again when she pulls away, but then her mouth drops to your neck and your head tips back and her name becomes a sigh. 

Your protests die out after that because you’ve wanted this since you met her all those years ago. And the wine fogging your brain allows you to ignore the part of you that knows this is only happening because she’s freaking out about Mendoza. 

Because Emily always ran when things got too much. 

She self-sabotaged and moved to whole different fucking countries. 

But when her teeth nip at your throat and her hands begin unbuttoning your shirt, that’s the furthest thought from your mind.

You love her and fuck you’ll let her destroy you for one night of feeling like she loves you back. 

“Let me make you feel good.” She whispers, hot breath tickling your ear. 

Your breathing stutters and your eyes fall close. She kisses along your jaw as she pushes the shirt from your shoulders. “What do you say?” She hums

“Yes. God, yes. Please.” You beg. 

And she does, again and again. She explores every inch of your body, whispering forbidden words along the way and you do the same in return. “I’ve wanted to do this for years.” She mummers at one point and it’s enough to bring tears to your eyes. You push them away, stopping the ‘I love you’ that threatens to burst from your lips by kissing her deeply.

It’s somehow more than you’ve ever let yourself dream about and yet not quite what you want. It’s her calling you stunning and explaining in detail what she wants to do to you. It’s moments of laughter and soft smiles and gentle kisses between the passion. It’s her eyes dark with desire and need, and it's her head tipped back in pleasure as you make her come undone again and again and again. 

But all of that is tainted by the fact you know that it isn’t love that she’s feeling for you. It’s destruction masked by desire. Because deep down she must know that this will affect your friendship but it's easier for her to bury herself in you, and to harm her relationship with Mendoza than it is to accept the fact she loves him and meeting his daughter makes that relationship real, it gives her roots she can’t run from and that terrifies her. 

You’re her escape for the night and you know it, but hours later when both of you are too exhausted to move, she holds you in her arms and presses a lazy kiss against your forehead and you begin to question if maybe it’s more for her. You look at her, taking in everything about the moment and the only thing stopping tears from forming in your eyes at her expression is sheer exhaustion because the look on her face is something you’d only ever seen in quick flashes, it’s affection, and if you were dumb enough, something you might have dared to call love. Instead, you let your eyes fall close and finally succumb to sleep. 

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You wake to sunlight peeking through the open blinds. Emily’s arms are still wrapped around you, holding you tightly to her side. Her soft snores tickle your hair and make you smile. Your body aches in amazing ways but it isn’t enough to dull out the thumping of your head and the heavy feeling in your heart. 

Emily grumbles but doesn’t wake as you detach yourself from her arms. You dress in silence. It takes everything in you to not climb back into the bed, but you just remind yourself how she’ll freak out when she realises what she’s done, how she’ll apologise and regret it and you won’t be able to stop yourself from crying if you hear her say those words. 

You grab your bag and shoes, not bothering to put the latter on as you quietly open the door and slip out of the room. 

You blow out a deep breath as tears burn your eyes. This was properly the stupidest thing you’d ever done, and you weren’t even sure you regretted it.

A door opening down the corridor spurs you into action. You suck in your tears and turn and then freeze when you notice Reid slipping out of Alvez’s room. 

He meets your eyes and stops. Panic and fear run through his face before he sighs and lowers his head. Everyone knew anyway, just no one spoke about it because Reid and Alvez were yet to say anything. 

“It’s still new.” He whispers as he approaches and if you weren’t still freaking the fuck out about what he’s about to realise you would have formulated a response. 

His eyes flick between you and the door behind you. His mouth falls open. “You and-”

“Don’t.” You warn. 

“Y/N...” Reid says, his voice aching with sympathy. 

And it’s too soon, too fresh. You hadn’t had time to break down and piece yourself back together yet so there’s no stopping the tears that fill your eyes. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You grit even as your hands shake. “Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone or I swear to god…”

Reid shakes his head and holds his hands up. “I won’t.” He promises.

You walk past him, keeping your head high and tears back. You wait until you are in your room to let your tears fall, and even then it’s only once you reach the shower and can hide them amongst the spray of water. 

It was fine. 

Everything would be fine. 

It would be awkward for a few days, Emily would avoid you until she could throw herself at Mendoza and reassure herself what happened was a mistake. And then the two of you would pretend it never happened. 

There would be no discussing it. 

And somehow you will find a way to fall out of love with your best friend. 

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Reid is waiting in the lobby with two cups of coffee when you arrive. He holds one out for you, a placating smile on his face. “Here. I thought you could use it.” 

“Thank you.” You murmur, accepting the cup with a small smile of your own. His shoulders relax and he lifts his own cup up to take a sip of the drink. 

“Where is everyone?” You ask. The rest of the team was usually in the lobby by this time, yet no one was here. 

“Already outside. Apart from JJ who's gone to find Emily because she’s yet to appear.” 

You tense, nodding your head stiffly. “Right.”

Reid studies you, picking up on your rigidness. “I won’t say anything to anyone, not even Luke. I promise.” 

“I know.” You respond, looking at him with a tired smile. He wouldn’t push for more information but you can see his curiosity as he tries to piece it all together.

“It was just a one-time thing.” You say quietly, dropping your head to hide the tears that pool in your eyes. You clear your throat and blink them away. “It won’t happen again.” 

He sighs, “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but she’ll come to her senses eventually.” 

You frown and lift your head to meet his eyes. “And realise what? It only happened because she was freaking out and I was there.”

A deep frown spreads across his face. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” 

“It’s what happened.” 

“Y/N,” He sighs. “She loves you.” 

“Reid, don’t.” You warn. Your heart flutters forbiddingly at the thought. 

"She is with Mendoza because she thinks she should be, not because she loves him. You weren’t the mistake. He is.” He urges. 

You shake your head, blinking away tears. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but please stop. It’s fine. I’m fine.” 

His voice softens as his brows furrow. “But you two are meant to be together.”

You smile sadly, “We were only ever meant to be friends, and I came to terms with that a long time ago.” You tilt your head, sighing. “Last night was a slip up on my part, I knew better.” 

“You’re already detaching yourself from what happened. Have you even spoken to her about it?”

“What’s there to say?” You shrug helplessly. 

“Y/N,” Reid tries to protest but he’s interrupted by the dinging of the elevator and Emily and JJ stepping out into the lobby. You turn around and your heart pounds at the sight of her. 

She doesn’t look in your direction, just walks past with a death grip on her bag. “Five minutes and we leave.” She announces as she passes. 

It’s dumb, but your heart sinks. There had been a tiny part of you that had hoped she’d show you some kind of emotion that proved last night meant something to her, but instead she practically ignored you, proving what you already knew. She regretted it. 

You turn back to Reid and sigh, “Come on. The sooner I get out of Las Vegas, the better.” 

He looks like he wants to say more, but he deflates. “Fine.”

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You’d just finished drying the last of your dishes when the phone started to ring. You drop the tea towel on the counter before pulling your mobile from your pocket. 

It’s Emily. Your stomach twists. 

You’d avoided looking at her the whole day and had deliberately gotten into the other SUV to her and sat as far away as possible on the jet. Occasionally you’d feel her eyes stray to you, but you always kept your head in your phone and refused to meet her gaze. 

You hadn’t expected her to call.

You blow out a breath before answering. “Hey.” 

The phone crackles for a moment. “Hi.” She responds, tiredness clear in her voice. 

You clutch the phone tighter, fiddling with a pen that had been laying on the counter as you wait for her to lead the call. 

After a long moment, she speaks. “Y/N…” Her voice cracks “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes fall close, tears threatening to burst free as you grip the pen tightly. “I know.” 

“Last night...” 

You sniff. “It was a mistake. We were drunk.” 

“Drunk. Right.” She agrees. 

It’s silent for another long moment. Long enough that you’re half concerned the phone’s disconnected until her hesitant voice travels down the line. 

“Are we okay?”

And you hate that this is your life now. You really weren’t sure what she’d have to do for you to leave her side. She didn’t just have your heart, she had your entire body and she wasn’t even aware. 

“Yeah, Em.” Silent tears drip down your cheeks. “We’re okay.” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You won’t. I promise.”

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And she doesn’t. It’s not the same, but it becomes the new normal.

The first month is difficult. Emily can’t be near you without looking riddled with guilt, and it hurts so much it feels like you’re getting stabbed in the chest any time you see her.

But eventually, it begins to settle. The heartache fades to a bearable level. Emily starts properly smiling around you again and sometimes it feels like it never happened. 

But then you’ll accidentally touch her hand or she’ll brush past you and you’ll both flinch. It’s probably the worst consequence of the whole thing because Emily shows her love through touch and on so many occasions she goes to reach out, only to stop herself. 

Occasionally you catch her watching you. It’s only for a flash before she looks away, but the expression on her face looks like longing and it makes your heart ache all over again. 

You aren’t sure what the team thinks, they definitely noticed the slight tension at the beginning, but as the two of you get better at pretending, it seems they think everything is fine. Well, apart from Reid, who watches your interactions closely, and looks at you with probing eyes that you had no idea how to deal with so choose to ignore.  

But it’s okay.

It’s good, really, all things considered. 

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“Prentiss, what the hell!” You yell, storming over to the ambulance where she was currently sitting, holding an ice pack to her head. 

She’d separated herself from the team, and the unsub had gotten the jump on her. Apart from being a little bruised up, she really was okay, but that knowledge was not calming the pounding of your heart and the bile rising in your throat at the thought of losing her.

“I’m fine.” She dismisses, wincing at your loud voice. 

You deflate slightly. “I can’t believe you.” You grumble. “You could have gotten seriously hurt.”

“I know,” She sighs, tiredness shining in her eyes “and I’m sorry.”

“What?” You respond in surprise. Emily never gave in that easily. It was usually an uphill battle to even get her to sit in the ambulance. 

“What?” She defends.

“How hard did you hit your head?” 

She rolls her eyes, smirking. “Funny.” 

“No, I’m being serious. You’ve never apologised for anything this quickly in your life." 

“People change.” She shrugs. “Growth or whatever.” 

You stare at her, brows creased in amusement. “Yeah, people change. You don’t.” 

“Hey!” She protests and then immediately winces at the loud sound of her voice. Her voice lowers to a murmur. “I’ve changed.” 

“Alright, so how about we go to the hospital to get you a proper checkup?” 

“I don’t need to-” She starts to protest, but at your knowing look, she stops and rolls her eyes. “That’s different! I am fine.” 

“Emily,” You sigh.

“Y/N,” She mimics back. “If you’re that worried, you can give me a lift home. I don’t have a concussion, just a headache that I would like to take painkillers for. So, please.” 

You weigh your options for all of three seconds before sighing. “Fine. Get in the car.”

Emily grins, entirely too proud of herself as she hops off the back of the ambulance. You roll your eyes and try to squash the small smirk threatening to break free as you follow after her. 

“Oh, can we stop by the office too? I need to grab my bags.” She asks. 

“Was planning on it anyway.” You smirk. “Garcia demanded it.”

She winces. “Oh god.” 

The journey back to Quantico is quick. Emily spends 20 minutes trying to convince Garcia she’s okay while you wait in Emily’s office with the bags.

