#it's almost seven in the morning i dont even know what this IS anymore | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inkykeiji · 4 years ago

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i can’t tell my wrongs from my rights

characters: dabi, shigaraki tomura

genre: smut + angst

notes: the second part to break my bones but act as my spine! quirkless!AU w mafia-type undertones, tomura is a spoiled rich brat (so the same, basically), dabi is a Sad Boi™️ w tattoo’s over his fully healed + scarred skin, reader is in university | title cred: 16 lines by lil peep

warnings: 18+, daddy kink, drug use, cheating, masturbation, non-consensual audio recording, possessiveness/general toxic relationships, size kink/size difference, one (1) mention of physical abuse, pining

words: 14.2k

part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part four ⋆ part five ⋆ epilogue ⋆ series masterlist

synopsis:

Because it’s just easier to pretend, right? That’s all the three of you have been doing, is playing pretend, isn’t it? Pretending that everything’s fine, that everything’s normal, pretending that Dabi’s heart doesn’t begin to immediately rip itself to pieces when he sees you all marked up, claimed, Tomura’s name written across your entire body in vibrant blotches of purple and blue; pretending traitorous heat doesn’t flare in your stomach every time you see him, when his back muscles flex under those trademark white tees, or when his voice drops, gets all rough and hoarse in the middle of the night or the early morning; pretending that Tomura has no idea what’s going on, no idea what’s brewing while he’s away at work, trying in vain to keep himself put together just barely, just enough as he takes over a multi-billion dollar business.

“Three whole days?”

That’s what you had said, with a pout so deep it creased your forehead, eyes glimmering with the threat of tears, when he told you he had to leave.

“I’m sorry, princess,” his voice is regretful, soft, yet laced with an undercurrent of irritation—just the slightest hint, evident in the way his sentence tapers off into a hiss.

He had tried, desperately, to allow you to come with him—has never had to leave you alone for more than a night before, always refused to leave you alone for more than a night before.

But that was before.

“I won’t fucking do it,” he had growled, scarlet eyes glowing with rage. “I won’t fucking leave her on her own here,”

“She won’t be ‘on her own’,” Kurogiri tried to reason with him, sure to keep his voice gentle and calm. “She’ll have her guard dog protecting her the whole time; every minute you’re gone,”

That’s even worse! He had nearly shouted, eyes flashing as blunt nails dug into the sensitive, scabbed skin of his wrist.

“I don’t care,” he spat instead. “She’s coming with me, Goddamn it,”

“She can’t, Tomura,” Kurogiri sighed, rubbing at his eyes with his index fingers, a hint of frustration beginning to bleed into his voice. He inhaled deeply, holding the breath in his chest for a moment before exhaling slowly, and spoke again. “Think about it this way: is she safer here, with all your extremely high-tech, state of the art security and Dabi, or alone in a hotel room with nothing but a measly bolt lock to protect her?”

Tomura supposed he had a point.

He fucking hated that he had a point.

Ruby eyes glared ferociously at his confident, narrowing a little as his teeth ground together.

“Fucking Christ,” he snarled under his breath, nails finally breaking the skin again, remnants of days-old scabs and fresh blood caking under his nails.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s bright and blue, the morning he has to leave, golden rays of the half-risen sun spilling in through the translucent sheer curtains, glittering snow blanketing the terrace catching in the light, individual flakes brilliant and sparkly.

It feels like it’s mocking you.

It’s too early for you to be up, he tells you, glancing at you through the corner of his eye as nimble fingers work their way up his chest, pairing the buttons of his shirt together in front of the massive full-length mirror.

A soft whine slips from your lips as you shake your head lethargically, face half hidden in the fluffy white sheets of his massive bed.

“Miss you already,” you whisper, blinking hard to keep the tears pricking your eyes at bay. You don’t want to cry, not here, not in front of him, not when he has to leave in an hour, don’t want to add to the immense stress he’s already under.

But it’s too late, he can already see them collecting in your eyes, can sense them even with his back turned to you, chest heaving under the force of a deep sigh. A half-untied tie hangs around his neck as he stalks towards you, sitting down on the edge of his bed, while a large hand moves to pet your head.

It’s insufferable, how badly you need him close, closer, greedy and insatiable as you spring up in bed and crawl towards him, nestling into his lap.

“I really don’t want you to leave,” you mumble into his chest, nuzzling your face against his cashmere dress shirt and inhaling deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs, your entire body, trying to bottle it up inside of you, to keep a piece of him with you, always.

Your voice is hoarse, a result of being fucked senseless into his mattress the night before. We have to make up for a full three days, he had told you as he crawled on top of you, caging you between the mattress and his body, slender fingers creeping up your bare thighs, slipping under your dress and hooking in the waistband of your panties.

“These are my favourite, you know,” he smirks, glancing briefly at the sheer, delicate white lace balled up in his fist. “Daddy’s taking these with him,”

A little squeal of embarrassed laughter escapes your chest, shaking your head a bit as you try and hide your face from him, murmuring about how dirty that is, Daddy.

And he makes true on his word, too, fucking you into the plush mattress for the majority of the night, filling you up and streaking your body with copious amounts of cum, pressing bruises in the shape of his fingerprints into your hips, your thighs, your throat.

His gravelly voice brings you back to the present.

“Trust me, baby, if I could take you with me I would, in an instant,” his voice is so raw, breaking just a little on the last word of that sentence, a heavy ache settling deep in your chest. “But you’re safer here,”

And you can tell he has to force that sentence through his lips, spitting those four words out as if they’re the most disgusting thing he’s ever tasted, face screwed up in displeasure.

Dabi arrives at 7am on the dot, not a second later.

He winces when he sees you, mouth twisting in a grimace at your rough voice, azure eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they scan smooth skin peppered with splotches of blue and purple and red that disappear down your neck, over your collarbone and into your shirt, lips chapped and puffy as your little tongue darts out to lick at them again.

Tomura’s lips have been bitten raw, too, dry and chapped, scabs gleaming in the light. Dabi doubts that was from you, though.

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair, tugging at the silvery-blue strands a little. There’s a sore on the inside of his cheek that he can’t stop nibbling at, refusing to let the wound heal—a nervous tic—and it makes you want to run to him, to put your little hands on his face and stroke his defined cheekbones with your thumbs, to smooth out all of those worried lines creasing his skin and kiss him until he can’t think about anything but you.

He’s meticulously prepared, and has left an extremely detailed food schedule for Dabi, as if Dabi doesn’t already spend most of his days with you, something Tomura would rather not admit to himself.

“And bedtime is at midnight,” he says sternly. “Not a minute later,”

“Got it,”

“And make sure she eats all of her soup,” Tomura’s instructing as he’s halfway out the door, turning back to glare at you while he continues speaking. “Not just the noodles,”

“But Daddy,” you whine, bottom lip jutting out automatically. “I don’t like the celery,”

“And I don’t care,” Tomura responds simply. “You need your vegetables,” he looks over at Dabi for reinforcement, who sputters a little.

“Y-Yeah, brat,” he tries to keep his voice firm as he stares at you, but you can see it, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, laughter tugging at the corner of his lips. Your own lips begin to quirk up into a smile in response, and Dabi’s eyes widen, a silent warning not to giggle.

“I think that’s it,” he mutters to himself, lingering in the doorway. And Dabi can see it, the pure, unadulterated rage brewing in Tomura’s dark eyes as he stares at the two of you, gaze darting between your faces, back and forth, back and forth, until he finally sighs, chest deflating and shoulders slumping with the force of it. Crimson eyes find your face, studying your features slowly, as if he’s committing them to memory. “I love you,”

The sentence evokes inexplicable tears in your eyes—he says it to you every day before he leaves for work, why is today any different? You hiccup a little, nose twitching as you sniffle and nod.

“I-I love you, too,” you whisper, bleary eyes blinking twice.

And the look on Tomura’s face is the definition of absolute torment, anguish personified, Dabi thinks. For a moment, he’s sure Tomura’s gonna call the entire thing off, drawing in a deep breath as if he’s ready to speak it into existence, but then his phone buzzes twice, violently, and has him cursing under his breath as he’s departing out the door.

✰ ✰ ✰

The first day goes fine, for the most part. It’s a Friday, and you’re cranky from waking up so early, Dabi refusing to sympathize with you, because it’s your own fault, brat. You only have one class on Friday, early in the afternoon, and you practically demand a nap the moment you arrive home.

It’ll fuck up your sleep schedule, Dabi tries to reason with you, tries to keep his tone stern.

But you look so exhausted, eyelids drooping a little as you sway on your feet, brattiness fading into to gentleness, voice tender and quiet as you plead with him.

“Please, Dabi?” you slur your words a little, looking at him with glazed eyes and a soft pout. “Jus for a lil? M’so tired,”

He shouldn’t. Tomura wouldn’t. But…

But he supposes you didn’t get much sleep last night, if the dark purple blotches that mar your neck and collarbone are any indicator to go off of, knows you were up early this morning to see Tomura off, and that anxiety kept you from falling back asleep after he had left, despite Dabi’s slender fingers combing through your hair—something that normally calms you almost instantaneously, he’s come to learn.

“Please?” you whimper, gazing up at him and blinking twice, slowly.

God, how does Tomura resist you when you’re like this? How does he not give in, not give you any and everything you ask for?

“Fine,” he says weakly, looking away from your stare with a huff, disgusted in his own pathetic resolve. “Only for an hour, though,”

“An hour and a half,”

“Forty-five minutes, if you keep pushing, brat,” he warns and you squeak in response, nodding quickly.

Dabi seems to be more at ease as he collapses heavily on the couch, just a tad more relaxed than he normally is in the penthouse, and you wonder if it’s because Tomura won’t come barreling through the door at any given second, but decide it best not to ask; the last thing you want to do is ruin this rare mood.

Instead, you take advantage of it.

He expects you to go curl up in Tomura’s stupidly massive bed, expects that you’ll be a brat anyway and purposefully not set your alarm, expects that he’ll have to quite literally drag you out from under the fluffy comforter in an hour, when your nap is over.

He does not expect you to curl up next to him, shuffling around on the couch until you’ve got your head in his lap, turning a little to look up at him.

“Is it okay if I nap here? With you?”

And it’s the way you ask—in a soft, tiny voice, looking up at him sleepily, eyes almost glittering in the late afternoon sun, which will be beginning to set soon—that has him suffocating on his words, coughing a little and clearing his throat as he steels his expression.

At this point, he’s stopped trying to trick himself into believing that he’d ever actually be able to deny you, too.

“When has it not been, dumbass?” he tries to keep his voice strong and steady, attempts to keep it ridden with annoyance and irritation, which he fails miserably at, the insult escaping his lips almost endearingly.

Humming a little in agreeance, you smirk up at him before turning on your side again, cuddled up to his thigh.

“Wake me in an hour, yeah?”

“You know I will,”

He’s become much more comfortable with casual skinship since he’s been forced to spend what feels like every waking moment with you—no longer flinches when you flop your head in his lap, getting comfy as you nuzzle your cheek into his thigh, tiny hand resting just above his knee; no longer goes rigid when you snuggle into his side, burrowing your way into a comfy position, pressed flush against him; no longer freezes up when you collapse on the other end of the couch, slouching down across it and throwing your legs haphazardly over his as you idly scroll through your phone.

Desperately, he tries not to think about that small string of drool dribbling steadily from the corner of your mouth, sticky and hot on his thigh as it pools, soaking through his jeans. He tries not to think about just how much you’re drooling, if you’d drool like that when you’re awake, too, while he’s fucking your throat raw.

You shift a little in his lap, emitting a quiet, nondescript noise and drawing his attention back to you. Gentle fingers caress your cheek, following down the side of your head and the curve of your jaw before threading through your hair. And, Christ, the little whine that spills from your lips as you nuzzle into him, sighing contently in your sleep, forces little explosions to erupt in his chest. But they quickly dull, fade, his heart squeezing painfully as the bruises littering your neck rudely remind him that you’re taken, claimed, and not his.

✰ ✰ ✰

Begrudgingly, he’s right; the nap does mess up your sleep schedule.

It’s late—just past three in the morning—as you tiptoe through the dark, quiet penthouse. The full-length windows allow neon light from the city to spill in, illuminating the rooms just enough for you to maneuver around furniture without tripping or stubbing your toe.

But not enough for you to dodge a fully grown man, apparently.

You’re staring at the floor, too busy trying not to trip over the ornate rugs covering the hardwood floors, when you smack directly into something solid and warm. A gasp falls from your lips and you look up, startled, stumbling back a few feet.

He laughs—a quiet, deep sound in his chest—strong hands finding your shoulders and stabilizing you. Wide eyes blink up at him, expression akin to that of a deer caught in headlights.

Or a little girl getting caught out of bed when she isn’t supposed to be.

Dabi smirks down at you. “You should be sleeping,” he says softly, hands sliding down to rest on your biceps, thumbs idly stroking your arm through the material of Tomura’s hoodie. “What’re you doing out of bed, princess?”

