#i think its so fun when you give readers quirks

[usmsgutterson]

We Could Leave The Christmas Lights Up Til January - S.R x reader

I am typing this authors note and feeling like the friend who's like "ITS CHRISTMAS" from the like. middle of the month forward when I'm actually the friend who reminds you how close it is to christmas or the new year bc I don't want to face that knowledge by myself and suffer well with others.

This was written as a through-the-years style fic. It'll have fifteen chapters which will correspond with the og fifteen seasons of criminal minds (I have not watched seasons sixteen or seventeen, please do not judge me lol) and three scenes per chapter, one set in November, one set on or around Christmas, and the last set at some point after it. The reader is also a fiber artist but if stuff relating to that comes up, I will make a note of whichever terms I need to.

Fic type - this is largely fluff!

Warnings - the reader in this has a slightly similar, but also somewhat dramatized version of my family dynamics bc I wrote this whenever the knit projects I was working on frustrated me and when writing the dynamics it just HAPPENED, but then I edited it so that the dynamics wouldn't hit SUPER HARD if I ever reread it. Otherwise, booze is mentioned a bit, and there is swearing present bc I apparently am incapable of writing a fic without dropping an f'bomb.

When you leave the office that night, it's half-past seven on a Friday in November. You and the rest of the team have the weekend off, and while Penelope and the others had gone out for drinks, you'd gotten back from a case in Miami that morning and had said no to the offer when she'd made it.

You had really just wanted to get home, if you were being honest. You told her you couldn't swing it because of plans already made with someone else, but Garcia didn't need to know that those plans were a glass of wine, Loops 'N Threads Classic Cotton and a crochet hook to work up some dishcloths in lieu of anything too expensive for your aunts christmas gift, or that the someone else you had plans with was your DVR so that you could catch up on the five episodes of Prison Break you'd missed because of the way that cases and work had been piling up.

She also didn't need to know that the wine your mother had given you would have a spot, or that after you were caught up with Prison Break you'd probably order and eat your way through an entire pizza from Antonios while watching a documentary about lemon sharks. Your Friday nights were your own, and even though you adored everyone on the team, you would seldom give up your Friday night ritual of doing a craft while watching whichever cable TV you needed to catch up on or whichever one the network of your choice had been running a marathon of, even if giving it up meant giving up dinner, drinks, and laughter amongst yourself and the rest of the team.

So, as you and Spencer are heading out—Spencer had declined Penelopes offer but hadn't specified his reasons as to why—he looks at you with a knowing sort of smile.

"Crocheting and Antonios?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You nod once, lips pursing just a little while you mentally ready yourself for any oncoming judgement. "Mhm," you nod. "I have a bottle of red I wanna drink, so it'll be a tipsy crocheting night, I think."

"That sounds fun," he says. "Enjoy it."

"What're your plans for the night?" You ask. You've been with the team since six months after Spencer had joined up. You'd joined, under Hotch's wing, at the age of nineteen where Spencer had joined up under Gideons when he was twenty.

He shrugs. "I was thinking about calling my mom, seeing how she's doing," he says. "I try to call her at least once every so often and I do my best to write, but—it's just—"

"Maintaining those kinds of relationships isn't that easy," you nod. "I mean—my parents just live in my hometown so the circumstances are different, but I get it, even if it's to a lesser degree."

You don't really talk to your parents, and they don't really talk to you, and it's been that way since you went to the FBI Academy when you were eighteen. You came to DC after being hired by the BAU and they stayed in Maine, and things have been like that in the five years since you left the state.

"Your mom came around recently, right?"

You nod. "She was in town for a bit, but she came down while we were working on a case so I only got to see her a few times before she was heading back to Maine." She'd come up at the start of October, while you were working a case out of state, and she'd left six days after you'd returned from the case. In that time, you'd seen her at breakfast, lunch and dinner on three separate days. She'd left you the wine as a gift because she hated red and needed to pass it off, but you loved red wine so it was fine.

"Was it a good visit?"

"It was—well—it was fine," you laugh.

"That's the nicest way to put it?"

"Calling it fine is me being stellar," you laugh again. "Being kind, being gratiuitous, even. It was less than fine, but it could've been worse, and other visits of hers have been by miles."

Your relationship with your mother has been somewhat contentious since you were a teen, but she comes down once every few months and unless a case or something better comes up, you usually try to book Christmas off to spend it with your parents and sisters in Maine. This year, a bigger part of you than not is hoping that Christmas is disrupted by a case somewhere completely out of Maines reach, like Nevada or California or even the likes of Alaska, which has got to be some snowy hellstorm in the wintertime, though you can't say.

"You gonna go down for Christmas?" Spencer asks, laughing a little. He knows some of what your relationships with your family are like—knows that you and your mother have a difficult time finding common ground, knows that you and your father don't get along but have found some weird little middleground where you can exist without screaming at each other. He knows that you and your older sister are sort of friendly but only really mildly close, and that you and your other older sister don't talk often and see each other even less than the sparing conversations you have throughout the year—and he always looks at you kind of pitifully when your mother gets brought into the conversation, but there's been less and less pity as the years have passed, more sympathy.

"I don't want to," you laugh. "I really, really hope we get a case in Nevada or somewhere that even my mother wouldn't be able to justify asking me to drive down to Maine from. Like—I'd love it if we got a case in Alaska the day before Christmas Eve, honestly. I know it's not gonna happen, but—Christmas with them, my aunt, and my uncle? No. I can't subject myself to that without a whole lot of booze."

Spencer laughs, shakes his head a little bit. "You'll be fine," he says. "I won't hope that a case comes up at Christmas, but if one does, I'll buy you a victory tea."

"Why?"

"Because I know you love your family—you're hardwired to love them—but you hate Christmas with them, and I don't really like the thought of you being where you don't want to be because of family ties and guilt."

You laugh. "If it gets too dreary, promise you'll answer my call?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods. "Of course, but what if I call you first?"

"I will answer so quick," you laugh again, shrugging. "Seriously. Whether it's you or Hotch, I will take literally any excuse I can get to slip out from whichever room I'm in to the back porch just so I can talk to someone who isn't my aunt for a few minutes."

"Looking forward to that," Spencer says.

You smile, turning away as you do to hide it. It feels like an awesome ending to a mediocre day and you're grateful for that.

-

When your phone rings at five o'clock something along the lines of five weeks later, it's Christmas Eve. You've spent the last couple of hours alternating between cheap screw top rose and a jack and coke, occasionally swapping both options out for a hot chocolate that you spike with kahlua and a splash of baileys, and when your phone rings, the sound of it is a welcome reprieve.

You tuck a mug of boozed up hot cocoa into your right hand, answering the phone with your left as you dismiss yourself out to the back porch, standing amidst snow that's, by that point, a couple days old. A fresh coat is due to fall any day now, but by the time it does you'll probably already be back in DC.

"Hey," you greet. "How's Christmas on your end?"

"It's good," Spencer answers. "How is it on yours?"

"It's amazing."

"You've been drinking?"

"Jack Daniels, cheap rose, and the occasional spiked hot chocolate," you laugh a little. "It's making everyone more tolerable."

"Thats good," Spencer says. "Don't forget to drink water, though. It'll make you less hungover tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you nod. "I've drank plenty of water—hangover headaches are fuckin' awful, and I don't feel like dealing with that tomorrow morning. A headache on top of dealing with my aunt? I couldn't put myself through that kind of torture."

"How've things been with you and your mom?"

"So far I haven't done anything to piss her off yet, which is surprising," you laugh. "Normally she's leaping down my throat the second I do something like use a tone that she thinks is amiss or defend my dad where she doesn't agree with him. I'll say something stupid and she'll yell at me before midnight though, I'm sure."

"Try to be a little optimistic," Spencer says. "I mean—just—take it easy. Don't do anything too nuts, okay? I know you well enough to know you have Prison Break on one of the DVRs in that house, and I also know that you know your own limits. Don't push yourself past them."

"I won't," you say. You know yourself well enough to know that you're probably lying, but you brought your needles and a skein of yarn so worst case you can just knit and keep your mouth shut, hopefully not miscounting any of your stitches in your drunken state. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I get in around ten on boxing day too, so—coffee?"

"Coffee," Spencer says. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Merry Christmas, Spencer," you respond, hanging up the phone thereafter. You stay outside for another few minutes, drinking your hot chocolate, watching the sky and prolonging the time between then and your next interactions with your relatives.

Eventually, when you go back in, you're met with a sly look from your aunt and a suspicious look in your mothers eyes, while your father and uncle chat about current events and your sisters are busy in a game of Uno.

"You got a boyfriend?" Your aunt asks, her smile cheeky.

You grimace. "No!" You say, beelining for the kitchen and the bottle of Barefoot brand zinfandel. "No—it's—it isn't like that. A friend had planned to call and I didn't say no."

"Oooh, a friend," your mother teases. "That's quite vague, Y/N."

You nod, finishing the last sip of hot chocolate in your mug and rinsing it out, setting it in your favored corner of the kitchen counter and reaching for the wine glass you'd left in that same area.

"Intentionally so," you laugh. "You two are so nosy. I love you both to bits and pieces, but—it's not anything like what you're thinking. The friend is a coworker."

You reach for the bottle of zinfandel and pour an amount that just barely skirts the edge of avoiding being obscene, putting the cap back on and leaving it on the counter along with the rest of the alcoholic companions that will reside on the countertop until at some point tomorrow, when the drinks are switched out from booze and beer to soda and water.

"You two will be an item in five years, I guarantee it," your aunt says. "Seriously. You don't be vague about someone with your family unless there are feelings there, Y/N."

You laugh a little more, taking a sip of your wine and debating rummaging through the fridge to find the brownies that you'd hidden in the back of the fridge for when the drunken cravings kicked in.

"I've been vague with you people about women coworkers," you retort. "I've been vague about mentors who are older than Dad. I'm vague about lots of things."

"You should open up," your uncle says. "Nobody likes a closed off little snowflake who wants to appear mysterious."

"Trust is earned," the older of your two sisters retorts. "You have to trust people to want to open up to them."

"Do you not trust us?" Your mother asks, looking at you with pain in her eyes.

Not like I did when I was a kid, you think. "I do! I just—work life and family life are two separate things to me. If I were as open as you guys want me to be, telling you work stories and funny office anecdotes, you'd all want to hear less about my job."

"Being an FBI agent can't be that hard," your uncle retorts.

"You say that as a man who's never watched someone you love like a sibling get shot at," you retort. "You've never seen someones body missing parts, or seen someone who narrowly evaded a serial killer shaking with grief and with survivors guilt already starting to manifest. I love you all, but not one of you understands what it's like, and I wouldn't wish you did across a thousand lifetimes."

Nobody knows what to say, but the look in your eldest sisters eyes is clear—she's proud.

"Well maybe you should work in a different area," your aunt says.

"I wouldn't trade my job or my coworkers for anything," you respond. "The plus sides make up for the drawbacks tenfold."

Things go a little quiet after that, and you eventually grab the bottle of Zinfandel and retreat back out to the back porch, not caring how cold it is.

You stare at the sky for ages, drinking your way through the entire bottle of zinfandel as you do. You're half asleep when your phone rings again, and you pick it up as you make back inside, figuring the rest of your family had gone to bed as well.

"Hey," Spencer greets. "Just calling to check in again."

"Hi," you respond. "Everyone else has gone to sleep, I think—nobody is in the kitchen or the living room, and if I don't hit the hay I'll be dead on my feet tomorrow morning."

"Do you have any sports drinks around?" Spencer asks. "The elctrolytes in them will help replenish the potassium and the salt that you lose after a lot of drinking. Bouillion soup also serves the same purpose, and water is basically universally known as the one thing you should consistently drink between alcoholic beverages."

"My mother gets a twelve pack of the fruit punch Gatorade, puts it in the fridge and normally will make the drunkest of us chug a bottle before we conk out, so I'm gonna grab one and then chug it and head to bed. Thank you for calling to check in, Spencer. It means a lot."

You head for the fridge and keep to your word, opening it and grabbing one of the gatorades.

"It's no problem," Spencer says. "I've know you—how long now?"

"Four entire years," you laugh, closing the fridge and pressing your forehead against the metal door of the freezer on top of it. "Oh, God. Four years of working at the BAU. That is a surefire way to make me feel old."

"How old do you think you'll feel when you've been working there for a decade?"

"Absolutely, positively, ancient," you say. "Oh my God—thirty three? That is not an age I can picture. Asking me to picture that while I'm drunk feels like such a low blow, Reid."

"How about twenty-eight?"

"I'm starting to think you just like the sound of my voice," you retort, laughing a little as you compose yourself just enough to turn your phone onto speaker and set it on the counter. You lean against the counter and take the screw top off of your gatorade, sighing a little. "Are you asking me if I have a five year plan, Dr. Reid?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yes is the answer to both your statement and your question."

"Well, in five years, I'll be twenty-eight," you start. "I'd like it very much if I were still on the team, and if I am, that means nine years at the BAU. I'm going to get better at knitting and finally stop knitting things for people who don't offer to buy the yarn or otherwise compensate, I think. I make things free for ungrateful people too often. Maybe even adopt a kitten or take in a shelter dog. Fuck—Reid, I can't really even decide what I'm going to do in the next five minutes, let alone the next five years."

You chug the gatorade as you think about it—a bigger apartment would be nice, one that's closer to work would be nicer still. One with a good view of the city, maybe a library or a liquor store within walking distance, if not a Michaels or a Joanns.

You've always been more of a cat person but you have a ridiculously insurmountable softspot for greyhounds and pitbulls, so if you thought you could take in an animal in the coming years, you would have the knowledge and the background to give them a good home.

You'd maybe want to change up your hair color, if the drunken opportunity presented itself. A change in appearance feels like the sort of thing a person finds necessary at the age of twenty four, in the last year before the brain fully develops and stuff starts changing bit by bit.

"I think I'll still be on the team," Spencer says. "I know it. I love what we get to do everyday, Y/N. Helping people? Saving lives? We do good. We're good people."

"What else do you think about the next five years?" You ask, your voice quiet.

"I think I'll still be living in my same apartment, and that I'll still bicker and get into prank wars with Morgan," Spencer says. "I think I'll still play chess against Gideon on the jet home, and I'll still love to learn anything I can. I know for sure I'm still going to be trying to get you to watch Dr. Who with me, though I hope you agree to watch it after five years of attempts at cajoling you to."

You laugh, and the air takes on a somber kind of tone. "Maybe," you say. "Not likely, but maybe, Reid. Look—I'm going to go to bed so that I can just deal with tomorrows probable hangover head on, but thank you for calling me not once, but twice tonight. I really needed some company that wasn't a little bit of an asshole."

"Yeah, of course," Spencer says. "I—well—merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spencer," is how you bid him adieu, hanging up the phone thereafter. You throw the gatorade bottle into the recycling and head off to the room you'd claimed, turning the tv onto a low volume and falling asleep with The Muppet Christmas Carol beginning to play in the background.

-

"How was everyones Christmas?" Garcia asks, practically buzzing with excitement as she comes out into the bullpen. Spencer is leaning against your desk, the two of you talking about nothing in particular when she comes around, and Garcia looks at you with a happy grin. "How was Maine?"

"It was Maine," you shrug. "Snowed. A lot. In turn, everyone in my family drank. A lot."

"Oh," Garcia shakes her head. "Too many people and too much booze is God awful."

You shrug. "My parents, my sisters, and my aunt and my uncle hardly felt like too many," you say. "And the amount of booze in which I indulged hardly felt like too much."

"You had a lot," Spencer retorts, looking at you skeptically. "I got a text Christmas morning, if memory serves—"

"A text to thank you for being so nice," You fire back, cutting him off. "Totally not asking you for hangover cures. I would never."

Spencer shakes his head, laughing slightly. You grin, taking a sip of the tea he'd brought you that morning.

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't get a text asking for the ultimate hangover cure-all. I guess I must've remembered it wrong."

Your grin widens, and you nod. "Guess so. How were things with your Mom?"

"They were great," Spencer says. "I had a good time."

"I'm glad," you respond. "Your mother sounds pleasant."

"She is," Spencer nods. "I'd hate to spend more than an hour with yours though."

"She's comin' here in June," you fire back, leaning back in your chair as your grin morphs from grin to smirk. "Be careful for the next six months, Reid, or I'll invite you to dinner with her, myself, and my father."

"That sounds like some form of mideval torture," Derek fires, laughing. Spencer shakes his head.

"Not if Y/Ns there," he murmurs. You take another sip of your tea to avoid seeming flustered to the rest of the team, and Spencer sighs when JJ comes around. You sit up in your chair, already anticipating her next words.

"We have a case," she says. "A series of deaths in Witchita. Briefing room in ten!"

You and Spencer exchange a look. There are only a few days left of it, but it looks like the last of 2005 is due to be a whirlwind.

[throwaway-yandere]

Classical Conditioning is finished but I have zero fricking clue if I'm making sense I feel like a mad scientist and I am blaming Dottore for my current mental state LMAO

[spider-stark]

EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.” 

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears. 

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?” 

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps. 

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.” 

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?” 

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?” 

“In my room.” 

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs. 

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he? 

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy. 

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection. 

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around? 

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one. 

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.” 

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out. 

You almost snort. Clearly. 

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable. 

The others would like having him around. 

You like having him around. 

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?” 

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth. 

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.” 

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out. 

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.” 

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. 

Probably because you are. 

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist. 

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come. 

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.” 

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea? 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door. 

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.” 

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night. 

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion. 

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic. 

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you. 

“Why?”  you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?” 

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping. 

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.” 

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks. 

“Go downstairs.” 

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.” 

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.” 

“What did you say when I came in?” 

“Go downstairs.” 

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!” 

“Go. Down. Stairs.” 

“Make me.” 

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk. 

“Do you know why I brought you in?” 

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs. 

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang. 

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam. 

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past. 

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone. 

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it. 

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.” 

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless. 

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete. 

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.” 

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this. 

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.” 

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered. 

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?” 

It sounds stupid. It is stupid. 

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought. 

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you. 

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away. 

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?” 

You blink. “What?” 

“You heard me.” 

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this? 

“I don’t get what you’re asking.” 

“Stop making me repeat myself.” 

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?” 

Shock. Confusion. 

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something. 

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.” 

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?” 

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in. 

You’re not fucking him, though. 

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.” 

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting. 

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.” 

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension. 

It was excitement. Anticipation. 

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist. 

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you. 

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.” 

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out. 

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them. 

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan. 

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.” 

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that. 

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?” 

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again. 

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.” 

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie! 

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit. 

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right? 

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling. 

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan. 

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care? 

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me. 

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks. 

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away. 

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin. 

Because you didn’t make me sick. 

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks. 

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t. 

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious. 

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows. 

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before. 

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?” 

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots. 

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said. 

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time. 

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.” 

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine. 

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.” 

So you do. 

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away. 

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.” 

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks. 

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles. 

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?” 

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap. 

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe. 

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting. 

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak. 

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out. 

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? 

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.” 

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.” 

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling. 

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet. 

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core. 

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.” 

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck. 

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.” 

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted? 

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.” 

The world grinds to a halt. 

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists. 

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?” 

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half. 

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me. 

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed. 

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give. 

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more. 

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

[moonstruckme]

perhaps whimsical!reader x one of the marauders (you choose) who’s being made fun of but doesn’t realize it? And they defend you or talk to you or something?

Thanks for requesting <3

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

Remus watches as your eyes drift out the window beside his couch.

“I think you’d like it,” James continues, unaware that he’s lost your attention as he tells you about the shop he’d gone to with Mary the day before. “They’ve got incense and crystals, all that stuff.” 

When you don’t react, Remus nudges your leg with his. 

You look at him. “Hm?” 

“That does sound like someplace you’d like,” he tries to clue you in, “doesn’t it?” 

“Oh, yes.” You give James a breezy smile. He returns it with ease, not a lick of pique about him. “Thank you, James, I’ll have to go. Where is it?” 

James’ thick eyebrows come together. “You know, I’m not actually sure. Mary led the way there and I just sort of followed, but I want to say it was on fourth.” 

You nod, and Remus smiles at your obvious expertise on the matter. He doubts there’s a shop of that kind that you haven’t been to, but you’re humoring James just to be kind. “Right, there’s a string of them on fourth street. Maybe I can ask Mary sometime and see if—oh, the fawn is standing up!” 