When she returns you have to stop her from taking painkillers with coffee. You steal the coffee cup from her desk and replace it with a glass of water, completely ignoring her grumbles.

It’s another hour before you get to hers with a fresh bag of takeout food that Emily had demanded you stop for on the way. 

“Will you please sit down?” You huff, as you move around her and pull plates from her cupboards.

“Are you bossing me around my own home?” She smirks, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Yes. Now sit.” You order, placing the plates on the table before turning and grabbing glasses. 

She snorts and slides into a chair. She opens the bag of food and begins to dish it out. 

You return with two glasses of water. Emily looks at them, unimpressed. 

“You are not having wine after taking painkillers.” 

She rolls her eyes and mumbles something under her breath you don’t catch.

“What was that?” 

“I called you a killjoy.” 

You laugh. “Fine by me.”

She rolls her eyes again, an affectionate smile on her lips as she lowers her head and digs into the food. 

Emily occasionally winces and shifts in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position, but you don’t comment on it, happy to instead focus on the easy conversation and making her laugh. It’s nice watching the stress of the day leave her body, her smile gets more real as the time goes on, and her laughter has butterflies swarming in your stomach. 

You’re just clearing the table, moving the plates to the sink to deal with later when Emily’s phone starts blaring. Mendoza’s caller ID lights up the screen, and your happiness instantly melts away. Emily’s smile dims, and she picks her phone up with an apologetic look.

“Sorry. I’ll only be a few minutes.” She says, rising from her chair with a wince. 

“It’s fine.” You urge, but you know your strained smile betrays you. “I should probably get going anyway.” 

“No, stay. Please.” She pleads. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” 

You stare at her for a moment, figuring out if she was being genuine or not and when you decide she is, you relent. “Okay.” 

She smiles softly, nodding her head before she retreats outside to her balcony. You drop your head into your hands and blow out a long breath. 

It’s been five months since Las Vegas and you hadn’t seen Mendoza in person once which you were incredibly grateful for, but it also meant it was easy to forget he existed, especially when Emily had started smiling at you again. It has allowed you to lull yourself into a false reality so now every time someone mentions him or Emily’s phone lights up with a text or call from him it’s like getting hit with a brick. 

“I’m okay, really Andrew. You don’t need to come over.” You hear Emily say, her tone soft but sure. There’s a pause as Mendoza responds but then she sighs.

“It’s late and I'm tired. I’m just going to go to bed, there’s no need. Okay?” It’s impossible not to notice the way she’s avoided even mentioning the fact you’re here. It makes you feel gross and you push yourself up from the table, seeking somewhere where you can’t hear their conversation. 

You end up in her study, browsing her large collection of books, most of which are in piles on the floor instead of the perfectly good bookcase which is filled with trinkets, photos, and awards. You smile at the sight of her overfilled desk, paperwork and books fill the table in a way that reminds you of Reid. It’s ridiculous really, you have no idea how she even functions in this room. Every time you come over it gets increasingly messier, which really shouldn’t be possible, but you love her for it. It’s weirdly endearing, especially when compared to the rest of her home which is always tidy.

You run your fingers along the edge of the desk, smiling at the mess. You reach for one of the books, carefully flicking through the pages, tracing the lines of a language you can’t read. 

A small box sits on her desk, hidden behind a pen pot. You reach out for it curiously and your stomach lurches when your fingers touch the blue velvet and you’re faced with what could not be anything other than a ring box. You open it with a shaking hand. 

Oh.

No, no, no, no.

It was an engagement ring. She was marrying him. 

“Fuck.” You cry, tears dripping down your cheeks as you stare at the ring. It was beautiful, perfectly suited for her but god you hated it. Hated him. 

You wondered if he even knew about Las Vegas? 

“Sorry about that.” Emily sighs, stepping into the room. Your back is to her so she can’t see the tears rolling down your cheeks or the box you’re holding. “It’s gross in here, come on.” She urges as she approaches. You try to wipe the evidence of your tears away but you already know your face is going to be puffy. 

“I was thinking we could watch-” Her voice cuts off when she sees what you’re holding. “Oh.” She croaks. 

“You got engaged.” You say, turning your head to look at her. You try to smile but it’s weak and flimsy and is easily outshone by the pain in your eyes. 

She clears her throat, “Andrew proposed.” She says carefully, eyes flicking to the side. “I, uh, I haven’t given him an answer yet.” 

“Are you going to say yes?” You ask, voice hoarse as your eyes drift back to the ring in your hands.

“I don’t know.” She responds helplessly, eyes burning into the side of your head. 

The words don’t fill you with relief like you thought they would, instead they fill you with a sense of dread because this was another moment where you could predict Emily doing something similar to Las Vegas, and you honestly weren’t sure you could survive that again. 

You close the ring box and return it to the desk, forcing a smile to your lips before you meet her gaze. You need to get out of here and fast. “I’m happy for you, whatever you decide.” 

She frowns, looking at you closely. “Are you?” 

“Of course.”

“But you were crying.”

You sigh, stepping back and turning away. “It’s been a long day.” You say at a loss for a better excuse. You know it won’t satisfy her. “I should get going anyway.” 

“Wait, no.” She protests, reaching out for your arm. You freeze at the touch, and Emily sighs and removes her hand. Her voice lowers to a raspy whisper. “Please. I’m sorry.” 

You turn and look back at her, surprised to find her eyes brewing with tears. “I don’t know what you want from me, Emily.” You shrug helplessly. 

“I want you to stop looking at me like it physically hurts you to be near me.”

You gulp, blinking away the tears that rush to your eyes. 

She steps closer, her hand twitches but she doesn’t reach out. “I want to know if what happened in Las Vegas meant something to you.” She says, voice hoarse with emotion. 

“Let’s not do this tonight.” You say, “It’s late and you need to rest.” 

“Y/N,” She begs. “I need to know.” 

You bite your lip, shaking your head in frustration as your emotions swirl. “No, Emily.” You grit. “We agreed it was a mistake, let’s leave it at that.”

“You said it was a mistake, I never did.” 

Your eyes narrow and your lip curls. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are!” You shout. “So, quit it. Let it go.”

“Can you stop running from this for two seconds and just talk to me!” She yells and clutches her side, pain flickering across her face but you don’t notice. 

You laugh, bitter and broken and she takes a step back in surprise. Months of conflicting feelings that you’d kept buried and tried to ignore were bursting out because you were angry. Angry at her for using you as her escape and angry at yourself for being stupid enough to slip. 

“You are the one who’s running! You always are.”

“I’m not.” She says seriously, “Not this time.” 

“Then why now, Emily?” You snap. “Why now after five months of nothing do you feel the need to talk about it?”

She shakes her head, searching for words she can’t find. 

“It’s because he proposed and you’re scared.” You say, voice cruel and broken. “I understand marriage is a big thing, but I won’t be your escape again, I won’t do it. We both know in a week you will accept his proposal because you love him, and if you push this…” You shake your head, tears pooling in your eyes “I’m going to end up breaking the one thing I promised you.”

“What if I don’t want to marry him?” She asks quietly. 

It’s a plea for something, and if you were just her friend this is where you’d deflate and soften and be there for her, but it’s too late and you’re too tired and you don’t believe her.

So you shrug, “Then don’t.” 

“It’s not that simple.” She defends, shaking her head.

“Yes, it is!” You laugh. 

“No, it’s not!” She booms. The frames on the walls rattle, and your eyes widen in surprise. A heavy silence descends on the room as you both stare at each other. 

She takes deep breaths, looking at you with helpless eyes that are full of tears. Her voice is barely above a whisper when she finally speaks. “I’m so tired of hurting the people I love.” 

You shake your head sadly, eyes softening as you look at her. “Emily…”

“But this time maybe I can fix that.” She says frustratedly “If I could just make him happy then maybe it makes up for everything else.” 

You look away as your stomach lurches. “Makes up for sleeping with me.” You murmur. 

“No-”

“Did you ever tell him?” You interrupt, meeting her eyes again. 

“No.”

It’s what you expected but it still hurts. You force a wobbly smile to your lips. “But what happened wasn’t a mistake, huh?” 

She shakes her head, looking to the side instead of at you as she bites her lip. When she meets your eyes again her eyes are full of anguish. “He doesn’t know because I knew if he found out he’d ask me to choose between him and you.”

You nod your head, tears dripping down your cheeks. “And you’d choose him.”

“No.” She laughs, “I’d choose you, and that’s the problem.” 

Your mouth falls open as you stare at her in surprise. Emily chuckles brokenly. 

“See, I can’t stop, even when I’m trying not to break things I do it anyway. My whole life all I’ve done is hurt people, over and over again. Matthew, You, Spencer, Morgan, JJ, Garcia, Andrew. All of you. It never ends.” 

You frown, trying and failing to clear the emotion from your throat as you slowly shake your head. “Emily, no.” 

“I just thought with Andrew it would be different. I could prove to myself that I could love someone without hurting them, but I can’t.” She looks away, slapping her lips together. “Maybe I’m not meant to love.” 

You step forward, reaching for her hand and tugging her towards you without a second thought. Emily looks at you in surprise. 

“You’re wrong.” You say seriously. “Your love is extraordinary. It’s made me bolder, stronger, and better. It’s made me feel safe. Anyone who is a recipient of your love will tell you the same thing, they are so grateful that they are the one you chose to love. Your love isn’t bad Emily, it’s beautiful.”  

Heavy tears drip down her cheeks, “You think so?”

“I know so.” You smile, squeezing her hand. With your spare hand, you reach out and wipe away some of her tears. She leans into the touch, holding your gaze. She smiles weakly, the pain fading from her eyes and being replaced by pure love.

It takes your breath away. You recognise the look, it’s the one you’d seen in quick flashes for years, the one you’d been pretending wasn’t what you hoped it was, but seeing it now there was no mistaking it. It wasn’t just affection, it was love. She loved you. 

Your heart stutters, and you pull away. Stepping back and allowing your hand to drop from hers. 

It’s too much. Too real. 

“Y/N?” She questions, brows drawing together in confusion.

“What does all this mean?” You ask sadly, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

“I told you my reason for moving to London, right?”

You frown at the abrupt change in conversation but nod your head. “Yeah. You couldn’t grasp onto your old life. You needed a fresh start.”

She blows out a shaky breath and nods, a sad smile gracing her lips. “What I didn’t tell you was for those seven months, when everything felt wrong and I felt like an imposter in my own life...you-” her voice cracks and she quickly blinks away tears. She clears her throat, “You felt like home.”

Tears pool in your eyes as you stare at her. 

“You were the only thing that felt right, and it’s what made me realise that I was, am, so very deeply in love with you because nothing has ever made more sense to me than me with you.”

“Emily,” You cry.

“I love Andrew but I’m not in love with him. I wanted to be for all the wrong reasons. To prove things to myself and also because I was too scared of going after what I really wanted. I didn’t want to risk our friendship, but then you kissed me and I thought maybe this was my chance, but you were gone when I woke up.”

“You really don’t regret that night?”

“How could I?” 

Your mouth opens and closes as tears trickle down your cheeks. Eventually, you release a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “You love me?” 