You frown, looking away as your cheeks flush.

“Hey, look at me,” he demands gently, your eyes snapping back to his immediately.

“I was hungry,” you mumble, little fingers twisting in the hem of the hoodie.

Dabi frowns, observing you for a moment. “Alright,” he sighs after a beat, taking one of your hands in his. You trail behind him like a puppy as he leads you to the kitchen, as if you need guidance, as if you haven’t been living here for over a year.

The potlights flicker to life, flooding the large kitchen—all granite and stainless steel—with soft golden light.

“C’mere,” Dabi says, your body moving to automatically obey. Large hands slip under your armpits and hoist you up easily, placing you on the counter.

A little whine sounds in the back of your throat, wincing as the warm, bare flesh of your thighs comes in contact with the cold granite.

Dabi smirks, sapphire eyes dragging down your body, hesitating on your naked thighs for a second too long.

“What do you wanna eat?” he asks, clearing his throat as his eyes travel back up to meet yours and leaning back against the counter opposite of yours, arms crossed loosely.

Heat seeps into your cheeks for the second time in fifteen minutes, and you suck on your bottom lip, gazing at him through your eyelashes shyly.

God, he wishes you wouldn’t do that. You’re already sitting with your thighs spread, giving him the perfect view of your cute pink polka-dot panties, trimmed with delicate pink lace and completed with a tiny satin bow on the waistband, and it’s taking all of his willpower not to fuck you senseless right here, right now, on that very counter.

It’d be so easy. He wouldn’t even need to take those snug little panties off—they’re just a touch too tight, and he thinks he can see the outline of your little clit if he stares hard enough—he’d just have to push them to the side and—

“Um, milk and cookies,” you murmur, drawing his attention back to your face. If you noticed his staring, you don’t say anything, instead watching him almost as if you’re scared of his answer.

Tomura probably doesn’t let you have sweets this late. Dabi shouldn’t either.

Dabi shouldn’t do a lot of things.

“Milk and cookies, huh?” he asks, chuckling a little and walking to the fridge.

“But, um…” you trail off, unsure. “Can I have chocolate milk?”

Dabi’s actions halt, hand frozen in mid-reach for the milk carton. Oh, you’re really pressing your luck tonight.

“I don’t see why not,” he says lightly, hand altering its course and grabbing the chocolate milk carton. And he tells himself he definitely isn’t giving into you because he wants to win brownie points, because he knows Tomura wouldn’t.

“Are you gonna have some, too?” you ask as he sets a glass down next to your thigh. He wasn’t planning on it, but…

“Sure princess, I’ll have some,” his eyes flick up to meet yours, just for a second, as he pours the milk, lips quirking up into a tiny lopsided grin. “Don’t tell your Daddy, though,” he says sternly while placing oatmeal chocolate chip cookies on a plate.

And it takes everything in him, every ounce of his self-control, not to spit that word out, harsh and mocking and dripping with jealousy.

Your eyes widen and he laughs a little at your expression, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I know you’re not allowed to have sweets this late at night,” he says with a smirk, thinking back to Tomura’s ridiculous itinerary. “You thought you were being sly, didn’t you, you little brat,”

You giggle a little, embarrassed, twirling a drawstring of the hoodie around your finger. “I won’t tell,” you promise, voice soft.

“Good,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The second night is the worst.

It’s nearly scalding, the heat marinating between your thighs, an obnoxious whine spilling from your lips as you turn over, petulant pout etched deep into your face, exhaling a strong, frustrated breath out your nose.

It’s aching, a deep throbbing rooted at your very core, vibrating throughout your entire body in waves, sending chills pebbling across your burning, clammy skin.

There’s nothing you can do about it, nothing you can do to relieve the pressure building in the pit of your stomach—not by yourself, anyway. Your fingers never work the way his do, could never feel as good as his do, and your toys are still hidden, locked away somewhere only he has the metaphorical key too, a direct result of disobeying him a few weeks ago and playing by yourself without his permission.

But you can’t sleep, potent lust—need—flowing through your veins, heady and intoxicating, your thighs squeezing together tightly in a fruitless effort to relieve some of the tension. Another pained whine, tapering off into a little whimper, sounds deep in the back of your throat as you thump onto your back, bleary eyes glaring up at Tomura’s intricately moulded ceiling.

Dabi’s only a room away, in the guest bedroom, in the bedroom that was supposed to be yours—maybe he could—

No. No. Guilt floods your body, chased by a sharp rush of shame as you cut that thought off immediately, suffocating it, stomach lurching with repulsion as your traitorous clit throbs at the prospect.

“No,” you tell yourself in a whisper, desperately aiming to be firm and hating the fact that the word quivers instead.

Trembling hands grope around the sheets as you blindly search for your phone, breath quickening as panic pierces your heart, mixing with the bitter guilt and acidic shame and settling sickeningly on your tongue. Your eyes squint at the bright screen as you bring it close to your face, your thumb jabbing Daddy three times in quick succession.

He answers halfway through the third ring, voice deep and gravelly.

“Princess?”

But you can still hear the slight panic in his tone, laced with sleep.

“D-Daddy,” you whimper, muffled by your face in the sheets as your eyes shut tightly against the stinging tears evoked by the very sound of his voice, by the love and adoration and worry that comes with it.

“Yes, baby?”

A soft, pathetic little whimper is all you can seem to manage, suddenly at a loss for words, heat seeping into your cheeks. And you can almost feel his aura shift, know exactly which smirk is spreading across his face as he huffs out a chuckle, low and hoarse.

He hums in question, waiting for a moment before speaking again.

“I know you didn’t call and wake up Daddy for nothing,”

There’s a warning in his tone, buried under the playful lilt to his voice, and it sends another intense rush of heat to your core, burning straight through the sordid undesirable feelings swirling in your chest just a moment ago.

Your cheeks are scalding now, fire spreading down your neck and creeping over your ears—but it’s so embarrassing to say, his name leaving your lips in a whine, a soft plea.

“C’mon princess, be a big girl and use your words. Tell Daddy what you want,” “I-I...m’horny, daddy,” you whisper, wincing a little as you force the words out. “And I—Well, I can’t do it w-without you,”

Tomura laughs again, a smooth, deep sound that vibrates through the speaker against your ear, sending shivers scurrying down your spine.

“Are you in my room right now?” he asks, and you hum an affirmative. “Good. In the bedside table on my side of the bed, there’s a pair of headphones. Put them on—unless you wanna put me on speaker and give Dabi a real show,”

“N-No,” you squeak, scrambling to search hastily through the drawer. “I-I did it,” you breathe a moment later, settling back against his pillows.

“Good girl,” he practically purrs, your stomach swooping at the sound. “Take your panties off,”

“Daddy—” you begin, tone sulky.

“I’m gonna guide you through it, princess,”

It isn’t what you want—you were hoping he’d tell you where he hid the toys—but you suppose you don’t have much of a choice now, lifting your hips enough to shove your panties down your legs, kicking them off.

He tells you how to spread yourself open, how to fuck yourself with your fingers, how to curl them just right, speaking to you as if you’re stupid, voice gentle and condescending.

And you try, try to close your eyes and listen to his commands, try to obey and do exactly as he says, try to imagine it’s him touching you instead.

But it isn’t satisfying in the slightest, just like you knew it wouldn’t be, not even with the way his voice is getting huskier, breathier, each one of his sharp inhales or quiet, breathy grunts sending another wave of arousal crashing over you.

“It’s not the same,” you nearly wail, pulling your fingers from yourself and flexing them, then rolling your wrist. “I want your cock, Daddy,”

“I know baby,” he breathes, voice soft and sympathetic, and you’re surprised your getting away with such brattiness; he must be feeling more sentimental than usual today. “Daddy misses you, too. But for right now Daddy’s gonna need you to make yourself cum, okay? Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”

Yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy, you can always be a good girl for him.

So you try again, with a little more vigour this time, a little more motivation, the thought of being good fuelling you.

“Bet your pussy looks so cute right now, being filled by your fingers,” he groans a little, and it’s one of those groans, the ones he makes when you sink down on him, the ones he tries to stifle when your little hands wander over his lap at those fancy dinners you hate so much, palming him through his expensive trousers. “Did I make your cock hard, Daddy?” He laughs, a gruff sound crackling through your headphones. “God, how do you manage to make such an obscene sentence sound so innocent?” He huffs out. “Yeah babygirl, you made my cock hard,” “A-Are you touching it right now?” You ask shyly, the thought of him laying in his hotel bed with a fist wrapped around his cock making your tummy flutter. “Yeah,” he breathes out. “So make some cute noises so Daddy can get off, princess. D’ya think you can do that for me?” “Mhmm,” “Good girl,” he praises, voice just a bit strained. “Now keep going, baby. Touch yourself for Daddy, play with that cute little clit for me,” he pauses, snapping at you when you don’t immediately begin again. “That’s an order, princess,”

A soft yelp slips through your parted lips as you nod, even though he can’t see you, beginning to pump your fingers again. It’s embarrassing, how wet you are, juices covering your palm, lewd squelching echoing out among the empty room.

“Feeling good?”

“Y-Yeah,” the word escaping your mouth in a gasp. “Doing it just like how you told me to, Daddy,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hear some rustling on the other end, then a thump. “Good girl,”

You mewl at the praise, at the way his voice has already gotten deeper, guttural and raspy, pushing your hips towards your hand in response as your fingers work, exactly the way he instructed only a few minutes prior—middle finger and ring finger, baby, c’mon, I know you can do it; yeah, move ‘em in and out a little, slow at first…That’s it, good girl…Find that spot you love so much, princess—it shouldn’t be too hard to find, you know where it is—and curl your fingers, pressing your knuckles into it…Yeah, like that…

His words reverberate in your brain, voice coated in saccharine condescension, a tone so completely him as he almost talks down to you in that syrupy, deep voice, replaying on loop while your fingers unthinkingly obey.

Those words are so loud in your head, mixed with his quiet grunts and little whines, flowing through the headphones, that you don’t realize just how noisy you’re being, whimpers of Daddy, Daddy and broken moans escaping your throat in a continuous stream, volume rising and rising and rising.

“God, I am going to fuck your brains out the moment I get back,” he vows, panting a little.

“Yes,” you mewl, fingers picking up speed as you rub your clit against the heel of your hand.

“Gonna—uh—gonna stuff that pretty little cunt full of my cum, until it’s leaking out everywhere,” he’s growling now, words rumbling in your ears.

“Oh daddy, please,” the plead leaves your lips in a high, needy whine.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Daddy’s little cumslut,”

You can’t answer anymore, eyes rolling back as you emit soft little ah!’s, fucking yourself on your fingers.

“That’s it babygirl, make yourself feel good for Daddy—oh, fuck,” he breathes, and you can tell he’s close too.

Your fingers curl again, almost viciously this time, as your hips roll, practically humping your hand, and it only takes a few more thrusts before you’re crying out, cumming all over yourself, heated body arching off his bed as your entire frame trembles.

You can hear his noises, little growls grunts, muted and muffled by your post orgasm haze as you melt back into his mattress,

“Are you gonna cum for me, Daddy?” You ask brokenly, voice wrecked and breathless from your orgasm, and he groans loudly. “I made s-such a good mess for you, I’ll send you a photo,”

“Christ,” he curses, the word catching in his throat and he chokes on it, garbled sound morphing into a loud moan, the sound filling you mind with images of him cumming all over his own fist, spurting ropes of shimmering white along his toned chest. “I bet you did, baby,” he says a moment later, breathing heavily into the receiver.

“You wanna see?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, and the sudden change in tone has warmth sprouting in your chest. “Send me a picture, princess, and then bed, understand?”

“Yes Daddy,” you respond obediently, preening a little at the gentle chuckle you pull from him.

And it’s only when you’re snuggling back into Tomura’s plush bed, surrounded by fluffy blankets and thick pillows, body boneless from the force of your orgasm, that you remember Dabi’s in the room right next to you.

Your lidded eyes fly open, a gasp catching in your throat at the realization. It completely slipped your mind the moment Tomura began speaking to you, so caught up in Tomura’s voice, in your fingers stuffing your little cunt, that you forgot you weren’t exactly alone. “Oh God,” you whimper into the cotton sheets as your entire body flushes in embarrassment. Just how loud were you? You can’t remember—you weren’t paying attention, too focused on and wrapped up in your Daddy’s sweet voice to even notice. How on earth are you supposed to face him tomorrow at breakfast?

You don’t have much time to mull over it, though, because within moments your breathing is evening out, heavy eyelids slipping shut.

...But, really, Tomura’s walls really aren’t as thick as you think they are.

Or, maybe you just don’t care.

Either way, it doesn’t matter to Dabi. He can hear you so clearly it nearly feels like he’s in the room with you, cock twitching in response to particularly loud moan, breathy and high as it seeps through the wall.