You grab Remus’ hand excitedly, turning in your seat to get a better view out the window. Your eyes are very nearly heart-shaped as you coo over the baby deer wobbling to its feet a few yards from Remus’ home. “Oh my goodness, it’s so precious. Do you guys see it?” 

Remus shoots James an apologetic look, but his friend smiles and shrugs it off, coming to lean over the couch beside you. 

“It is really cute,” he agrees.

Sirius laughs. “You’ve really got yourself a goldfish, haven’t you Moony?” You don’t pay him any mind, but Remus regards him quizzically. “She can’t seem to talk to anyone for more than two seconds before she’s distracted by something shiny.” 

Now, you turn, your head tilting like a puppy’s. “It’s not shiny, Sirius, it’s a fawn. Do you want to come see?” 

“It’s a figure of speech, love.” 

“Pads.” Remus’ voice is hard. “Don’t.” 

Your brows pucker at your boyfriend’s tone. “Remus,” you sound almost hurt, “what’s wrong?” 

He wraps a protective hand around your thigh, but James speaks before he can. 

“It’s nothing,” he says cheerily. His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re always squabbling like this, they’re like an old married couple. Best to do as I do and stay out of it.”

“Oh, please,” Sirius guffaws. “Like you’ve ever stayed out of anything in your life.” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” James says. Remus relaxes as the beginnings of a bemused smile touches your lips. “I don’t partake in any such childish quarreling.” 

It’s only after his friends leave and Remus is cleaning up his kitchen from all the snacks they’d left strewn about, that he says quietly, “Don’t mind Sirius, dove. His sense of humor can be mean, but he wouldn’t tease you if he didn’t like you.” 

You pause sweeping up the floor, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean? I thought they were both really nice.” 

“They are,” he says, “but I just want to make sure you understand that when Sirius was making fun of you, he didn’t really mean anything by it.” 

“He was making fun of me?” 

Remus swears he feels his heart fall right out his ass. 

“Yes, sweetheart, but like I said, he was only teasing.” He gives you a small smile, but at your puzzled look, reluctantly clarifies, “You remember when he said you were a goldfish?” 

You nod. 

“That was it, dove. That was the joke.” 

“Oh.” You smile funnily, one side of your mouth quirking up more than the other. “Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I’d love to be a goldfish.” 

A little laugh startles out of Remus. “Really?” he asks.

You nod happily, resuming your sweeping. “They can see more colors than humans, did you know? And they’re really very pretty.” 

It’s all Remus can do to keep from crossing the kitchen to squish you in a hug. He’s grinning ear-to-ear. “Well,” he says, trying to match your serene tone, “then it suits you, dove.”

“I think so,” you say lightly. “You should be a goldfish too, Remus. Or actually, I think I see you more as a seahorse. We could both be seahorses, if you like.” 

“Don’t seahorses mate for life?” 

“Mhm. Suits us, don’t you think?”

[yaespook]

Canines.

✧ Room Content: Dom! Top! GN! Werewolf! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Wriothesley, no gendered terms used for reader, reader has a cock with a knot, oral (reader giving), snowballing, rimming (reader giving), gratuitous mentions of spit, muzzle and leash with collar used on Wriothesley, knotting. Leave a note if anything was missed out. ✧ Retrieved Notes: [The bottom paws of the fortune cat appear on the front desk.]

Getting a new rookie transfer under him this late into the year wasn’t exactly what Wriothesley was expecting.

His office door opens abruptly but you seem almost as bewildered as he is at this surprise. No biggie, the issue is sorted out quickly and seeing that you don't have any case files or inmate registration papers on you (or any sort of personal records at all for the matter), he runs through the essentials before sending you off with a list of duties. 

He watches as you leave his office, you'll undoubtedly be an interesting case to handle.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Wriothesley finds you nice enough to be around during work. You're considerate and you work hard to get your job done. It's pleasant to have another regular familiar face beneath the depths and he's not above sharing his tea with you during your shared breaks. And growing closer, he asks you to box with him.

“Just some training, for fun, that's all.” He's lounging in his chair and cracks an eye open to gauge your reaction. “Feel free to say no if you don't want to. I won't die from the rejection.”

Wriothesley is assured in his combat skills, given his experience in the ring and his daily training. So how is it exactly that he's found himself in this position? 

Dragging out the spar by starting off defensive, dodging his attacks, it seemed as if you were going easy on him.

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re going easy on me?” He throws a series of hooks and a particularly forceful uppercut.

But he wasn't interested in winning this friendly battle, he wants to see what you're truly made of. Hence, kicking it up a notch, he doubled the speed of the punches he's throwing, forcing you on the offensive. 

“You’re asking for it, Wrio!”

He's caught off guard when you start reciprocating and meeting him with the same speed and intensity in your attacks. Sure, your footwork and pivoting could use some work, but there's something surprising in the force behind your punches.

It ends when you manage to wrestle him into a headlock, the both of you sweaty and panting, his head pressed against your chest as he's suddenly aware of how close the two of you are. Tapping twice on your bicep hooked around his neck, he admits his defeat this time around. Freed from your restraint, he takes the time to massage his trapezius muscles as he gives you a once-over. 

“That was a good one, another next week?” 

You cough, “I think I’ll need more than a week to recover,” your tone sheepish.

It’s not often he’s beaten during spars, and for a rookie like you to do so? Extremely interesting. What exactly is your background? The secret to your seemingly supernatural strength? Since this incident, he’s found himself drawn to you even more.

However, keeping an extra vigilant eye on you means that he picks up on the smaller things that might be signs. The next Friday, you clock in later in the day, missing your shared tea breaks with him, and you clock out far earlier than usual, evident from the little note you leave at your desk when he looks for you.

“Sorry Wrio! Something urgent came up!”

He quirks an eyebrow up at this. What could have been so urgent that you had to leave immediately? Are you alright? Glancing around, he notices a bag left on your chair. Perhaps you left it here in your haste while leaving, but what if its contents are important to you? No matter, he'll see if he can pass it to you after work, it's a good chance to check up on you too.

But since you aren't around for the rest of the day, Wriothesley has strangely discovered that he's getting through his mundane paperwork and administrative duties a lot slower than if you were present. His brows furrow as he sighs to himself and sips his tea alone before continuing his work.

By the time he's done wrapping everything up and leaving, the full moon is already high up in the night sky. When he tears his eyes away from it, he spots you out of the corner of his eye. Though he would call out to you, your behaviour is suspicious, slinking around the shadows sneakily as you try to stay hidden. Wriothesley decides to tail you, just to make sure that you don't get into any trouble that he'll end up having to sort out. (And that he's also worried about you.)

His guard is up when you step into a wild forested area. The dim moonlight breaks in through the leaves of the canopy area, just enough for him to make out the ground beneath him. He watches where he steps in order to avoid generating any noise that might alert you but the second he looks back up for you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

Uneasiness starts to kick in. Wriothesley is uncaring of all the ruckus he’s making while rushing past trees and brambles as he scrambles to search for you. The thorns scrape and tear at his clothes but he pushes on, launching into high gear.

However, the deeper he gets into the forest, the more Wriothesley begins to notice things going terribly wrong.

There’s a heavy presence lurking amongst the dark shadows, one that has its eyes trained on him, watching his every move. Lumbering footsteps echo throughout the forest around him, as if getting closer and closer to his location. The sound of twigs nearby snapping sharply and the rustling of dry bushes. Trying to get to a better lit area within the forest, the chase is on.

He’s being hunted.

The vegetation begins to thin out slightly as he skillfully weaves between trees and he reaches a clearing. Catching his breath, he surveys his surroundings, keen eyes looking for any signs of movement. The moon hangs overhead, sharing its pale light.

And from the treeline, something pounces.

He stumbles back at the sudden impact, the wind knocked from his chest as he collides with the ground, eyes clenched shut. A beat passes before the weight on him suddenly lifts and he hears a gravelly yet oddly familiar voice, “...Wrio?” 

Forcing his eyes open, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

“I’m so so sorry. I assumed you were some kind of hunter stalking after me and…” your words spiral and trail on but he can’t seem to process anything you’re saying since he’s preoccupied with taking in this sight of you.

In this form, you’re a lot taller than he is and your physique is nothing short of intimidating. Is this where your impressive strength comes from then? Raking his gaze over your body, he pauses at your flexed thigh muscles from holding yourself above his pelvis. (You could crush him between them and he’d die a happy man.)

Your fur gleams under the moonlight, captivating him as a gentle breeze ruffles through it. By the time he tunes back into your spiel, all he catches is you saying, “I’ll make it up to you-”

“Make it up to me?”

“Yeah?” 

“Fuck me then.” He sees your ears shoot up as you try to gauge whether he actually means it and he tacks on, “I’m being serious. Plus no one will find us here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Fine, but pipe up if I’m too rough on you.”

A grin stretches across Wriothesley’s face at your agreement but it’s quickly replaced with a hiss when you drop and grind your dick down against his. Leaning forward, you have him completely pinned beneath you, your body heat and larger frame on his is simply dizzying.

“I’ll give you some kisses to start, hmm?”

He watches as your maw opens wide, showcasing your sharp teeth. He can feel your canines on either side of his face as you lick at his lips but there’s enough trust between the two of you that you won’t clamp down, your fangs gently grazing his skin. You wouldn’t hurt him after all.

You bury your snout in his neck, taking in his scent as the both of you grind against each other, a snarl leaving your throat as you feel how hard and soaked he’s getting under you. 

“So wet, Wrio. Are you that desperate?” Shifting and sitting up to strip him of his clothes, he chuckles as he replies, “Only for you.”

Taking off his shirt, you let out a low whistle at the man before you. His broad shoulders, salt and pepper chest hair on his pecs, the body hair and healed scars littered throughout, and not to mention his lovely happy trail up till his naval. Truly, a sight to behold.

Getting him out of the rest of his clothes, you nudge his legs apart and settle between them. Compared to your looming stature, Wriothesley gets a sense of how much smaller he is when your hands grasp at his thighs. (Or are they paws? Whatever. As long as they treat him real good tonight.)

Tracing the tip of a claw down his inner thigh, you watch him shudder, eyes widening as you get closer to his drooling cock.

“What? Already so turned on by me hunting you down and a little grinding?” You tease and a heat rises to his face, retorting, “Shut up.”

You bury your face closer in, snuffling as you lave a rough warm stripe against the underside of his length, the taste of his precum on your tongue. His legs clamp down slightly on your head when you do so and it’s apparent that he’s enjoying your attention on him. Almost as if he wants you to devour him whole.

Changing tactics, you shift your focus to enveloping the underside with your tongue before taking him into your mouth, careful to watch your teeth. The heat engulfing him has Wriothesley groaning loudly, his hips bucking into the warmth as his restraint starts to slip.

“Mffph… so good-!” He throws an arm over his eyes, more clipped moans escaping him while you swirl your tongue, working him to his peak.

But just when he’s about to tip over the edge, you let him out of your mouth, panting as he watches a thick strand of saliva stretch from your tongue to the tip of his dick.

“Hah… Why did you stop?” Sitting up on his elbows and supporting a frustrated scowl on his face, he looks laughably similar to a kicked puppy.

“Patience, dear Wrio, you’ll get your recompensation in due time.”

Moving one hand to his cock, you pump up and down languidly, aided by the copious amounts of precum and spit. His head spins when he feels you tonguing and lapping at his balls, your hot breath hitting the sensitive skin there.

You dip further down to lick at his rim, peering up to observe his reaction. And it’s amusing. His hands fly to grab at your shoulders, eyes shot open as his chest heaves.

“You liked that?” When he nods, that’s all you need to continue.

Manoeuvring him and hiking his hips up, he yelps at the shift but it quickly tapers into a moan as you press your tongue flat against his rim. You don’t stop stroking his cock as you slowly breach his hole, gingerly prying him open. Wriothesley sucks in a sharp breath at this and grinds down on your thick tongue, forcing it deeper, the pleasure in him building and spiking.

It’s not long before he’s spurting onto his tummy with a drawn out moan, walls clenching down on you and his hips stuttering up with his orgasm. Detaching for a second, you lick a long way up from the base of his dick to his dripping tip and his heaving abdomen, collecting his cum on your tongue.

“Open your mouth, Wrio.” And when he complies, you let your tongue hang out of your maw, a mixture of his cum and his saliva sloppily dripping from you and into his mouth. The ravenous look he gets when he swallows sends a shiver down his spine.

“So good for me, Wrio. Let’s move on shall we?” You give him a sly lick on his cheek. “Can you loosen yourself up a bit more? Wouldn’t want to rip you apart when you take me.”

After coating his fingers in your slick spit, you watch as he preps himself for you. Gazing around, you spy your bag discarded to the side on the ground. 

“Aww Wrio, were you trying to bring me my bag I left?”

“Mmph yeah-! I was worried- ah! -about you,” he grunts out his answer.

You respond with a low pleased rumble, stalking over to your bag and rifling through it to find what you’re looking for. From it, you retrieve a set of a collar with a leash and an accompanying muzzle. To Wriothesley’s surprise, it’s in his colours, complimenting shades of reds and greys.

“I bought it impulsively earlier today, thought of you while doing so. I think I’m in some sort of a rut,” you explain lowly, your eyes level with his and he feels as if he could be consumed with your gaze alone. 

Licking the shell of his ear, he can feel your breath fan across his nape as you continue, “Because of you, Wrio, no doubt.”

“Put it on me then,” there’s no hesitation in his voice when he says this and a satisfaction fills him when he sees your tail start wagging.

Carefully, you latch the collar around his neck, making sure it’s comfortable for him before moving on to fixing the muzzle on him. Finally, you attach the leash, the clip sound completing the set. 

As you take in how utterly delectable your Wrio looks for you right now, a filthy sense of pride rises up within you. You, a beast, managing to twist and warp and transform your human’s visage into one akin to yours, to have him leashed and muzzled as if he were the one with piercing canine fangs and a monstrous secret. And that he doesn’t cower or tremble with fear when pinned beneath you. It’s all too deliciously sinful.

The end of the leash is held in your claws as you eye him down. You manhandle him onto his fours and you line the tip of your cock at his hole. 

“I’ll take it slow, tell me if it hurts,” your head presses against his rim as it gradually pries him open, the wind is punched from his chest at your thick girth. Slowly sinking into him, Wriothesley’s vision spins as you split him open on your cock, the stretch an intoxicating one that has him wanting more. 

When your tip nudges against his prostate, he’s left seeing stars, a debauched moan slipping from his lips.

“Ughk!? Is it- hah! -is it all in?” You shush him, ghosting your claws on the skin above his arched spines.

“Just a bit more, you can take it, can’t you, Wrio?” An uncharacteristic whine rips from him when you finally bottom out in him, flush against the back of his thighs as you reach unfathomably deep in him.

You give him time to adjust to your size before you start moving, setting a relaxed pace to begin with. He squeezes down on your cock as you roll your hips, unrestrained noises escaping him as all sense is fucked from his mind. 

Picking up the intensity, you pull out halfway before slamming back into him, positioning your tip directly at where his prostate is while tugging on the leash.

“Hngk-! So big- AH! Fuck!” Wriothesley’s eyes roll back into his head, mouth hanging open.

Your repeated motions have him going crazy, his arms wobbling at the brutal onslaught of pleasure before giving out, the only things keeping him up are the knees folded under him and your hand clamping around the side of his hip.

Seconds blur into minutes and he doesn’t even know when you’ve started pounding relentlessly into him. Your thick shaft drags against his walls and he can feel every vein and twitch of your cock. 

Sensing you pulling on the leash, he turns and looks up at you, letting you see the drool dripping from his parted lips in the muzzle, his eyes unfocused and glazed over with nothing but raw lust. You give him a lick on his cheek, a kiss, before you fold your body over his, completely pressed against his back, pinning him beneath your massive frame.

“I’m close Wrio,” cooing into his ear again, your gravelly voice brings him back, “Want me to knot you?”

He babbles pitifully, “Uh- uh huh! AH! Yeah-! I- I want you!”

“You’re really asking for it now,” growling at his mindless pleading, you drive your cock in, a guttural howl leaving you as you climax, finally knotting your Wrio. The knot at your base stretches Wriothesley out even more and he can feel your cum filling him up inside. The searing pleasure causes him to pull taut, his back arching as he orgasms again, moaning as he tightens up around you, milking you for all you’re worth. 

The forest clearing is filled with the sounds of the both of you panting as you recover, checking in with Wriothesley to assure that he’s alright. While you wait for your knot to go down, you take the time to free him from the muzzle. The second you do, he leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of your snout, a lazy grin hanging from his face.

“Hah… I think you’ve made it up to me,” a glint in his eyes, “Another round next week?”

[> You add a muzzle, collar, and leash set to your collection.]

Thank you kindly for reading. Consider supporting on kofi if you enjoyed this or visit the other doors.

[hvnyrt]

Brat reader with Jason on a ferriswheel at night. Bonus points if they're not together yet

Up High, Down Low

JASON X AFAB! READER

Hey there! Thank you so much for submitting a request! I wasn't sure if you wanted NSFW or not, but I couldn't help myself soooo there's a little smut. Enjoy!

SUMMARY: You and Jason go on a ferris wheel ride together, your riffng is something that's always been apart of your friendship, until it gets taken a little too far

WARNINGS: afab!reader, teasing, brattiness, public-ish sex, fingering, edging, 18+, minors do NOT INTERACT

WC: 2.5k

The Ferris wheel creaked softly as it started its ascent, each wheel turning with a rhythmic groan. You leaned back in the seat, arms crossed over your chest, and huffed dramatically, just to make sure Jason knew how bored you were.

“You know, I thought this was supposed to be fun,” you said, eyes lazily scanning the lit-up skyline. “But honestly? Kinda overrated.”

Jason, sitting across from you, glanced up at the dark sky, his arms casually draped over the edge of the seat. His expression was unreadable, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch. He was playing it cool, but you knew better.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who wanted to come up here,” Jason shot back, his tone dry. “I’m just along for the ride.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your foot against the metal floor. The world below was full of lights and noise, but up here, everything felt distant, separated from the chaos you both usually navigated. It should’ve felt peaceful, but somehow, the stillness only made you more restless.

“Whatever,” you muttered, leaning over the side and staring down at the carnival below. The lights blurred into a mix of red, yellow, and blue, as if the whole world had been dipped in neon paint. “I bet you think this is romantic, huh? Sitting up here with the city all lit up, stars above...”

Jason snorted, his gaze flicking to you. “Yeah, sure. Totally. Nothing says romance like a Ferris wheel in the middle of Gotham.”

The Ferris wheel groaned as it reached its peak, the sound of the metal grinding against itself almost drowning out the noise of the carnival below. You shifted uncomfortably in the seat, feeling the wind tug at your jacket, and stared at the twinkling city lights spread out beneath you. It wasn’t exactly how you imagined Gotham to look when you’d heard it called “beautiful” — more like a maze of lights and shadows, a skyline of contradictions.

And yet, it was hard to ignore the way your heart fluttered when Jason’s voice broke through the silence.

“You know, I’ve never really understood why people think this is romantic,” he said, his tone low, but still carrying that edge of sarcasm you were so used to. He was leaning back in the seat now, his arms resting casually on the bars, eyes half-lidded. There was something almost dangerous about how comfortable he looked, even up here.

“Yeah, ‘cause Gotham is known for being the city of love,” you shot back, unable to stop yourself from sounding like a smartass. “Maybe we should take a nice stroll through Crime Alley after this, too. You know, for that perfect date night vibe.”

Jason’s gaze flicked to you then—eyes narrowing ever so slightly, but not in anger. More like a challenge. His lips quirked, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You really are something else, you know that? Always gotta keep pushing, don’t you?”

You didn’t look away from him. “Someone’s got to keep you in check.”

His smirk deepened. “That so?” he asked, leaning forward slightly, and for a brief moment, it felt like the space between you closed by inches. “And you think you’re the one to do it?”

The air around you felt heavier, charged. His gaze was intense—daring, almost predatory in the way it swept over you, taking in every subtle shift of your posture. You shifted in your seat, your breath hitching ever so slightly, but you didn’t let it show. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of getting inside your head.

“Maybe I just like seeing how easy it is to get under your skin,” you replied with a raised eyebrow, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. The words came out sharper than you meant them to, but you weren’t backing down.

Jason’s lips quirked at the corners, like he knew exactly what you were doing. “I think you’re just a brat who likes to act like she doesn’t care.”

Your stomach tightened at that, a flicker of something dangerous lighting up your insides. He gets under my skin too easily.