“So much. I’m going to end things with Andrew. Don’t worry, that doesn’t mean I expect us to be together. I understand-” 

You cut her off with a kiss, grabbing her hand and dragging her into your arms. Emily makes a small noise of surprise before melting into you. When you pull back, you’re smiling. “I love you too.” 

“But you left.” She responds in confusion, still holding you in her arms. 

“I thought you were using me to sabotage your relationship with Mendoza. I thought you were scared of setting down roots with him and lashed out. I thought,” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, “I thought you’d wake up and start saying it was a mistake and you regretted it and I couldn’t stand to hear that. I didn’t want you to know that that night meant everything to me, and I never regretted it for a moment because I got a night where I could pretend you loved me as much as I love you.” 

Emily’s face drops. She cups your cheek, gently caressing it. “It was never about him.” 

You chew your lip, looking away before meeting her gaze again. “I need you to promise me something.” 

“Anything.”

Your fingers grip at her shirt. “I need you to promise me this isn’t something you’re going to regret in a week, or a month, or a year. You’re not going to wake up one day and realise Mendoza is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with. It’ll ruin me.” 

“Y/N, I promise you, you are the person I want to be with. You are the person I’ve always wanted to be with. I love you, and I know this isn’t going to be easy. I’ve damaged your trust in me-” You try to protest but Emily cuts you off, “No, I have. There’s a lot we need to discuss and a lot we need to repair but I’m one hundred per cent in if you are.” 

“Mendoza’s going to be mad and the gossip is going to be horrible.” 

“I know, but we can handle it.” 

You stare at her, biting your lip. “I’m scared.” 

She smiles slightly, “Me too.” 

“You’re really willing to try?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then yes. I’m in.” 

A wide grin spreads across her mouth. “Yes?” 

“Yes.” You laugh.

She kisses you again, deep and hard. Your hands grasp at her sides but quickly snap away when she gasps. 

“Shit. Sorry! I forgot.” 

“It’s okay.” She assures.

You step away anyway. “You should get some sleep. It’s been an emotional day.”

“Stay.” She pleads, grabbing your hand and rubbing patterns into your palm with her thumb. 

“That’s not a good idea.”

“Just sleep, I promise.” 

“Emily, “ You sigh. “I want to, I do, but we both know we shouldn’t, not until you’ve had your conversation with Mendoza. He’ll likely turn up in the morning anyway, and this is going to be hard enough on him as it is without me being there.” 

“I don’t want you to go.” She complains, pulling you back into your arms. She rests her forehead against yours and takes a deep breath. “Even if I know you’re right.” 

“I’ll come back tomorrow.” You whisper, eyes closed as you run a hand through her hair. 

“Okay.” She sighs but she doesn’t make a move to step away and neither do you. You both stand holding each other close for a while. The outside world was a distant thought when she was in your arms. 

Eventually, you sigh and pull away. “I should get going.” 

She leans in and pecks your cheek, squeezing your hand one last time before dropping it and stepping away. “I love you.”

A dopey smile spreads across your lips. “I love you too.”

She follows you out of the study, watching you with a tired smile as you collect your bag and coat.

“Tomorrow.” You promise, turning back to her as she leans against the open door. 

“Tomorrow.” She agrees. 

You place one last kiss on her cheek and step back, blowing out a breath you make your way down the steps from her house, waving a goodbye. She watches you all the way to your car, and it’s not until you’ve driven out of her sight that she closes the door. 

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

When you wake up the next morning, you erupt into happy laughter. Your heart felt warm and full for the first time in forever. She loved you. She loved you. She loved you. All the heartache was over. You didn’t have to live in a state of wanting but not having anymore, you didn’t have to watch your best friend, the love of your life, marry someone else. 

You make yourself breakfast in a dream-like happiness. Dancing around the kitchen and singing loudly to your favourite music. Your eyes drift to your phone every so often, waiting eagerly for the message to tell you to come over. It’s still early though, barely 9 am, and you know you need to wait for her to talk to Mendoza. 

The day drifts on, 9 becoming 12 becoming 4 and Emily never messages. You keep your phone on loud so there’s no chance of you missing it and try to ignore your growing unease over the possibility of her changing her mind. 

“They’re having a difficult conversation of course it’s going to take time.” You tell yourself as you pace back and forth in your living room. It’s approaching 7 pm and you still haven’t heard anything. You’d spent the whole day deep cleaning your house and running errands to try and distract yourself but there was now nothing left to do but fall into your anxieties.

What if she realised he was the one she wanted? What if she accepts his proposal? She’d just been hurt, she probably was high on adrenaline and not thinking clearly. You should have waited to have the conversation. You’re an idiot. She’s going to change her mind. She’s probably trying to figure out a way to let you down easily. She never loved you like that in the first place. You were in the wrong. You shouldn’t have kissed her again. You being there confused her. She loves him.

The doorbell rings and you freeze. You slowly lower your thumb from your mouth as you stare at the door. 

It was probably her. 

You blow out a breath, preparing yourself for the worst as you make your way to the door. You open it and find Emily on the other side. 

“Hi.” You say cautiously. 

“It’s done.” She chokes, tears welling in her eyes. “I ended it.” 

You grab her hand and pull her into your arms. She buries her head into your neck, muffling her sniffles as you hold her tightly. 

“I’ve got you.” You promise, holding back your own tears. 

You both stand like that until her sniffles have died down, she pulls away with an embarrassed smile, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “Sorry.” She mumbles. 

“Don’t be.” You urge. “Come on, let’s get inside.” You tangle your fingers with hers and drag her inside. You close the door, making sure not to let go of her. She flicks her shoes off and drops her bag to the floor and then you slowly walk her to your bedroom. 

She frowns. “Y/N-” 

“Ssh.” You order, dragging her with you. You let go of her hand to lie down in the bed and pat the space beside you. “Come.” 

She rolls her eyes, smiling, and does as ordered. She snuggles close into your side, resting her head on your shoulder. You gently run your hands through her hair and you both release deep sighs, tensions leaving your body.

“I love you.” She says softly. 

“I love you too.” 

The two of you lie in silence for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms. No words are needed as you hold each other close. You’re beginning to drift off to sleep, completely at peace, when she finally talks. 

“Does this make me a terrible person?” She asks, voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers fiddle with the collar of your shirt. “Being this happy after breaking his heart.” 

“It doesn’t make you a terrible person.” You promise, placing a kiss against her forehead. “Was he angry?” 

“No. Not really. Upset mostly. He asked me if there was someone else and I told him, yes, you and he didn’t look surprised. He just smiled sadly, as if he expected it. I think that makes it worse.” 

“He knew even if you didn’t tell him.” 

She blows out a breath, “Yeah.”

“You miss him.”

She stiffens slightly, before sighing and relaxing. “I lost a friend.” 

“Give it time. He’s hurting now, but I’m sure he feels the same way. Eventually, you will be able to rebuild that.” 

Emily looks up at you, smirking. “When did you get so wise?” 

You huff, “I’ll have you know I’ve always been wise.”

She giggles, leaning up and kissing the pout off your lips. “You know you can be kind of adorable.” She grins as she pulls away. 

“Yeah?” You smirk, arching an eyebrow. 

She hums, and you kiss her again, this time deeper and more passionately. 

Your phone beeps signalling a text and she grumbles as you pull away. You roll over and grab it from the nightstand and immediately groan when you see it’s a text from Garcia saying there’s a case. 

Emily pouts, “A case?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh, sending a quick response to Garcia that you’d be in soon before turning back to Emily with an apologetic smile. “LA.” 

“Great.” She huffs and moves to sit up, trying and failing to hide the way she winces at the shift in pressure. 

“I’m sorry. Hopefully, it won’t be a long one and I’ll see you when I get back.” You sigh, rising from the bed. 

She frowns, “I’m coming in too.” 

“What happened to little miss I've changed? You’re injured, you need to heal. If you were meant to be in, Pen would have messaged you too.” 

“I’m fine.” She huffs, rolling her eyes. “And I'm the unit chief. I need to be there.” 

“Baby, I promise you we can handle one case without you.” You say, thinking nothing of the pet name that falls from your lips as you make your way around the bed to her. “You know JJ’s good at handling the cops and press, and I’ll contact you if we need you.”

“What?” You frown when you realise Emily’s smirking at you. 

“Baby?” She questions, brow arching as she pulls you in closer. “I like you calling me that.”

“Good because you’re gonna have to get used to it.” You giggle, lips hovering dangerously close to hers. 

“Hmm, I think I can manage that.” She whispers before catching your lips with hers. You fall into the kiss with ease, the rest of the world melting away. 

You eventually pull back. “I have to go to work, and you need to rest.” 

“If I just don’t go out into the field-“

“Em, rest. Please. Take care of yourself and then when I come home I’ll take care of you.”

She arches a brow, her flirty smirk reappearing. “Promise?”

You roll your eyes and smile. “Promise.” 

“We have a deal then.” 

You give her one last peck before pulling away. Emily heads to the kitchen while you change into work-appropriate clothing. It’s already late, but Garcia had said to meet on the tarmac meaning the case was likely a bad one. 

“Here you go,” Emily says, handing you a thermos full of coffee when you appear from the bedroom. 

“And this is why I love you.” You grin, pecking her lips before taking the mug. 

“Oh, I see.” She laughs, rolling her eyes. 

You collect the rest of your stuff while Emily does the same before you lock up your apartment and head down to your cars.

“Rest up and I’ll see you soon.” You say, swinging her hand in yours. 

“You’ll let me know if I’m needed.” 

“Of course.” 

She gives you one last slow kiss. “I love you.” 

You grin and push her away because otherwise there’s no way you’re leaving. “Love you too, now go home and rest.” 

“So bossy.” She mocks as she begins to walk in the direction of her car. You watch her for a moment before shaking your head and sliding into your own car. 

You wave at her one last time, sending her an air kiss before you drive away. 

You’re still grinning like a maniac when you arrive on the tarmac. Reid sees you approaching and his expression morphs into delight. He mumbles something to Alvez before stepping away and meeting you before you can join everyone. 

“You’re glowing.” 

You shrug, trying to calm your smile. “Am I?” 

He watches you, smirking. “Something you want to tell me?” 

“Nope, I don’t think so.” You laugh.

He hums, and the two of you begin walking across the tarmac to the jet. “I’m really happy for you.” He says quietly. 

The others all begin to make their way in, apart from Alvez who hangs back to wait for Reid. 

You look up at Reid and smile. “I’m happy for us.” 

He turns to look at his boyfriend and his eyes turn soft. “Yeah,” He sighs. “I’m happy for us too.” 

taglist: @prentisspoppet @sapphic-stress @xrainydazeteax @enduringalexblake @prentissology @alexbllake @dalexandriag16​ @sweetprentiss

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Fancy Labs and Covert Operations (N.R.)

The Billionaire’s Daughter masterlist

Word Count: 2.1k

*large sections in italics means it’s in German*

You strut down the hall with your head held high and a bright smile on your lips. Are you panicking on the inside? Maybe a little, but your new coworkers don’t need to know that.

You knock on the tall glass door and your boss waves you inside. You enter the extravagant office and shake his hand. He motions for you to take a seat and says, “Welcome to Bremen Logistics, Miss Stark. We’re very excited to have you here.”