He can imagine it almost perfectly, a mirage forming in front of his very eyes; you on your back, hair splayed out on the pillow as little hands creep between your thighs, face sticky and heated with a mixture of embarrassment and lust as pretty little noises fall from your lips, broken mewls and soft whines of his name—

“Fuck,” he breathes in annoyance as his cock pulses, straining against his plaid PJ pants.

He tries to resist, honestly, he does—tries to ignore how ridiculously hard he is, hips shifting on their own as he pathetically humps the mattress just a little, trying in vain to find some relief without actually touching himself.

But it’s the third time that you let out another one of those broken little whines that has Dabi rooting around for his phone on the nightstand, snatching it up and unlocking it hastily before pressing that small little red circle, starting the voice recording app.

He’ll never get another opportunity like this, he tries to reason with himself, ignoring the tiny spark of guilt that flickers in his stomach—it’s small, and easy enough to snuff out, especially when your beautiful little sounds are only increasing in volume and frequency. He has to make the most of this, he’s sure of it.

Large hands shove his PJ pants down his thighs, just enough to free his cock, cautious not to ruffle the sheets too much and muffle your noises on the recording. Sharp teeth bite down hard on his tongue as his hand wraps around himself, squeezing hard as he begins jerking off almost immediately.

And, for a moment, he thinks you’re just getting yourself off normally—alone. It isn’t until he hears you responding to something—a question, he thinks—that he realizes you’re talking to someone, most likely on the phone with Tomura.

The creature in his chest rages at the thought, jealousy bubbling up and burning his throat as it overflows, drying his mouth out and leaving a nasty taste, his molars grinding together.

But he’s thankful you’re consistently crying out the word Daddy! instead of Tomura’s name—it makes it easier to imagine it’s him pulling those sounds from you.

The poor thing, the thought echoes through his head as he listens to your struggle, complaining about how ‘it’s not the same!’. If it’s cock you want…

He could’ve given it to you—could still give it to you, if you’d just hang the damn phone up.

It’s a thought that crosses his mind multiple times as he listens, thinking about how pathetically easy it’d be to just rip open the door to Tomura’s bedroom, toss the phone across the fucking room and pin you down, railing you into his mattress for the remainder of the night.

Truly, it kills him in the best way, having to listen to your frustrated whines as you desperately strive to get yourself off, when he’s only a few meters away, separated by measly drywall, when he could be in there, making you feel better than your little fingers ever could.

But Tomura must say something that encourages you, because your needy little whines of complaint and protest, sounding almost as if you’re on the verge of tears, quickly morph into something else, tiny yelps and mewls, changing out the word daddy over and over, higher and higher, and—

Did I make your cock hard, Daddy?

The question floats through the wall, soft and naïve and just so fucking precious, causing a sharp hitch in Dabi’s breath, hastily shoving his free fist into his mouth to muffle the uncontrollable whine that tries to escape his throat, piercing teeth sinking into his knuckles hard enough to force shooting pain up his forearm, hard enough to leave deep purple indents in his skin, speckled with red, that’ll take hours to fade.

It’s building in his body, way too fucking quickly, searing heat coiling in his stomach, tighter and tighter and tighter as his motions become more vigorous, speeding up to match his strokes in time to your escalating moans.

You cum, and he chokes on a rough whimper, drool beginning to dribble out of his mouth, running down the side of his hand and dripping off his wrist, oozing onto his pillow in a little puddle.

And then he hears it, in your cute, breathy voice, strained and raspy post-orgasm, as you coo sweetly, Are you gonna cum for me, Daddy?

“Fuck,” Dabi whines brokenly around the fist stuffed in his mouth, much too loudly, praying that Tomura’s too loud in your ears for you to hear him as he explodes all over his fist, cumming hot and sticky and so much, soiling the sheets and waistband of his pants.

Harsh, rapid breaths are exhaling through his nose, his chest heaving with exertion as he tries to calm himself, quiet himself, unlocking his stiff muscles and dislodging his fist from his mouth, jaw aching from being forced open for so long.

Revulsion and shame should be taking root deep at the core of his body, should be settling deep into his bones after such a perverted act; or at least that’s what he thinks should be happening, what would happen to a normal person with a normal conscious. But he isn’t normal.

Instead, he feels ecstatic, elated to have the recording, clear and clean and full of only you, drifting off to sleep with a smile on his face and your moans echoing in his head, scathing jealousy in his chest momentarily tamed by his orgasm.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Dabi!” You holler, skipping through the halls late Sunday morning, voice echoing throughout the penthouse. “Dabi, you lazy butt, get u—”

Feet skid to a stop in front of the open doorway to his bedroom, voice cutting off as you realize he is already up, muttering something softly to himself as he stares down at the bedspread. His head snaps up at your abrupt appearance, looking almost guilty, though it’s hard to tell. “You’re already up?” “What do you want?” He bites, and you flinch at his sharp tone. He frowns, sighing as fingers tug through inky hair, muttering a soft apology and looking away, while you stand unsurely in his doorway, fingers twisting in front of yourself. “Well, I—It’s Sunday, and I thought we could make pancakes, I didn’t—Is...Is everything okay?” Hesitantly, your feet begin entering the room, motions slow and cautious, almost as if you’re approaching a wild, terrified animal, hands raised slightly in submission. You gasp when you see it. His jaw flexes, a flaming mixture of guilt and shame, feelings that he should’ve felt instantly after making such a mess last night, finally flooding his body. “Oh,” you say softly, eyes drawn to a large, messy white patch staining the dark sheets.

For a moment, everything is still, quiet, unbreathing, until your eyes flick up to meet his for a second—a curious little grin on your face, an uncharacteristic shock of guilt written across his—before they drift back down to the bedspread, blinking rapidly.

“Well, that’s okay,” you say softly, eyes darting back to his again. “It’s no big deal, I’ll just throw ‘em in the wash,”

It takes him a moment to find his voice as you begin untucking the sheets from the mattress, but when he does, it’s hoarse, strained.

“I’ll help,”

“Yeah, okay,” you say gently, eyes shining oddly, little grin still in place on your face, an expression he’s never witnessed before.

And it should be awkward as the two of you strip the bed. The air should be thick and heavy and uncomfortable—you should be livid at him, for invading your privacy like that, for being such a fucking pervert—but you aren’t, and it isn’t.

Instead, the two of you keep catching each other’s eyes as you work together, quick glances where your gazes connect for a millisecond before you look away, soft giggles and short chuckles falling from both pairs of lips at the absurdity of it all.

And it shouldn’t—It absolutely shouldn’t fill you with giddiness, the thought of Dabi getting off to you last night, listening to you as you touched yourself, shouldn’t make you feel desired and loved, shouldn’t make your heart soar in your chest. It should make you feel sick, disgusted, revolted.

But it doesn’t. And that, that scares you.

Do you even know how to do laundry? He’s teasing as you fumble with the fabric softener, watching you out of the corner of his eye as he stuffs the sheets and comforter into the machine. “Doesn’t Daddy and Daddy’s servants do everything for you?”

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “I’ve lived without Tomura for over twenty years, you know,” you snap back. “I can do things on my own, I just prefer not to,” you respond simply with a shrug.

Tomura arrives later that afternoon, and Dabi leaves less than a second after Tomura’s stepped foot through the door, muttering a quick, impolite greeting as he exits. Tomura’s eyebrows furrow and he stares at the door for a moment, cocking his head to the side, before slow crimson eyes drift back to you, a predatory grin spreading across his face.

“Get over here.”

Truthfully, Dabi had tried to save himself from having to witness it, knows it makes his chest twist as if someone’s stabbed his heart with a dagger when he has to see it, but your excited squeals of Daddy! carry down the hall, float past the ceilings and walls, seeping through every crack and nook in the molding. He knows he shouldn’t go home, knows he’ll be stuck listening to your agonizingly glorious moans as you welcome Tomura home, as the mahogany headboard of Tomura’s needlessly massive bed slams rhythmically against the wall, hard enough to send gentle tremors traveling down the drywall and into Dabi’s own bedroom below. But he does it anyway, forces himself to sit through it, to count how many orgasms Tomura’s able to pull from you, refusing to touch his aching cock.

It’s fucking torture, and he’s not sure why he even does it, his mind screaming at him to get the hell up, to get the hell out. Maybe it’s because he has to know, has to hear it for himself yet again, get that explicit confirmation that the look in your eyes from this morning, and that curious little smile on your face, meant absolutely nothing, and that you still belong to him.

Maybe it’s because he’s convinced he deserves it, the cruelest form of self-punishment, listening to the girl he loves get fucked out of her mind by someone who isn’t him.

Tomura makes good on his promise from Saturday night and fucks you senseless—against the door, on the table, over the arm of the couch, in his bed—fills you with so much hot cum you can feel it burning deep in your belly, so much cum that it feels like your tummy’s actually bulging with it.

The bruises he left Thursday night have begun to fade, ugly greens and yellows marring your neck, and he doesn’t like that, growling a little as his teeth sink into the supple flesh hard enough to break the skin, sucking with so much force it bursts several blood vessels and causes you to cry out, tears flooding your eyes as his hips piston up into you almost viciously.

And then he does it again, and again, and again, until your entire neck, collarbone, and chest are covered, brilliant shades of violet and navy blossoming across your skin, each one screaming his name.

He fucks you until your boneless, until you physically cannot hold yourself up anymore, abused body sinking into the plush mattress and cum leaking out of your little hole, pussy puffy and raw. He fucks you until your voice goes hoarse, throat split open from the constant noises he draws out of you, until your mind goes positively numb, incapable of conceiving anything other than his name and his cock.

It isn’t until Tomura’s carrying you to the kitchen, your legs too weak to walk on your own, muscles still trembling a little from the sheer magnitude of your several orgasms, that you remember the sheets.

A reflexive gasp escapes your lips as you pass the laundry room, wincing a little at your own stupidity. And, perceptive as ever, Tomura halts, ruby eyes scanning your face slowly, before he peaks into the room, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Why are there sheets in the dryer?”

“Hmm?” You hum sleepily against his shoulder. “Oh. Uh, the maid put them in there,”

Tomura’s eyes narrow slightly. “The maid doesn’t come in on Sundays…” he pauses, looking back at the machine, shuffling a little closer to get a better look at the contents. “Wait a minute, these are the sheets from the guest bedroom, are they not? From Dabi’s room?”

Your entire body freezes in his arms, heart rate beginning to rise as you pull back a little to look at him, blinking your tired eyes. “I-I dunno,”

He hums to himself, eyes squinting a little more as he thinks, a venomous grin of realization curling his lips a moment later.

“That nasty fucker,”

And while Tomura may look playful, and his tone may sound teasing, you know that dangerous glint in his eye. Dabi would know it too, if he were present, has seen it more times than he can count—that special little glimmer Tomura gets in his eyes right before he kills.

✰ ✰ ✰

She doesn’t compare, could never compare to you—her laugh is wrong, her moans are too low, her voice doesn’t break like yours does, in the same way yours does, when Tomura really fucks you. But if he closes his eyes, shuts them tight until he’s seeing stars, until it’s borderline painful, he can almost imagine that it’s you withering under him, you scraping your nails down his back, you clenching around him—though he’s sure your pussy is sweeter than this. Almost. He should probably feel disgusted in himself, in the way he pathetically searches for girls who look remotely similar to you to bring home and fuck while that recording of your moans plays on loop in his head. He is, he supposes, in one way or another. But he’s been a scumbag for most of his adult life; things like this stopped bothering him a long time ago. This girl’s lucky to even have his cock at all, he thinks—and he can’t find it in him to care anymore, moaning out your name in that rough, deep voice on more than one occasion as he fills them with cum.

Because that thing, that creature you bred in his chest, ravenous and unquenchable in it’s craving for you, needs to be fed in somehow, someway, needs you in any capacity it can get you in at this point. He needs you too badly, is forced to do shit like this to restrain himself from just fucking you on the spot the next time he sees you, because he would never be able to handle the way you’d look at him after.

He wouldn’t be able to bear it if you hated him or were scared of him. No. Not anymore. Maybe once, but not anymore.

He’s in way too deep now, barely even minds anymore; it isn’t worth the trouble and effort. It’s become a fact of his life, his love for you, and he’s been working hard to accept it as an invariable of his life, something he can’t change, won’t change, will never change. You’re like a fucking addiction, a sickness, a good and bad one, something that simultaneously makes his chest swell while his heart crumbles to ash.

It’s pathetic and it’s not enough, will never be enough, but he’ll take whatever he can get to calm the voracious thing in his chest, even if it’s only for a little.

✰ ✰ ✰

Despite his thoughtful apology, and Isaac, things with Dabi are still rocky at best. Some days are better than others, yet it seems like every time you think the two of you are finally making progress, something happens and he snaps, and you have to start over, again.

It feels like you’re climbing a mountain with him, steep and unsteady, never knowing when a loose rock is going to give, sending you plunging back to the base, over and over and over again.