"I care," you said, a little more sharply than intended. “Just not about this.” You motioned vaguely to the carnival below, and to the cage you both were stuck in.

He didn’t miss a beat. His eyes locked onto you, a flicker of something darker, something almost predatory. “Oh, I know you care,” he said, voice lowering, the words like a promise. “But you’re too busy trying to hide it.”

You sucked in a breath, but didn’t let yourself react. You were used to Jason’s games. He liked to push, liked to get people riled up, and you were no different. But there was something in the air now that made it feel like this was different. Like this wasn’t just a casual conversation anymore.

You leaned forward, your gaze narrowing on him. “You don’t know anything about me,” you said, your tone half daring him to keep pushing, half inviting him to.

Jason shifted slightly in his seat, leaning forward just enough to close some of the distance between you. The way his eyes trailed down to your lips, then back to your eyes, sent a spark of heat straight through you, and for a second, you forgot to breathe.

“Don’t I?” he asked, voice like velvet and smoke, low and dangerous. “I think I know exactly how you work. You like the fight. You like being challenged.” He glanced at your crossed arms. “But deep down, you like when someone can actually push back. Don’t you?”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your chest. You were doing everything you could not to let him see the effect he was having on you. But he could see it, of course. Jason always saw through people, always felt the shift in the air, in the way you moved, the way you breathed.

“You talk a big game for someone so sure of himself,” you muttered, even as you tried to keep your voice steady.

He leaned a little closer, his presence filling the small space between you both. You could feel the heat of his body, the subtle tension in the air, like something was about to snap. His hand brushed against the side of the seat near yours, just enough that you could feel the press of his fingers against the metal.

Your eyes locked on his hand, then slowly dragged up to his face. His expression was unreadable, but there was something dark simmering behind his eyes. Something raw, something almost dangerous.

“You’re right,” Jason said quietly. “I’m not just sure of myself. I’m sure of you, too.”

Your pulse raced. “What the hell does that mean?” you asked, a breathless edge creeping into your voice, even though you tried to keep it steady.

Jason’s smirk was slow, deliberate, and damn near smug. “It means I know exactly how much you’re trying not to care. But you do. You care, and you want me to keep pushing.”

The words hit you harder than you wanted to admit. A rush of heat flooded your chest and neck, but you kept your guard up, even as every part of you seemed to want to shatter. “Keep talking, Todd. You’re really good at this... but I’m not impressed.”

His gaze sharpened, and then his lips curved into something darker, something almost predatory. “No? You sure? I think you’re impressed. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

You felt the urge to say something, anything, to put him back in his place. But your words caught in your throat when Jason moved just a little closer, leaning in just enough that the scent of him—leather, something dark and masculine—flooded your senses. You could feel the heat radiating from him, could practically hear the beat of his heart.

Your breath hitched. You told yourself it was because of the height, because the ride had just crested and the wind was messing with you. But you knew that wasn’t it. The way Jason was looking at you, so sure, so intense—he made you feel like you were both caught in a storm.

“Don’t,” you warned, voice trembling just enough to give him an opening. “Don’t make this about—”

Jason’s eyes darkened, cutting you off with a single, sharp movement. He leaned even closer, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Make it about what, exactly? You?” He chuckled softly. “You can act like you don’t care all you want. But I can see it in your eyes. You like this.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, not when your heart was racing, not when your body was so aware of his every movement. The air between you felt suffocating now, heavy with tension, charged with something too tempting to ignore.

Jason cut you off with a quick grab to your chin, pulling your lips to crash into his. He claimed your mouth, using his tongue to claim all over you. You fought him back, fighting for dominance. Yet he was stronger, and well, you wanted to lose.

He was, of course, right too. You could deny the dynamic between your friendship was palpable with sexual tension. The two of you always bantered back and forth, but it never ended up like this.

 You whined and moaned into his mouth, as he took one of his large hands and quickly unbuttoned your jeans. You gasped when he did this, watching his large, calloused hands take control of you in the small cage, hundreds of feet in the air. Without warning, he picked you up on his lap, and began to abuse your cunt with his fingers. He pumped your hole as he used his other hand to pinch your nipples over your shirt.

You whined and moaned, the sounds of the carnival drowning you moans out, yet the knowledge of him taking you like this publicly had you drenched.

“Oh so this is what it was about. Sweet thing just needed something good to get her to act right?” Jason teased, continuing to scissor your insides with his fingers. He grabbed the side of your face making sure you could look at his smug smile, juxtaposed with your sweaty mess of a face, bliss your only expression.

You sneered a bit at his words, babbling over yourself as he hit your g-spot, legs starting to shake. “F-fuck..you,” you spat back. You doubled over, his arm going to wrap around your waist to hold you up as you began to shake. “Holy shit Im gonna–”

“Cum?” He remarked, cutting you off. He let out a low chuckle, quickly ripping his hands out of you. You gasped as the sudden loss of friction, clenching around the air as your pussy craved more, especially after being denied an orgasm. “Yeah after the way you talked to me, you don't get to do that right now.

He picked you back up off his lap and sat you down next to him, zipping and buttoning your jeans back up for you. He smiled at your shocked and angered expression, chuckling at you.

You groaned, pushing his hands off of you as you crossed your arms. How had he taken control of you like that? How did you let him? And why did you love it?

He smiled at your shocked and angered expression, chuckling at you. "You look like you're about to set the world on fire," he teased, his voice light, almost playful. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to ignore the heat rising in your chest. "Don't laugh," you snapped, your voice a little shaky despite your attempt to sound firm. "You don't get to do that and then just... laugh."

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning, clearly enjoying the reaction he was getting. "Oh, I can do whatever I want," he said, his tone teasing but with a hint of something else, something that made you second-guess your own frustration. "You didn't exactly stop me. You especially seemed to be enjoying it." He teased at the end, throwing you a sultry look, a sly grin on his face.

You turned your face away, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. "That’s not the point, and you know it," you muttered, but there was an undeniable pull in his gaze as he watched you, like he was waiting for you to say more.

Jason’s chuckle was dark, low, and there was something about it that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. His tone dipped into something more like amusement and challenge than anything else. “But it’s cute that you pretend like you’re the one in control.”

His words felt like a slow burn, and you didn’t like it. Not one bit.

You shifted uncomfortably again, not knowing if you should laugh or punch him for acting like he knew you so well, but all you could do was shoot him a glare that you hoped conveyed something.

Jason seemed to take pleasure in watching you try to regain your composure, his eyes never leaving your face. The tension was thick now, like the quiet before a storm. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, the Ferris wheel creaking as it slowly started to descend.

But then Jason broke the silence, his voice softer this time, but still filled with that same undercurrent of challenge.

“You’re not as tough as you act,” he said, his gaze catching yours again, this time more intense, more pointed. “You know that, right?”

Your stomach flipped, and you hated how vulnerable that statement made you feel. But you weren't about to let him see it. Not now.

“Maybe I am,” you shot back, your jaw tight. “Maybe you’re just too used to everyone rolling over for you.” He had just had you shaking on top of him, on the brink of an orgasm, and here you were acting as if nothing happened.

Jason laughed then, that deep, dangerous sound that seemed to vibrate in the air. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” he said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t just amusement anymore—it was something darker, something that made the tension between you both almost tangible.

And you hated how much you wanted him to say more.

The Ferris wheel reached the bottom, and you both snapped back to reality, the ground rushing up beneath you. The moment was over, but the air between you still felt electric, the crackling tension thick enough that neither of you had the nerve to say anything as you got off the ride. You could still feel your panties sticking to you, your earlier wetness reminding you of how horny you were. And thinking of what he did to you, with all these people around, made you even hornier.

As you stepped off the platform, Jason’s voice followed you, low and just for you. “You’re lucky I like you, brat.”

You barely had time to turn and shoot him a look before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there, heart pounding in your chest and a smile playing on your lips.

[kikyoupdates]

Goddess Wink ⭑˚💘⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

bnha x f!reader

reverse harem, my hero academia x fem!reader, slowburn

Ever since your Quirk first manifested, you’ve been the apple of everyone’s eye. With the goal of becoming a hero, you enroll to U.A. and soon find yourself drawing the attention of many. Will you form genuine connections with others, or is this all just your power's will?

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You were four years old when it happened.

As far back as you could remember, you’d lived in an orphanage. You’d never met your real parents, nor did it seem like they had any intention of coming to get you, just based on how your caretakers would act. They tried to convince you that your parents must have had their reasons; that they might not have been in the right place to take care of you, but it served as little reassurance. You felt unwanted, unloved. You wondered what you could have possibly done that your own parents wouldn’t want to be with you—why all of these children were missing their families. You didn’t understand, but it felt unfair. For whatever reason, you were undesirable. At least, that’s the way you felt.

On a rather uneventful day, you were out on the playground with some of the other kids from the orphanage. They were all playing together, but you were off by the sandpit on your own, fiddling with the outfit on your doll. At some point a cluster of them had broken off, and one of the boys came right up to you, grinned, and snatched the doll straight out of your hands.

You frowned at him. “Give it back.”

“Nuh uh,” he jeered. “You’re always so boring, [Name]. You never play with the rest of us.”

“I’m not in the mood to play right now. Can you please give me my doll back?”

“What’s so fun about these dolls anyways?” The boy squinted at the toy in his hands, and without wasting a beat, popped one of the doll’s legs clean off. “Whoa!” he cried out. “They break so easily!”

You felt like you should be bursting into tears, but oddly enough, the tears didn’t come. You were eerily composed, a sense of calm washing over you. Something was telling you there was no reason to get worked up. You felt your chest growing warm, and your eyes began to glow a faint, pink shade. You stepped up to the boy and grabbed him by the wrist.

“You ruined my doll,” you said. “Apologize.”

“Huh—?” He stared back at you, dubious, and something akin to realization overtook his expression. He began to grow red in the cheeks, his breaths became irregular, and he swayed unsteadily on his own two feet. The boy stared down at the doll and its now missing leg in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “I-I’m so sorry!” he spluttered. “I didn’t mean to… [Name]. I’m really, really sorry!”

You’d never seen the boy act like this before. He was always up to some sort of mischief, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to go around teasing the other girls. You glanced down to where your fingers were laced around his wrist. You tightened your grip, watching the way his blush only deepened.

“I want a new doll,” you told him.

“Of course! I’m so sorry… I’ll tell the supervisors what happened and get you a new one right away, I promise!”

Even his accomplices seemed to be confused. “Dude, why are you apologizing to her? She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else!”

“She thinks she’s too good to play with the rest of us!”

You pulled away from the first boy and stared at the other two. Still hesitant, you reached over and placed a hand on each of their shoulders. You felt something rushing or pulsing through your body. The air felt like it tasted richer, sweeter. And this time you were sure of it—the moment your hand made contact with their bodies, each of the boys grew red in the face and started rocking on their feet as if they were drunk.

“Apologize,” you ordered again.

“We’re sorry, [Name]!”

“So sorry…”

You took a step back and marveled at what had just happened. All three of them were staring at you with flushed, puffy cheeks, as if they were awaiting your next command. Your small limbs were practically oozing with power. You were sure that this must have been what everyone was always talking about—the birth of your Quirk.

“You guys can leave me alone now,” you said, crouching back down inside the sandpit. “Please make sure I get a new doll and tell the supervisors that you were the reason it broke in the first place.”

They nodded their heads furiously, already rushing over to confess their wrongdoings. You hugged your knees to your chest and inhaled shakily. You didn’t know exactly what kind of power it was, but the feeling of others being so helpless before you… it was oddly exhilarating.

—

You explained to the caretakers the gist of what had happened, and they began speculating as to what type of power you had. It was worth noting that while some became more interested in you as a result of your newly-developed Quirk, others were a bit more apprehensive after finding out what had happened to the three boys. The teachers and caretakers instructed you not to use your Quirk on others needlessly, since you presumably had a power that could control people.

Of course, you didn’t listen.

The next couple of weeks cleared up some questions you had about your Quirk. To be more exact, you weren't consciously using it. It was a difficult power to control, and you would find that it activated on its own without your awareness. It became evident that your Quirk didn’t simply enable you to control others; there were other aspects to it that you were struggling to grasp. You were too young and naive to make sense of it all, but the one thing that was seemingly apparent was that your powers relied on attracting others to you.

You’d been rather quiet and reserved for the majority of your stay at the orphanage, but now the others flocked to you like birds. The boys especially seemed most susceptible to your powers. They would follow you around for near hours at a time, even going so far as to give you presents that you hadn’t even asked for. On some occasions, the caretakers themselves would tilt their heads and smile, saying what a “cute, charming girl” you were, before letting you get away with things that normally wouldn’t have been allowed.

At first, you thought you liked your Quirk. You were getting more attention than you ever had, and for the first time, you felt loved and desired. You thought that maybe if you’d been born with this power, your parents might not have abandoned you. All of the boys in the orphanage loved you, all of the girls wanted to be your friends, and they would each go to any lengths to make you happy. You could get anything you wanted. Truly, it was the best possible Quirk.

But this too, was a fleeting feeling. Before long, the attention became overbearing. You could never get away from it all, from the looks of desire and adoration. The friendships you’d developed with the children started to feel less genuine and more fabricated. You felt like they weren’t really your friends; that your power was just forcing them to be. These ugly thoughts started to pile on more and more, to the point that you began to resent your Quirk. You couldn’t control the power leaving your body, and it felt as if you were living life trying to navigate through a misty pink haze.

Several months passed, and a visitor came to the orphanage.

“I’ve come to take you in, [Name].”

It was a man with pin-straight black hair and striking red eyes. He introduced himself as Mikael, and declared that he’d already filled out all the required paperwork to adopt you. The orphan children began to cry, lamenting the fact that you would be leaving them. You were both relieved and anxious. Even if you couldn’t control your powers, here, at least, you could rest easy knowing that everyone adored you. You’d spent all of your life in the orphanage, and you were a little afraid to leave.

This guy will probably listen to anything I say anyways…

Mikael held you by the hand and led you outside once you’d bid farewell to everyone. He looked down at you, eyes gleaming, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “I think you’ll find that your Quirk will have no effect on me, descendant of Aphrodite.”

“Aphrodite?”

You stared up at him, confused. He didn’t answer your question and instead chuckled to himself.

“Not to worry. I will teach you how to control your Quirk in due time. You’ve been blessed with a gift, young one. A beautiful power capable of touching the hearts of many.”

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[angels-fantasy]

Sweet Confessions

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Description : After a night out with friends, Bakugou decides to tell you something while you two are eating sweet pastries.

Details : 1.8k words, friends to lovers, cussing, reader and bakugou are over 21! readers looks are not specified in any way, but she is a woman. small mention of alcohol.

this is my first fanfic ever, so please be kind! constructive criticism is welcome :)

When Bakugou received a text message from Kirishima inviting him out to eat with the bunch of other idiots, he immediately declined. Though this was nothing new, and it was something his red-haired friend was already expecting. Which is why he had Mina execute plan b.

Raccoon Eyes

Yo Bakugou! Come out with us tonight. You're always locked away in your apartment. Let loose a little!

Bakugou glared at his phone and typed out a message.

Hell no.

UGH BAKUGOU!! You're literally no fun. I can't believe you'd miss out on the opportunity to see this cutie -.-

A few seconds later, a picture was sent. When Bakugou opened it, he saw that it was a picture of you. He brought his phone closer to his face and looked it over carefully. He noticed you were dressed for the occasion, like everyone else in the background, and you were smiling widely at the camera. Mina probably told you to pose.

He must've been looking at your photo for too long because another text from Mina came in.

You drooling or what lover boy? Hurry up and get here so you can make a move already. We all know you like her 🙄.

Bakugou felt his face flush. It was true, he did have a crush on you. And though he never verbally admitted it to anyone, they all saw right through him. Except you, of course.

He clicked his tongue and typed up a quick response before beginning to get ready.

Shut up. I'll be there in 30.

"Woo! We got him!" Mina cheered, leaning across the table to high-five Kirishima.

You looked between them suspiciously, "What are you guys plotting?"

The pink woman had the audacity to look nervous. "Nothing! Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, okay."

As Mina and Kirishima kept whispering to each other, you squirmed in your seat. You knew the other pro heroes at the table fairly well, but not enough to just strike up a conversation like you would with Mina.

"Hey pretty, what do you look so nervous for?"

You turned to the left and were faced with a yellow haired man.

"Oh, hi Kaminari. I'm not nervous, just hungry. They're taking a little long to bring out the food. Don't you think?" You lied.

Thankfully he was kind of an airhead. "Oh yeah I know right! I'm starving. I'm gonna go ask how much longer!" He said and got up out of his seat, leaving you alone again.

You sighed and took a sip of your drink. Since Mina and Kirishima were too busy talking to each other, and you didn't want to bother talking to anyone else you decided to scroll mindlessly on your phone.

Some time later, the empty seat next to you was pulled out and sat in by Bakugou himself.

Your ears got hot at the sight of him. It wasn't the first time you'd met him, you two were good friends after all. But you never got used to how handsome he was. It was like he got better looking everyday. You began to wonder what he looks like under that button up-

"Hey nightlight, what're you staring at huh?" He asked, snapping you out of your trance.

"Shut up! I told you to stop calling me that." You said with false annoyance.

"It ain't my fault your quirk makes you a nightlight." He smirked. You scrunched your nose to hide your laugh, but unknowingly failed since Bakugou still saw it.

His nickname for you was completely harmless, and came from your quirk which allowed you to produce light from your hands. It wasn't anything comparable to a pro hero's quirk, but it did have its uses.

"Kacchan you made it!" Midoriya exclaimed with his big smile.

Bakugou clicked his tongue, "Shut it nerd, or else I'll leave. Give me a menu, yeah?"

Midoriya laughed off his words and passed him a menu, used to his harsh way of speaking.

Dinner went on without any problems, and the food was delicious. Everyone around the table cracked jokes, brought up old memories, and some people had even began drinking alcohol, including you.

Your drink wasn't very strong, but the few you had was enough to have you a little tipsy. Thankfully, you took an uber to the restaurant, so you didn't have to worry about driving.

During dinner, you and Bakugou engaged in a conversation. Mostly about his hero work and the villains he had caught recently.

Once everyone finally finished their food and drinks, they had all begun to leave. Slowly leaving one by one, some in pairs as well.

While you grabbed your stuff, you got on your phone to call for an uber but got interrupted by Bakugou talking to you.

"How you gettin' home nightlight? You better not even think about driving after drinking." He warned.

You brushed him off, "I'm taking an uber, don't worry!"

He grunted in agreement and was silent for a moment before saying, "I'll give you a ride home. C'mon."

"No it's okay! I can just take the uber home. Besides, didn't you drink too?"

"Hell no I didn't. It's not my thing. Just hurry up and accept my offer alright? This is the only time I'll be this nice."

You smiled at his words, knowing he was lying when he said this was the only time he'd be nice.

"Alright then, let's go!"

He smirked and held out a hand for you to hold, which you did while he walked you to his car. He made sure you didn't fall on the way there, and even opened the door for you.

"Wow what a gentleman you are. Do you open doors for all the ladies?" You teased.

"Nah, so consider it special treatment for you Nightlight."

You smiled shyly and wiggled your feet a bit after he shut your door and got into his own seat.

The ride to your house was quiet, except for the occasional small talk. But it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. It was a comforting feeling for the both of you.

When he pulled up to your place, you turned to him to say goodbye, but instead you said "Um, do you wanna come inside with me? I have some pastries I made earlier..."

He laughed lightly at your words, "Sure, but be ready for me to critique the hell out of those pastries."

You led him inside where you both took off your shoes and coats. You ushered him to sit on the couch and relax while you went to go prepare some drinks and the pastries for the two of you.

While you were gone for a few minutes, Bakugou couldn't help but think about how he was actually inside your house. It wasn't the first time he'd been there, but it was the first time he'd been there alone. Just you and him.

In the midst of his thinking, he felt his phone buzz and he looked at it to see a message from Kirishima.

Shitty Hair

I see you left with your little nightlight ;) Better make a move while you have the chance!!

Bakugou huffed and sent a middle finger emoji, then silenced his phone. He didn't need any distractions.

Finally, you came from the kitchen with a tray in your hands and placed it on the coffee table.

"Here they are! My babies. I hope they're still good, considering they're not as fresh as they were this morning." You said nervously while sitting down next to him.

Bakugou hummed and grabbed a pastry, biting into it. You watched silently as he chewed and swallowed it, anticipating his reaction.

He bit it again, "S' good."

You smiled, "I'm glad you like it. That means a lot coming from you, Bakugou. Your cooking is so good!"