“I’m very excited to be here, Mr. Meier. This is an amazing opportunity,” you say with a polite smile. You aren’t just saving face though; Bremen Logistics is the leading engineering company in America. It’s based in Germany, but its American divisions are just as successful.

“I will be here if you have any questions. My assistant will take you to your lab. It should be stocked with anything you might need, but if not, feel free to let someone know. You will have any and all resources available at your fingertips. Good luck,” he says. His thick German accent makes it a little difficult to understand what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Meier.” A scrawny young man with glasses hurries into the office; he must be the assistant. He almost looks scared.

“If you could follow me, Miss Stark, I’ll show you to your lab.”

“Right, thank you.”

<//>

The only thing in your mind as you enter the lab is holy shit. One section of this room is worth more than your entire existence. “Oh, I can definitely work with this,” you say with a smirk as you walk through the lab, running your hand along the counter.

“Good, I am glad you like it. This is basically your lab, but other scientists will pop in once in a while. You won’t be sharing often, but maybe once or twice a week,” the assistant says.

“That will be fine. Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a nice day, Miss Stark.” He leaves the lab hurriedly, and you furrow your eyebrows at his demeanor. The boss seems nice enough, at least.

<//>

A few hours later, you’re looking through a microscope and taking notes when you hear an interesting conversation coming from the lab across the hall. Apparently, nobody here realizes that you speak German.

“Meier needs these calculations by the end of the day for some new weapon. Don’t screw it up again or we’re both dead.”

“You’re the one who messed it up last time, not me. Are they finally invading that base?”

“I think so, which means we need to get this done.” 

The two scientists walk down the hall and you can no longer hear them. You lean against the counter and blow out a breath. What were they talking about? You don’t think that this company manufactures weapons. And what base is getting invaded by whom?

You close the lab door and pull out your phone. You hesitate before clicking the contact. It rings a few times before she picks up. “Hey, what’s up?” “Hey, Nat. Do you know anything about Bremen Logistics?”

“It’s a German engineering company, that’s about it. Why?”

“Well, that’s my new job. And something just seems off about this place.” “Hold on,” she says. You can hear the clacking of keys in the background for a few minutes. “I can’t find anything, Y/N. They seem like a clean company, and there’s no obvious dirt on Meier. I can dig deeper if you want, but it’ll take a bit.” “No, don’t bother. I’m probably just being paranoid.” “If something seems off then you should just leave. It’s not worth the risk,” her concern seeps through the phone, and you can practically hear her frowning.

“It’ll be fine, Nat. You wanna come check out the new apartment tonight?”

“Definitely. Text me when you’re out. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye, Nat.”

You hang up the phone and bite the inside of your cheek. You’re probably just making a big deal out of nothing, right? You shake your head and return to your work. Maybe you’ve just been spending too much time with Iron Man and Black Widow. Yeah, that’s it.

<//>

Your shift is over at 5:00 (17:00). The building is only a ten-minute walk from your apartment, so you didn’t drive. You send Natasha a text as you walk down the street. She responds almost immediately saying that she’ll be at your place in twenty minutes. You smile at the message and slide your phone back into your pocket.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, you’re sitting on your couch when you hear a motorcycle approaching. You peek out the window and see the redhead you’ve come to love like so much in the past few weeks.

There’s a knock at the door and you answer it immediately. “Come in, m’lady,” you say with a cheesy grin.

“Why thank you...my fellow lady? What would I call you?”

“You’re such a dork,” you say with a laugh.

“You have no room to talk, Stark,” she says with that smirk of hers.

“I can’t exactly argue that.”

She walks further into the apartment, looking around. She hums in approval. “It’s nice.”

“That’s it? ‘It’s nice’? I pay a lot of money for this place, woman. It’s more than nice.”

“Oh, is that why your truck is a piece of crap? Because you put all of your money into this apartment?”

“Okay, that’s it, get out. You are no longer welcome in my humble abode,” you joke, pointing to the door.

“No, no, no. Wait, no, baby, I’m sorry. Please don’t kick me out.” You know she’s just kidding, but the way she says ‘baby’ still makes your cheeks turn pink.

“Okay, fine, I’ll hold off on the divorce papers. But you’re in charge of dinner.”

“Deal. What do you feel like eating?” You.

“I don’t care. I’m starving, I’ll eat anything. It’s gotta be takeout, though.”

“Why? Do you not trust my culinary skills?”

“Well, that and I have absolutely no food in this place.”

She raises an eyebrow at this and walks over to your fridge. She opens it and stares at it for a few seconds before saying, “huh.”

“What does ‘huh’ mean?”

“There are two cans of Celcius in here, and that’s literally it,” she says as she turns back around to face you.

“I haven’t had time to do groceries. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m judging. How does pizza sound?”

“Pizza sounds excellent.”

As she orders the food, you think about Meier and the company. What the hell are they hiding? Something is definitely off about it. You try to focus on relaxing with Natasha, but your train of thought keeps drifting back to the scientists’ conversation. It was only your first day, and you know you shouldn’t jump to conclusions, but you have a bad feeling in your gut. 

“Hey, you okay? You seem distracted,” Natasha says as she sits on the couch next to you. You hadn’t even noticed that she had gotten off the phone.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Are you sure? This isn’t about the suspicious new job?”

“No, I’m good. Really, Nat. I just wanna eat pizza and watch SVU with you.”

“Well, that I can do. The pizza will be here in half an hour.” You nod and grab the remote to pull up Hulu on the TV. You can feel Natasha looking at you, but you ignore it. She’s definitely worried about your phone call earlier, but you pretend not to notice. There’s no sense in making a big deal out of this before you have anything concrete.

<//>

The next day of work is probably even worse than the first. It’s the jitters of a new job, plus the sneaking suspicion that the company is into some shady stuff. As you’re waiting for some test results to come back, you’re standing in the lab, fiddling with the lapel of your blazer. The beeping of the machinery startles you from your thoughts, and you rush over to it.

You’ve been on edge all day, looking at everyone through a lens of skepticism. It’s a good thing you’re a good liar actress.

You hear voices coming from across the hall— it’s the same scientists from yesterday.

“The weapons are being manufactured as we speak. All calculations were correct. Strucker is very pleased with our work.”

“That’s a first. He’s never happy with anything we do.”

“Yes, that’s because you’re usually an imbecile. The base has been infiltrated and that’s-”

The door to the other lab closes and you can no longer hear what they’re saying. Strucker? That name sounds familiar, but you can’t put your finger on it. A base was infiltrated; what does that mean?

Later that day, you’re doing some math on a whiteboard in the lab when it hits you. Strucker- you’ve heard people talking about him at the tower. He’s HYDRA. You suck in a sharp breath when you realize that you’re most likely working for HYDRA. You put the cap on the marker and erase the calculations (you’d rather not help HYDRA any more than you already have). You walk over to the computer and crack your knuckles. Is this the stupidest thing you’ve ever done? Probably. Is it going to get you killed? Maybe. Are you going to do it anyway? Without a doubt.

You hack through firewall after firewall, trying to find some hint of an explanation. Just when you’re about to give up, you hit the motherload. There are about ten encrypted files.

You decrypt each of them in a matter of minutes; this is practically child’s play for you. You exhale slowly as you read through the files: HYDRA locations, leaders, blueprints, and plans. This is extremely useful information. You download the files on one of your flash drives and slip it into your pocket.

You clear your computer, completely covering your footsteps along the way. You look around you, reassuring yourself that you just did that without anyone noticing (not that there’s anyone in the lab with you). So you infiltrated HYDRA on accident and successfully stole intel without attracting attention. What the hell are you supposed to do now?

<//>

As soon as you get home, you close all the curtains and look for a place to hide the flash drive. You take a small bottle of lotion from under the bathroom sink and empty it. Once all the lotion is cleaned out, you wrap the drive in a towel and shove it inside. You put the lotion all the way in the back and close the cabinet. You catch sight of yourself in the mirror and give yourself a thumbs up.

The next thing you do is purely precautionary. Is it necessary? Not at all. But you are a Stark, after all. You sit at your desk in your bedroom and design a set of devices that will interfere with any bugs that might be planted in your apartment. If anything is detected, it will send you an emergency signal so you can get the hell out of there.

As you’re setting up the last device, your phone rings, scaring the crap out of you. You see Natasha’s name light up the screen and you panic. You can’t tell her, she’ll definitely make you ditch your operation. It’ll be a long time before they can get an agent inside Bremen, and you already have pretty high clearance. You can’t not answer either; you never ignore her calls.

You answer the call on the last ring and say ‘hello’ in what you hope was a steady voice.

“Um..hey? Is everything okay? You sound weird,” she says.

“Yeah, no. Everything’s fine. Great, even. Yeah, I’m good. Things are cool here, what about you?” You cringe and face-palm. What happened to being a good liar?

“You’re acting really strange, but I’m gonna let it go. Unless something else happened at work?”

“No, nothing happened. I’m fine, really. I think I’m gonna turn in early tonight, though. Long day.”

“Oh, okay. Goodnight, then.” She sounds genuinely disappointed and you feel like a terrible person. The last thing you want to do is hurt her feelings.

“Goodnight, Nat. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

You spend the next two hours making a plan. Hack their system, plant bugs, gather intel, avoid raising suspicions, and find out who Natasha’s boss is so you can give them the intel. Sounds easy enough.

[pascalpanic]

Prompt idea: Lingerie with Frankie Morales but make it cute/funny? Picture this, you've got all of the fancy bits you've never worn before and you're struggling with the fiddly latches, crying out, "I can't get this shit on!" You finally figure it out, show it off to Frankie and he loves it. But he likes sex best when there's nothing between the two of you, so he works on unwrapping you. You notice his lips stop moving on you for a few seconds before he whines, "I can't get this shit off!"

Tangled Up (Frankie “Catfish” Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 3K

Warnings: uh this is filth. SMUT 18+, oral sex (f receiving), lingerie, unprotected PIV sex (wrap it before you tap it, babes), Frankie has no patience and is rlly strong

A/N: this speaks to me, anon. I love this. I hope you do too!

Frankie already thinks you’re the most beautiful thing on the face of this planet. Every little thing you do is amazing to him, the way you call his name, the way you bat your lashes at him when you really want something.

He’s absolutely obsessed with your body; he’s told you that and demonstrated time after time that he thinks you’re the goddamn prettiest thing he’s ever seen, that your body is absolutely perfect in its uniqueness.

Naturally, Frankie has his favorite pieces of clothing on you, the way they cling to or flow off of your wonderful form. Frankie is a big believer that the body is the soul, and he’s absolutely in love with yours. Anything to accentuate your soft skin, with colors that stand out against the tone of it, drives Frankie absolutely wild.

Lingerie is his favorite. It surprised you at first. Frankie is a patient man, slow and soft when he wants to be, prioritizing you over himself in everything he does but especially in the bedroom. Something like that feels self-indulgent to him, like it’s his one weakness, you looking like that just for him. Then he gets to unwrap you like the best fucking present he’s ever received- yeah, Frankie is really into lingerie on you.