You’d like to think that it is slowly getting better—one of those things that progresses so slowly you can barely notice it over a long period of time—want to believe that you’re steadily gaining more good days than bad, but it’s hard to tell.

It’s been a week and a half since your sleepover, and things have been…Good. Fine. Well enough to have you becoming cautiously optimistic, again. Maybe all you needed was a weekend alone, just lounging around in each other’s presence without the looming threat of your boyfriend and his boss, just being together, existing together.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

It’s storming again—the skies of Tokyo seem to always be storming these days—a dense flurry of thick snowflakes steadily wisping against the window, diluting the neon light from the city.

Resultingly, the car ride from the university back to the penthouse had taken nearly triple the amount of time it normally does, and by the time you arrive home, Dabi’s just about ready to crawl out of his own fucking skin.

More than half the drive home was spent listening to you, giggling into your phone and squealing Daddy! intermittently, Tomura undoubtedly neglecting his responsibilities just to speak with you for a little longer.

This isn’t uncommon, it isn’t unusual. You normally call Tomura, every single day, on your drive home from school, and Tomura’s been sure to set aside an allocated amount of time, every day, varying based on the time that your class for any particular day ends.

Dabi’s used to this, has gotten used to this.

But only for half an hour.

Although, this isn’t what sends him over the edge. No, he’s become pretty damn good at controlling his jealousy, has learned how to live with the sharp teeth that gnaw on his heart, coating it in viscous acidic saliva any time you merely mention Tomura, never mind when he’s actually forced to witness the two of you together. But half an hour passes, and then forty-five minutes, and then an hour and fifteen minutes, and everything’s beginning to get under his skin, slithering and scuttling along his flesh, nipping at it, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

He tries to concentrate more on the way his hands are beginning to tremble, sweat beginning to bead his hairline, heart beginning to race as anxiety sets in, because he forgot all of his pretty little distractions—tiny blue pills and soft white powder—at the penthouse.

But it’s not that that sets him off, either.

It’s the expression on your face, all twisted up somewhere between concern and disgust, as he hastily snatches the bottle off the granite countertop where he left it, breath shaky and shallow as quivering hands tap out a few pills, dry-swallowing all three at once.

He sighs, heart already beginning to calm with the knowledge that now he just has to wait a little, just give it a bit of time, and then he’ll begin to feel normal again, eyes opening to find you staring at him, lips pressed together in disapproval, arms crossed over your chest and foot tapping against the hardwood.

“What?” he scowls, cobalt eyes darkening as he glares back at you.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,”

And, God, it’s the way you say it, voice laced with disdain and squinting a little at the small bottle his fingers are wrapped around, clutching like a fucking lifeline, the way your lips curl into a bit of a sneer on those last few words, that has him finally snapping.

Scalding anger flashes through his chest, blistering his insides, and he scoffs at you. Tomura takes just as many—if not more—drugs than he does, and you wouldn’t dare say that to him, wouldn’t even think of making such an ugly face, wouldn’t ever use that fucking tone with him, Dabi’s mind rages, decidedly ignoring the fact that you’d probably get slapped so hard it would split your lip, had you ever tried speaking to Tomura in such a manner.

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to deal with you every waking minute of every godforsaken day, so,” he spits, grip around the tiny bottle tightening, thin skin stretched taut across sharp, bony knuckles.

Eyes widening, you blink several times at the sheer audacity before your features harden, eyes narrowing. Chin tilted up just a touch, you gaze at him with—with what appears to be pity, like you feel sorry for him, like he’s pathetic.

“Oh? Is that your excuse? It’s my fault, right?”

It is! He wants to roar, a dark growl rumbling deep within his chest as he exhales harshly, nostrils flaring with the force of it.

“Couldn’t possibly be your own fault, now could it?” you continue, and the look you give him, filled with derision and disgust, has his heart crawling through the ribs that contain it.

His glare scathes your skin, but you hold steadfast, glowering back at him and raising an eyebrow—a challenge. You begin walking into the living room, stroll slow and controlled as you speak.

“Nah, ‘course not, it’s not like you use them to—”

And it’s all accumulating, all those vicious feelings building in his chest, higher and higher and higher with each word you speak, dense and heavy, until it breaks out, it bursts, spilling uncontrollably from his lips.

“Holy fucking Christ! Y’know, my life would be so much fucking better if you had never stumbled into it!”

With your stupidly pretty eyes, and soft smiles, and the way you giggle just a little when he teases you, when he calls you names, the way you’re not afraid to fight back, especially with issues you’re passionate about—it would be so much better if it were all just gone. Life would be easy again.

Feet skidding to a stop, your head whips around, staring at him with wide, incredulous eyes. For a moment, he’s sure you’re going to cry. Then your eyes steel, vitriolic and cold, nostrils flaring as your hands curl into tiny, trembling fists.

“What is wrong with you lately!?” your voice is beginning to rise, bordering on a yell. “I swear to God, you give me fucking whiplash!”

“Watch your mouth,” he snaps at you, cerulean eyes blazing.

“Oh, who are you, Tomura?” you laugh, a high, bitter, humorless sound. “And, what? You think I enjoy being forced to spend all my time with you? That I consider it a good time? That I wouldn’t trade you for Tomura in a heartbeat?”

And it stings, that last sentence, stings like a sharp backhanded smack to the face, his cheek aching from the force, grinding his molars together as he resists the urge to cradle it, the copious amount of drugs doing nothing to dull the pain, nothing to numb him to your seething eyes and hostile, caustic words.

“I cherish the time I don’t spend with you,” he snarls, though there are tears collecting in his eyes, jaw clenching twice as he inhales forcefully, swallowing past the acrid lump in his throat.

It’s a lie. Of fucking course it’s a lie. All he does in his spare time is think about you, fuck girls that look like you, obsess over fleeting moments with you, overthinking himself into a fucking aneurysm.

Lies, lies, lies, so many lies spilling from his mouth, acidic and burning holes in his tongue, each one of your quiet sniffles or choked gasps sending another spike of agony shredding through his heart.

But you blink hard, teeth gritted as you proudly hold back tears.

“Do you think I like being stuck with you anymore than you like being stuck with me? I don’t. These past months has been the worst of my entire life, you’re a goddamn nightmare—”

He’s never seen you this angry before, wasn’t even sure you were capable of getting this angry before, and that monster, the one you birthed, growls and snarls and thrashes from inside his chest, sending searing pain shooting up his spine.

“Yeah, well, you’re no walk in the park either, sweetheart,” he barks out the words, for no reason other than to try and quell the pitiful quiver in his voice, wild eyes scanning your face frantically. “Gonna cry? Just like you always do?” And his tone is taunting, brimming with scorn. “Why don’t you go and run to him, just like you always do. Let him fix your fucking problems for you, again, since you can’t seem to do anything yourself—”

“What do you want me to do, Dabi!? When you borderline abuse me everyday, what do you expect me to do in this situation, who else am I—”

“You do realize that people just tolerate you, right? That’s all we’re stuck doing; just enduring your presence until we can fucking leave again, because you—you’re protected, aren’t you? Protected by the boss,” he spits the final word out, face contorting in disgust, as if the word sours his tongue.

You laugh again, a shrill sound that spills almost uncontrollably from your throat. “Oh yeah? And were you just tolerating me when you jerked off while listening to me fuck myself a week ago?”

“I mean, that’s all you’re good for, right?” he shoots back, eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “That’s all Tomura keeps you around for, isn’t it?”

And that’s the one that does it—that’s the one that ultimately breaks the dam amassing in your chest, tears finally trickling over your lash-line.

Because although you’ve grown a tougher, thicker skin spending so much time with him, it’s still always those little remarks that get you the most, the ones that may have a hint of truth to them, spit out in the heat of the moment.

Your expression changes in an instant, all the fury fading from your face as your features fall, chin beginning to tremble as your bottom lip juts out, chest stuttering with little hiccupped breaths.

Immediately, he knows he’s gone too far. Immediately, he’s moving towards you, moving solely on instinct, words overflowing from his mouth in a steady, continuous stream, though he can barely hear what he’s speaking, blood rushing so loudly in his ears they’re beginning to ring.

“Baby, baby, baby,” he’s saying as he advances, arms outstretched and reaching for you.

“Fuck you,” you try to shout, words getting garbled in your mouth as salty tears roll down your cheeks, shaking your head at him. “Fuck you,” He’s too close now, arms almost able to encircle you, little hands finding purchase on his chest and shoving as hard as you can.

It doesn’t deter him at all—he doesn’t even fucking budge—ignoring your weak pushes and wrapping his arms around you, still speaking.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” his voice vibrates against your cheek as you squirm in his embrace. “I didn’t mean it, baby, I didn’t mean it, I promise,”

And he can’t seem to stop, ostensibly powerless to control the words constantly tumbling past his lips.

The pet-name makes your breath hitch, half-sobs stuttering in your chest—it isn’t something you hear often, only managing to slip past his lips during special occasions such as this.

Tiny, trembling fists beat against his chest as you cry, chest-wracking sobs that shake your entire frame, little gasps escaping your lips as you choke on your tears.

“I—I hate you!” you wail, shoving him again, although he doesn’t shift one bit, entirely unphased. Instead, strong arms squeeze you closer, holding you tightly to his chest. “No!” you scream, trying in vain to push him away again, little fists still slamming against him, over and over and over, though you’re beginning to lose strength, actions beginning to slow, the toll of your rage finally beginning to catch up with your body.

“Stop,” he says softly. “Stop, stop,”

“Let me go,” you sob into his chest as your motions begin to slow, his arms squeezing you again.

“Shh,” he hushes you, deep and gentle, chest vibrating with the quiet command. “Stop,”

Finally, you collapse against him, body going limp as he supports all of your weight, face pressed almost painfully against his chest.

“I hate you,” you weep, but your hands are fisting in his t-shirt, trying to pull him closer. “I hate you s-so much,”

“I know,” Dabi responds hoarsely, voice breaking. “I hate me, too,”

His soft confession only makes you cry harder, entire body trembling violently against him. Swallowing thickly, Dabi cradles you in his arms, hugging you to his form and beginning to rock your bodies gently.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he continues, can’t seem to think of anything else to say, any other way to express how awful he feels. “I am so fucking sorry, so sorry, my baby,”

And there it is again, that pet-name—that pet-name that conjures up a sob so aggressive it tears through your chest excruciatingly, the sheer force of it strangling you, coughing and gagging as you stutter out his name.

“God, princess,” Dabi whimpers, and it sounds almost as if he’s crying, too. “I don’t—fuck—” he inhales shakily, cutting himself off as his eyes begin to burn.

He can feel panic building in his chest so quickly it’s suffocating him. He has half a mind to push you away from him and run as fast as he possibly can in the other direction; maybe back to the Audi. Maybe he’ll just start driving and never stop. Maybe he’ll drive right off a goddamn cliff. His fingers flex, digging into your back hard enough to make you hiss, and he feels jittery, restless, like the penthouse is closing in on him. He’s got to get the fuck out of here, immediately, before he—

“Dabi?” you ask softly, sniffling a little and hesitantly placing a hand on his cheek, gazing up at him with gleaming eyes, still full of tears.

Your sudden touch breaks through his thoughts and he jumps violently, his reaction startling you enough to gasp and begin pulling your hand away. Dabi catches it quickly and presses your palm back against his cheek.

“No,” he whispers, holding your hand in place. “Please,”

Large eyes search his face for a few seconds, brows knitted in confusion, more glistening tears streaming down your cheeks. His eyes are red and glassy, filled with tears he stubbornly refuses to let fall. His nose twitches, and he breathes out hard to stop it.

“Okay,” you finally respond, thumb caressing his inked skin. “Okay.”

The both of you stand motionless for a few seconds, continuing to stare at each other silently, before the burning in Dabi’s veins becomes too much to take.

He seizes your face suddenly, large hands cupping your jaw, and pulls you towards him, pressing your lips together fiercely. You gasp into the kiss, wide eyes searching Dabi’s face as he squeezes his eyelids shut tightly, tears finally leaking from the corners.

Your shock only lasts for a moment, though, before your mind gives into your impulses, body relaxing against his as your hands move on their own accord, slipping around his neck.

He whines into the kiss and you press closer, raising up on your tiptoes as his tongue licks along the seam of your lips, which part to give him immediate access, tongue eagerly greeting his. He tastes exactly like you imagined he would, like spicy cinnamon and smoke and just the slightest hint of citrus.

Dabi pours his soul into those soft, gentle kisses, tries in vain to convey all of the things he wishes he had the courage to say and just prays that you understand.

And he thinks…he thinks you do. Hiccupping into the kisses, his lips stutter a little, and you whimper in response, your fingers working their way up his neck and into the soft inky hair at the base of his skull, tangling themselves in it.

He kisses you until his back aches from bending down at such an angle, until his chest burns from lack of oxygen, until your saliva is so interspersed it no longer belongs to either of you.