He turned away with a red face, "Of course it is. I'm the best at everything. And why don't you call me Katsuki? We've known each other for years now."

"Oh, I didn't realize you felt that way. Sorry Baku-erm, Katsuki. I just thought you didn't want anyone to call you that, especially since Kirishima doesn't even call you that..."

"Tsk, I feel a lot of ways. You just don't know about it."

Your interest peaked at his words. "Oh yeah? Then would you do the honors by telling me how you feel Katsuki?" You teased.

Bakugou felt himself hesitate before speaking, which is something he never did. Gosh, he couldn't believe this is how he was going to confess to you.

"I like you, idiot."

Your smile fell and your expression formed into one of pure confusion. "What?"

Damn. Maybe that wasn't the right move.

He began to panic and sat up quickly, "Ugh, nothing. Forget about it-"

"No! I'm not forgetting about that." You said while grabbing his hand, pulling him back down onto the couch.

As he sat down next to you in silence, you kept his hand in yours. "You like me Katsuki?"

He huffed and turned away. "So what if I do? It doesn't matter-"

You grew frustrated at his words. "Of course it matters! Stop acting like this is nothing. I need you to talk to me seriously, because I don't want to get my hopes up..."

He looked back at you, only to see your eyes watering. "Hey wait-don't cry. Shit. I'm real fuckin' bad at this, ain't I?"

You laughed and sniffled, "Yeah, a little."

He sighed and squeezed your hand that was holding his.

"I uh, I do really like you. I have for a while. I just didn't wanna fuck up what we already had-" He was cut off by you throwing your arms around his neck tightly.

"You big dummy. I can't believe you thought you'd mess things up."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he still wrapped his arms around your waist. He stayed quiet to listen to what you had to say.

"I actually like you too, y'know. I have for a while now."

He smirked and hugged you tighter. "Thank god. I was almost afraid you'd run out on me."

You snorted and pulled away slowly. "No way in hell would I do that. I just didn't know how to tell you..."

He threw an arm around you and said, "Well I'm glad ya did. 'Cause you're my girl now."

"Don't I get any say in this?" You asked jokingly.

"Nah, you agreed when you said you liked me back."

Extra:

That night, Katsuki decided to sleepover at your place since you two had already made it official. You lent him some mens pajamas you had since you were sure they'd fit him, which he fussed about because he assumed they belonged to another man.

"No Katsuki, these are actually mine believe it or not."

"Tsk, good. If I ever find any other loser's shit in here I'll blow it up."

[ghostbeam]

Oblivi_n.exe | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Touya Todoroki, known as ‘Dabi’ to the league, quirk class: cremation, mech title: Blue. You’re his new handler. 

As Dabi’s new handler, you’re well aware of his history, how frequently he goes through handlers assigned to him. Not that he ever uses them—it’s more complete resistance. You’re not particularly good at your job. Transferred from the PLF for lack of success in handling any of their pilots, you’ve always been far too gentle. You lack authority. Your pilots never respected you. You don’t think Dabi will be any different. You give it a week. 

Notes: okay wow hiiiii it’s been a long time since I’ve posted an actual fic (nearing almost a year now😬) this is something I’ve been working on for a bit. I have mech brain rot curtesy of @streimiv and @hawnks (both of whom this is dedicated to bc there’s no way I could have written this without yapping to them abt it and also mint helped me come up w the acronym for HERO’s) and we’ve all got our own mech fics in the works atm but anywayssssss this is kind of my baby atm but I hope it makes sense it’s very inspired first and foremost by pacific rim and then also NGE (mostly through consumption of YouTube vids bc I haven’t actually watched it pls don’t hate me) it’s a whole mess of things and Dabi is kind of a bitch and reader is slowly coming into herself and at the end of the day they both wanna be metal fused to one another forever (no matter how hard he denies it) also I’m not a huge computer person idk if this title makes sense so don’t make fun of me pls ok anyways I hope u like it!!!!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, pilot!Dabi x handler!reader, there’s no explicit sexual content in this part, not even a kiss sorry guys, mentions of robot gore (exposed wires, insides described as guts), brief descriptions of being trapped inside a small space, descriptions of burning while inside said space, mention of surgery to fashion a metal jaw onto someone, mentions of child abuse (nothing graphic just allusions to the todoroki family and touya’s past), angst, many run on sentences, a small cliff hanger

Words: 7.9k

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 (coming soon)

You are nothing without your machine.

It’s the first rule, the first thing beaten into his brain by his father. You carry the burden of the mech alone, or you’re weak. You don’t exist. 

U.A. raises the best and brightest pilots, navigators, mechanics, and handlers, each one carefully trained to ensure the most important outcome: winning. It should be protection. It should be defense. But if Touya has learned anything at all, it’s that winning means glory. It means worship. It means HERO’s (Human Engineered Robotic Objects) are saints, and pilots are gods. 

 Touya used to be one of those best and brightest before his accident. 

First son to Enji Todoroki, Touya was supposed to be the golden child, the first Todoroki to pilot without a handler. He was supposed to carry the burden alone, something his father couldn’t do, something only one man has ever actually been capable of. 

But Touya is born weak, bad bones, a brain unable to handle all that the mech needs to unload onto it. One too many accidents results in him being expelled from the pilot program, his HERO discarded and collecting dust in its pod, and Touya is promptly transferred to mechanics. 

It should have been a smooth transition. If one kid can’t handle it, the next will. Because they have to. 

He doesn’t take the news well. It’s a fit of tears, a persistent fight, unable to accept the loss of his machine—of his body. Because Touya loves it. What he lacks in strength, he makes up for in pure passion, and despite being unable to handle the burden, there’s no denying that he’s good. He’s almost perfect. 

But almost is not enough for Enji Todoroki, and no matter how hard Touya tries, he’s made up his mind. 

After months of mechanics, Touya makes a decision. When the next fleet of HERO’s is deployed for the next kaiju battle, Touya sneaks in among the chaos, tucked neatly inside the chest of his machine where he belongs. It doesn’t take long for things to go south, for Touya to get caught in the crossfire, losing control of his mech and burning from the inside out. 

It should be an excruciating death, stuck inside a machine made for war, fire raining from above as a battle continues on outside without him. 

But he survives, because what he lacks in strength, he makes up for in resilience, and his mech is programed with solutions to every situation. He’s stuck inside for months before he’s found.

Tomura Shigaraki rescues him, pries open the chest of his mech and pulls him from inside. His group feeds him, takes him in, fashions a new jaw for him made from the metal of his mech, and allows him the decision to join their cause or go back home. 

And since there’s no home to go back to, Touya finds his footing with the league and becomes one of their top pilots. One who vehemently resists any and all handlers.

…

Touya Todoroki, known as ‘Dabi’ to the league, quirk class: cremation, mech title: Blue. You’re his new handler. 

As Dabi’s new handler, you’re well aware of his history, how frequently he goes through handlers assigned to him. Not that he ever uses them—it’s more complete resistance. You’re not particularly good at your job. Transferred from the PLF for lack of success in handling any of their pilots, you’ve always been far too gentle. You lack authority. Your pilots never respected you. You don’t think Dabi will be any different. You give it a week. 

Following closely behind Tenko, formerly Tomura, he quickly explains to you the in’s and out’s of the pilot/handler relationship, along with a warning about Dabi’s resentment toward the whole idea. You try to keep up, but he talks quickly and uses his hands a lot. Even so, you can tell he’s a natural leader, something he had to grow into after overthrowing the man who raised him. His story is a tragic one, and it resonates with you because Tenko came out the other side stronger. Now, the league is a community with a cause, one you really believe in. Even if you and Dabi aren’t the right fit, you still have a place here. 

You follow Tenko into what he calls the garage, a large floor of the abandoned academy that serves as the league’s base, this part of it full of HERO’s and mechanics all focused on the machines in front of them. It’s completely different from how HERO’s were worked on at UA, where you grew up, and even the PLF didn’t have one dedicated floor to this sort of work. You can feel the energy of the room buzzing on your skin, music blasting from old radios and mechanics tossing tools towards one another in a familiar routine. Tomura leads you to Dabi and his HERO, Blue, though you’re instructed not to call it a HERO around him. With goggles over his eyes and gloved hands, he brings two wires from Blue’s ankle together, sighing at the way they spark each time they connect. 

“Dabi.” Tomura calls over the music coming from the radio hanging off of Dabi’s waist. He drops the wires and his gaze flickers toward the two of you. Pushing his goggles up to his forehead, he gives you a once over. His eyes are the brightest you’ve ever seen—kaiju blood blue—and burn scars litter his body. He’s striking in a way you’ve never seen, almost too beautiful to be human. Giving Dabi your name, Tomura explains that you’re taking over as his handler, seeing as he couldn’t keep the last one for more than a couple of days. “She’s your last handler. If you can’t keep this one, then go ahead and fry your brain. See if I care.”

“You say that every time.” Dabi calls from around sucker as Tomura walks away, leaving you alone with your new pilot. 

You just your hand out in a greeting, “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Eyeing your hand, Dabi shakes his head and turns his back to you, picking the two wires back up and connecting them again, despite the same spark from before igniting between the two. He looks back up at Blue, touching his fingers to the slim lines starting at the back of her ankle and running all the way up her leg. You peak over his shoulder at the wiring, noticing that he’s connecting two of the wrong ones. 

“It’s the wrong wire.” You tell him, and he spins around to look at you, tearing his goggles from his face as he scoffs. 

“Here we go.” He sighs with a roll of his eyes, pulling the candy from his lips and tossing it onto the tool cart without a care. “Handler know-it-all bullshit. This is my mech.”  

You push passed him and grab the similarly colored wire from beside a red wire and connect it with the one in Dabi’s right hand. Blue lights up cyan through the thin lines that run along each of its limbs and torso, connecting with the two cameras within its head, which seem to blink before the light reaches them. 

In an instant, you’re being pushed up against the hard metal, a strong arm over your chest—pinning you up against the HERO. Dabi, now having discarded his goggles, looks at you full of white, hot rage. 

“Don’t fucking touch her.” He growls. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity, eyes flickering between the snarl across his lips and his angry gaze. For a beat, you both freeze, the air suddenly charged like you’re waiting for one another to strike. Snapping yourself out of his hypnotic stare, you push against his chest, forcing him to let you go. 

“If I’m going to be you’re handler, you’re going to have to trust me with her.” You remind him. He lets out a harsh laugh, like he can’t believe you would suggest such a ridiculous idea. 

“I don’t trust anything but this machine.” He speaks, turning away from you to seal up the machine’s exposed wires. It’s a challenge you’re willing to accept.

“Well, I’m here to change that.” You tell him, before turning on your heel to leave him alone. 

He thinks he’ll give you a week. 

…

One of the worst parts of being assigned a handler, Touya thinks, is the way that pilot/handler living quarters are set up. He assumes the academy, before it was abandoned and turned into a base for the league, created this sort of set up so that handlers could keep a close eye on their pilots. The handlers Touya has burned through up until now also assumed the same. 

The door that connects both the pilot’s and handler’s dorms doesn’t lock, and all of Touya’s past handlers have taken advantage of this fact. He’s been pulled out of bed far too early, pushed around and commanded and barked at. Most handlers behaved as if pilots belonged to them, which was the sentiment drilled into their brains from being thrown into such a fucked up system at a young age.—unless you were a pilot of status like a Todoroki. While he league dedicates a lot of its time to reversing these ideas, most handlers look at Touya like some kind of challenge, this arrogant pilot begging to be tamed. It never takes long for them to realize how easily he’s able to flip the switch on them. You’ll be no different.

But hours pass and you still haven’t entered. You don’t swing the door open and demand he apologize for his behavior earlier. You don’t try and punish him with training regimes, a command of a set of push ups, a schedule you expect him to follow, an extremely detailed meal plan. The entire evening comes and goes without so much as a sound on the other side of the door so he knows you’re even behind it. 

He falls asleep unnerved by this, waking up late into the night in a cold sweat, expecting you to barge in, rip the covers from his body and demand to train together. When he wakes up (peacefully) the next morning, there’s no sign of you. He rises from his bed, drinks orange juice straight from the carton and eats a candy bar for breakfast. He fiddles with the navigation screen from his mech that stopped working a couple of days ago, tools spread out on the counter in front of him. Once he’s got the thing working again, your knock sounds from the unlocked door between the two of you. He thinks this might be it, the commands he expects to fall from your lips at the ready as he swings the door open, but you stand there, nervous, hands twitching as your eyes finally meet his.

Greeted by a shirtless Touya, hair mused from sleep, cargo pants hung low on his hips, dog tags swinging against his chest, his scars on display, unashamed and proud. The sight of him knocks the breath out of you, and you clear your throat in embarrassment, hoping your state of dreaming comes off as nerves rather than lust. 

“Dabi. Or do you prefer Touya?” You smile. When he doesn’t answer, you continue. “I wanted to see if you wanted to eat breakfast together in the caf. I think we should start over. Yesterday was—”

You’re promptly cut off, “I already ate breakfast.”

With a harsh slam of the door, he leaves you stunned in your room.

You eat alone. 

When you started as a pilot, back when you’d entered UA (a few years about Touya’s accident), you went into it believing you could change the world. The exam had placed you into the position of handler, and you were assigned a pilot who had always seemed a little frightened of you despite your obvious lack of authority. Bringing the fact up to your instructors did nothing. They all assured you that this was the ideal dynamic, that the handler always had the upper hand, but you hated that feeling. You weren’t a team like you expected to be; you were urged to control your pilot. You were there to keep them in line, not to be a pillar of support. The bond was never built on trust, and the soul link was always a looming threat. No matter how many pilots you went through, the link was never held as a gift, but a prison, something you would both be stuck with for the betterment of society, a sacrifice to make. 

You’d been expelled from the handler program after guiding your pilot to help save another in the wreckage of your first battle together, resulting in the damage of your pilot’s HERO. Your pilot was okay, but the other couldn’t be saved, and you were blamed for the damage of both mech’s. 

When you found the league (or when the league found you), you were working with the PLF, but proved to be a weak handler. Every pilot you were assigned to took advantage of your optimistic outlook on the kind of relationship dynamic that pilots had with their handlers. Despite all that you had been through at UA, and with the rest of the pilots you’d been paired with after, you never gave up the hope that handlers and pilots could behave as a team, or, even better, one entity. 

Tenko had taken one look at you and demanded you’d be transferred to the league. There hadn’t been much of a choice in the matter, not that you really cared. You were miserable everywhere else. But when you arrived at the abandoned academy and taken a peak behind the kudzu covered walls where each and every area of the building acted as multiple moving parts in collaboration with one another in order to create one massive system, you realized that this was the future you imagined for yourself—and for the world you lived in.

Tenko saw something in you that day, something you aren’t sure you even see in yourself. And so Dabi was your first task, one that’s proving to be very difficult. But he doesn’t treat you like all the other pilots before had. He doesn’t use you. In fact, it seems like he wants nothing to do with you. And while that’s a problem, it’s still one you can work with. 

You’re broken from your thoughts by the sound of a voice through an overhead intercom asking for everyone to meet on the first floor of the academy at their earliest convenience. Judging by the quick movements of those around you, you figure you’d better head downstairs as soon as possible. 

The meeting on the first floor makes you very aware of just how small the league really is. While it’s definitely not a tiny organization, it’s still much smaller than both UA and the PLF. With everyone piled up like this in one group, you realize it feels more like a community, and the hum of conversation that surrounds you comforts you in a way you’ve never felt within the walls of any other academy before. 

There’s discussion about the upcoming mission, one which may be the league’s most ambitious yet; the plan to hijack a mech and kidnap a pilot may be a little unorthodox compared to the league’s past missions, but the jaded pilot they’re targeting has a high chance of joining the cause. Or that’s what they have assumed. As the bodies move and speak around you, it strikes you how different this meeting is from any other meeting you’ve ever been a part of. Tenko is less a dictator and more a wrangler for the disembodied voices of your peers. 

You don’t know much about his story, save for the vague details you’ve heard, but Tenko’s status as a lone handler is something you find yourself curious about. If he’s able to work without a pilot, why can’t you? It’s an idea you keep in your back pocket, one you think you can fall back on if things with Touya don’t work out. But you want them to work out. So badly. 

You aren’t sure what it is about him, but he’s reignited that spark inside of you. You know he’d rather you give up, and maybe the you from a couple of months ago would have, but something about him—and this place—won’t let you leave. 

As you observe the meeting, you take the time to look around the room, taking in your peers and their attentive faces as they listen to Tenko intently. You turn to your right, your eyes meeting a pair of blue ones, impossible to miss. Dabi holds your stare for what feels like ages, and when your colleagues erupt in a fit of many simultaneous discussions, you tear your eyes from his to observe the commotion. When you glance back in his direction, he’s gone. 

You don’t seem him again after that. You train with other handlers, get to know your peers a little better. Everyone else seems to be welcoming, and most offer you sympathy when they find out you’re Touya’s new handler. From what you can gather, he’s had his fair share of them, all of which have quit or left in hysterics due to his harsh nature. When you ask around about where he could be, you’re told that he’s most likely in the garage, a place you assume he’s in more often than not.

You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to the garage. A place so completely different, so against the ideas and beliefs of any other academy you’ve been a part of, the chaos and community within is so foreign to you. You find Touya with Blue, working inside of her chest, where the cockpit is. 

“Touya!” You call up to him and watch as he peaks his head over the edge of her metal plating. Annoyance falling across his face, he jumps down from where he stands, landing hard on his feet in front of you. 

“What are you doing here?” He questions, his figure so tall and imposing above you. He’s not particularly muscular, not even all that tall compared to Tenko, but he makes you feel small regardless, in more ways than one. Rolling your shoulders back, you stare straight into his eyes, unwilling to back down. 

“I figured you wanted your space today.” You explain, as Touya moves around you to get to his rolling cart of tools, forcing you to turn toward him and follow him if you want him to hear you. “I know adjusting to a new handler is rough, and I never want to make you uncomfortable. But I was thinking we could try some of those pilot/handler bonding exercises. It might be good to start training like some of the others do.”

He drops the wrench in his hand onto his cart with a loud thud, turning around toward you with a look of disbelief on his face. “Pilot/handler bonding exercises? They really brainwashed the shit out of you at UA, huh?”

At the mention of your past academy, your eyes widen in surprise. You had no idea he knew about that. Clearing your throat in order to compose yourself, you speak again, “I left UA for a reason. I have no attachment to their methods, but you guys do the same stuff here, so what’s the issue?”

“The issue is that I never asked for a fucking handler in the first place, especially not one as eager as you.” He spits, “Sure, you’re understanding now, all that bullshit about ‘giving me space,’ but the moment you get a lick of power over me, you’ll change. You’re not different.”

“I don’t want power over you. This is an equal exchange. Pilot’s and handlers are meant to be a team—” You try and argue, but he doesn’t let you finish. 

“That’s what they told you, right? We’re a team, and as teammates, you make sacrifices. And it doesn’t matter if one of you turns into the other’s braindead dog because that’s your place.” His words hit you hard, the exact thought process you went through when leaving UA, completely disillusioned with their idea of “teamwork.” He’s right, and you know it, but since coming here, you thought that wasn’t how it had to be.

“Look, trust me, I get—” You’re cut off again.

“You went to UA! There’s no trusting you.” He scoffs, “It’s not like you’ll last here, anyway.”

“You are such a hypocrite! You’re from UA!” You retort, throwing your arms up in desperation. “You can hate me all you want. You can resist and resist and fry your brain ‘till there’s nothing left, but I believe in this shit. And you don’t get to tell me that I don’t, or tell me I’ll turn into something I worked so hard to get away from.”

Touya stands there, surprised by your outburst, completely unaware that you were capable of all of that. He doesn’t say anything back, and you roll your eyes. “So fuck you, and, by the way, her angel port is smoking.”

At your words, he turns in a rush, seeing the smoke billowing from Blue’s chest as he climbs his way up her form. Once inside his machine, he extinguishes the port and allows himself to relax. There are two things on his mind in this moment: how you could have possibly known it was the angel port without being inside of Blue’s chest and how, for the first time in a long time, he feels bad for his handler.

But for you, it’s the first time you’ve ever held your own against a pilot before, and that feels good.

…

Something feels weird.

Off, unsettling, strange.

He realizes, much to his dismay, that it’s your absence. Despite only having you around for such a short time, Touya has realized that your lack of presence now feels wrong. He hates it. He hates you. 