He’s gifted it to you, gone shopping with you to buy it, but his favorite thing is being surprised. The element of shock and sensuality when he’s confronted with the most beautiful body wrapped in such perfect garments is his favorite sensation, next to digging his fingers into your hips and pulling your body against his to kiss you.

You know how much he loves it, and that motivates you to do it somewhat often. The problem is that lingerie is expensive. You usually find yourself repeating outfits for Frankie to rapidly strip from your body, which he clearly doesn’t care about. You look sexy, and he loves it. But you love the surprise, the shock and admiration as he has to run those tough and strong hands over the lace.

Frankie particularly loves dark colors, like black or a deep velvety red, on you. He thinks they look painfully seductive, tempting.

That’s what’s motivated you to buy the piece laying on your bed. It’s black, with a bra and panties and quite a lot of straps, buckles and loops built into it. You’d been hesitant, but seeing it in real life makes you even more excited. Frankie gets home soon; time to get in.

The panties go on easily, obviously. The next part is the challenge. There are straps upon straps, endless slots for you to shove limbs through. You hold it up and frown, not quite sure how to get it on.

Wandering to the mirror, you shove yourself into the thing, making some errors but eventually finding the proper way to wear it.

You look hot: both physically and sexually. There’s a lacy collar, attached to the intersection of the bra. The cups are mesh with lacy decor to cover the nipples, and there are many straps over your abdomen that hook up to the panties. All in all, it’s a complicated number, but you smile as you do a little twirl. Frankie will like it.

The other hot: you’re sweating. It took effort to put it on, lots of odd angles to pull and tug. You feel warm and flushed, so it’s a relief to plop on the edge of the bed and let the cool air of the house get you acclimated again.

You wait, mindlessly scrolling through your phone as you relax on the bed. Frankie’s schedule is far from exact, but you know the 15-20 minute window he’ll arrive home in. Lucky for you, the garage door opens at the normal time he arrives home.

Tossing your phone aside, you perch seductively on the edge of the bed, crossing your legs and leaning back on your arms. “Frankie, baby,” you call into the house as the door opens.

“Hey honey,” he calls back. You can hear him taking off his boots, taking off his jacket. His footsteps ascend with him as he climbs the stairs, and you fidget a little with the lingerie.

He stops in the kitchen, doing something or another. You frown a little. “Frankie,” you call again.

“Just one second, babe,” he chuckles, grabbing a glass of water and something to eat in the kitchen. When he has his things, he meanders through the house and to the bedroom. He nearly drops what he’s holding at the sight waiting for him.

He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Nothing special, but he always looks so good in it. You naturally smirk just at the sight of your man, of how perfect he is. “How was work?” You purr, letting your head loll to the side so he can get a full view of your body.

Frankie swallows hard. “One second.”

You frown and he walks away, putting the water and food back down in the kitchen. He hurries back just to stand in the doorway, staring at you. “I… wow.”

You giggle a little. “I know you like something to tug on,” you tease and snap one of the straps against your skin. The sound goes straight to Frankie’s dick, steadily growing harder in those dark-wash jeans. “Well?”

“You look like a fucking bombshell, babe,” he groans as he walks closer and falls to his knees at the edge of the bed. “Holy fuck,” he shivers as his fingers trace up your bare thighs, sliding beneath the waistline of the panties.

“Glad you like it,” you chuckle and take off his cap, throwing it aside so you can bury your hands in those pretty curls. They’re so soft, fluffy when you run your fingers through them.

Frankie’s lips find your thigh, starting just above the knee and making their way up. “Love it,” he nods, murmuring it into the soft and sensitive skin there. “But you know I like you better with nothing to separate our skin,” he flirts, looking up at you with those round eyes that make you weak.

You shiver under his work, twirling one wave around your finger. “Take at least a little time to enjoy it, baby,” you pout.

He sits back on his knees and nods. “Of course. You know what…” he trails off as he stands, going over to the dresser and grabbing something from on top of it.

He returns moments later with your Polaroid, smirking a little. “Now I can enjoy it longer,” he chuckles as he pops open the lens. “Pose for me, baby girl,” he says, his voice growing darker and deeper as he takes in the sight.

You do, legs spread and chest pushed out, looking at him seductively through the camera. There’s a flash and a click as the camera takes the picture, then the film pops out through the bottom, still black as it develops. Frankie sets it back on the dresser, along with the photo, then stands at the foot of the bed. “How do you suggest I appreciate it, hm?” He asks.

Eyeing him, you can’t help but smile. “Take your shirt off first.”

“Okay,” he laughs softly and pulls off the soft gray tee, exposing his muscles and slight tummy. It’s such a beautiful sight, and your eyes follow the thin trail of hair down.

“Now the belt.”

“Should I just presume you want it all off?” He asks again, tilting his head.

Laughing, you fall flat onto your back on the bed. “Yes. All of it. Off.” You lift your head just slightly, dropping it as you realize it might add a couple of chins.

“No, watch me,” he orders, and it makes you smirk. It’s an easy domination, the way Frankie could do whatever the fuck he wants with you. Neither of you ever agreed upon anything, never made a pact and discussed the idea of something serious, but it’s something the two of you learned over your time of knowing and loving each other. Frankie knows what you like, and you know what he likes: when he gives the orders. When he’s fully nude, his thick cock heavy and reddened, you smile even wider. “What next?” He asks, allowing the role to be played.

You pretend to think about it, stroking your chin. “Well, do whatever you want to me. But the lingerie stays on.”

Frankie pouts. “I wanna fuck you, and I like it best when there’s nothing between us.”

“Then find another way,” you shrug, that devious little smile tugging up the corner of your mouth. “Do something else. Maybe if you’re good enough, I’ll take it off for you and let you fuck me.”

“Oh, you’ll let me fuck you?” He teases as he gets on his knees, one hand on each thigh as he pushes them apart and nestles between them. “How kind.” His lips trace along the inside of your thigh, slowly working their way from the knee to the apex.

You shiver beneath him, wiggling at the anticipation. “I’m giving,” you sigh, any sarcasm you attempt to give lost in a moan as Frankie mouths at your clit through the panties.

“You sure are,” he murmurs, his own body shuddering at the wetness of the lacy fabric covering your slit. His tongue contributes to the dampness, starting at your opening and slowly licking all the way up to nip at your clit through the lace.

“Baby,” you whimper, your hands digging into his hair.

“You told me to take my time,” he mumbles and looks up at you, eyes darkened with lust. “I’m just following orders, baby girl.” He pushes the panties aside and laps at your folds.

A whimper trails from your lips and your back arches off the bed, desperate for more. “God, I fucking love you.”

Frankie traces two fingers through your slick, teasing at your entrance and sitting back on his heels to watch the sight that accompanies the unholy sounds. “You think you love me? I got to come home from work to this,” he groans, taking in the sight of you and plunging two thick fingers inside of you. “Nothing better than this, pretty girl,” he shudders and dives back in, sucking at your clit and tracing it slowly with his tongue.

You keen into his touch, grinding your hips back against his mouth. “Fuck, Frankie,” you cry out as he curves his fingers inside of you, hitting that perfect spongy spot.

“Yeah?” He murmurs into you, his tongue barely resting for a second.

“Yeah, oh fuck,” you shiver. “Baby, don’t you dare stop.”

“Couldn’t if I tried,” he groans, working his tongue harder against you.

It’s all too much in just the right way. The cresting wave that builds inside of you finally breaks as Frankie swirls the sensitive bud around his tongue, and you whine his name as the release pours through your body, making you shake and squirm and moan. “There we go,” he murmurs as he pulls away, your body coming down from its high. “That enough appreciation for you?”

“Plenty,” you nod. “Now fuck me. Please.”

He smirks a little and stands. “Finally,” he chuckles as he runs his fingers over the endless straps covering your body. He snaps one of them against your breast, making the soft flesh ripple. He groans at the sight, of the way your tit bounces against it.

Frankie pulls you to sit up, reaches behind and unclasps the bra. Normally, that would be enough to get you naked, but there’s a neck harness and straps and to be honest, he doesn’t know where to get started. “How the fuck did you get this thing on?” He murmurs.

You laugh a little. “It took me a really long time, honestly. It was hard.”

Frankie sighs and pulls at the straps, trying to find a good way to get it off. His deft fingers search your body for some kind of clasp or buckle, but find none. He unclips the panties from the top, at least, and slides them off, then gets back to working.

His eyes look up at you and he pouts. “Come on. Give me a hint, baby.”

“I don’t fucking know, Frankie,” you laugh, still on an endorphin high from the orgasm moments ago. “I don’t know how this thing got on and I know even less about how to get it off.”

Frankie’s forehead falls against your chest, groaning. “Fuck.” He tries gathering the straps and pulling them up. That doesn’t work. He searches under every strap for maybe velcro or snaps. Nothing. He pushes you back down onto your back.

“Goddamnit!” He groans and his lack of patience gets the best of him. Gripping the straps, Frankie pulls them hard until the straps break, leaving you bare beneath him and completely stunned.

The straps fall to your sides, exposing your full chest and abdomen. “Frankie!” You exclaim, honestly more than turned on from his little show of strength.

“Sorry,” he bites his lip and looks down at you, but you know he’s really not. The tip of his cock is leaking, red and flushed and you know he’d do just about anything to get inside you now.

You giggle a little, the adrenaline from the moment rushing through your veins. “That was fucking hot,” you admit, spreading your legs. “You got me stripped down. Now fuck me, Frankie, please.”

The embarrassment is gone from his face within seconds. “Yes ma’am,” he mumbles, climbing over you and kissing you desperately hard.

You cup his face and hike your knees up around his waist, kissing him back just as readily, tongue pressing against the seam of his lips. He allows you in in the exact moment he thrusts inside of you, making you moan into his mouth before breaking away.

“Frankie,” you whimper as he’s pushed fully inside of you, throbbing and twitching as you say his name. “Fuck, baby,” you whine, his thick cock pressed against your cervix. “You gonna go easy on me?”

“Not in the slightest,” he mumbles back and pulls mostly out before pushing back in, hard. You cry out his name over and over, grabbing at his shoulder blades and back. You can feel the muscles there shift as he pushes, holding himself up over you. His head falls down with a groan as you reach one hand behind him to teasingly tug at his balls.

In return, Frankie lowers himself over you and brings one hand down to circle your clit, thrusting in time with the movement of his worn fingertips. God, he’s so damn good with his hands, always has been, and you whimper that into his ear, moving both hands back up to clutch at his back, nails digging into his skin.

It’s almost a competition of pleasure between the two of you, who can do more of the tiny little things the other loves, who can get the other to their peak first. Frankie kisses at your neck, mumbling sweet words into your skin, crying out as your nails drag down his back. “Baby, please, you feel so fucking good, god you’re so big,” you groan next to his ear, filling it with all of the affirmations he loves.

“You‘re just so fucking tight,” he grunts, thrusting harder and harder into you. You get tighter as you clench around him, and Frankie knows that it means you’re close. “Come on, baby girl. You gonna cum on my dick?”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, head falling back into the bed. “Oh, fuck, Frankie-oh!” You squeal as he hits the sweet spot inside of you once more, his fingers working in the perfect rhythm with his hips to make you fall apart, clenching and fluttering around him as more slick coats his cock.