It’s Dabi that finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as your chests heave, ragged breaths echoing down the penthouse’s halls.

And he expects overwhelming guilt to hit him immediately, is almost wincing as he waits for the impact, but it never comes. Instead, he feels relieved, like he can finally fucking breathe again.

The door slams, Tomura calling out for you, and the two of you spring apart, as if you had been electrically shocked. Still panting, your wide eyes find his, holding his gaze, a silent question of what to do.

“Wipe your mouth,” Dabi instructs hastily in a sharp whisper, completing the action with you as he drags the back of his hand across his gleaming lips, clearing the residuary saliva as Tomura’s footsteps echo closer, and closer, and closer.

Shaking his head to clear it a little, Dabi closes his eyes for a second before rolling his shoulders back and puffing his chest, molding his facial features to mimic frustration. He gives you one final glance, something that almost looks apologetic, and then he’s turning on his heel to barrel past Tomura, who’s just entering the living room, shoulder knocking against his superior’s.

“See you tomorrow,” he mumbles gruffly as an explanation, keeping his head down as his speed increases.

Tomura turns to watch him go, dark eyes glaring at his back until he rounds the corner, completely out of sight. Frowning, he turns back toward you, scarlet eyes sharp as they study your face. A sigh slips from between his lips, heavy and ridden with stress as his both his hands cup your cheeks, thumbs running across the clammy skin.

“What happened?” And his voice is so gentle, so loving, that it causes another fresh wave of tears to invade your eyes.

Blinking rapidly, you shake your head. “Oh. We, um, we had a fight…”

“Fucking Christ, again? Does this mean you’re getting another goddamn kitten?”

You laugh a little and Tomura’s eyes soften, tense shoulders relaxing just a bit, knuckles caressing the curve of your face before smoothing your hair back.

“No,” you shake your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I think we, uh, resolved it. He just…He just needs some time to cool off, that’s all,”

He regards you skeptically, eyes narrowed like he doesn’t fully believe you, but you urge him not to push it.

Everything’s fine, you’re saying as you sniffle and wipe at your eyes hastily, clearing them of leftover tears. “I’m okay, Daddy, I promise,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t talk about it. Not the next morning, or the day after that, or the week after that. It’s completely forgotten, erased, ignored, to the point where it has you questioning if it even happened at all—emotions were elevated that night, and your memory becomes fuzzier with each passing day. You should feel guilty, you think, and you do sometimes, but Tomura barely notices, because Tomura’s barely around anymore.

Dabi doesn’t allow himself to think about it, will not allow himself to think about it. No, it’s just better to forget about it entirely. He’s sure you didn’t mean it, didn’t mean to kiss him back; sure that you were simply seeking comfort in something, anything that you could that night. Besides, tensions have been high lately, and you’ve both been on edge, and he doesn’t want to cause any problems, doesn’t want you to get in trouble, so he simply acts as if it never happened.

It’s effortless around you, easy to ignore the incident entirely, to wipe it from his memory. But the nights are different, vivid images invading his head without his permission; memories of how soft your lips were, the way you tasted, the way you nipped at his bottom lip as fingers tangled in his shirt, trying desperately to bring him closer, flashing through his mind over and over again as he fists his cock, thinking about the soft little sounds he pulled from you with that kiss alone.

No, neither of you talk about it.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Three weeks?” he deadpans, staring at his father from across the long boardroom table.

His father nods, meeting his son’s gaze levelly. “To discuss overseas distributors. The Americans are very interested in the products we’re developing—you’ll be bringing samples with you.”

“I can’t,” he responds simply, shaking his head. “Get someone else to do it. I can’t leave her for that long. I can’t,”

“Tomura, as head of this organization, you have to—”

“I can’t!”

He can’t, because he’s still receiving them—letters, pictures, fucking phone calls—recounting your day in excruciating detail. They’re watching you, stalking you, have eyes on your every move, nearly compelling Tomura to just lock you up, somewhere deep and dark, safe and hidden, somewhere his, and throw away the fucking key.

“They’re trying to put pressure on you, to stress you out,” Kurogiri tries to explain as Tomura roughly rakes his fingers through silvery-blue tufts after receiving a particularly distressing call describing in brutal detail how they’re going to murder you—not how they’d like to, how they’re going to—tearing out strands with the action.

“They’re trying to break you,” Chisaki corrects. “I wouldn’t doubt that she’s truly in danger, though,”

“Is there really nothing we can fucking do?” Frenzied ruby eyes snap towards his father, glare so fierce it could incinerate him in an instant.

“We’re doing all we can to trace the—”

“Well, you’re clearly not doing enough!” Tomura explodes, tightly curled fists slamming down against the boardroom table with enough force to make it shudder.

“No one’s going to touch her, Tomura,” Kurogiri reassures gently. “She’s got the best security around, and you know Dabi would never let anyone get near her,” An involuntary growl sounds deep in his chest at the mention of his name, but Kurogiri perseveres. “She’s perfectly safe,”

✰ ✰ ✰

He doesn’t call, doesn’t even wait until he gets home to tell you in person—if he even is coming home tonight—no, you receive it as a fucking text message.

Dabi can tell something is wrong, the moment you look down at your phone and your expression drops, face clouding over, teeth gritting and brows pushing together.

“You good?” he asks after a moment, when your expression doesn’t change, eyes still glaring at the screen of your phone.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” you look up, giving him a small smile, though your voice is slightly higher than normal. “I’m fine,”

He knows you aren’t, but he doesn’t press either way. Yet there’s something in your eye, a look he’s not quite sure he’s ever seen before, is it…sadness? No, no it’s different from the look you gave him that one day on the campus parking lot.

Anger?

He spends too much time thinking about it—way too much time contemplating it, mulling over it in his head, brain spurting question after question much too loudly (Why are you mad? What was on your phone? Did he do something? Why does he even fucking care?)

But then his phone is buzzing, bringing him back to the present, has him hastily checking it and cursing under his breath, leaping up from the couch.

He has to leave, he tells you as he walks towards the door, you trailing behind. He’ll only be gone for an hour, tops, he promises.

“Why?”

“Work stuff,” he lies easily. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll only be downstairs,”

A small frown mars your face, lips tugging down at the corners as your brow furrows. Work stuff? Tomura would never authorize him to leave you alone, even for a moment, so what work stuff could this possibly be? “But…Does Tomura know?”

“No,” Dabi says firmly, actions halting as his eyes bore into yours. “And I’d like it to stay that way,”

Your eyes narrow slightly. “Can I come?”

“Absolutely not. Why do you think I just told you I’m leaving, stupid? You’ll stay here, like a good little girl, sit pretty for me until I get back, yeah?”

A sneer materializes on your face, chest beginning to burn with a toxic mixture of annoyance and fury. You can’t stand when he imitates Tomura like that, imitates your relationship like that, trivializing and patronizing and just plain mean.

Dabi doesn’t give you a second to respond, though, glancing down as his phone begins vibrating in his hand before dashing out the door.

✰ ✰ ✰

He doesn’t look like an undercover detective, not with his jaded honey eyes and untamed golden hair, a carefree smile ever-present on his face, or his expressive nature, overpriced watch glinting in the late afternoon sun as his hands move while he talks.

But Dabi plays dumb, plays stupid, decides to play this little game with him because he’s bored, he needs a distraction. He already knows about the ongoing investigation into their company—the one the Tokyo PD thinks they’re keeping so quiet, doing so inconspicuously—finds it amusing that they think they’re being so slick, so sly—so why not do the same, beat them at their own game and try to pry some information out of their precious new detective?

He’s young, too young by most standards, to be working for the PD, full stop. But he’s apparently some sort of prodigy, which makes him enticing, exciting, piquing Dabi’s interest and has him idly wondering how long it’ll take him to break this golden boy.

He introduces himself as Hawks and begins rattling off some well-rehearsed bullshit about why he’s there, why he wants to work as a recruiter on the streets and how he’d be an asset to the company, although Dabi already knows his real name, has already completed an extensive background check on the guy, unable to stop the soft snort and crooked smirk his lips quirk up into as he nods along, hoping he looks at least a little genuine.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

✰ ✰ ✰

The penthouse is quiet when he returns, sapphire eyes sweeping the space as he searches for you. You’re not where he left you—textbook laying open and abandoned on the kitchen island, and he almost misses the uncapped bottle of pills—his uncapped bottle of pills—sitting next to your textbook.

Almost.

“Jesus Christ, no,” he breathes to himself as his eyes dart around the penthouse again, more frantically this time.

No. No, you would never—right? You’d never be so stupid to—

“Dabi!” your head pops up from behind the couch, a big smile decorating your face as you leap towards him. “You’re back! I missed you, missed you a lot, you know,”

He knows, the instant he’s close enough to see your eyes, that something is very, very wrong. Pupils blown and eyes glazed, you look up at him in a manner that’s almost adoring, blinking at him a few times and rocking on the balls of your feet.

“What the fuck did you do?” his voice is trembling, from anger or from fear, he isn’t sure which, his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

“I took some of those pretty blue pills you’re always shoving down your throat,” you say simply, laughing a little.

For a moment, he’s entirely speechless, his brain short-circuiting as that sentence leaves your lips because no, there’s no way, you’d never do something so reckless, so ridiculous, never.

Except you did.

Then he’s seizing your body, large hands wrapping around your shoulders as he brings his face close to yours, a snarl ripping from his chest. God-fucking-damn it, he leaves you for two seconds, two seconds!, and comes back to find you high off your ass?

“Was definitely longer than two seconds, silly,”

“How many did you take?” he’s asking quickly, urgently, frenzied eyes searching your face as his fingers dig into your shoulders, shaking you a little. “How many?”

“Ow,” you whine, pouting. “You’re hurting me, Dabi,”

“I don’t care, you little brat, how many did you fucking take?”

His breath’s starting to come quicker now, and if you were sober, you’d probably think he’s on the verge of a panic attack. But you’re still pouting at him, eyebrows furrowed, mumbling about how it still hurts before finally answering his question.

“Ummm, jus’one,” you slur, giggling a little. “I think,”

“You think?” he growls, reaction causing you to flinch away.

“Yeah,” your pout returns, and you struggle in his grasp. “But I had like, a shot o’tequila or somethin’, too,”

“You what!?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “But I feel good,” giggles start bubbling up past your lips again. “Real good. Is this why you’re always taking them, Daaaabi?”

“I could fucking murder you right now,” he breathes out, cobalt eyes blazing.

“Mmm, but you won’t,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your voice. “I know you won’t, because then my Daddy would kill you,” your speaking very matter-of-factly, nodding your head slowly, as if you’re revealing new information to him, as if he doesn’t already fucking know this.

“Fucking Christ,” he sighs, eyes closing tightly against the migraine he can feel beginning to build behind his eyes. “C’mon, we gotta get you to bed,”

“Bed?” you question, planting your feet as hard as you can when he starts to drag you by your wrist. “But m’not tired,”

“I don’t care,” Dabi snaps, looking over his shoulder to glare at you and giving your wrist another hard yank, one that has your face screwing up in pain as you whine loudly, complaining about how much it hurt.

“No, Daaaabi, I don’t wanna go t’bed,” you claw at the hand he has wrapped tightly around your wrist, shaking your head with vehemence.

“And I don’t care,” he growls, hand squeezing you hard enough to make you yelp. “You need to sleep this off,”

A soft, cute humph sounds from your chest as you sigh, trying your best to plant your feet again. But Dabi’s bigger than you, stronger than you, and he’s able to pull your body along behind him no matter how hard you resist.

“Well then, if I have to, are you coming, too?”

Your words have him stopping dead in his tracks, dropping your wrist immediately, like your skin burned him, and you bump right into his back with a soft oof. He whirls around quickly, sapphire eyes wide.

“What?”

“Are you gonna come to bed with me?” you repeat, pout deepening. “C’mon, Dabi, don’t make me go to bed alone,”

He doesn’t know what to say, sputtering a little as he tries to come up with an answer, words failing him spectacularly.

“No, princess, I-I—”

“Well, that’s no fair, then,” you glare at him, forehead crinkling. “Y’wanna know what else is unfair?” you drawl, lidded eyes scanning his face in a manner that’s almost rabid. “How stupidly pretty you are. I mean, God, how the heck am I supposed to not wanna sit on your face all the time when you look like that,”

His entire body stiffens the moment the words leave your mouth, blood rushing in his ears so loudly it drowns out whatever you said next. He can’t seem to get enough oxygen into his lungs, can’t seem to inhale at all, as he stares at you, eyes boring into yours. You blink back at him curiously, head tilting to the side cutely.

“What?”

He chokes on the word, pretty sure it’s so garbled that you barely understand it, indicated by the way your brow furrows and you squint a little, thinking hard.

The front door slams shut, startling both of you and drawing your wide eyes towards the sound. Tomura stands motionless in the foyer, crimson eyes intently studying the scene he just walked in on.