He can’t find you. You haven’t knocked on his door. You’re not in the caf, not the garage, not the sparring floor, not in your room. And he did check—without knocking. 

He’s not even sure how he can feel an absence. You aren’t a regular part of his life, and he never wanted you to be. But he feels all fucked up.

During training, Touya jams Blue’s halo core and she leaks vibrant neon from between her ribs. It takes him half an hour to get her reboot her system and rips one of the cables attached to the back of his suit in the process. He spends the afternoon cleaning HERO fluid off the sparring floor. 

During repairs, he shocks himself over and over while trying to fix her core, fingers burning from the sparks each time he arranges the wires inside. The cameras in her eyes won’t work from the reboot, and Blue won’t let him unlock the lens panel to fix it. It’s almost like she’s mad at him too.

He’s a complete mess. It’s your fault. He has no choice but to go looking for you. Again.

He searches every wing of the academy before concluding that you’re in your room. He barges through the joint door, spotting you at the counter in your tiny kitchen. You’re surprised by the intrusion, a frightened gasp falling from your lips as you jump in your seat. You turn toward him, prepared with angry words on your tongue, but Touya speaks first.

“You’re not getting an apology out of me, so don’t expect it.” He begins, moving to stand in front of your swiveling kitchen stool as he looks down at you. “But I’m willing to be civil with you, so we don’t have to do this shit anymore.”

You’re not exactly sure what “this shit” is, but Touya looks a little worse for wear at the moment, so you don’t question it. He places a tray from the caf down in front of you that you hadn’t noticed in his hands upon arrival, says nothing else, and turns to leave the room. After shutting your joint door, you look down at the tray of food, noticing one of his suckers placed onto a vacant compartment of the tray. 

You’re greeted the next morning with a knock on your door, Touya dressed in his pilot’s suit on the other side as you swing the door open. “C’mon. You’re gonna watch me train today.”

You watch him turn around to leave, expecting you to follow. You rush to pull on your combat boots and grip your dog tags in your fist as you rush to catch up to him. He doesn’t spare you a glance as you fall into step beside him, taking a look around his dorm before he leads you through the exit door. 

“You need to get a feel for my fighting style.” He explains as you walk down the corridor. “I’m not saying I’ll listen to you when it comes down to it, but it’s important for you to know.”

You nod, agreeing that you should definitely observe him inside of his HERO. By understanding his moves, you’ll be able to understand the way he thinks, and you’ll be able to help him in actual combat if needed. He’s already said he won’t listen to you, but it won’t stop you from trying. He stops abruptly, turning to look at you, and you stop with him. 

“If we’re gonna do this, it’ll be on my terms. I’m not your dog.” He tells you, seriously. He eye’s you up and down, taking in your expression as you nod at his words. “If anything, you’re mine.”

He begins walking again, leaving you in your spot, irritation filling your chest as you watch him, smug. “Asshole.” You curse under your breath.

“What’d you say?” He barks, turning to look at you abruptly.

“You’re an asshole.” You speak louder. He walks back toward you, making sure to tower over you intimidatingly as he looks down at you in annoyance. His eyes flicker down to the tags around your neck before hooking a finger on the chain and pulling you closer. 

“Watch it.” He drops the chain and walks away again. 

You follow him to the sparring floor, and he shows you where to go to watch. Stood behind a large window that looks over the sparring area, other members of the base watch the HERO’s engage in combat below. You spot Tenko and he motions for you to stand beside him. 

“I knew he’d warm up to you.” He comments. The last of the previous battle finishes and you watch the two enormous machines retreat to the sides of the area, their pilots emerging from their chests with their handlers rushing to the bottom of the mech’s in support. 

“He hasn’t. He’s not.” You shake your head. You aren’t sure why you deny it, if it’s some way to keep your expectations low or if there’s some kind of embarrassment aspect to the whole thing. Whatever is happening between you and Touya feels intimate and private, something that the two of you need to figure out for yourselves, not something meant for the eyes of others.

“Hm. Okay.” Tenko shrugs. “Guess not.”

You hadn’t noticed Touya enter his mech at all. You see the swing of one giant mechanic arm, too close to the window you stand behind, and you’ve shifted your full attention to the scene at hand. 

The enormity of the room surprises you, despite the fact that you had seen it just moments before. But when you’re truly looking at it, watching these huge machines go at each other, the way the ground shakes, the leaves outside shake, the deep forrest clear in view from the wall that opens out to the greenery (the lack of a wall is likely from the academy’s abandoned state, but it’s a good feature to have on the sparring floor when giant robots are toppled over onto various surfaces).

The way Blue moves is electric, mechanic movements almost feel fluid with the way that Touya pilots her, easily dodging attacks from their opponent and moving around them in the most graceful way a giant machine can. It’s beautiful, unlike any fighting style you’ve ever seen in a HERO before. 

“He’s showing off for you.” Tenko observes from beside you. You don’t argue with him, only because you can’t dispute it. This is your first time seeing him in action. It makes your heart beat out of your chest. There’s this ache like you should be inside with him, cables connected to both of you, tucked neatly inside of Blue together. 

It doesn’t take him long to get his opponent on their back, the heavy thump against the floor jostling the ant-like figures on the ground below, handlers waiting for their pilots to finish. It goes on like this for a while, his training, using different methods of combat and winning each time. He’s amazing, and you can tell why his reputation is the way it is, second only to Tenko, who you have yet to see in action. 

When he finishes his last session, you watch Blue walk to the edge of the room, and Touya emerges from her chest, jumping the long way down her body without any issue. You watch as he looks toward the window you’re behind. He waves at you, an acknowledgment of your presence, and you wave back, though you aren’t sure he can actually see you.

It’s the beginning of everything for the two of you. You think Tenko was right.

He lets you stay with him afterwards while he does maintenance on Blue. He helps you climb up the path to her chest, hauling you over the edge to sit inside with him. He turns around abruptly, holding a hand up before allowing you to walk any further.

“Do not touch anything.” He warns, completely serious, before letting his hand fall and allowing you further into the cockpit. You take in your surroundings, the guts of his machine, analyzing the different control panels and screens that line the interior. You can tell he takes good care of her, and he spends a lot of time in here. It looks lived in, stickers stuck to metal plating and pieces of him all over. He’s made a second home in between the ribs of his mech. You feel a little jealous, though you aren’t sure of what. 

The two of you sit against the left side of Blue’s interior, waiting for her updates to finish, the loading screen on each of her monitors display a fire graphic that grows with the increasing percentage on screen. Between you and Touya sits an opened bag of sour gummies, which Touya picks out the lemon flavor and drops the candy in your palm with each new handful he gathers. 

“How do you know all this stuff?” He questions around a mouthful of sour cherry, “Like, the real names for things, where stuff goes, how to fix them. That day with the wires…”

“I spent a lot of time around mechanics at UA, and then also at the PLF.” You explain, picking the yellow colored candy from his open palm as you speak. “I couldn’t connect with other handlers. I didn’t like how they thought, or how they viewed the pilot/handler relationship. Mechanics were mostly neutral, and they loved these machines like nothing else. They reminded me of why I joined UA in the first place.”

“Hm.” He nods, thinking about your past. “Well, I guess if you spent so much time around actual professionals…I could maybe use your help sometimes in the garage.”

“Really?” You question excitedly, a spark lighting up your eyes as you swerve your head toward him. He feels something tight in his chest at the sight.

“Yes, but only on the outside. I don’t want you messing with her insides, yet.” He establishes. “And never alone. I have to be there at all times.”

“Of course, yes, oh my god. Touya!” You smile, gripping his shoulder firmly, a gesture of thanks, communication of how much his trust means to you. “I’ll be so careful with her, I promise.”

“Yeah, well, you have no other choice.” He shrugs, throwing another pile of candy in his mouth. “I’ll kill you if anything happens to her.”

You take the threat seriously, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s realized that you’ve wormed your way into his life and he hadn’t even noticed just how entangled you were now. 

As the weeks go by, you spend a lot more time together. You work on blue together, and you rest inside of her chest, sometimes allowing yourself to drift off against his shoulder on especially tiring days. He sits beside you in the caf, and while he doesn’t always say much, the feeling of his arm against yours is comforting. You can tell people are starting to notice, and they’re starting to talk. You’re being dubbed someone who’s tamed him, but you know how far from the truth that is. 

Despite your differences and the petty arguments that come up when Touya feels like you’re intruding on his independence, you’re growing attached. You wonder if he is, too.

…

Spending time together in the garage becomes the new normal for the two of you. Being in each other’s dorms feels far too intimate, so you always meet in the garage. This way, one of you is always busy doing something with your hands. There’s no room for any strange feelings in the pit of your stomach to seep in. 

You sit in the crook of Blue’s neck, watching Touya as he repairs the lenses in her “eyes.” Blue has three pairs of eyes; in her head, her chest, and down near her hips, which all footage is projected onto monitors inside the cockpit so that Touya has a full view of what’s in front of him. 

He’s so peaceful while he works, you’ve noticed, almost like he goes somewhere else completely. It’s a part of him you don’t think many people get to see, a piece of him just for you, and you want to be selfish with it.

“Can I ask you something?” You question, leaning your head back against the metal. “But you can’t get mad.”

He looks up at you, still fiddling with a lens, a mocking look on his face. “I’m not making any promises.”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the possible fallout of the question you’re about to ask, “What do you think about the soul link?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’d never do it.”

You nod your head in understanding, “yeah, I get it. It’s weird, right? The idea that someone else would be inside your brain.”

“It’s fucking invasive.” He says.

“You know, at UA it always felt like a threat, you know. Like, it was a way for a handler to control their pilot, not a tool or a bond like it should be.” You begin, thinking back to how you viewed the soul link back then. You didn’t like how the bond was presented as this power that a handler holds over their pilot, a threat to keep their pilot in line. But, you could understand how the link could be used for good. “But since coming here, I can tell it’s not all bad. People trust each other here. I mean, there’s obviously some people who abuse it, but, for the most part, everyone seems to understand what it really means to be a pilot and a handler.”

You’re mostly just thinking out loud, but Touya doesn’t say anything to your ramblings. He continues to work on the lenses, and you can gather that he doesn’t want to talk about the subject anymore. But you can’t let it go, yet. There’s something you’ve been worried about since you met him.

“And what about…your brain? They say when a handler and a pilot don’t complete the soul link, the pilot will eventually fry their brain.” You can’t help it. You think about it all the time, what will happen when he can’t take it anymore. The closer you get to him, the realer it feels. “Are you ever worried about that?”

He looks at you, an expression you can’t quite make out fall across his face as he stares. It’s almost soft, the way he looks at you in this moment. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

The truth is, this is a reality Touya has accepted. He’s not afraid to die, and he never has been. He’ll probably die inside of Blue, and he has no problem with that fact. He doesn’t need to be around for long, just enough to show his dad what he’s capable of.

“C’mon.” You stare. “That’s not fair.”

“Shit. I left some of the screws for this in my dorm.” He curses. He looks where you lounge, tucked into Blue’s shoulder. “Keep an eye on her, okay?”

You watch him jump down, much higher than his usual height at her chest, but he lands anyway. He doesn’t turn to look back at you as he jogs away. You climb up the side of Blue, and look at the lenses in her head. They’re already repaired, and you know Touya used the excuse of missing screw just so he wouldn’t have to talk about the soul link.

But it’s the first time he’s ever left you alone with Blue before. 

…

As the mission draws closer, Touya throws himself into training. You’re on the training floor with him most days, standing behind that big glass panel as you watch him spar with his peers. He still doesn’t let you down on the floor with him until he’s full out of Blue and close enough to the edge of the sparring floor to get to you. You’re not allowed in the actual training area, and even though he says he doesn’t want you clinging to him, it’s really because he wants to keep you safe. Seeing your human body near the giant machines that are HERO’s makes him want to grab you and keep you inside of Blue’s chest forever. 

You can tell all the training is taking a toll on him. With an excess of headaches and the occasional nosebleed, you continuously get into arguments about him cutting back on training inside of Blue. There are other ways for him to prepare that don’t involve his fragile brain being hooked up to an entity that takes so much. He doesn’t listen.

Later and later into the night, as your fellow pilots and handlers disperse and return to their rooms to sleep, Touya stays inside of Blue, testing her movements and sparring against test dummies and obstacles. Once you and Touya are the only two left on the sparring floor, you speak into the intercom attached to your head.

“Touya, I think you should take a break.” You tell him, “It’s late. Get some rest and then we can pick it back up in the morning.”

There’s a pause, then, “I’m gonna stay for another hour. Get some sleep. I’ll be done soon.”

“No, Touya. You’ve been at it for hours. You barely took a break for dinner. C’mon.” 

“You know, you sound awfully like a handler trying to tell their pilot what to do.” He teases, but you can hear the irritation in his voice.

“You are insufferable. I’m worried about you.” You groan.

“I’m fine. Go sleep.” He insists.

“If I find out you aren’t out of here in an hour—” Your line is promptly cut off, leaving behind static in your ear. You sigh and throw your com to the side. You hope he’s telling the truth.

With one last look at Blue, you make your way out of the training floor and find your way back to your dorm. 

Touya doesn’t answer the door when you knock the next morning. With a frustrated groan, you leave your dorm and head to the training floor, assuming he woke up early to get some extra hours in. The closer you get the the floor, you notice other members of the base rushing in front of you. Feeling panicked, you pick up the pace, jogging toward the training room to make sure something isn’t wrong. You collide with a body in front of you, nearly falling to the floor as you steady yourself. Toga stands in front of you, her cheeks red and eyes glossy as she explains something your mind can’t catch up to understand. The only thing you recognize is his name, and you’re running toward the training floor in an instant. 

You watch as Blue stomps around the area, her arms swinging in all directions, losing her footing as she moves. Knowing you can’t do anything on the floor, you make your way up to the overlook, finding Tenko yelling into your intercom. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” You ask him, pulling the headset off of his head and placing it on yours instead. 

“He’s out of fucking control. He won’t answer. I don’t even think he’s conscious in there.” He tells you, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in anxiety. “You’re not linked yet, are you?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes in frustration as you try to think. You know it’s the only way. You have to take some of the burden off of him, make him share it with you. It’s the only way he’ll survive right now. “Do you think you can get into Decay right now and knock him down somehow?”

He hesitates, “I can get inside. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to touch him at all.”

“You have to.” You plead, desperately. “I just need him down for ten seconds, tops. As long as I can get inside of her, I can save him.”

He looks at you like you’re insane, and maybe you are. But you know you can’t live with yourself if you don’t try something. Tenko nods.

“I can do it.” He tells you. You rush passed him, following the stairs down to the training area. You feel Tenk grab your wrist firmly. “You bring him back, okay?”

“I will.” You nod. 

He dodges Blue’s movements, weaving between her legs as he finally makes it to Decay. It takes a few moments for him to connect, but he goes straight for Blue. You watch the giant machines fight one another, but it’s clear that Blue’s lack of control hinders much of her ability. She needs Touya just as much as he needs her. It’s tough for Decay to dodge her swinging arms, but Tenko manages to knock her down quickly.

The fall shakes the room, but you waste no time running for Blue. Climbing over the side of her, you manage to touch your thumb to the pad on the outside to open her chest up. She begins to stand up, and you slip down, grabbing onto a bar beneath her ribcage. You let out a frustrated groan as you try to pull yourself up over the edge of the cockpit. Finally making it over, you see Touya sitting there, still connected to his pilot’s chair, eyes glazed over and blood gushing from his nose. You push the button that closes the panel in Blue’s chest, and you’re suddenly alone with him. 

Touya’s body is being jerked around by the movement of the mech, and you hang onto the walls of her chest in order to make your way to him. You situate yourself in his lap, taking his head in your hands as you look at him with tears in your eyes.

“You fucking asshole! I told you to take a break.” You sob, resting your head against his as you try and think of what to do next. “Touya, please. Please, baby, I need to you come back. Just fucking come back so I don’t have to do this without your permission, please.”

With no response from him, you wipe your tears, coming to terms with the fact that you have to complete the soul link now, or he’ll die. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Touya. Please forgive me.”

The soul link isn’t exactly an action so much as it is a feeling, an experience. There’s no trigger for it, no way to make it happen. It just begins. 

It’s Touya, aged thirteen, wild, chubby-cheeked and happy, in the pilot’s seat of his father’s HERO. It’s his drive, his determination, his anger, his hurt. It’s the day he snuck into battle, the day he couldn’t get out, flesh burning and fusing to the metal walls of his mech, the feeling now deep in your skin. It’s you, aged fifteen, hopeful, alive, shaking hands with your first pilot. It’s your heart, much too big and much too open for your line of work, it’s your passion, your fire, every piece of you that was broken down again and again until there was nothing left. It’s Touya and it’s you, and every single bit of your souls now tied together in one big knot. 

There’s nothing but darkness. And then there’s screaming. And then you can hear everything. Every thought running through Touya’s brain right now echoes in your head as you slowly come back to yourself. He can hear the same of yours.

It’s overwhelming at first, to have two sets of thoughts in your head at the same time, but you manage to focus. You can feel an anger inside of you like you’ve never felt. It’s almost like it’s your own. You need to come back. You’ve lost control of Blue.

In an instant, you feel yourself come back to your body, now straddling Touya like before, you feel his arms shoot around you and he tucks his chin over your shoulder to pilot Blue like he’s used to doing. He pays no mind as he presses up against you, but you feel your heart rate increase at the closeness. 

He’s so close.

I have to be. You’re in my lap.

Shit. I didn’t think—

Clearly.

I can’t fucking believe you. I told you we weren’t going to do this.

You were dying!

Then you fucking let me!

You’re jostled around in his lap for a moment as he stops Blue from destroying any more of the training floor, and Touya wraps an arm around your waist, holding you steady.

He gains control of her quickly, moving her toward the edge of the room. You tuck your face into his neck, not wanting to distract him and keeping your thoughts at bay so you don’t overwhelm him. He powers Blue down, severing the neural connection between the two of you, and shoves you from his lap and into the pilot’s chair like you’ve burned him. He storms out of the cockpit, climbing out of his machine and leaving you inside. You think about the argument you had within each other’s head, how Touya would have rather died than be linked to you like he is now. 

You slump against the seat, comforted by the metal cage you’ve been left inside of. 

[msmk11]

James and His Damned Owl

James Potter x gn!muggle!reader

Word count: 1.5k

CW: Mentions of food/eating, mentions of alcohol, ornithophobia

Summary: Having a wizard boyfriend is strange to say the least. While it certainly has its perks, it also has its quirks… In particular, you’re not very much a fan of the magic world’s choice in pets.

Author’s Note: So you know how this type of fanfic is called self-insert, well this is the most self-insert fic I’ve ever written. Reader is me, I am a reader. BIRDS ARE SCARY, okay?! Anyways, this fic is the silliest one I’ve written so far and I had so much fun doing it! I hope you enjoy :)

Having a boyfriend who is a wizard is strange in a number of ways. Truthfully, when James first confessed his secret to you a few weeks ago, you laughed right in his face. It wasn’t until he pulled out his wand and literally started doing magic in front of you that you believed him. It’s safe to say you were in shock, and you’re not quite sure that feeling has faded yet. After James gave you a day or two to process the news, his magic usage around you went from 0 to 100. More times than you’d like to count, your mischievous boyfriend has scared the ever-loving shit out of you by randomly appearing in your home or on the street out of thin air. Now too, instead of walking or driving to your house like a normal person, James will randomly tumble out of your fireplace in a burst of green flames. Not only did you nearly die on the spot the first time it happened, but you’ve since bitched to James many times about how the soot he tracks in is ruining your very nice rug.

The moving pictures he has gives you the creeps, you find it laughable that he prefers using a quill and ink to a pen, and your head swarms every time James mentions some spell, potion, or magical creature whose name sounds like complete and utter gibberish.

But, despite your groans and whining, you do really think that James being a wizard is super cool. Like a child seeing a magician, you’re constantly begging your boyfriend to do different things with his magic so you can ooh and aah over them. When you found out James is an ani- animungal? Anamatronic?- the thing where you can turn into an animal, you were even more ecstatic. Admittedly, you may have once or twice begged James to assume his deer form so that you could ride on his back through the woods like some Disney princess probably would.

Magic has its perks too outside of your own personal entertainment. For example, now, instead of having to do dishes when one of the two of you cook dinner, a flick of James’ wand has them cleaning themselves. Other chores are now taken care of similarly, leaving you with a lot more free time to be with your lovely boyfriend.