He groans at the feeling, shivering at the way you clamp down on him. “W-where? Where do you want it, baby?” He asks you, knowing he’s about to burst at any second, the way you’re absolutely destroying him.

“In me, please,” you beg, and it’s an offer Frankie can’t refuse. He lets go, filling you with the hot, sticky seed. You whine at the feeling, desperately gripping his skin.

He whines your name in your ear as he comes down, shivering and pulling out, lying next to you on top of the ruined lingerie.

“That was expensive,” you whimper as you limply toy with a strap.

“I’ll buy you a new set. Two new sets,” he tells you, breathless and sweaty. “God, you looked so good in that,” he sighs, chuckling a little. He gets up and wanders to the bathroom, getting a warm, wet cloth and coming back to clean you up.

The sight of his cum dripping from inside you is almost enough to make him hard again, but he bites his lip and wipes you down, tenderly kissing your thigh. “Thank you,” you murmur weakly and smile down at him.

“Doing my job,” he teases and kisses your knee before cleaning himself off and tossing the cloth in the laundry. When he lies down next to you, he takes the discarded lingerie and throws it off the bed, wrapping you in his arms. “You’re so amazing,” he chuckles. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” you hum and kiss his face, nuzzling your nose into the curve of his flushed and dewey neck. “I have stuff to make for dinner.”

The reminder that it’s only 5:00 or so makes Frankie laugh a little. “You don’t have to. You’ve done enough for me tonight,” he murmurs, kissing your temple lovingly.

“Never said I was doing it alone,” you chuckle sleepily, your eyes slipping shut. “You’re helping.”

“Damn right I am. Maybe we take a nap first though,” Frankie says as he pulls you closer in his arms.

“A nap sounds good,” you nod and kiss his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

-

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[d-nghy-ck]

Pearlescent

Pairing: Haechan/Lee Donghyuck x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, smut, romance, established relationship. Inspired by the From Home MV aesthetic. 

Warnings: Unprotected sex 

Summary: A shoreline sunset spent cozied up against Hyuck dives deep past surface level. His lips profess his heart’s intent; his eyes reflect waves dancing in iridescent glimmers; his love whispered into your skin evokes heated passion. 

Header: by Jackie @/ hchan 

Word Count: 5k

“Pack your bags for a night away,” Donghyuck mischievously instructs through your phone’s speaker, only to revert to his usual playful, singsong tone. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes, baby.” The call ends before his distorted laughter has even finished. 

And sure enough, a few minutes of hasty packing and insatiable curiosity later, the horn of Donghyuck’s quaint little 1985 sedan honks from outside your apartment door. 

Crisp autumn air awakens your senses better than any cup of coffee, and when you hop into his passenger seat you’re met with the sight of one very pleased Donghyuck. Adventure dances in his eyes as he idly taps his foot on the gas to rev the engine, a lopsided grin playing at his lips. 

He leans across the center console to deliver a well-placed good morning peck, and without a moment to waste, he shifts the gear and whisks you away. With the windows rolled down, his hair flutters in the wind as he tells you of your plans for the day. 

“I got us a home away for the night, a place far from everyone else. I think you’ll really like it.” His thumb taps on the steering wheel, revealing what you think might be possible nervousness, and he glances between you and the road. “You deserve it.”

The pull of your lips into the shyest of smiles is all the confirmation he needs. 

You have no idea where you’re headed, but if there’s anything you’ve learned by dating Donghyuck, it’s that, yes, his plans are usually spontaneous and hectic, but they’re always exciting and worthwhile. Maybe at the beginning of your relationship you would have inquired, but with the way Donghyuck is smirking to himself as he absentmindedly fiddles with the radio knob, you know you can trust his intuition, oddly enough. 

Leading you through his daring thrills and unexpected plans makes him feel alive - you can see it in his boyish grin as he wordlessly glances over to you and intertwines your fingers with his as he drives. He chuckles at the innocent, curious look in your eyes and raises his eyebrows, almost taunting you to ask him where you’re headed. When you meet him with the same expression of expectancy and defiance, he can’t hold the silence any longer and a laugh bubbles out of him. 

“You’re cute, you know that?” He offers the road a glance before looking back. “I bet you’re dying to know where we’re headed.” 

His grin widens, imploring you to break down and beg for him to spare you his thoughts. Instead, your grin mirrors his, and you disarm him in a completely different way. 

“I trust you, Hyuck.”

His expression promptly softens and his fingers tighten in your grasp, bashfully looking back to the road, caught off guard by your unhindered sincerity. You always know how to best him in the most precious of ways, and he loves you for it. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

Passing building after building, the space between each structure widens and fills with wilderness revealing serene stretches of land, a relieving contrast from the hustle and bustle left back home. You stop occasionally along the way to observe overlooks of the distant sea or visit coastal villages scattered with weather-torn cottages and quiet shop streets. Belatedly, you realized you’d stopped wondering where he was ultimately taking you, and instead found yourself enjoying every moment he pulled you close to point to buildings in the distance, trotted down hidden pathways to see what lies beyond, or held a streetfood to your lips for you to taste. 

At last he steers down a gravel drive that opens to the expanse of the ocean, rolling his car right along the beach to a standstill at the shore. Hyuck cuts the ignition and the rumble is replaced with the calm crash of waves as you take your first steps across the sand. You didn’t expect the coast, especially since this time of the year beckons chilled breezes, occasional gusts of wind carrying the fresh scent of impending storms. The shiver on your skin seeks the comfort of warmth, and lucky for you, Donghyuck radiates within his padded white bomber jacket as he stretches his legs on the sand. 

He breathes in deeply and spreads his arms wide, sighing contentedly. Not a single person is on the beach aside from you and yours. It only takes a moment’s pause before you rush to squeeze him as tight as you can, slipping your arms beneath his jacket to pull his waist to you. Though winded by your ambush, his chest rumbles with laughter as you mumble against him  your appreciation for bringing you here by surprise. 

“I wanted to bring you somewhere where I could take the time to focus on you, and only you.” He kisses your cheeks, savoring them one by one. “Gotta make sure you’re as loved as possible.” 

After tossing your shoes by the car, you spend the daylight hours skipping through the sand, exchanging teasing banter, and exploring the area hand-in-hand. It even turns out Hyuck put thought into this; you’re impressed when he pulls out your favorite treats to snack on from the backseat of his car. 

The passing of the sun overhead revolves much like the way you revolve around each other with the passing of time. To just stroll along the shore with him is a boundless dream. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

Walking backwards by the tide, he pulls you in front of him, fingers just barely lacing together. Your clasped hands sway with each step, and the cute quirk of his lips and sparkling eyes urge you forward. As the tide crawls in, you hastily warn him that he’s about to step into the water. His eyebrows furrow in disbelief as he halts abruptly, causing you to bump into him. Instead of dodging the water, he fixes his gaze on you, mischief stirring in his mind. 

“Alright, come on.” He deadpans, dragging you to the incoming currents by a newfound hold on your wrist. “Let’s see who can outrun the waves.” 

Fear of how ice cold the water might be at this time of the year has you digging your toes into the sand in resistance. His eyes challenge you to approach the tide, begging you to play along with him. Unable to resist his antics, you entertain the idea just for another chance to see him lively and laughing. 

Following him to the water when the waves retract, you find how the sand beneath your bare feet chills deeper with each step. You prepare to run when the tide surges forward again, but Hyuck guards you with guarded arms. Just as the waves threaten to crash against your skin, he catches you in his embrace and refuses to budge one bit as the cold water rushes over.  Both of your squeals fill the air, but between the subsequent laughs and the trickle of the ocean, you can’t find it within yourself to mind. Though the water laps at your feet, he allows you to forget about the cold or how fast the sun passes overhead. And even as the waves retract, he holds you close, and he radiates just the right amount of warmth. 

Your view of his handsome features shifts as he turns you around to face the sunset. Pressing behind you, he lightly rubs a hand down your arm and along your waist to hug you securely to him, creating warmth with the friction. Brushing the hair off your neck, he kisses along bare skin, rising goosebumps in his lips’ wake. 

“See the sunset, they way it reflects off the water? The serenity and the natural beauty of it all?” He kisses up your neck to the rim of your ear and watches your profile as you exhale from his gentle touches. “It still all pales in comparison to you.” 

Shivers run through you from the combination of the drag of his lips on your skin, his whispered intentions at your ear, and his satisfied chuckles that follow. Cold water continues to rush over your skin below against the contrast of the steady warmth of his hold above. 

Spinning around in his arms, you catch the flirty glint in his eyes that plays with reflections of glimmering waves and pearlescent skies. Delicately, his fingers leave lingering touches on your skin; at the inside of your wrist, at the curve of your waist, at the nape of your neck he quietly explores. Kisses press into you on spots he knows you love, and he loves more. In return, you kiss him in the way you know he adores, and that’s anywhere and everywhere, so long as it’s your lips on his skin. 

It’s when you tremble against him that he pulls away just enough to speak against your lips. 

“You must be shivering from the water.” But he knows it’s from his affections, and he knows you love it when he teases you. Unable to deny lest your voice also trembles, you instead fall into his knowing eyes that gradually capture the light of the falling sun. 

He urges you out of the water, leading you by clasped hands ashore. Soon he’s laid out a comforter over the sand, a puffy duvet, the kind of makeshift extravagance you envision he proudly stuffed into his trunk earlier this morning. You crawl onto the duvet with him, curling up into his side as the sunset evolves before your eyes. 

There’s comfort in the solitude and far cast gazes while thoughts are of someone held near. The warmth from his soft jacket carries the clean scent of linen and hints of a scent so characteristically him - alluring and exhilarating. 

You can’t help but steal glances at him watching the view, peeking up from your snuggles on his shoulder to admire his emotive eyes, red-tipped nose, and even his brown hair curling at the collar of his jacket. Your fingers twist into the duvet at how badly you wish to curl your own fingers in his hair, to continue your loving kisses from earlier that he so graciously ended in favor of your comfort. 

And with that, your mind is lost to thoughts of him. On the surface level, his flirty confidence can come across so nonchalant, but at his core lives a caring side to him that’s present in the way he empowers you to embrace your inner strengths, the way he encourages you to take care of yourself. He wants you to be happy, and you want nothing but the same for him. It’s so positively nurturing that you couldn’t be more convinced that you’re meant for each other. 

Irresistibly, you’re as drawn to him as he is to you, and you’re sure you’ve fallen. 

As if sensing your thoughts, he catches your pensive gaze, and you find yourself holding your breath, silently begging for his touch, so thoroughly allured by his charm that you’re unable to think. He knows you, and he knows this, so he meets you there halfway. 

His fingertips under your chin urge you to him, his thumb softly tracing your bottom lip. The vibrant fire of the sunset burns in his eyes, yet in them swims something deeper as his fingers grip at the nape of your neck and pull you close for a searing kiss. 

The glide of his lips persists, slow and connected, as Hyuck melds his lips over yours in a way that bonds you to him. Your fingers find home in his hair, twirling and pulling at the tufts, earning a soft hum from him that’s lost on your lips as he leans into you. His palm moves to the small of your back, drawing you flush against him, falling into the duvet. 