“What’s going on?”

Oh, Christ, no.

He’s home earlier than usual, because of fucking course he is, because why the hell wouldn’t he be, on the one day you decide to do something so unthinkably stupid. Your entire face hardens the moment you meet his gaze, arms crossing over your chest tightly, hip popping out as your foot taps against the floor.

It’d be cute, if you didn’t look like you were actually upset. But Dabi can feel it in the air around you, a sudden flash of white-hot fury radiating off your body the moment Tomura enters the penthouse.

“What’s with that look?” he’s asking slowly as he advances, loosening his tie. “Hmm?”

“I’m mad at you,”

He laughs a little. “Mad at me? Are you now?”

“Yeah, you asshole,” you spit, the drugs surging through your veins gifting you with a little artificial courage.

All traces of amusement disintegrate from Tomura’s face the moment the words leave your lips, dark eyes flashing at the blatant disrespect.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he’s growling, pace quickening until he’s right in front of you, gripping your chin between his thumb and index finger in a grasp hard enough to have you crying out as he forces your head up more, tilting your face towards his.

His breath is coming out in harsh, erratic exhales through flared nostrils, scarlet eyes searching your face for a moment, his gaze cutting into your skin, before his expression begins to fall. You watch, still defiant, as it morphs from anger, to confusion, to terror, and then back to anger.

“What the hell did you take?” He’s speaking lowly now, in a voice that forces a chill up your spine.

“Dabi’s—”

He doesn’t even let you finish the sentence, moves in a flash, nothing but blurs of red and black and silver slicing through the air, before he’s got Dabi shoved up against the glass of the window, a trembling hand fisted in his t-shirt.

“Care to tell me how the fuck she got her hands on your roxys?”

His voice is cold, quiet, dangerous, and he glowers at Dabi, molars grinding together when Dabi heaves out a heavy sigh, raking both hands through his hair.

“I left her—”

“You left her!?”

“—For like, an hour!” Dabi spits out defensively, jerking himself out of Tomura’s grasp. “Christ, Tomura, she’s a motherfucking adult, she should be fine on her own for a mere sixty minutes! Besides, I was just downstairs, and it’s not like your penthouse doesn’t have insane fucking security anyway,”

“I cannot believe—” he’s starting to say, both hands coming to scratch viciously at his neck, when you cut him off.

“Oh no, don’t even start with him,” you seethe, Tomura turning his icy glare on you, eyes instantly snapping to your face as you speak. “Leave Dabi alone, Tomura. You don’t get to be mad at him!”

“Excuse me?” he blinks incredulously.

“You heard me!” your voice is rising now, hands curling into quivering little fists, but you can’t stop, the words continuing to tumble out of your mouth, stinging your tongue as venomous anger eats away at your chest. “If anyone should be in trouble here, it’s you!”

“Me?” he questions, eyebrows raised in surprise, a sharp smile painted across his face that’s anything but friendly, that has your stomach twisting painfully, that sends spears of terror shooting up your spine.

“Yes, you, you jackass!” you shout, tears beginning to collect in your eyes. “New York? Three weeks!? I-I barely fucking see you anymore! I…I…I might as well be dating him!” you jab a trembling finger in Dabi’s direction.

Everything stops the moment you utter those words, hanging heavy in the air around you, your little sniffles the only sound echoing throughout the penthouse. Dabi thinks he can almost see them, wrapping around your bodies and squeezing until they suffocate you all. Tomura’s body has gone rigid, and he’s staring at you oddly, face contorted in a way you’ve never seen before, like he’s having immense trouble comprehending what you just said. But then something snaps, just a moment later, eyebrows knitting together as his lips press into a firm line and expression transforming into one of pure rage, one you’ve only seen a handful of times, one that turns your blood to ice in your veins.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, you little bitch?”

“No!” Dabi shouts, lunging forward to catch Tomura’s wrist and hold him back. Tomura halts the moment Dabi touches him, looking down at the hand wrapped around his arm in disgust before his gaze drifts to Dabi’s, eyes narrowing as if to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing.

Dabi drops his grip immediately, chest rising and falling rapidly as he forces the words out of his mouth. “She’s high off her ass right now, man,”

Both men glance towards you, noting your glassy, dazed eyes, chest hiccupping with half-sobs as you stare back at them, equal parts confused and upset.

“She only did this as a cry for attention, as a last resort, can’t you see that?” he continues in a rush, urgency bleeding into his voice, eyes darting frantically between Tomura’s face and yours.

Conveniently, it’s then that your words finally catch up with your jaded brain, the weight of the situation crashing over you, and you gasp suddenly, clapping both hands over your mouth as more tears stream down your face, flowing steadily.

“I didn’t—” a fierce hiccup cuts you off. “I didn’t mean it Daddy, I swear. N-Not like that, no, not like that at all. I just—I don’t wanna date him, I wanna date you, it just feels like I’m—”

Tomura cuts you off with a spiteful sneer, chest heaving and body shaking with fury as blunt nails rake against the skin of his neck, scratching it raw.

“Fine,” he pants, looking between the two of you. “You wanna act like a fucking brat? Fine. You’re coming,” Ruby eyes snap to Dabi. “Both of you.”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura #it's almost seven in the morning i dont even know what this IS anymore #tw drug use #tw toxic relationship #tw cheating #tw daddy kink

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make-me-imagine · 4 years ago

Text

Daffodils: New Beginnings

Valentines Special: Day Eight

Day One: Morning Glories // Day Two: Blue Salvias Day Three: Sunflowers // Day Four: Pink Camellias Day Five: Yellow Tulips // Day Six: Violets Day Seven: Lisianthus - Day Nine: Red Roses (link to post with all endings listed)

Plot: The reader keeps receiving flowers and sweet messages every day from an anonymous source leading up to Valentines Day. But who is sending them?

Choose your own character ending (coming on Valentines Day).

Gender!Neutral Reader x ???

Triggers: Brief mention of fighting Words: 1,569

Marvel Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney, @thebookbakery, @groovyfluxie Requested Taglist: @spuffyfan394, @gaitwae, @fablesrose, @kitkatd7, @thefallenbibliophilequote, @beksib, @destynelseclipsa, @criminaly-supernatural, @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet, @belloangelus, @snarky--starky, @saintbootlegloras, @wecallhimbrowneyess, @empath-bunny, @okkulta, @katinthemoon, @ravennight41, @youcancallme-rae , @radhumandragonclam, @unfortunateidiotinadilemma, @past3l-w1ngs , @anonymous-pls-dont-click , @username23345, @hulkswitch, @theofficialzivadavid, @lainphotography, @fred-deeks-ben, @normanijauregui, @goinggoinggonzo, @mxxnmocha, @euphouriaszn2, @trikruismybitch,

February 13th

"You sure you’re alright?” Wanda asked as she watched your rub your shoulder.

“I’m good, just a little sore.” you said reassuringly.

You had been called out on a mission with Steve, Wanda, and Natasha to check out a possible hit on a SHIELD office. You managed to catch the assault team before they made it into the building, but a fight broke out. When you were fighting one of the men, he pulled you down a short flight of stairs, you banged your shoulder pretty bad, but it seemed to be alright now.

You were riding back to the tower now, sitting in the back seat with Wanda.

“You should get your shoulder checked out when we get back, just in case.” Steve said, looking at your through the drivers mirror.

“Is that an order Captain?” you asked with sarcasm as you leaned forward, talking to Steve over the seat.

You could see him smirk at your question as he peaked back at you “If it has to be, then yes.”

You smiled in amusement as you sat back in your seat “Yes sir” you said, saluting, making Wanda chuckle and Natasha and Steve smirk at your response.

Doing just as he said, you had your shoulder scanned in the medical wing once you returned. But finding no real damage you went back to work. Entering into the large main room, you staggered back as a man carrying a large box passed by you when you came through the doors. Looking around you saw a bunch of people walking around. It took you a moment before you remembered that they were the people hired to set up the Valentines party.

This room was going to be the main room for the party, tables set up for the dinner and a stage in the front for the entertainment. Seeing through the large doors to your left, you figured that would be where the dancing would take place.

Looking around, you could tell the color scheme was going to be gold and red, classy, but a bit gaudy in some areas. You saw Tony walk through nearby doors, explaining something to one of the decorators, turning, he spotted you. Leaving the decorator with a last instruction he walked over to you.

“So, what do you think so far?” he asked as he stood next to you, motioning to the room.

“No chocolate fountain?” you asked with sarcasm.

You saw his eyes light up as he snapped his finger “A chocolate fountain!” Turning to one of the nearby people, he got their attention “Any chance of getting a chocolate fountain?”

You rolled your eyes “Tony, that’s too much!”

“No no, it’s a good idea” he said to you before looking back to the other person who began writing something down “And get some skewers, fruit and marshmallows, it can be like a giant fondue station.”

“That doesn’t sound very sanitary” you said with a frown.

He hesitated for a moment “No, it’ll be fine, we’ll put up a sign, no double dipping” You shook your head with a laugh as he turned fully towards you “So, how’d your little mission go?”

“Fine, we stopped the assault, arrested all of the members, Nat and Clint will be questioning them.”

Tony opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as someone called him from across the room “Go ahead, I’ve got to get back to work anyway” you said as you parted ways. Leaving the room you felt anxious again thinking about the party and what would happen. Trying to shake away the anxiety, you got back to work.

- - -

You managed to distract yourself by working the rest of the day, and now you were sitting at the kitchen bar in the public part of the tower. Public meaning it could be accessed by all of the Avengers.

“Hey” Wanda greeted as she wandered in “What are you doing in here?”

You smiled at her and lifted your hand in greeting “Just finished work, I’m waiting for the rest of the party planners and decorators to leave for the day, they are constantly using the elevators and stairs, filling them with people and stuff.” you chuckled.

She sat down next to you “Yeah, I couldn’t even get to the elevator in the first place” she chuckled “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s good, no pain anymore.” you responded “So, are you looking forward to Tony’s party?” you asked her.

She shrugged “Not particularly. I’m not one for crowded parties.”

“Me neither, but Tony will never get over it if I don’t show up, you too probably.”

“Oh yes I know, he told me so himself” you both chuckled.

"Tony and his parties.” you commented just as the doors opened. Clint, Steve and Natasha walking in.

“Ah, there you two are. “ Clint said as they made there way over to you. Clint and Steve sat at the bar with you and Wanda as Nat moved behind the bar.

You sat and talked with the others for a while, about today’s planned attack, about who they were hired by, and then about Tony’s party. You started to feel the now familiar anxiety rise in your chest. Making yourself yawn, you feigned drowsiness before rising “Alright, I need to get some sleep.” you said, knowing that, though you were tired, you might not be able to sleep anyways.

“Goodnight” Wanda, Nat and Steve said as you began to leave.

“Hey” Clint said.

Turning back to him you rose your brow. “Did you get any flowers from your secret admirer today?” he asked with a smirk.

“Ooh, yeah I almost forgot about that” she smirked as she looked at you. Wanda and Steve turned to look at your as well.

“Uhh, no, but I haven’t been back to my room since lunch, soo”

“Soo, maybe there will be something now?” Nat said with a smile.

Saying nothing you just smiled, cocked your head and then spun around, leaving in silence. Hearing chuckling from the others behind you as you left. You had actually successfully been distracted to the point where you forgot about the flowers.

Luckily all of the decorators and planners had been long gone, so you could make your way to your room easily. As you stopped at your floor, you braced yourself for what would be on the other side, feeling a sense of familiar excitement.

As the doors slid open, your eyes were already trained on your door. And placed at the bottom, was a tall bouquet of pale yellow daffodils tied together with white silky ribbon, a note dangling from the side.

Quickly making your way to your door, you unlocked it before picking up the bouquet and going inside. This was the last bouquet you would get before learning who was behind all of this tomorrow. Your heart seemed to be hammering in your chest as you stared at the note.

You were almost afraid to read it. You hesitated before setting it down and going to the bathroom. Getting ready for bed, you grabbed the flowers and put them into a vase, a new one you bought at the store. Sitting on your bed, you fiddled with the note in your hand. Slowly opening it, you psyched yourself up a bit before you began to read the note.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Daffodils

Daffodils mean “New Beginnings”. I chose these because tomorrow will be the start of a new beginning for the two of us. No matter what happens. I, of course have my own wishes of how tomorrow will go, and I am sure you do as well. Perhaps you have your own desires of who I am, and I hope that I do not disappoint you when you find out who I am.

I have so much more I want to write, but cannot seem to put it properly into words. I’m sure we are both nervous about tomorrow, but I do truly feel as though we are meant to be. And though I cannot see the future, I know tomorrow will be the start of something new, and I can only hope that it will be great. ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Reading over the note a few times you lied back on your bed as you stared up at the ceiling. You had stopped trying to figure out who it could be. Knowing that they were careful enough not to let anything seem obvious. And if you had been talking to them one on one, or when everyone would be talking about the flowers, they were careful enough not to say anything that would make them seem suspicious.