This evening is one perfect example. After getting off work, you were surprised to find James waiting outside your office, a bouquet of pretty pink flowers in hand. The evening sun rested lovingly on his peaceful face so that his brown skin seemed to actually glow. It was a wonderful surprise and your trip back to his flat was much more pleasant than usual- defined by clasped hands swinging between you and teasing conversation.

The night only seemed to get better when you arrived at James’ place and were met with the delicious smell of garlic and pasta. The table was set nicely, and your two plates were already prepared, kept warm by the wonders of magic.

Things were perfect. Maybe a little too much so.

******

When you and James finish dinner, he stands and grabs your plates. Usually, you would protest- claiming that whoever didn’t cook has to do dishes- but you know magic will take care of it all. James then kisses you quick before taking a trip to the bathroom.

As you’re sitting at the kitchen table still, reveling in your full belly and nursing your glass of wine, your peace is rudely disrupted. With it being pleasantly warm out this evening, James had left the windows open. This seemed like a great idea until now- when a big brown owl comes swooping into the kitchen.

While anyone would surely be startled by the bird’s random appearance, you are especially so because you’re terrified of birds. The bloodcurdling scream you let out is akin to someone who is dying- but in your mind is appropriate for the situation at hand. A string of curses leave your mouth as you jump up and hesitantly back away from the owl perched on one of the kitchen chairs. You grope for the counter behind you, never taking your eye off the owl as you maneuver around the island to hide behind it.

Of course, your scream has resulted in a panicked James and shouts of your name. He comes barreling into the kitchen in only his shirt and boxers, wand at the ready. He whips his head around, looking for you and the supposed threat that caused you to scream. He calls your name again and your head pops up from behind the counter.

“Lovey? What is it?” He asks anxiously.

You whimper a little and, with a shaky hand, point at the big bird across the room. When James sees what you’re pointing at, he visibly relaxes and lowers his wand.

“Oh, him? That’s just Hootie,” he tells you casually, “Probably should’ve mentioned I have a pet owl.”

You stare at him in complete and utter shock then shrilly squeal, “How’d you forget to mention that you have a pet owl?!!”

James shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly and places his wand on the counter, walking towards you, “Well, I guess I didn’t really think too much about it. It’s very common in the magic world to have one, so I didn’t consider that it’d be abnormal. It’s just like having a dog in the muggle world.”

You don’t respond with any English, instead sputtering anxiously.

James crouches beside you, “So are you going to come out now? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You shake your head no aggressively and shrink into his side, “No way, Jamie. Birds are terrifying- with their big beaks and beady eyes. And who knows what diseases they carry- no offense.”

Your boyfriend wraps his arm around you and soothingly rubs your side, “Awe, sweetheart, I didn’t know you’re afraid of birds.”

“Oh yes, very. Have been since I was five and a bird pooped on me at the zoo.”

You don’t miss the chuckle and small smirk on James’ face and huff, pulling away.

“It’s not funny Jamie! It’s a real fear!”

He puts his hands up in surrender, “I know, I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is a real fear. But it’s an irrational one, you know.”

You huff again and roll your eyes, grumbling under your breath. James then stands and stretches out his hands, “Here, why don’t you come meet Hootie and see birds aren’t all so bad.”

You hesitantly take his hand and stand. You slowly walk out from behind the counter and only make it a few steps before the damned bird shifts, ruffling its feathers.

You squeal again and let go of James’ hand, this time hiding behind his broad frame, “I don’t think I can do this Jamie.”

He turns around and looks at you softly before pulling you into a tight hug. You relax a little against his chest, but your eyes never leave the owl over his shoulder, “I believe in you, lovey. Why don’t you let me go first, to show you that Hootie won’t hurt you, and then we can try together, yeah?”

You hesitantly reply with an okay.

James lets go of you and turns around. He walks over to the brown owl easily and coos a little, petting its back softly as it nuzzles into his touch. The owl then juts its head out, seeming to be waiting for something. James, apparently, knows what this means, and reaches behind him to grab some sort of pellet out of the cabinet and feed it to the bird.

“Okay, sweetheart. Now why don’t you come over and give Hootie a pet.”

He walks over and grabs your hand. Your smaller one fits into his nicely and you grip onto it with a death-grip. The two of you slowly make your way over to the owl and stand beside it. You sort of half stand behind James while still holding his hand. Fingers intertwined, James slowly starts moving your joint arms out, “Ready?

You very slightly shake your head and then your palm makes connection with the soft feathers of Hootie. The bird stares at you with its big eyes and, like it did for James, nuzzles into your touch.

Some of the tension in your shoulders eases a little and you decide that maybe birds aren’t so bad.

As you pull away, James squeezes your hand gently, “See? You did it. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.”

Just as you’re beginning to feel proud of yourself too, the owl shuffles a little and rotates its head 180, so it’s no longer staring at you. The range of motion it has terrifies you and you scream again, running down the hall away from James and his damned owl.

[birdy-bat-writes]

Coffee for Mrs. Seresin?

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem!Reader

Content warnings: Pining, fluff, and uh.... caffeine? Mild swears, Maybe some banter. I have no clue what qualifies as a warning anymore, I'm so sorry, y'all:') Also, sorry for the spelling, grammar, and punctuation errors.

A/n: Should I be doing math right now? Should I actually be sleeping right now? Yes and yes, BUT no one can blame me. I was reading an adorable Jake Seresin Fanfic by @roosterbruiser (everyone go read Millie's work, it's gold) and I got an idea and I had to write it somewhere so here:D

You were pretty used to people assuming you and Jake were an item. When an attractive guy and an attractive girl have been friends since college and spend as much time together as you both do, you suppose it's a fair conclusion for people to draw, but an incorrect one, nonetheless. And you really wish people would stop asking because every time you had to explain to someone how you were "just friends," it ate you a little more inside.

The fact of the matter was this: you were in love with your best friend. And it sucked.

You stepped out of your car and strode along the stone walkway amidst the grass up to Rooster's door and rang the bell. It was a cute little townhouse with a blue exterior and you often poked fun at him for how much it resembled a little wooden birdhouse with its colorful walls and white wood-rimmed windows. You suppose it's fitting since Rooster lives there and yes, he hates that gag. It also serves as your group's prime hang-out spot, which is why you're here now.

The door opened to reveal Natasha, wrapped up in an oversized sweatshirt with her hair thrown up in a claw clip. "Yes, you brought chips!"

"Yeah, you didn't really specify which flavor so I just got them all." You said, walking in. "Guests should start coming in an hour, right?"

"Mmm-hmm." The 7 of you were throwing a casual party to celebrate Jake's promotion to Lieutenant-Commander. You saw Nat lift her eyes and smirk. "And there he is, the man of the hour." You turned around to see Jake at the end of the staircase.

"Well, hello, Mr. Man-of-the-hour," you teased, setting down the numerous bags of chips you were holding.

"Glad you're finally here, N/N. I was starting to think you were going to leave me here to fend for myself against Rooster's ABBA medley." Jake wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. It was always like this. Him giving you butterflies you had to ignore because there was inevitably some other girl.

"Oh please, I would never leave you to fend for yourself against Rooster. I would join him and together, we'd overpower you and make you listen to ABBA forever." You grinned up at him and he narrowed his eyes, lips quirking up at the corners.

"Betrayal never comes from an enemy, I see," he shook his head at you. "I will leave you, lovely ladies, to yourselves. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen." You watched Jake walk away and disappear around the corner. When you turned back, Natasha was still wearing that smug smile she always did when she saw you two. You knew it was coming.

"Nix, I'm telling you, if you say it, I'm salting your coffee." She knew you were messing with her but one of these days, you might just do it.

"All I'm saying is, shoot your shot! Come on, just once before you go settle for this rando."

"Mark is not a rando. We know him from accounting!"

"Exactly, Y/N, we know him from accounting. You don't even like the guy, heck you hardly know him."

"Exactly. That's why we're going to get to know each other at this party. I need to get over this crush, now. I can't keep pining for a guy who has no interest in me," you saw Natasha's mouth open as if to say something and you quickly jumped in, "And don't say he's interested. He's been with other girls multiple times and never once looked at me like that."

"True, I won't argue there. He's never looked at any of those girls the way he was just looking at you either." She took her hair out of her claw clip and it fell onto her shoulders in soft waves. "And ever since we all got back from that mission 3 months ago, he hasn't been with anyone. I really think he's got a thing for you but you're right. You should give this Mark guy a shot if you think he'd be good for you."

You smiled softly. You met Jake's friends when you were in San Diego a few years back. About a year ago, you were permanently stationed here and luckily for you, Jake was too. He settled here about 4 months before you. All his friends became your friends, and you've truly never known a better group of people. And they'd never known someone who could wrangle Hangman, so you were quite quickly welcomed to the group.

You and Pheonix tossed your sweatshirts upstairs and fixed up the last bits of your outfits just in time for guests to start arriving. You even managed to slip in a game of cards with Fanboy, Bob, and Payback before you joined a crowd in the living room. You barely felt the tap on your shoulder. If it wasn't followed by your name, you surely would have missed it. You turned on your heel to see Mark from accounting, facing you with a hand in his pocket.

"Mark, hi!"

"Hey. How are you?" His voice was almost monotone. His eyes roamed the room rather than meeting yours. He had just gotten here and he already sounded like he wanted to be somewhere else. You could have sworn he sounded more lively when you met.

"I'm good. I thought you weren't coming till later."

"I got off work early."

"Ah, well that's great." This guy really wasn't giving you much to work with. "Can I get you something to drink? There are drinks and food in the kitchen." That actually went somewhere. You headed to the kitchen where the conversation just barely picked up.

In the distance, Jake noticed your prolonged absence. As silly as it was, Jake liked knowing you were near him. You didn't have to be attached at the hip but he liked knowing he could saunter over to you and escape into your laugh when you came up in his mind. Which was a lot.

He scanned the room for you and stopped when he caught your frame in the kitchen...with some guy? Who the hell was that?

"Damn, if looks could kill...," Rooster muttered. "Do you not like that dude or something?"

"I don't even know who he is," Jake said through gritted teeth. "What's his name?"

"No clue. Pheonix?"

As if on cue, Natasha spoke up. "That, my friends, is Mark from accounting." Both the boys looked at her with questioning eyes.

"Okay, but who is he?" Something in Jake's voice was different now. Both of them looked at him.

"Careful there, Bagman, you almost sound jealous. He's some guy Y/N knows and I think she likes him." Phoenix was searching Jake's face for any sign that she was right about his feelings for you, and he never noticed because his eyes were trained on you like a hawk.

"I'm not jealous, Pheonix."

"You kinda sound jealous, Hangman," Rooster added, earning a glare from Jake.

"Okay, when we first met and you told me about her, you sounded so lovesick, I thought she was your wife. Cut to, you introduce us all and it turns out you're not married, or dating, but friends? I'm sorry, I do not believe that you two don't have feelings for each other." Natasha's remark sparked something in Jake. She watched the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk so small, she almost missed it.

"I'll be right back." Jake stated, already pacing away. Rooster and Pheonix watched Jake make his way into the kitchen.

"She likes him too right?" Rooster asked.

"Oh, absolutely," Pheonix responded.

"You know, Fanboy has a betting pool on them."

"What? Get me on this, I have a feeling we'll make some money tonight."

Jake entered the kitchen to see you sitting alone at the table. "Got room for one more?"

"I don't see why not. Shouldn't you be mingling with everyone out there?"

"Well, the person I want to mingle with is in here." You smiled at him. There it was again, that smile that always left him utterly defenseless. "Who's the guy?"

You don't know why you felt your cheeks heat up when Jake asked about him. "His name's Mark. I met him when I was sorting reports last week."

"Okay. So, why do you sound so upset?"

"Because he said he was going to get us drinks 5 minutes ago and I just saw him leave with Commander Reeves' daughter." Honestly, you weren't upset because he left. You were upset because you were glad he did. He was boring you out of your mind and you two absolutely did not click, but it was still disheartening to know that this is what it was going to be like. No guy was going to measure up to the one you wished you were with. The one who was at this table with you now.

Jake was seething. What kind of idiot comes to a party and leaves you for some other girl? "You wanna get out of here?"

"What?"

"Let's leave. I'm bored."

"It's your party, you dork, you can't just leave!" You were giggling at a feeling somewhere in between confusion and disbelief.

"Yeah, it is my party so I say, you and I get out of here." He took you by the hand and walked you out through the back door to his car. And you let him. The chilly air swept you both up.

The drive was pretty calm. You didn't know where Jake was going but you didn't care either. This reminded you of when you two were younger. The long quiet rides in the car with no one but each other for company. He'd put on some cheesy 80's power ballad and you'd both laugh at it until you'd give in and belt it out at the top of your lungs.

"If you don't mind my asking, what did you see in him?"

"I don't really even remember. I think I just wanted to try and get myself out there. I haven't been on a date in literally years."

Jake hesitated before he asked. "So... what made you want to start now?" You felt the words catch in your throat.

"I'm not sure." you lied. You. I'm in love with you and I can't take it.

You felt the car slow down. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even see where Jake parked. A cute little coffee shop and patisserie. Jake got out of his car and rounded the front to open the door for you. He already had you head over heels for him and he didn't even know it. Did he have to be such a gentleman? You weren't sure that you could fall even harder for this man but you really didn't want to find out.

"Why don't you get us a table and I'll get us something to drink. Don't worry, I remember what you like." You nodded and found a two-seat table by the french windows overlooking the city. On the left, in the distance, the last light of sunset was hitting the water and the top of the sky had started to go dark. Little stars twinkled above you. You wondered what it would be like to always be like this? Evenings with you and Jake, running off alone together from places and people you didn't really want to see. Taking comfort in each other's presence because it felt like home. Just then, Jake sat down in front of you. It almost hurt knowing he was right in front of you and you couldn't have him.

"Screw stupid Mark from accounting. He was not worth your time."

"Thanks. It's fine really, I'll find someone else. Someone less boring." When you met Jake's eyes, he looked as if he had something to say. Something he was holding back. "What is it?"

"Don't find someone else."

Did he just- Did you hear him right?

"What? Why?"

"Because-"

"I have a coffee and a latte for Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?" The barista called. You actually felt your heart skip a beat. Your eyebrows scrunched together and you looked to Jake for answers.

"Well, I think that's us." He blurted like it answered all your questions, a smile heard in his voice.

"Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?" You queried, rising out of your seat in tandem with him. "Why'd you tell her we were 'Mr. and Mrs. Seresin?!'"

"Because you looked so down and I thought I'd get a reaction from you! And it's not all my fault, Pheonix gave me the idea." Jake stated, matter-of-factly. How could he say that so casually?! "And you're still looking red so I guess it worked."

You both grabbed your coffees and sat down once again. It was dark out now. Once your laughs and giggles over your reaction were out, you remembered where your last conversation left off.

"Jake, why'd you tell me not to find someone?" You didn't force the question too hard into the conversation. You asked softly, not knowing how or if he would answer. He sighed before he spoke like he was preparing himself.

"Because...because I can't ask you out if you're dating someone else." The emotions hit you like a bombshell.

"You want to ask me out?" You weren't sure this was real. You were really about to pinch yourself before he stopped you in your tracks.

"I've been meaning to for months. Y/N, we've been friends forever, and I didn't want to ruin what we have. I know I should have told you before because I've liked you for as long as- Why are you smiling?"

"Because, you big dummy, I like you too." You couldn't hold it back. You were beaming. You felt butterflies and fireworks all at once just because the man of your dreams just made it all a reality. Jake held your eyes in his and smiled ear-to-ear. You swore you saw his ears go red but if you asked him, you doubt he’d admit it. "I'm really happy right now but I have no clue what to do next."

"I've got it from here," Jake reaches out and takes your hand in both of his. It feels like electricity is coursing through your veins. "Y/N L/N, would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?"

It took everything in you not to squeal in this coffee shop. "Yes, I will do you that honor, Bagman." You responded. He chuckled at you.

"Every now and again, I feel like introducing you to Pheonix was a mistake."

"Speaking of which, I really want to tell her about this but she'll get all smug because she was right."

"You're right. As far as people we don't have to tell yet go, Fanboy and Rooster have been betting on us. We can just keep it from them for now too."

"Deal." A laugh bubbled out of you as you thought about how the squad would react. And then a knock sounded directly next to you on the french window.

"Aww, cute," Rooster noted, his voice muffled by the glass, but still clear enough for you to hear his teasing tone.

"Left your own party so soon?" There stood Pheonix. Along with the rest of the squad leaning against Bradley's bronco.

"Shit." you commented.

"So much for keeping it secret."

———————————————————————

Tag list:

@glorified-red

[gingernut1314]

Don't Jinx It ch. 5

Summary: Silco comes to visit you at work to let you know he has a surprise to show you.

Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, Nadia is Viktor's mom, young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, pre-Sheriff Grayson, reader using water manipulation, unrequited love, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna, The Gray)

Word Count: 4.5K

A/N: so I'm still SCREAMING over those Vander flashbacks and Silco--SILCO my loveeee. So we're giving Silco long hair as per canon eheheeheh its perfect. Also we're aged up a bit now so lots of fun! I hope you all enjoy!

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Act 2: 

Four Years Later

For the past year or so the same small batch of enforcers visited at your Boss’ diner-shop. A batch of enforcers you were convinced your boss only let in cause she had made friends with their Sergent. A one Ms. Sergeant Grayson. 

You, Nadia, and Sevika watched Grayson and Boss laugh together in the booth they occupied, chatting with each other like they’d known each other their whole lives. 

“I still don’t get it.” Sevika gruffed, slicing into a gray-scaled fish you two had helped catch that morning. “Boss hates enforcers. Spits on their shiny gold badges any time she spots one, but she’s all but eating out of the palm of that one's hand.” 

“They’re fucking.” You chimed in from where you leaned against the counter watching the spectacle unfold before you. “They have to be fucking. That’s the reason.” 

“So vulgar.” Nadia shook her head at you two, nose wrinkled at your words. “Maybe Boss has just made a friend in her. Is that so hard to believe?” 

“No, no. You’re right.” Sevika started, beginning to slice the pink flesh of the fish into tiny strips. “Boss definitely’s been in her. That’s for sure.” You laughed while Nadia huffed. 

“You two are barbarians.” You flipped around, snatching a bit of sliced fish Sevika had just cut. You grabbed for a second slice before you had even shoved the first into your mouth, the woman chopping her knife all too close to your fingers in her way of telling you to knock it off. 

“You know we can’t help it, Nadia.” You mumbled around chews, the fish nearly melting on your tongue. You offered the second slice to Nadia who took it gently. 

“Unfortunately, I do know.” She huffed, taking a small bite from the bit of fish. 

“You coming to hang out with us tonight?” You asked Nadia hopefully. 

“Forgive me.” You gave a dramatic groan Sevika mimicked. “Nikolai and I are taking Viktor to spy on the newest…eh…flying…ship?” You quirked a brow at her as she bit another near-mouse-sized bite from her slice of fish. 

“Airship?” 

“Yes!” She beamed at you, “I prefer to keep my eyes on the earth and my paints but you know how my boy is.” You nodded, peaking a glance at the fish Sevika was still cutting up. 

“He still gonna build me that mini-fridge?” You joked, slyly inching your fingers closer and closer to the bits of fish. Nadia chuckled at your words. 

“I think in the near future, yes. He’s slowly beginning to toy with bigg--” You yelped when Sevika snatched hold of your wrist and yanked you closer. 

“You keep being a little seagull and Boss’ girlfriend is gonna have none.” You smirked up at her. 

“You think that’s it? They're together together?” Sevika gave you a long roll of her eyes, releasing your wrist. “It’s a perfectly tragic story. Two enemies turned lovers yearning for each other despite everything.” You gave a playful gasp. “They’re forbidden lovers.” 

“You two need to stop meddling in their business. They just seem to be friends.” Nadia chimed in. 

“You’re right, Dee. Enemies to friends to lovers.” Sevika joined in once more, taking a slice of fish and tossing it your way. You caught it just as Nadia sighed deeply. “Makes it even more tragic.” You gave a mockingly mournful nod. 

“You two are insufferable.” She popped the last of her fish into her mouth before she went back to her tables. Tables you and Sevika had purposely made sure were other like Undercitians, not wishing Nadia to be near the true barbarians of the night. 

Nadia was kind. Too trusting of others and both of you feared it would only lead to an enforcer getting the wrong idea.

You and Sevika, on the other hand, had no problem letting those bucket heads know just where they could shove it. And if they needed a bit of help neither of you had any problems doing it for them.