The seclusion of being the only two people from horizon to horizon brings reckless abandonment as he confidently presses into you, his hands sliding up your thighs, his wet kisses trailing off your lips and down your neck. Nestling your nose in his hair, you catch the vanilla scent of his shampoo while your hands burry beneath his hoodie, drifting over soft warm skin. Your touch elicits a small giggle from him at the sensitivity before he bussies his mouth on your neck again, heightening your temptation to have him nearer. 

The physical attraction that pulls you together holds steadfast, though at the root of it all is a manifestation of the love and trust you hold for each other. He feels so content with you, so free to be authentically, vulnerably himself, that his actions and spoken thoughts release unfiltered. 

Hyuck kisses his way up your jaw and hovers right at the corner of your lips to speak with ragged breaths. “You know, I really love you.” He teases and sucks at your bottom lip, pulling gently. “I might want to be with you forever, if that’s alright by you.” 

You follow the pull of his teeth and answer with a proper kiss, attempting to convey at least a hint of how much he means to you. He chuckles at how it’s almost as if you didn’t hear him, just eagerly, mindlessly seeking his touch. 

A break for air gives you a moment to attempt to encapsulate your fondness for him, but it’s best simply put, for the magnitude of your feelings can’t possibly be conveyed with spoken language. “I love you, too. Just you as you are.” You love him for his care and passion, his playfulness, his spontaneity, and even his flaws. “Just you already - you’re perfect.” 

The genuine honesty rises a catch in his breath, the profound nature of your words pulling you both from your carnal desires. Feeling wholly understood and appreciated, you’re overwhelmed by the joy of falling completely in love. In this moment, there’s no worry other than letting each other know how much you adore and appreciate each other. Hyuck leans down for another kiss, and your minds and hearts and touch and lips are full of the other. 

The waves flow, reflecting the sun in its descent, and a light breeze sweeps by, encouraging you to sink even further into your embrace. It’s nature’s way of drawing you together. 

Noticing how your skin grows cold to the touch with the settling of the sun, he hugs you closely and murmurs a suggestion in your ear. “How about we warm you up?” Gesturing behind your huddled embrace to a hilltop that looks out over the coast, a quaint home is nestled amidst the sparse pines. Before you know it, Hyuck is on his knees, hair catching the wind in a flutter, offering a bashful grin and a hand to bring you along. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

With his heated palm resting against your thigh as he drives, the ride is not nearly long enough for you to catch up with your rapidly beating heart and lingering thoughts of his love and touch. Rolling up in front of a mid-century modern bungalow, Hyuck cuts the engine and grabs your and his bags from the back seat. 

Hyuck patiently sways, studying you as you endearingly gape up at the house from the gravel drive. You pull your gaze from the picturesque cottage in disbelief and meet his eyes. “Hyuck, this is beautiful.” 

Offering a proud grin, he reaches to clasp your fingers and run his thumb along your skin. You place a lingering, soft kiss to his cheek and he pulls back to soak in the contentedness of your eyes before enthusiastically nodding his head toward the front door. As he leads you up the walk, he pulls a cottage key out of his pocket with a wink, unlocks the door, and urges you in by a supportive hand at the small of your back. 

Together you stumble into your comfortable home for the night. Through large windows that reveal the views of the ocean below, sunbeams cast pinkish coral and golden hues along the walls and mid-century modern interior. The little bungalow is cozy and inviting, but as soon as the front door clicks shut and stillness follows, you can barely pay mind to anything aside from the thick tension and desire hanging in the air between the two of you. 

You send a tentative glance toward him, the light catching the honey browns of his hair, the sprinkle of moles across his warm skin, the deep brown of his eyes. Hyuck breaks the silence with a low murmur under his breath, how the cottage looks great, but even as he says it, he’s not looking at your home; he’s looking at you, and only you. Adoration melts within his gaze, and it shifts down to your lips as he absent-mindedly attempts to garner another comment, but it’s lost to you as you’re unable to think clearly beyond thoughts of his eyes, his lips, his presence, and how much he means to you. 

Dropping your bags, he carefully closes the space, pulling you close to reassuringly cup your cheeks in his soft palms. Anticipation charges the space between you as he brushes his thumbs over your cheekbones, resting his forehead to yours and allowing himself deep breaths to steady the rush rising within him. His palms hold warmth to your skin, and you can still catch a faint hint of the sea breeze beneath his natural musk carried over by the puffs of his breath, laced into his jacket that you grasp to pull him in for a heartfelt kiss. 

As if the short time apart was unbearable, he sighs into you, relieved by the release of tasting you again. His arms around you are strong and sure, desperate to love you as thoroughly as he can, in any immediate way possible. 

“Let’s take a look at the bedroom,” he breathes, huskily muffled against your lips as you swallow his words. You can barely breathe for the effort of pulling Hyuck close by your arms circling his neck. He pushes you into the bedroom with his hands clutched at your sides, desire clouding his senses as he stumbles to the bed. 

You cascade backward together and his lips chase after yours, the slip of his tongue allowing you his pure taste. Rolling over the covers, you’re a bond of tangled legs and low chuckles that swell into hidden moans caught in your throats. 

Tugging at your clothes, his hands twist in the fabric and can’t help but grab at the skin of your waist, your legs, any part of you that he desperately needs to love. As he pulls your clothes away, he graces each revealed plane of skin with a drag or suck of his lips. Your shaking hands do away with his layers and satisfyingly run beneath his shirt along his skin. Focused solely on kissing you wherever he can, he eagerly rushes to connect his lips to you as soon as you’ve freed him of fabric. 

His lips leave wet licks and sucks along your neck as his hands reverently massage your arms, your sides, and finally your chest. He settles his weight on you, his insistent hardness pressing against your thigh. You run your hands along the soft plushness of his ass and pull him to you, admiring the weight of muscle that lies beneath as you grab onto him and the way his breath hitches in a gasp in response. 

With not a single barrier between you but each other’s breath and the unspoken love that it carries, just velvety skin soothingly rubbing against each other, you feel so connected. Holding Hyuck in your arms is a comfort; it’s the nurture of fond kisses and hums. 

“I love you.” He presses his lips to you, to imprint his words into your skin. “I just love you, entirely.” 

Muffled moans bury into skin alongside bitten whines as the emotional overwhelm overtakes your senses. The steady build of passion arises a wave of mindlessness, wherein you’ve lost all semblance of reality and are entranced by him. Sensitive, you whimper and gasp at every small touch of his fingertips. You weave your hand into his hair while he continues to grind, and a press of your lips to his temple has him coming up to capture your lips again. 

He coats himself with you as he slides against your arousal, and the glide blooms a delicate floating thrill, spiking with the rhythmic brushing of the head of his cock against your clit. You wrap your legs around his small waist, digging your fingertips into his shoulders as you ride the feeling. He grunts as he hopelessly moves against you, squeezing his hands over your soft skin. He drags his lips down to mouth at your cleavage, breathing roughly with his eyes on you, heavy with need. 

You slide a hand below to stroke him, and he's already so sensitive that he releases pitched whines as he buries his head into your neck. His cock is velvety hot, soft skin covering hard heat. The weight of it in your hand has your heart thumping and a twisting tension growing deep within you. 

“Hyuck, please,” your pleads tempt him, “I need you.” At your words, he openly groans and his hips thrust against your hold without aim, urgently supporting himself on his forearms and positioning to take you fully. 

As he aligns himself, the focus of his gaze on you ensures you’re safe in his hold. In the stillness, the sound of the waves crashing on the distant shore and the last light rays shining through the window onto his golden skin play with the puffs of your moist, mingling breaths. He gradually presses in, eyebrows furrowed and his gaze intent. When you break the silence with a whimper at the fullness of him, he reactively twists his fingers in the bed sheets, pent up energy spinning. Fully seated, he pulses in you, already so sensitive that just the feeling of you surrounding him has his nerves alight. Every part of you is connected to the other as you hold him, bodies flush against each other. 

And then he shifts, just the slightest movement, and both of you are lost in the other. Even with shallow, smooth thrusts, the feeling is so intense that he only pulls back slightly before pushing back into your warmth, eliciting tingles along skin and drawing moans from lips. You’re twisting limbs and skin on skin, and his care has you willingly swept into his current, his tide pulling you under. 

The contact and drag of his body flows in waves as he pushes in and out with fluid thrusts. The soft silkiness of his tummy and velvet fuzz of his happy trail compound on the sensations, drawing friction within the fluidity. You can feel every part of him moving against you, every muscle, smooth to the touch but powerful and strong beneath his skin. 

His hands clasp with yours, fingers intertwining securely as he pushes them to the covers, mouthing against your skin, “I love you”, endlessly and heartfelt. You melt together, effortless and flowing, whole and light, and so filled with love. All you know is the want to cherish it, to protect his love in your arms. 

The last deep red hues of the sunset glow onto his skin and reflect a warm golden brown in his eyes, and as the rays fade, neither of you are bothered to cut on a light. The darkness brings something only sensory deprivation can provide; the loss of sight heightens his thick scent, his heated touch, his strong movements, his heady sound. 

Gripping your hand in his hair, you easily guide him in for a kiss. You can see in his eyes how he’s already at the desperate edge of snapping, pliant in your grasp. He attempts to slow down, wishing to savor the feeling of you, his hands gripping at your thighs to keep himself grounded. Eyes tightly shut, he collects his last bit of willpower before it slips away. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he murmurs with a broken voice, “You’re too good, it’s too good,” his eyes meeting yours to urge you to understand just how gone he is. 

Your whines beneath him only heighten his urgency; he’s spurred on by the idea of you loving him, completely out of your mind, body twisting in his grasp. The roll of his hips picks up with each movement, edging on frantic, desperate to please you. He leads with impatient, trembling hands and groans roughly in your ear, his last bit of willpower slipping from his grasp. 

His hands leave impressions of his love on your skin, and in return, your comfort enables him to naturally and vulnerably be himself; it’s as if he isn’t him anymore, simply a collection of memories and emotions, yearning for you. 

From his body to his heart, you feel every raw part of him, and he feels you, too; the rapid beating of your pulse, the shallow intake of uneven breaths, the shaking of your legs around him, but most of all the way your heart and soul call out for him. Your hair musses against the covers as your head tilts askew, tension wound tight, and he follows you willingly, pressing his lips to yours to breath into you a last “my love” as you crash over with a cry of his name. 

Hearing and feeling you come apart around him has his hips stuttering and his voice caught. Flowing in your waves of bliss, you’re faintly aware of his flexed muscles and how his cock pulses and twitches within you. You pull his hair off his forehead and tilt his face toward you to view him as best you can in the shadows of the light cast by the moon, a silver halo forming around him. His eyebrows are furrowed and he pants for breath, softly whining and shaking, one pump away from coming, and unable to reconcile with allowing the bliss to end. 

“Baby please, I’m so close.” His voice trembles as he’s about to break, on the edge of a falling, one touch away from crashing. 

In the safety of your arms you pull him to you and relish in the twist of his expression as he crashes, riding the rush of pleasure. He dissolves into the wave of his come with lazy, uncoordinated thrusts as he melts into you. Aftershocks course through him as the tide pulls away. 