For a moment, you debated not going to the party at all. And chickening out instead. But you only entertained the thought for a moment before you felt guilt for even thinking it. They did not deserve that. No matter how afraid you might be about what might happen tomorrow, they didn’t deserve to be stood up, especially not after everything they have said and done. But then again, what if they stand you up? What if they change their mind, and you never find out who they are?

You closed your eyes, your thoughts running rapid through every possibility of what could happen tomorrow. Eventually, without really realizing it, you had drifted off to sleep.

xx xx xx xx xx

Sooo, tomorrow is the day!

I will be releasing every ending throughout Valentines Day (10 in total); starting around 5am MST. Let me know if you want to be tagged in any specific endings.

The endings will be: Bucky, Steve, Tony, Bruce, Thor, Loki, Clint, Natasha, Vision and Wanda.

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nagito-kissmaeda · 4 years ago

Text

Stay For a While - Komaeda x Reader

Summary: You've been sitting across from this guy in the library every thursday for months now. You really should just tell him you love him and get it over with.

AKA: You spend the night at Nagito's house after your late lecture. and things get..........steamy

Word count: 8709 Contains: fem reader, no pronouns usage, explict sexual content Read on AO3

ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

You have feelings for the guy who sits across from you in the library. There is a three hour gap between your afternoon lecture and your evening tute, but you live too far away to go home and rest, so you usually grab a quick dinner and then park yourself at the small desk by the window for an hour or two. He is always already there. It’s embarrassing how your heart does a little flip every time to round the bookshelf and see him pouring over assignments, secretly you worry that one day he won't be there anymore. You don’t know what you’ll do with yourself if that happens.

Today he has a book open next to him, he's jotting down quotes in a notepad. His pale hand is stained with black ink from his ballpoint pen, and you are mesmerised by the subtle movement in his knuckles. The setting sun is cascading in through the window, and it catches in his unruly white hair, making it glow orange. He has it up in a messy bun today, it’s really cute. Luckily he’s too engrossed in his work to notice you looking at him, you try to be subtle, you really do. Browsing your phone and only occasionally flitting your eyes up to look at him, you don't even know his name.

His brow furrows and he crosses out his last note, tapping the end of his pen against his lips. They’re very full lips. You swallow and avert your eyes, turning back to your phone and mindlessly scrolling through instagram. Friends have told you to just ask the guy out for coffee or something, but you didn't know how to even start broaching that subject, Hey guy. Wanna grab a drink? Maybe tell me your name sometime? You frown, your leg bouncing restlessly under the table. You’ve been sitting across from this guy for three months now, every thursday, the fact that you haven't even bothered trying to talk to him is just proof of your own incompetence-

“Hey.” A voice says. Soft and calm. You brain stutters when you realise it was him .

“Oh...uh…” you’re picking off the nail polish on your left hand, a bad nervous habit, “Hello…”

“I bought a soda from the vending machine this morning, but it dispensed five…” a can clinks down on the desk in front of you, you’re too busy staring at the way his long fingers grip the top of it, “do you want one?”

You don't really like Dr Hopper, but he doesn't need to know that, “Sure. Thank you.”

He gives you a polite smile and cracks his can open, taking a long sip. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat, you have to actually tear your eyes away from him. Your knee is bouncing faster. The pull tab on the can is hard to navigate with your sweaty and shaky hands, but you manage to get it open.

“Shit…” you mutter, the soda fizzes over a little. Not enough to make a real mess, but it does get all over your thumb, you pull your thumb up to your mouth in an attempt to clean the soda off before it gets all sticky. As you do so, you sneak another look up at the guy. His eyes are glued to where your lips are meeting your skin. His cheeks are pink. There’s a rush of warmth from your heart down to your stomach, the deep orange sun is crossing his left collarbone, you want to trace it with your tongue.

“Sorry…” He breathes, giving you an uneasy smile, “It’s been jostling around in my bag for a few hours. That was probably my fault.”

“It’s really fine.”

He picks his pen up and goes back to working. You can see his notes pretty easily, without seeming like you’re peeking. His handwriting is messy, but still very legible. The ink stains on his hand are only getting worse as he goes on. When he shifts his feet below the table you can feel how close his legs are to yours, it's a big desk, but he has long legs. You wonder idly how much taller than you he is, he usually leaves before you do. You dont think you’ve ever both been standing at the same time. All of a sudden, the chill of the library gets to you. It was a decently warm day when the sun was out, but now that it is getting dark that’s starting to change. The blouse you are wearing is cute, but it’s also off the shoulder and you are beginning to feel cold. Your phone clunks loudly when you drop it on the desk, freeing your hands to rub some warmth into your arms, the sun is almost behind the horizon now, it’s going to be a cold walk home after class.

“Are you cold?”

You turn back from the window to see the guy looking at you, “huh?”

“I know you probably don’t want someone like me bothering you, but you…” He runs a hand through his hair, it makes it look even messier, “you look like you’re cold.”

“Oh, I mean. Yeah, I forgot how quickly it gets dark this time of year.” You laugh, “I didn't really dress for the weather.”

He tilts his head to the side, your heart is pounding, “You didn't bring a coat?” he asks

You shake your head slowly, unsure where this is going. Hoping it’s going in the direction you want it to.

Then, he stands up. Shaking his coat off his shoulders, revealing forearms so pale and thin you could wrap your whole hand around them. Your heartbeat is so loud you can hear it in your ears as he walks around the table to you. He is so close to you, he’s never been this close before.

“Here.” He says, passing the coat into your arms. It’s warm, “You can borrow this, if you don't mind wearing my gross clothes.”

It isn’t gross. It smells like chamomile soap and fresh laundry, “No I don't mind. Um, thank you.”

You slide out of your chair and stand up so you can put the coat on. He is at least a head taller than you, maybe more. You feel your knees wobble when you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, they are a lot greener up close. Any words that you might have said are frozen in your throat as you slip your arms through the coat, your fingers barely stick out past the cuffs.

“It’s a little big for you, but that’s to be expected.”

“No, it’s fine. I like it.”

“I hope i'm not overstepping any boundaries but...it looks good on you.”

You’re burning up, stomach twisting, “It... feels good on me.”

“Oh…” He mutters, quickly forcing a nervous laugh, “Well, i'm sure anything would look good on anyone as beautiful as you.”

Holy shit .

“Are you...flirting with me?” you whisper, burying your hands in the pockets of his coat and trying to make yourself seem smaller, “Or am I imagining it?”

He freezes, you can see his hands tensing up. You worry for a moment that you had been imagining it and that now you’ve made everything weird.

“ Was I flirting…?” He gives you a gentle smile, “Huh...I guess i was? Unless you didn't want me to, i don't want to presume-”

“No!” you say a little too loudly, shocking him into silence, “keep-uh...you can keep doing it.” His eyebrows jump up at that, but then settle back down into his calm expression, you are picking at your nail polish again, if only to give your nervous hands something to do, “Can i ask for your name? We’ve been sitting together for so long now and i’ve never asked…”

“Nagito” He breathes, and it fits him perfectly. A smile breaks out on your face before you can stop it. You give him your name in return and he repeats it back, like he is testing how it feels on his tongue, “Pretty name.” He says, you can hear that his breathing is shaky, “It suits you.”

Like he is trying to run away before his most recent compliment finally hits you, he walks back around to his side of the desk and starts grabbing his books. He crouches down on the ground and starts shoving them into his stachel, looking up at you from his spot on the floor, “I finish class at seven. Will you be around?”

“Ah, no. Sorry, I don't finish until nine.”

“Oh, your classes run really late.” He stands up and slings the bag over his shoulder.

“Do you want your coat back now?” You say, already moving to take it off. He strides over to you, and pulls it back over your shoulders, looking at you very seriously.

“I’m not letting you walk home in the cold without it.” his hands feel warm and firm on your shoulders, you never want him to pull away, “I can walk you home, you can give it back when you get inside.”

Your heart flutters at his suggestion. Imagining walking with him in the dark, your fingers brushing against his knuckles....you’re burning up again, “I live outside the city so i have to catch the train, but you can walk me to the station if you want? I mean, if you’re happy to wait until nine.”

He smiles, and your heart curls at the edges. You feel all buttery and warm inside.

“I’ll be right here.”

~*~*~

He is still there. You’d been worrying for the past few hours that he would be gone when you came back, that he would have changed his mind. A few people noticed the coat, and that it clearly wasn't yours. Sonia, the intimidatingly beautiful exchange student who usually sits next to you, was tittering politely behind a hand when she noticed it. When you asked what was so funny, she turned serious and told you it was nothing, but you could see a playfulness in her eyes. You wonder if she also noticed how much your leg was bouncing and that you wouldn't stop looking at the clock.

“Hello.” He says with a smile as you round the bookshelf, his already sleepy eyes even softer than usual. He’s playing something on a nintendo switch, it sounds like Animal Crossing, you recognise the 9pm music.

You smile back, “Hey. You good to go?”

“Oh yes!” He says enthusiastically, slotting the switch into a fabric case and zipping it up. He stands up and slings his bag over his shoulder, “Which station do you leave from?”

You start heading out of the library and he falls into step beside you, his arm almost brushing against yours. You shove your hands in the pocket of his coat to keep yourself from doing anything rash, “Central Station. It’s fifteen minutes away.”

“At least it isn’t too far. You won’t have to put up with me for too long.” He punctuates the end of the sentence with a laugh. The in person version of adding ‘lol’ to the end of a text to soften it.

The glass doors whoosh open as you step outside, you look up at him, “why do you keep doing that?” You ask. The city is slick with the aftermath of recent rain, the lights reflecting off the puddles on the sidewalk. It’s a cold, but admittedly beautiful night.

“Doing what?”

“Talking about yourself like that.” You stop at a crosswalk to wait for the lights, “Like you’re trying to convince me to make you leave.”

He laughs again, it’s less convincing this time, “Don’t misunderstand! I’m not trying to make you do anything, I just don’t want you thinking you have to spend any time with me if you don’t want to.”

“If I didn’t want to spend time with you. I wouldn’t.” The light at the crossing turns green, and you start heading further down the street. Nagito is following beside you. You thought it was pretty obvious that you are interested in him, in every sense of the word, but he either seems to have not noticed, or not believed it, “are you enjoying Animal Crossing?”

“I am!” He says, beaming widely, “I just finished catching the last fish today, now I'm breeding flowers.”

“Oh wow, you have all the fish already? You must be really lucky.”

He laughs, playing nervously with a strand of hair that didn't get caught up in his bun, “I guess??”

“I’ve been working on a kitchen, but I still don't have any of the damn ironwood set. I haven't found a fridge either.” You huff and notice that your breath appears white and wispy before you. It’s even colder than you thought it would be, “I just have a bunch of appliances all over the floor for now.”

“I think my housemate might have a fridge.” Nagito says, tapping his lips with a finger as he tries to remember, “No ironwood though. If I get him to mail me a fridge I can pass it onto you.” His mouth pulls into a nervous smile, and you notice him picking at a loose string at the hem of his shirt, “I mean, if you’re happy to give me your friend code.”

“No, uh...that sounds good. I can give you my code when we get to the station if my switch isn't dead yet.” You take a left down a back alley, it isn't as well lit as the main road, but it is a lot quicker to cut through than it is to go around. During the day there are a few small cafes open, with big umbrellas and tables out front. At night it is much less cheery.

Nagito is looking around uncomfortably, the moon is high in the sky and down the alley it is the only light source. His hair shimmers in the moonlight, your heart is pounding again, “Do you come down here every night?” He tucks a hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his phone, flicking on the flashlight.

The light only manages to make the walls of the alleyway seem even taller, “Yeah. I only have a late class on Thursday’s though. It isn't usually this dark.”

He gives you a concerned look, “It probably isn't safe.”

You shrug, “It’s another ten minutes if I go around. Plus, nothing has ever happened. I'm sure it’s fine.”

He turns away from you, looking straight ahead. His face turns deathly serious and you’re worried you’ve said something wrong, “Yeah, well. Luck runs out eventually.”

You aren't sure what to say. It sounded like he was talking from experience. His footsteps are quiet beside you, and his spine is curled like he is trying to make himself small and unobtrusive. Difficult, considering his height. As you come to the end of the alleyway he switches off his flashlight and tucks it back into his pocket, you notice that his black jeans are tight and you feel something swell in the pit of your stomach. He is very attractive.

“It’s just up this street, yeah?” He asks, you notice that he’s started rubbing his arms, “It’s kinda chilly.”

It suddenly hits you that he must be freezing without the coat he leant to you. You feel like an asshole, “Oh my god. I'm so sorry, you must be so cold!” you start talking the coat off, ready to give it back to him. He stops you.

“If one of us has to be cold, please let it be me.” His hand is on your shoulder again, you’re trying to store how it feels away in your memory. You don't want to forget.