You had just shoved your newest piece of fish into your mouth when the bell hanging above the door gave a ring. 

“Better tell him it’s not a good time before Boss kills him,” Sevika spoke, gray eyes looking to who had just walked in. Excitement shot through your chest fast at her words, knowing exactly who she had spoken them about in moments. 

You tried your best to not whip around in your search for him. You didn’t want him to actually think you were excited to see him. No…nope. Not at all.

Silco’s seafoam gaze found you instantly, a small smile tugging to his lips as he walked over. 

“You have two minutes Silco,” Boss called from her booth, her eyes not lifting once from her glass of wine, which she gave a small swirl. “Before I let this one take you back with her to Piltover.” 

“Be gone in one,” Silco responded, Boss giving a heavy sigh.

Grayson, despite her being a horrid badge-wearing oppressor, was fair. She was one of the very few enforcers, maybe even the only enforcer, who didn’t have a stick shove so far up their ass it stuck out of their mouth. 

And she chuckled at Boss, saying something only she could hear. 

“Gods--I mean their practically fucking right in front of us,” Sevika muttered so only you and the quickly approaching Silco could hear.

“What do you think?” You asked in way of greeting Silco, who pulled so close you could smell the fresh shower he had just taken. It was a smell you thoroughly enjoyed, one you wanted to grab and rub your face all over, but one you knew had a bitter backing. 

The same year you had met Silco, Piltover had reopened the mines they had promised would stay closed forever. Opened them in the promise of progress and ample jobs for all. In helping ease the “struggle of the good people” down here.

You wanted to say it was fine at first. That it gave jobs to those who might not have had one otherwise. That Piltover might be right for once, but you would only be fooling yourself. 

Working in those mines was like dancing with death herself and Piltover knew it just as well as everyone else.

You had the usual risks, cave mouths collapsing and people getting lost within the labyrinth that the mines made up, but then there was the Gray. Smoke that still leaked its way out into The Lanes from past generations, more so now thanks to the mines having reopened as such. 

And the Gray--well, the Gray was death’s lover. 

Smoke so thick you couldn’t see through it. A smog that clogged your throat and made it feel like every breath you took filled your lungs with a thousand tiny needles.

Janna, the very Winds of the Undercity, had been trying ever since its birth to rid its poisonous wrath from us. She told you the story of her first coming to the Undercity a few times over the years. She had been called here on the prayers of the people who were suffering from its oppressive choking hold. She had managed to keep it at bay. To give the people a moment's relief to breathe freely.

But ever since then, she has been struggling to try and purify the smog. 

It was a story she typically told you when she had you practice trying to purify the waters lapping at The Lanes’ jagged edges. 

And every time she had you practice, every time she told you her tale, you asked how you were supposed to do the same if she, who was a goddess, couldn’t even do it herself?

She would settle you with her glowing, unblinking gaze before instructing you to try again. 

All play no work that one…if only. 

You hated that Silco and Vander went down there, especially since there was nothing to be done for the Gray. It was something you told him many times that same year he had started work. So many times he had snapped at you to stop because it wouldn’t change a thing. 

What very little money the boys earned went right into The Last Drop to keep it standing as Piltover rose taxes and Vander’s father passed, leaving every leak and creaky floorboard to him.

So you agreed to stop bothering him with your worries…though it did nothing to keep you from doing so voicelessly. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Silco glanced their way, the two seeming to have grown even closer in the two seconds you had taken your eyes off them. “Seems a perfectly typical interaction between officer and civilian.” His eyes found yours own more, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

You couldn’t help but look over every feature you could get away with looking at. Took in his nicely sharp features, his thinly soft-looking lips, and the shaggy hair he was allowed to grow out. Hair he planned on growing out so long he could braid it and gods did you agree. 

No longer was he the scraggly and bony teen you had first met. No, he had grown rather handsome. 

Painfully so. 

A beauty you struggled to think past most days.

And just as you knew how handsome he had grown, so had the rest of the Undercity. Women and men alike were drawn in by his looks and his smooth talk. 

His all-seeing and ever-calculating eyes only grew sharper. Eyes he used to see just how to make a girl grow ever the more flustered and fidgety under it. Eyes he used to track and log just what they liked to hear from him. 

He had become quite the playboy, capturing the hearts of many but never holding onto them for long. 

You think it has grown into a game to him. A game to see how many he can draw in and claim. See how many he can break in the same breath. 

You think sometimes he tries to play the game with you…and oh do you wish to play, but you knew he never truly meant the looks and the playful words he sent your way. 

You two were…friends. 

Strictly. 

Even when it disappointed you greatly. 

“Nah, they’re screwing.” Sevika huffed, reeling you back in from Silco’s charming looks. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, backing slightly away only for your hips to hit the counter. His eyes quickly tracked your movements. Movements he did the opposite of and stepped closer one more. 

“You get off work at seven.” He matter of factly told you. 

“What? Do you keep my schedule pinned to your wall or something?” Silco all but rolled his eyes at you. 

“I have something to show you.” Curiosity sparked at your heart and you instantly leaned closer despite knowing you should keep far away for your own heart's sake. 

“Ooo…what is it?” 

“And ruin the surprise?” You nodded quickly. Surprises were great but you found yourself impatience. Silco teasingly smirked your way. “Never.” And just like that he pulled away, leaving you feeling as if you had been tossed around by a riptide. “I’ll be back at seven.” He called to you as he headed back for the door. 

You swallowed sharply.

“Yeah. Okay.” You called back. 

You watched him give Nadia a small wave goodbye, the woman more than edger to do the same, before he was back out the door like he never was there in the first place. 

Sevika huffed at you, gaining your attention once more. 

“What?” 

“Nothin’.” You watched her sharply as she plated the beautifully cut fish on an equally as beautiful plate. She fixed you with an all-too-teasing gaze. “You two are just as bad. No…no. Worse. You’re worse.” Your brows furrowed in confusion as she passed you the plate to take over to the Boss and Sergent Grayson. 

“What do you mean?” Sevika all but ignored you, looking back over the diner.

“Dee, it’s worse right?” Sevika called to Nadia who was carrying a stack of dirty plates back to the kitchen. 

“Much worse.” She agreed as she passed. Before you could snap at the two for an answer, Boss called your name sounding not pleased. 

“This is not over.” You huffed Sevika’s way who only smirked back at you. 

“Sure, guppy. Sure.” 

You spent the rest of your shift cursing yourself for not having packed a better change of clothes. You had planned on being able to head home to change into something a little more nice before you went to The Last Drop, but Silco’s surprise threw a big wrench in your plans.

Not that you were complaining. Not truly.

You would pick hanging out with Silco over a nicer pair of clothes any day.

You found Silco waiting outside for you just as he had said, messing around with one of his daggers. He perked up instantly when you emerged, dagger put away as you came to his side.

“So…you want to tell me now?” You asked, only for Silco to lean downward so that he was looking directly into your eyes. You felt your heart give another damning flutter in your chest. 

“Tsk, tsk.” He smirked, “Impatient thing aren’t we?”

“This just something you're figuring out?” Silco gave a small, amused huff of air from his nose. Those seafoam eyes danced over your face, not helping the restless movement in your chest.

“Come,” He gestured with his head for you to follow. “It’s not too far away.”

“As soon as I drop Nadia off I’m getting drunk, ya hear you two!” Sevika called as you began following after Silco. 

“Won’t take long,” Silco called back to her. 

“Better not.” She shouted, “I’m itching to beat you at cribbage tonight.” 

“Want to bet on that outcome?” Silco glanced back to the woman, eyes bright in the promise of competition. 

Your two friends were unchallengeable at any card game they played. Their smarts and trickery were not something to go up against lighty.

When the two played against each other, the game always was a close one. One point could determine the winner.

And between the two…you would bet on Silco to win. He was the only person in all of the Undercity you had known to ever beat Sevika and beat her he did every time. 

Sevika, of course, never admitted it.

“Nah, 'cause I know I’m winning. No need to jinx it all to hell on a damn bet.” She called back as she started off with Nadia. 

“If she wishes to win that bad all she needs to do is play against you.” You sharply shoved Silco away who only gave a chuckle. 

“You’re an asshole.” You huffed, pulling the strap of your patched-up bag further up your shoulder. “I can play cards.” 

“You can play Go Fish.” 

“Hell yeah I can play Go Fish! I’m the best damn Go Fish player in all of The Undercity. No--The Undercity and Piltover.” You threw your arms out dramatically as you turned on your heel to face Silco as you walked backward. “In the entirety of Runterra.” Silco quirked an amused brow at you.

“Oh really? The whole world?” You gave a humming nod. “Well then, Go Fish World Champion, we’ll play tonight.” 

“And I’ll beat you.” You knew you wouldn’t. Even in the only card game you had mastered, Silco was still the best at it. 

“Want to bet on it?” You turned on your heel once more to face away from him. 

“Nope. Sevkia’s right. Betting beforehand is only going to jinx it.” You once more adjusted the strap of your bag.

“Jinxes are just a fiction.” You shrugged. 

“Maybe…but what if they're not? Huh? What are you gonna do then?” You asked, craning your head to look back at Silco who was watching you closely, an easy smile on his thin lips that you couldn’t help but mimic. 

“Then I guess I’ll face it head-on.” He quickened his pace a bit to come back to your side. “Let me carry your bag for you.” He offered his hand out for the item. 

“You trying to steal from me?” You asked in mock concern. 

“Oh yes. I want your dirty work clothes and sea shells.” You shrugged. 

“You're right. The sea shells would be worth stealing.” You pulled the tote from your shoulder and handed it to Silco, who slung it over his. “Got a pocket watch in there too.” 

“Oh? And where did that come from?” He asked, pulling at the edge of the bag to look for said watch.

“Those enforcers were so generous. Just gave it to me out of the goodness of their heart.” Silco let the bag fall back against his side. 

“How kind of them.” He huffed. “Why your boss feeds them is beyond me.” You gave a sharp nod. 

“Agreed. That’s why we think there is something else going on. Boss kills enforcers on the spot typically.” Silco shook his head, eyes turning away from you as a deep anger filled them. 

“Shiny things are nice,” Silco started, seemingly changing the topic.

“Very nice.” You agreed once more. 

“But it’s not worth putting you at risk.” Concern. He was concerned for you and was telling you that. 

You couldn’t help that damn fluttering again.

“I thought we agreed a long time ago not to do this.” Silco’s hardened eyes glanced back down at you, seafoam softening at their edge the longer he watched you. 

“Do what?” 

“Oh please be careful. Oh, I’m so scared for you. Oh, those big bad enforcers are going to catch you. Oh please be safe.” Silco gave you a dramatic eye roll at your mockery.

“Please. I’m hardly saying any of that.” You gave him just as dramatic an eye roll back. 

“Really? Then what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying--” Silco’s gaze flickered quickly over your face before looking away once more. “That if you steal from them enough your boss will find out.” 

“Still kinda feel like you're worried about me.” You felt Silco’s hand on your arm only for it to shove you away. A wicked cackle pulled from your throat. 

“Look whose being the asshole now.” Silco gruffed. 

Silco led you down another street, through an alleyway, climbed down a steep stairway that seemed to go on forever, and right back down another street before coming to a small, hardly used bridge. 

You knew you were right on the border of the Promenade Level, where your boss’ diner-shop was located, and the Enthresol Level which was where The Last Drop beat at the heart of the city. 

You had taken this route a few times in the past. Only ever with Silco, so you were familiar with it, but why you two were taking this roundabout way to the bar was what nagged at your curiosity when you could have just walked back with Sevkia. 

“What are you--” Silco pressed a thin finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet before heading for the metal ladder built into the side of the bridge. 

You followed close behind, the bite of cold metal digging into your palms. Silco hopped onto the grated platform, rusted bits of metal having created holes here and there within its flooring, before turning to offer you his hand. 

You took it, even though you knew you didn’t need his help, but you knew you needed to be able to feel his skin against yours. Chill skin that was covered in tiny scars and callouses that always made you feel like it was just the two of you in that moment.

He didn’t let go of your hand as he led you over the platform and you couldn’t help the growing warmth that his hand was creating in you. A warmth that rushed up your arm and all over your body. Warmth that made that damning flutter grow near pounding. 

You made it all the way to the other side of the platform and that's when you heard it.

It was soft at first. A sound you almost didn’t believe you were truly hearing until you were standing before the source, staring at the bundle of twigs, string, fur, and hair nestled between a rounded design in the arch of the bridge. 

“Oh…Silco…” You breathed, watching the small, featherless baby birds chirping and chirping for their mother, little bulging bellies no doubt starving. 

“Fantastic aren’t they?” You nodded, holding his hand a little tighter. 

“How--they shouldn’t be able to live down here.” Your voice was quiet to keep from startling the babies, but also in disbelief. 

Quiet in a growing dread that they probably wouldn’t make it for very long. 

“Yes…yes, it’s quite strange.” Silco spoke just as softly as you. “I saw their mother and followed her down here. Found these sweet ones.” You felt his hand hold yours just as tightly back. “But this means it can really happen.” You turned away from the miracle before you to look up at him. 

Silco’s seafoam eyes were already watching you.

And you knew that look in his eyes. A look he only got when talking about one thing. 

“Zaun.” He nodded, that hopeful gleam in his eyes burning with passion. It was a dream you all let burn deep within your bellies. A dream you all spoke of often. Spoke of enough you all had given such an outlandish wish a name. 

You turned to look back at the babies, who still had yet to stop begging for food. 

“But what if…those plants don’t even live near the bridge.” You thought of the rooftop you two had first encountered each other on. A roof where someone had been trying to grow tomatoes, though those tomatoes had withered and died before they could even yield a ripe crop.

“We’ll come visit them. Maybe we can help keep them going.” You nodded, even though your negative side nagged at you that it wouldn’t matter. That these sweet babies would wither and die before they had even sported their first feathers. 

As if reading your mind, Silco grabbed your other hand, turning you to face him. To bare his determination for Zuan down onto you. 

“It will happen.” He spoke like he was trying to convince himself it would. You nodded again.

“I believe it. We’ll make it happen.” But that look didn’t fade from his eyes. A look that mixed with something else that told you something was upsetting him. Something outside of the typical truths of your lives you lived down here in the filth. “What--did something happen?” You asked hesitantly. 

“I--” He hesitated himself. It had taken Silco a long time to fully be able to open up to you. Friends you may be, he kept his true feelings, deep dark ones, hidden behind a high wall. And though he more freely spoke with you on such topics now, you knew it was still a struggle. That, even though the wall had created a door for you to peek inside, the door wasn’t always unlocked.

“A mine shaft caved in this morning.” It was all he had to say for you to understand what had happened. For you to know why he had followed the bird down here. Why he had come to visit you at work. Why he had voiced his worry for you. 

Because he’d seen death today. 

More death that only Piltover could be blamed for and Zaun was Silco’s--no, everyone’s last bit of hope for things to get better.

You silently pulled him closer. Silently pulled your hands from his only so you could wrap them around his waist and hold him tight. And Silco silently let you hug him, when typically such affection was slapped away. 

Silco snaked his hands around your own waist, pulling you flush against his thin, yet strong body. You felt his breath against your neck as he buried his face there, warming your skin nicely.

You two stood like that for a long moment. Long enough that the babies stopped chirping, thinking you two had turned statue. 

“I have an idea.” You murmured, giving him one last, tight squeeze before pulling away. Typically you would curse yourself for ending such a moment. A moment you so rarely got but you wanted to try and lift his spirits, if just for a moment. 

Silco watched you carefully as you reached into your bag, which you didn’t bother pulling from his shoulder. You rummaged around for a little bit, making all the random trinkets you carried in it clink together until you pulled out one of the larger shells and your canteen, which you had learned to always carry with you for easy access to water. 

“What are you doing?” He asked to which you tossed him a playful smirk.

“And ruin the surprise? Never.” He huffed in amusement at your repeat of his words from earlier that night. 

He watched you carefully as you found a level spot on the bridge to place the shell, before unscrewing the canteen. With little effort, you reached for the water with your magic, pulling a fist-sized droplet of water out. 

Silco eyes shimmered in fascination, pulling so close his shoulder was pressed against yours. You once more savored the touch, turning yourself so you could peek unstrained glances up at his seafoam eyes here and there as you worked. 

“For their mama. And for these three when they grow up.” You said. Silco glanced down at you as you let the droplet of water fill the shell. “And because it’s magic water.” You gave your fingers a little wiggle at the word magic that further tugged a smile to Silco’s lips. “It’ll never run dry… hopefully.”

“You’ve been practicing,” Silco observed.

“Yep. I’ll be able to create tsunamis next, just you watch.” Silco’s easy smile came back in full then. A smile that brightened his eyes and stirred those damned flutters right back up in your chest. 

“I will.” Silence fell between the two of you, now filled with the returned chirping of the babies. A silence that thickened and made your eyes flicker downward to his lips, which you wanted to feel so so badly against your own. “Thank you…for all that.” You swallowed the growing dryness in your mouth down sharply. 

“Yep--” You gave your throat a little clearing as you turned away from Silco, knowing the longer you looked at his handsome features the more you were going to be drawn in. “Yep. No problem.” You recapped the canteen and all but shoved it into Silco’s arms. 

“Alright, I need a drink.” You announced, making your way towards the ladder and begging your heart to stop beating so loudly. “I’m kinda feelin’ like I might want to bet you about that win now.” Silco laughed, his footsteps sounding as he followed after you.

“I thought you said betting beforehand would only jinx it.” You shrugged, throwing him a mischievous little look. 

“I think I’ll just face it head-on, like you said. I’m feeling lucky.”

Previous | Next

[ratskinsuit]

can I request a adhd!reader x any character (pls not Valentino or vox..) any gender

Hazbin Hotel Characters With An ADHD!Reader Headcannons

———————————————————————

A/N: Since I don’t get much info (I’m so sorry) I just decided to do heacanons. Now I don’t do mental disorder specific readers because I don’t wanna mess things up, but I personally have ADHD so I can do this. Although these may be self projecting a bit with my experience so I’m so sorry if it’s not okay.

———————————————————————

Charlie: Also has ADHD (Its just my personal headcanon, it may not be your personal one and that’s okay)

You two honestly can’t be together when you have something to do

Like you won’t get anything down when your together

Because the two of you just feed off each others energy and get distracted the entire time

Vaggie has to physically separate you two so you can focus

Forgetfulness

You could misplace you phone and ask her “Hey Charlie can you call my phone, I dunno where it is.”

And she will just be like “I don’t know where mine is either.” ���

You two honestly share one single brain cell and switch it every other day (as an ADHD person I can confirm we do this with friends)

Vaggie: Keeps you focused

Okay so If you get distracted a lot she will be there yo try ti get you to focas

Mrs girl has fidgets and things to help you stay on tasks if they gel, if they don’t however,

Well she will try her best

Literally like the mother to you and Charlie so you two don’t do something stupid and he introuble

Melatonin is her best friend

If she can’t calm you down and it’s important, melatonin (unless you take medication)

She makes sure to keep track of all your stuff just incase you forget where you placed it

“Hey Vaggie, do you know where my-“

*Holds out your phone* it was on the kitchen counter

If you take medication (bcs for some people it lowers you appetite) she will remind you to eat.

Alastor: Doesn’t really understand; teases you

When you first tell him you have ADHD his old ass is just like

“Erm, my dear what’s that?”

Thinks you might be crazy till you explain

He honestly finds your energy and do-before-think attitude amusing

Does get pissed when he’s talking to you and you get distracted or forget what he was saying though

Finds it hilarious when Vaggie tries to get you to focus on things

Will finds diff ways to distract you, making it harder for Vaggie

Just enjoys the chaos of your energy

If you take medication for it he may or may not hide occasionally it just to see the chaos unfold (Before you come at me: he . Is . In . Hell . For . A . Reason)

Unless HE needs you to focas

Then you better be focused

Angel Dust: Loves hanging out with you

You two are probubly best friends fr

LOVES your energy because he finds it so fun

You two just go hang out and wander the streets, laughing and giggling together

He’s fine with the distracting and forgetfulness part, he knows it happens

Makes sure you eat. Eat or he will make you.