Breaths mix, skin slides, the softest of giggles embellishes the cloudy bliss. Waves crash, crickets sing, and you’re floating. 

The lull of sleep covers you gently as you cuddle into his arms, a light sheet draped over you, shrouded by the light of the moon. The last memory you keep is his thumb tracing up and down your arm and your sides, his lips that speak of love kissing your eyelids closed. 

── ⋅ ⋆ ☼ ⋆ ⋅ ── 

In the stillness of the night, you awaken to him cradling you in his arms amidst the bed sheets. He’s already awake, admiring you with gentle eyes. He peppers the sweetest of kisses slowly, deliberately to your cheeks, your nose, and finally your lips.  

“You’re awake?” His voice is thick and sleep-strewn, his eyes endearingly puffy. 

Rolling on top of him with your fingers dancing along his jawline, you hum in a drowsy response against his lips and tuck your head under his chin. Pressing your nose into the safe haven of his warm, smooth neck brings you comfort that just might let you drift off again. 

But Hyuck has other ideas. Wiggling you off him and crawling out of the sheets, he soundlessly pads around the bedroom to adorn his clothes, tossing yours on your snuggly form. Mindlessly, you rub your eyes and accidentally put your shirt on inside-out, though it’s when he opens your winter coat and holds it aloft to help you into it that realization hits and you nearly protest with a pout. 

Donghyuck’s spontaneity is thrilling at the best of times, but tonight, it is quite literally chilling. 

Though you are the only residents as far as the eye can see, you still tiptoe your way outside and quietly traverse the trail down the hill to the shore, afraid to break the stillness of the night. Dawn has yet to break and crickets chirp while nocturnal crabs scuttle in the shadows to the sound of waves crashing heavily with the moon’s pull.��

A gust of wind rolls past and Hyuck instinctively pulls you closely to him, protecting you from the cool autumn breeze. As always, welcome warmth emanates from his steady hold. 

He pulls away just enough to look down at you. His hair is a complete wreck, and his eyes are sleepy, and he still looks absolutely beautiful despite it all. His warm lips press a lingering kiss to the tip of your nose in an effort to warm it, and he nestles your hands into his own toasty coat pockets. 

As nature continues to revolve around you, just like your time together, you watch the reflection of the moon on the water slowly shift as an edge of light grows on the horizon of the shoreline. 

Admittedly, it's a bit difficult to think about anything else other than the man in your arms. Turning to nuzzle your nose into his neck and kissing your way up his jaw to his lips, you run a thumb over his cheek and watch as his lips beautifully dawn into a smile. 

You just love him, entirely. 

[thefanficmonster]

My Kind

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warning: Swearing

Genre: Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having been chosen by the gang to be a guest streamer on today’s stream of Among Us, it’s safe to say Y/N’s super excited but also a bit nervous. The whole of her anxiety gets lifted off her when she meets someone with the exact same vibe as hers - yeah you guessed it.

Requested by @monizzle96 Hi dear! Thank you so much for your wonderful request! I’m so terribly sorry it’s taken me so long to write and post it but here it finally is! I hope you come across it and read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

This has to be the fiftieth time I’ve checked my setup in the past twenty four hours. But no, I’m definitely not nervous, what are you talking about. Pshhh. Nah, being nervous isn’t in my brand. Plus, what do I have to make me nervous - a group of famous streamers inviting me onto their stream to play Among Us with them because they enjoyed my own streams? Ok yeah, that’s a pretty good reason. Not gonna lie, I almost chucked my phone out of excitement when I received that DM from Toast, telling me they’d picked me to be their guest streamer for today’s date. My stomach was doing somersaults for a good forty-eight hours following that text and then the anxiety slowly started setting in fueled by the expectations they probably have of me.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not inexperienced in the streaming field, I’ve been a streamer longer than some of the members of Toast’s streamer gang actually. But I never managed to garner that big of a following which I’m honestly quite ok with. I have a modest - ok, maybe larger than modest - following consisting of incredibly loyal fans which I will never stop being grateful for. They are all so respectable of me, my privacy and my boundaries. They know the main rules: no shit-talking in the chat or in any of my comment sections, no bashing other YouTubers in my comments/chat, and most definitely not asking for a face reveal. Fun fact: I didn’t even set up that last rule, they all just collectively know not to ask for it. 

I’ve been keeping my brand pretty low-key to avoid garnering some unwanted attention - some of which I’ve already experienced on certain social media platforms following the full body pictures I posted on there - face not visible of course. I tend to also have my webcam on, facing towards my hands working away on the keyboard sometimes when I stream. I don’t know why people obsess over faceless content creators’ hands, but I appreciate the enthusiasm - it also drives me to do a manicure every now and then which ain’t so bad, self-care and all that you know.

Now, back to the subject of my ridiculous nervousness.

You see, it has layers.

I’m nervous of ‘preforming’ underwhelmingly and I’m nervous of what my own fans will think of the person I will become during this stream. They know me as a super chill and laid-back person, which I am by the way, but they might think I’m putting on a show if I exhibit any nervous gestures/vocabulary. I highly doubt they would, but the possibility is not letting my mind rest. And now that it’s about ten minutes till the stream starts, I’m getting doing my best to calm my nerves.

They are all just people. You know they are super chill too. Just be yourself, that’s why they invited you, because you are yourself on all your streams. They liked you for your personality, humor, maybe even your gaming skills. So chill the hell out and be yourself, damn it!

Easier thought than put into action that’s for sure.

I start my stream five minutes early just so I can vibe with my viewers for a little while before I have to meet the gang. My fans always have a way of injecting me with confidence, they remind me of where I was when I started and how far I’ve come. How much I achieved when I thought I’d be nothing and no one, someone the algorithm would simply overlook. But then they entered my life and I entered theirs and it all became much better than I ever thought it would get to be. I rarely tell myself ‘good job’ for the milestones I’ve reached or the hard work I’ve put into my content, but that’s probably cause I orient myself based on that quote from the movie Whiplash: ‘There are no two words in the English language more harmful than good job’ - simply put, I’m never satisfied with what I do and I always strive to do better. My fans, however, make sure I don’t go overboard with it - always serving as a reminder that I’ve done plenty for myself and others. And that’s what makes an amazing fandom, one I consider family.

Whoa, when did those five minutes fly by?!

Ah shit, here we go. Deep breaths, Y/N you got this.

“Hello!“ I say as I enter the Discord call, subconsciously biting my lower lip, grateful the camera isn’t capturing it. However, I make a mental note to keep my hands steady cause that’s the one part of me people can actually see and the last thing I want is for them to see how much my fingers are trembling.

“Oh hi, Y/N!“ Toast is the first one to greet me, “Welcome to the stream! Thank you so much for accepting our invitation.“

“Thank you for having me and inviting me, Toast. This is a huge deal for me. You guys are basically YouTube legends, this is unreal to me.“ I reply, cringing immediately afterwards because of my fangirl rambling. Great way to make first impressions, Y/N. Bravo.

To be fair, they already have an impression of you. Quit stressing.

Aright, you’ve got a point, me.

“Oh please, we owe all that to our fans. We’re really nothing special. All streamers are almost completely alike, we all owe where we are to the people who helped us make it there - our fans. We’re no legends.“ Toast says, bringing a small smile to my face as well as a light pink blush to my cheeks, “And from what I’ve seen, you yourself have quite the following. And your fans seem to adore you.“

“And I absolutely adore them.“ I chuckle, “They mean the world to me. They are the reason I’m here today.”

“Then we have to give them a special thank you, don’t you think?“ The teasing, familiar giggle, widens my smile - it’s Rae, “Nice to meet you, Y/N! I’m Rae, and, no cap, I’m quite a fan of your content. No joke, I binged your entire series of Resident Evil 7 as soon as I found your channel when Toast said he’d invite you.“

This rattles me a bit. I can hardly believe it - am I really receiving a compliment from an A-list name in the streaming world? My fans must be hella proud of me right now. A quick glance at my chat confirms that they indeed are. That in and of itself fills me with joy and newfound confidence.

“Oh Gosh, thank you so much Rae! That means the world to me. You’re all so sweet.“ I reply, lifting my ice cold hands to cool down my burning cheeks, my lips spread into a grin, my stomach filled with butterflies.

“Oh please, we have some real savages around here.“ A male voice, seemingly Charlie’s scoffs, “Don’t overlook us please.“

“Wait, we do?“ A deep voice, one I immediately know the owner of speaks up, “Who? How come I don’t know about that?“

I can’t help bust snort, “Nice to meet you, Corpse. Sarcasm central, I see.”

He laughs, “Just returning it to where it’s due. Nice to meet you too, Y/N. Sick Outlast series, by the way.“

Ok, wait, I have two A-list streamers complimenting my content. Ok, I’m bound to crack open a few beers to celebrate later cause OH MY GOD.

“Thanks! I’m a horror junkie so I’d be lying if I said I haven’t binge watched all your story-times. Personal favorites are the deep web ones, they fascinate me.“

“Oh, you’re one of my kind even more than I expected, huh?“ He replies, the tone of his voice changing, raising a bit due to what I can only describe as excitement and enthusiasm. “I’ve had people tell me it’s twisted, but I really like seeing the lengths to which the fucked up human mind can go to. Like, the shit I’ve read is insane! Some stories I didn’t narrate cause I would’ve probably had my video taken down, it was that messed up.“

My eyes widen, sharing the same excitement at the thought of digging deeper into this phenomenon, “Careful, Corpse, you’re walking a dangerous line of tempting me to deep-dive on Reddit in search of those exact stories.”

“No need.“ Corpse says, his tone now taking up a bit of a cocky note, “I still got them all saved, I can send them to you no problem.“

“Please do! I seriously gotta read them now. If I can’t sleep afterwards, I’m blaming you, Corpse. Just FYI.“ I say, giggling slightly, finding myself all but completely comfortable now. I wonder where all that anxiety went? 

“Blame fully taken. Given that I’m not much of a sleeper, I’ll keep you company whenever you think there’s a killer hiding in your closet or fear a red room pop-up will appear on your computer screen.“ He replies, chuckling.

“Um, that’s oddly specific.“ Charlie comments, “Been there yourself, buddy?”

“Perhaps.“ Corpse wheezes, getting a laugh out of me too, “I will neither confirm nor deny.“

“You know what, I’ll just private message you my number so if you see it call you at some ungodly hour, you don’t freak the fuck out. Sounds good?“ I ask, already prepping to type it out and send it to him. 

“Perfect. Wait...“ he pauses for a second, sounding puzzled for a second, “You don’t have mine.“

“Oh, do I not?“ I reply with a sinister tone - thought to answer the question, I of course don’t have his number.

“Oh, do you?“ He sasses me right back. “If so then you don’t need me to send it to you. Cool.“

Ah, shit

“Wait, no! I-I need to confirm it’s the correct one!“

Damn, never did I think I’d be complimented by some of the most important streamers on this platform, but to get a number of theirs too? That’s a whole another level that will take me time to process. But I’ll do that another time, right now, I have to kick these people’s butts in Among Us and later I have some deep web stories to read.

Turns out, all it takes to get comfortable in a new surrounding is someone of your kind. And Corpse is definitely one of my kind.

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