Honestly he’s just really understanding and knows that it’s hard for you to be able to control it

(Plz send best friend requests for him I did headcanons and I love writing best friend Angel)

While he does understand and love your energetic-ness, he also makes sure that you don’t act ok impulse TOO much

Like, stops you from making rash decisions that could hurt you in the future

Late night sleepovers

You two on the couch packing yourselves full of sugar and watching movies

Husk: Dies on the inside, also designated babysitter (Jkjk. Also I do realize that people with ADHD arnt children or stupid, this is just a reference to the energy)

Giving depressed dad energy

Like he’s just sitting at the bar cleaning up and your just talking at 50 miles per hour

He does however listen to the random things you say, he’s used to listening

Sometimes if you a bit chiller he will be able to follow along better and will input into the convo

Let’s you ramble and doesn’t mind the little quirks you have like interrupting him

He’s delt with worse

He has a alot of different stories, so if you have a lot of energy expect to be dropped off at the bar

His stories are exciting and can surprisingly keep most people’s attention for a while

He knows what it is but not the knowledgeable on it

But understands the basics on what it does and blah blah blah

Generally doesn’t mind the energy or the getting distracted, or the forgetfulness

Once again he’s delt with worse

Velvette: Somewhat gets it, gets pissy sometimes though

So she gets some of the “quirks”, like having a lot of energy, fidgeting, forgetfulness and getting distracted

If your her friend/partner she’s fine with it

She can deal with high energy and talking, she also talks very fast so she can keep up and keep a conversation

Finds different ways to keep you entertained so she can work if she can’t be in the moment

During parties she finds it hilarious

Doesn’t do the best with impulse control, she likes seeing what will happen and where it will go

Doesn’t mind the distractions unless she’s talking to you, then expects you to listen

However if you are one of her models or workers

She takes no excuses

You better pay attention and pay attention well

We all know she’s very demanding of her employees so you better hope she doesn’t notice you

Becwuse if she’s talking to you and get distracted or arnt paying attention…

My guy your fucked

———————————————————————

A/N: So this person asked for anybody but Vox or Valentino. But if anybody wants or if this does well I’ll make a pt 2 with them and more characters.

[listofwhyyouloveher]

Could we get some angst like where fem!reader and dallas get into an argument and/or go on a break but they can’t stand being away from each other and do the whole confession and kiss in the rain cliche?

Mwah mwah chefs kiss love this i dont know how to cw so uhh fem reader?? use of nickname doll??? fight??? idk bro

It was raining. Hard. The soft pitter-patter of the droplets on the window reminds you of reality everytime you start drifting away.

“I don’t understand, who do you take me for?! An idiot?!” You seethed, knuckles turning white from clenching them too hard. “No, you’re not an idiot, you’re a bitch, that’s what you are.” Dally says pointing at you. He was equally as mad, although maybe for a less justified reason. You had seen him hanging around some red-head. It started as a simple question, but one thing led to another and now it was a full blown argument. “You don’t let me have any fun! No parties, no chicks, nuthin’!” He angrily stated. “We’re in a relationship, Dal! There is no chicks! No parties! Oh my God! Can you use your brain for like a minute and think about how I feel!” You say, putting your face in your hands. Dallas gives you a look before shaking his head. 

“That’s it, we’re done.” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cancer stick and a lighter. “Good riddance, toxic asshole” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest as he leaves.

You replay the fight in your mind, turning it over like a coin in your hand. Was I in the wrong? You think to yourself. Hell no. You affirmed yourself, if Dallas didn’t show up with an apology, you didn’t need it anyways. There’s a sharp crack against your window that startles you out of your self assurance. Another crack makes you look up. On the third crack you catch what it is. A pebble being thrown at the window. You look down at your lawn trying to catch a glimpse of who would be stupid enough to throw pebbles at your window during a storm. Dallas. Of course. Dallas was stupid enough. You quickly open the window, forcing it open quickly. A pebble wizzes by your face and you shoot Dally an unimpressed look. “What do you want, Dallas,” You say. Please, don’t stand in the rain, you’ll catch a cold. Your mind betrays you, you still care about him. “Let’s talk.” He say, voice slightly shaking, although you don’t know if its because of the cold or because he hasn’t seen you in forever. “You’re not stepping foot into my house while you're soaking wet.” His lips quirk up at that, there’s the girl he knows. “Would you like to come down then?” You make a show of mulling it over, although you already know the answer. The jacket is already in your hand by the time you're down the stairs and reaching for your keys. You quickly slip it on and rush out of the house. The rain soaks you before you’ve even reached Dal, the wind picking up speed and the rain turning into heavier droplets. He stands taller than you, by quite a bit actually, but his shoulders sag when you reach him. There’s a few seconds of silence, except for the torrent of rain that was battering both you and him. “I miss you.” He says, quietly. “That’s sweet.” There was a pause before Dally took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry. I messed up big time.” “You seem to do that a lot” You interject. He gives you a small chuckle. “Yeah, I guess I do. But I’m so sorry, really. It’s kind of hard adjusting to a ‘relationship’. I just thought that I could get a head start if..” his voice goes quiet, “if you ever decided to leave me like Sylvia. I thought I could prove I was a tuff guy. I’m not tuff, not really. Especially when it comes to you. I really hate that I’m turning soft or whatever..” He looked up at you, his usually harsh eyes were unexpectedly innocent. “Dallas, you can’t keep thinking that I’m going to morph into Sylvia. I’m not Sylvia, you’ve got to understand, you can’t keep letting this front our relationship.” You hugged your jacket tighter around you. “You’re right, you're not Sylvia, you’re so much more, so much better than she will ever be.” and before you could react his hands moved to your face and he pulled you in. The kiss was, dare I say, “magical”, resparking feelings that you had tried to put out for the whole time Dally was missing from your life. You pulled away quickly. “Please, doll, I’m so sorry for everything, I’m ready to be a better boyfriend, don’t pull away from me.” He nearly sobs. You roll your eyes and take your keys from out of your jacket pocket. “As much as I love the ‘kiss in the rain’ cliche, it’s fucking cold out here Dal,” you smile at him, taking his hand. He wraps his arm around your neck pulling you in again. His hand slips into yours and you realize how warm it is in his arms.

[kikyoupdates]

Infatuated ⭑˚💌⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

yandere!bnha x reader

yandere, reverse harem, bnha x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Your Quirk is rather unique. It plays out almost like a game, giving you missions and goals that help you become stronger. On top of that, you also have the ability to charm those around you. It sounds innocent enough on paper, and you can’t help but revel in the attention everyone keeps showering you with. But what happens when their feelings give way to something more sinister?

story masterlist | next

“Alright, keep marching straight ahead! The Bakugou Adventure Team is nearing its destination!”

Leading the charge is none other than Katsuki, the most fearless and headstrong kid in the neighborhood. He's never shy about saying whatever what's on his mind, and that, coupled with his natural take-charge attitude, makes countless other kids gravitate towards him. 

One of those kids, of course, is you.

It hasn't been long since you’ve moved into the neighborhood, but Katsuki has such a strong presence that you found out about him and his crew almost immediately. They get up to all sorts of fun stuff, and being new to this part of the city, you have to admit that it feels nice to have made friends so quickly.

At first, Katsuki was a bit resistant to you joining his circle. He insisted that there was a strict no girl policy, but it didn't take very long for him to give in. Since then, you’ve gotten into the habit of hanging out with him and the rest of his friends pretty much constantly.

Right now, you are all trudging through the forest, on a very important quest to retrieve a powerful weapon.

“It’s close,” Katsuki says, grinning ear-to-ear. “I can feel that the sword is hidden somewhere nearby. But we have to be careful! There are probably enemies waiting to ambush us. I hope you’re all ready to put up a fight.”

Katsuki’s closest friend, and also his most devoted follower, is a freckled boy named Izuku, who nods vigorously in agreement.

“W-We’re ready!” Izuku insists, voice trembling a bit. “We’ve got Kacchan on our side, after all. There’s no way we can lose. You think so too... right, [Name]?”

Now it's your turn to respond with a vigorous nod.

“If anyone dares to mess with us, we’ll kick all their butts!” you proudly exclaim, punching your little fist in the air.

“That’s right,” Katsuki beams back. “Don’t do anything crazy, though. You’re not as strong as I am, so if it comes down to it, I’ll protect you.”

You can't help but blush. “Alright. Thank you, Katsuki.”

Onwards you march, clearing more and more of the forest. Most four-year-olds probably wouldn’t feel so comfortable in such a place, but Katsuki has made it clear that nothing scares him. Even mysterious areas hidden by countless trees and bushes hardly even faze him.

True to his word, Katsuki eventually lets out a gasp. “There it is!” he cries out, pointing towards the ground ahead. “The sword is right there!”

Since you are only children, your imaginations play a big role in making this quest seem a lot more grandiose than it actually is. In truth, the “sword” is really just a massive stick, but being out here without any parental supervision has already gotten to your heads and makes you all feel as though you are brave, valiant adventurers. Thus, you have no qualms whatsoever about pretending that the stick is the most impressive sword you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Enemies!” you exclaim, referring of course to the little birds that are pecking at the ground, right next to where the stick is. “They’re trying to keep us from getting our hands on the sword!”

Katsuki balls up his fists. “Well, they can try all they want, but they won’t stop us. Bakugou Adventure Team, it’s time! Fall into the attack formation we planned out before! Come on, let’s get them!”

There are five of you in total, and upon Katsuki’s signal, you all sprint straight at the birds while making battle cries, causing them to scatter. It only takes a few seconds to clear the area, and once Katsuki has ascertained that they're all gone, he picks up the stick and lifts it above his head with a victorious grin.

“Heh,” he chuckles. “That was easy as pie. They never stood a chance. Good job, team. Well, I obviously fought off the most enemies, but still.”

“Katsuki, you’re so cool,” you gush. “Thanks to you, we’re the strongest adventure team ever!”

His smirk seems impossible to contain. “Duh! You guys won’t ever need to worry about anything so long as I’m around. If anyone ever tries to mess with you, just let me know, and I’ll set ‘em straight.”

“Kacchan really is awesome,” Izuku can't help but marvel. His green eyes are glossy and wide, full of admiration. Well, pretty much everyone looks up to Katsuki, so you definitely understand where he's coming from.

Feeling emboldened by your victory against those vicious enemies, you walk over to Katsuki, then promptly kiss him on the cheek

“Thank you for protecting all of us,” you say shyly.

What follows is that Katsuki’s cheeks break out into the most violent shade of crimson you’ve ever seen. It even gives his deep red eyes a run for their money.

He jolts back almost immediately, letting out a strangled little yelp.

“W-What was that for?!” he stammers.

“For protecting us,” you say again, suddenly feeling quite embarrassed. “Um... I’m sorry. I just really wanted to thank you for being such an awesome leader. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Are you mad now...?”

Katsuki gulps. “I-I’m not mad. You just surprised me, jeez.”

Two of the other neighborhood kids are already oohing and awing, going on about how Katsuki had cooties now. Of course, he's quick to shut them up, but that doesn't make his blush disappear any faster. Izuku is the quietest of the bunch, mostly because he appears to be incredibly embarrassed based on what he just witnessed. He's even covering his eyes with his hands, peering out from between his fingers.

Your face feels quite hot after what you’ve just done, but as it just so happens, your embarrassment doesn't last.

Because something else catches your attention. 

[𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫! 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.]

[𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢?]

You furrow your brows. “Hey, guys,” you say. “What’s this weird stuff that just popped up all of a sudden?” 

You are met with nothing but looks of confusion. 

“Um... what are you talking about?” Izuku frowns. “I don’t see anything.”

“Right there,” you insist, pointing to the screen in front of you. “There’s this screen with all kinds of writing on it.”

Everyone shakes their heads, which makes you feel incredibly self-conscious about the whole thing. Are you really just imagining it? Katsuki likes to tease you at times, but Izuku isn't the type to play pranks on others, so if even he is saying he can't see the screen, then they're probably telling the truth.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you mumble, casting your head downwards. “I swear I can actually see it... I’m not crazy.”

Katsuki stares at you for a few moments longer, eventually letting out a chuckle. “Oh! I get it. The screen you’re seeing must be some sort of alert for our new quest. So, go ahead, [Name]. Tell us what our next quest is.”

He thinks I’m still playing around.

While it's incredibly frustrating that no one believes you, there is still another thing you can try.

[𝐔𝐬𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐨𝐧 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢?]

>>[𝐘𝐄𝐒]

Nothing really happens once you make your selection, and you're starting to think that maybe you really are going crazy.

But within a few moments, Katsuki suddenly collapses to the ground.

“Ugh,” he groans, clutching his head. “What’s going on...? I feel dizzy all of a sudden...”

Panicked, you drop to your knees beside him. “Katsuki!” you cry out worriedly. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”

His gaze is glassy and unfocused, and his cheeks are only getting redder by the second. It looks like he’s just started burning up with a violent fever. When you wrap your arm around his back to try and help him rise to his feet, he flinches, as if your touch is electric.

“I-I’m fine,” he says, but he doesn't sound all that convincing. Then again, Katsuki is the type to never want help from anyone. He's always determined to shoulder everything on his own, because of how strong he is.

Under normal circumstances, he probably would’ve gotten quite annoyed that you were offering to help him, but he doesn't seem entirely like himself right now.

Guilt sets in when you realized you are probably to blame for it.

Is it because I used that charm ability on him? Is that why he’s not feeling well all of a sudden? 

You can't fully explain it, because you still don't even understand what that weird screen you’ve seen is supposed to be, but you doubt it's mere coincidence.

Katsuki eventually shakes you off and collects his bearings, although he still looks rather unstable on his feet. You hope that whatever this is, it'll pass soon.

Izuku leans closer to you and whispers in your ear. “Is Kacchan going to be alright? He’s not looking too good...”

You part your lips to respond, but don't quite have the chance to form the words in time.

Katsuki has already shoved Izuku onto the ground.

“Get away from her,” he grits out, and something about the look in his crimson eyes deeply unsettles you.

Small tears rise to Izuku’s eyes, and he just barely manages to wipe them away before they spill over. “I-I’m sorry,” he splutters, even though he can't seem to understand what he did wrong.

Katsuki’s lips split into a grimace. He looks incredibly angry. He’s always had quite a bit of a temper, but you can't recall him ever being this upset. Completely out of nowhere, too. It doesn't make any sense.

“Don’t get so close to [Name],” Katsuki hisses. He takes a few steps forward, clenching his fist as if he's ready to outright punch the freckled boy, but he doesn't make it very far before swaying unsteadily and falling over a second time.

This time, he's out cold.

“Oh my god! Katsuki just fainted!”

Panic ensues. You are only a bunch of preschoolers, and none of you know what you're supposed to do in a situation like this. You all desperately try to shake Katsuki awake, even lightly slap his face a few times to try and jolt him back to his senses, but nothing works.

You end up having to carry him back to his parents, who promptly tuck him into bed and promise that they'll keep an eye on his condition.

Izuku sniffles, unable to mask his concern. “I-I’ve never seen something like that happen to Kacchan before. I really hope he’s going to be okay.”

You don't say anything. You can't. After all, you have a sneaking suspicion that the only reason this happened is because of the choice you made.

It's strange, though. Even though you can't exactly understand how you caused Katsuki to faint, you assume that ability of yours had something to do with it. But then why did he get angry at Izuku all of a sudden? That part just doesn't make any sense.

You don't know it yet, but your Quirk has just manifested for the first time, and while most kids are thrilled to obtain their powers, yours will end up causing more harm than good.

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[hightwers]

TEACHER'S PET ─── ANAKIN SKYWALKER

summary: anakin skywalker, sorry the teacher's aide anakin skywalker. teachers and students aren't supposed to be this close, right? it's a bad idea, right?

warnings: smut, gaslighting, coercion and manipulation. themes of student/teacher relationships are present. mdni, 16+. fem reader, usage of the word cunt, cock, pussy, etc. talking you through an orgasm.

Everyone knew Mr. Skywalker; he was the young teacher's aide. He was fairly young, couldn't have been more than 23.

And he was kind, charismatic, and helpful. He was often seen helping other students during office hours, staying late to grade and correct assignments.

It was said that he had a favorite student, but that's neither here nor there.

It was the first time she had failed a test. A big one. Fuck. This was avoidable had she actually taken the time to study.

And she didn't. Instead she decided to fuck around and get drunk with several people from her class. To be fair, it had been fun in the moment.

And much to her dismay, Mr Skywalker had asked her to stay after class.

Not wanting to leave anyone hanging, she did.

"Hey! I didn't think you'd stay! Cool, as you know Matt didn't stay today, sorry about that, it really should be him talking to you about your exam," he apologizes profusely as if that makes the situation better.

She sits there, quiet, and nodding along. "No, I mean its fine, you're his aide, you know just as much as he does,"

"Right, right, right," he says with a laugh. "So, what's up? You never score anything lower than a 94, and this time you have a 37, what happened?"

Ah there's the question. "And I understand that things happen, but are you okay? Everything okay at home? Was the material too difficult?"

She shakes her head. "No, I just... Long weekend, didn't prepare enough,"

He nods in understanding. "Well, you are young, so," he laughs understandingly. "We'll give you a retest, just come back in a week. Study the material, if you can't understand it, come find me and we'll work on it together, yeah?"

She nods. "Thank you Mr Skywalker," she replied with a slight smile.

"Anakin, we're not in class at the moment," he corrected.

Her smile widened. "No, I suppose we're not," she agrees, her fingers intertwine with her own.

"You know, you don't have to take the retest, there's. . . something else you could do," he offers hesitantly.

She perks up. "What's that?"

His eyes glimmer with excitement and he presses his lips together. "Oh, its uh nothing, nevermind,"

She deflated just a little. "Aw, what's the matter? It's not like you need a friend, right?"

He shifts uncomfortably in a chair. "Uh no, but really, its fine,"

She moved closer to him and leans over his desk. "Why? Its not like I'm gonna beg to suck you off," she joked. "Unless you ask me to,"

His eyes glimmer. "I'm not sure that's an appropriate. . . suggestion," he whispers. "But. . ."

She rises from her chair. "But?" she asked, leaning against the desk, sitting on the edge.

He glanced at her. "If. . . " he begins and shakes his head. "No, its not right," he muttered to himself.

She glanced at him. "I'll do anything," she whispers. "I swear, please,"

He shakes his head. "Morally its just not right," he says. "You understand, right?"

"Mr Skywalker," she pleads. "I'll do anything,"

His lips quirk at her comment. "Anything?" he asked.

She nodded.

"On your knees, sweet girl," he whispers and his eyes flicker with excitement as she does. "You have to be quiet sweet girl," he whispers.

The pet name fills her with a warm feeling, it courses through her as she kneels in front of him, her hands reach for the buckle on his pants and he swats her hand away. "Patience is a virtue, Darling," he whispers.

She moved closer to him, carefully unbuckling his pants and belt, tugging his pants down slightly, and leaving him in his boxers.

There's a tent in his pants, aroused to the point of wincing when her fingers brush him through the thin cloth. "God," he moans softly.

She's pleased with the reaction and her hand slides into the briefs, her fingers rubbing at the slit on the head of his cock, causing a soft and low moan to escape his lips.

A part of her knows that she needs to stop, that she needs to draw a line but the other part of her knows that she'll never have this opportunity again.

Her hands make the motion to tug the boxers down, leaving him standing at attention and then it hits her. "I should stop," she whispers.

He shakes his head. "No, please, don't stop," he begged softly. "We don't have to talk after, you don't have to talk to me if you don't want to,"

She looks at him, he looks desperate and he's shaking from all the feelings stirring within him; she falls to her knees again and pressed a kiss to his tip, swirling her tongue around him.

Her mouth engulfs him, her hand working whatever doesn't fit in her mouth. She allows herself a small laugh as his fingers tangled in her hair, grasping and tugging at it as he raked his fingers through her scalp. "Please," he pleads.

She groans around his cock as he begins to thrust himself into her throat, she controls his pace with her hand and head. She can tell that Anakin was trying to keep his moans and groans to himself as she rakes her teeth along his cock. His sharp intake of breath spears through her like a jolt of electricity down her spine and throughout her body as she licks the bead of his salty seed.

Anakin makes the mistake of looking down, her eyes were on him as she works his length with one hand, her full lips wrapped around the head of his cock, her tongue swirling around him and he nearly whimpered from the sensation.

She enjoys watching him in this desperate state. He's basically whimpering for her at this point and the minute its all over, with his seed dripping from the corner of her lips, she pulled away from him, her throat raw and abused from how his shaft forced itself down her throat.

He's begging her to keep this a secret, begging her to never speak of it again.

She won't, but she'll never forget how he begged her to, and how he promised her that she'd never speak to him again.

It was a one time thing, just to get her grade up, right...?

authors note: part two? let me know!! this was also... taking me forever to write. this originally started as a concept on tiktok because of @ioveanakin's edit.