“I don't want you to get sick.”

He laughs and waves your concern away with a hand, “No need to worry about me. It’s mostly just my arms and hands that are cold anyway, I'll be alright.”

You have a thought. There isn't much you can do about his cold arms, but his cold hands? That was possible. If only you work up the courage. As the two of you continue walking down the street, you move yourself close to him, a tiny bit closer, so tiny he probably doesn't even notice. He is still looking on ahead, but you are focussed entirely on the closeness of your hands. Focussed on reaching out just your pinky, slowly, carefully. Your heart is racing and your cheeks are burning. (this is so highschool of you, how old are you 12?) It doesn't matter, you’re going to do it, going to curl just the one finger around his and then maybe-

“Hey, we’re here!”

Your back snaps ramrod straight, and your hand whips back up against your leg so hard it almost hurts. He’s right, you’re at the station. You’d been so intent on holding his damn hand that you didn't realise how close the station was. This is embarrassing.

“Are you okay?” He asks, looking down at you with genuine concern, ‘Your face is all pink, you're not cold are you?”

“No, i’m uh-” He's staring at you, it’s making you nervous, “-I’m fine. Let me just check when the next train is, then you can go home if you want.”

He smiles politely, “Okay. I’ll wait here.”

The announcement board is lit up in the darkness right above the entrance to the station, you have to get a little closer to be able to read the train times. Nagito gives you a little wave when you turn back to look at him, and you sigh. You had been hoping to make it a little clearer how you felt about him, but it looks like you’re still a coward.

“God damn it…” you mutter as you look up at the board. Nagito must have heard you, because he comes bounding over with clear distress in his eyes. His hair is bouncy, it’s adorable.

“Are you okay?” He looks around frantically, “Did you lose something?”

You laugh, trying to ease his concerns, “Nah. We just missed my train, the next one isn't for half an hour. I probably won't be home until after midnight at this rate.”

“Hm. That’s really late.”

“Yeah, i live at the end of the Metro. Two hours.”

He’s playing with the hem of his shirt again, practically shaking with nerves when he finally says, “You could...come back to my place.

You don't have any words. They’re all caught in the back of your throat.

He panics, “Only if you want to! I would understand completely if you don't want to sleep in the same apartment as trash like me!”

Your innocent thoughts about brushing knuckles and shy glances begin morphing into something much less PG.

“Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you.”

“Inconvenience? Me?!” His cheeks turn a little pink, “You couldn't possibly inconvenience me .”

You shrug a shoulder, trying to ignore the incessant buzzing of excitement under your skin, “Lead the way, then.” ~*~*~

His apartment is nice. He dropped his key five times before he was able to get the door open, but when he finally did you were pleasantly surprised. You’ve been in some awful bachelor pads before, but this is nothing like that. There’s a plush brown couch in the center of the room with a colourful throw tossed over it, a modestly sized tv and a collection of mismatched mugs spread out on the low coffee table. A salt lamp in the corner of the room casts a pale orange light across the space, dancing on the shiny leaves of all the pot plants strewn about the room.

“Sorry for the mess…” Nagito says, slipping past you and hanging his bag up on a hook on the wall. He pulls his switch out of the bag and docks it by the tv, “Hajime drinks a lot of coffee.”

“It’s not even messy.” You take notice of just how many bookshelves are lining the walls and smile, “It’s nice in here.”

Nagito is in the middle of picking up all the wayward mugs around the room, but he still manages to turn and flash you a smile, “It’s nice of you to say so. I’m going to tidy up a little, feel free to sit down.”

“Oh, you really don't need to clean up for me. It’s fine.” You say, dropping your backpack on the ground by the door and heading over to the couch. It’s very comfy, but you still find yourself sitting stiffly, nervous about seeming too comfortable, “Is Hajime your housemate?” you ask, eyeing a photo on one of the bookshelves. Nagito is smiling brilliantly and chucking a peace sign up to the camera, there’s another guy beside him giving an uncomfortable thumbs up, but a very genuine smile.

“Yes!” Nagito calls back from the kitchen, you can hear the water running and assume he’s washing the mugs, “He’s at his girlfriend’s house tonight and he won't be back until tomorrow afternoon. You probably won't see him.”

You swallow. Not only are you going to be in the apartment with him all night, you’re also going to be alone . Your leg is bouncing again, you can't help it, “Um, where will i be sleeping?”

Nagito comes out of the kitchen, drying his hands with a tea towel before tossing it into what you assume is a laundry basket, “The couch folds out. We don't have to…uh” he laughs nervously, “We don’t have to share a bed, if that’s what you were worrying about.”

Worrying is not the word you would use.

“Oh! Do you have anything to sleep in?”

“Ah, i hadn't thought about that.” You wince a little, remembering the last time you had to sleep with your jeans on, “I’ll be okay though, dont worry about it.”

“I can at least see if Chiaki left something behind last time she was here. I don't want you to be uncomfortable.” He starts heading over to one of the two doors in the wall behind the couch, “Oh, I've turned the heating on by the way. If the coat is too warm you can just leave it on my bed.” He points to the other door, “just in there.”

“I might do that, thank you.” You stand up and shuck the coat, folding it over your arm, “It was getting a little toasty.”

He smiles warmly and heads into what you assume is Hajime’s room. Leaving you alone with the notion that he has just invited you into his bedroom. Your heart is racing. It’s literally just a room with a bed in it, you don't know why you are getting so worked up about this. The nailpolish on your fingers is practically all gone with all the nervous picking you've been doing today.

You force yourself to round the couch and head over to the door, trying not to notice the way your knees are wobbling. You suck in a breath, reach for the doorknob and even though the moment feels immense, you are comforted when you realise that his room is very normal.

There's a soft green rug on the floor, and the bed is made in a haphazard way that suggests he didn't want to leave it messy, but couldn't be bothered doing it properly either. His wardrobe is slightly ajar and you can see a row of boots lined up below a collection of sweaters and coats. It’s cosy, it suits him. The sound of your heartbeat is loud in your ears as you step over to the bed and drop the folded coat on the end of it. It smells like him in here, like camomile and sunday evenings. Your hands are sweating.

You notice a collection of polaroid photos strung up above his desk. At this point you’re probably being a little too nosy, but your feet are already walking over to the desk before you can stop yourself. There’s a textbook on the desk and a notepad filled with quotes and page numbers, he’s drawn a couple of flowers in the margins, you smile. A post-it shaped like a four leaf clover catches your eye, the handwriting is different from Nagito’s.

Don’t forget to drink water, dumbass.

A laugh bubbles up out of your chest, you assume that was a reminder from Hajime. There are plenty more pictures of him and Nagito amongst the polaroids, a number of them taken at some sort of beach getaway. Nagito has his eyes closed in a wide smile, his cheeks turning red from the sun as he wraps one arm around the shoulders of a short girl engrossed in her PSP. You assume that she is Hajime’s girlfriend, based on a different photo of the two of them kissing while Nagito throws up a peace sign in the foreground. They seem like very good friends, you’re happy for him.

“Are you done sightseeing?”

You whirl around to see Nagito standing in the open doorway with a bundle of cloth in his hands. His tone is teasing, but his lips are curled up in a smile. You feel yourself blushing, “ah, sorry. I shouldn't have-”

He laughs pleasantly, stepping into the room proper, “No, it's fine! I don't mind at all, sorry my room isn't very exciting.”

“It’s cozy.” You say, wringing your hands together, “I like it...it suits you.”

Nagito turns red now, all the way up to his ears and down to his collarbones. He clears his throat, “I found some sleep shorts and a shirt that I don't think Chiaki will mind you borrowing. I'll just have to wash them tomorrow.”

He passes the bundle of clothing over to you. When you unfold the shirt you snicker at the phrase ‘gamers don't die. We respawn’ that is printed in bold across the front of it, “Chiaki is a gamer, I take it?”

Nagito chuckles pleasantly, “The best one I know. Smash nights with her are something to behold.”

“Well…” you start, trying your best to seem like you aren't thinking about kissing him, “Thanks for the clothes...should I change in the bathroom, or?”

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand, eyes closing in a wide smile, “No, it's okay. You can get changed in here, I'll sit on the couch. Don't worry about it.”

Your heart is pounding. He's so handsome and so nice, your mind is racing with the thought that if you don't finally tell him how you feel now, you probably never will. Your fingers dig tight into the shirt you're holding as you try to find a way to ground yourself. You take a deep breath, “Nagito…?”

“Hm?”

Your stomach is churning, your hands feel clammy. You think and think but you just can't find the right words, to tell him how you feel, to tell him what you want . In the end, you decide that maybe words aren't the best course of action, and pull your shirt up over your head.

The room goes so silent that the sound of your blouse hitting the carpet sounds like a thunderclap. Your chest is heaving with the gravity of what you've just done. Why the fuck did you do that??? This was a terrible, awful, bad idea. You almost go scrambling to shove Chiaki’s shirt on and pretend this never happened.

But Nagito’s face stops you in your tracks. He’s staring at you, shaking visibly. His big green eyes keep flitting between your face and your torso. He heaves a wavering breath and whispers, ��Tell me not to kiss you. Stop me, please .”

You feel elated, “I don't want to stop you.”

He swallows, nails biting into the palms of his hands, “I cant...I shouldn't...you’re too good for-”

You take a step towards him and cup his cheek in your palm. Whatever words he was going to say die in his throat.

“How long have you wanted me, Nagito?” You trace your thumb over his lower lip, his erratic breathing is so loud you can hear it, “I’ve wanted you for months .”

He nods loosely, squeezing his eyes shut, “Me too. Me too.”

his skin is soft under your palm, your move your hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. His eyes open at your touch and he is beautiful . You smile, gently running your fingers in his soft hair before whispering, “Then what are you waiting for?”

He sucks in a breath, and his hand shakes as he brings it up to your cheek. The skin of his palm is dry and warm, you can’t help leaning into it. His second hand slowly slips around to the small of your back, you can feel him trembling.

“God you’re…” you can feel his breath on your face, he is so close to you now, “you’re so beautiful…”

You smile, “so are you.”

He gasps, eyes widening as he looks down at you. Then, his thumb gently runs along the length of your cheekbone, and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

He is perfect

His lips are soft and cool, his palm on your back presses you firmly up against him as you slowly curl your arms around the back of his neck. You whine gently into his mouth, kissing him only more incessantly, desperately. Months of yearning and desire is escaping in this one kiss and one of your hands tangles it’s fingers in the hair on the back of his head. It’s as soft as you dreamed it would be. He is how you dreamed he would be.

Nagito pulls away from you, green eyes blown wide and breath heaving. The hand on your lower back is shaking, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” his throat bobs, “I can’t...I can’t believe you let me kiss you.”

“Why not?” You breathe, letting one of your hands slip down his torso, toying with the hem of his shirt.

His breathing grows shaky, “b-because I don’t deserve you. Someone like you desiring someone like me it’s just- hah! ”

Your fingers have crept up under his shirt, tracing light circles on his hip bone. You hadn’t expected it to stun him into silence like this, you lean in a press a soft kiss to his neck, “is this okay?”

“H-huh?”

You laugh gently against his skin, “are you okay with me touching you like this?”

“Y-yes! I just don’t understand why? ”

“Because I have feelings for you, Nagito” you feel your cheeks burning, “I’ve uh- been trying to gather the confidence to tell you that all night. I sort of assumed it was pretty obvious with the kissing and-“

You're cut off when he tugs you against him, wrapping both arms around your waist and burying his head in the crook of your neck. you gasp at the feeling of his thin arms tight around you, and he quickly pulls back at the sound.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No! Um, I liked it! You just surprised me.”

He laughs, a giggle that sounds like disbelief, “I surprised you? You took your shirt off…”

You’re burning up. Suddenly remembering your state of undress and crossing your arms over your chest, “Ah. Yes. That was stupid of me. I just...panicked?”

His brow furrows, “panicked?”

“Yeah I- I dunno, I was worried that if I didn’t make a move now I’d never have a chance to do…” you swallow, looking up at him nervously, “do whatever it is we’re going to do.”

You hear him take a shaky breath, his eyes open wide, “You want to...keep going?”

“...Yes” you whisper

“With...me?”

“Yes.” You close your eyes and take a deep breath, “I want to go as far as you will let me.”

He’s laughing again, hand cupping over his mouth as he stares at you in shock, “O-Okay...if you’re sure you want to. Then I-“ his voice drops an octave, you aren’t sure if it was intentional, but you feel it in your stomach, “I want to as well.”

“Do you want to sit on the bed?” You ask, trying to contain your nerves.

“Ah, yes. Of course!” He’s shaking when he steps around you and sinks down onto his bed. You can see his knees bouncing a little, he’s as overwhelmed as you are, “Are you going to sit down too- ah~”

You do sit down. On his lap. Gently straddling him and looping your arms around the back of his head, “Is this okay?”

He shifts underneath you a little, and his hands shakily come to rest on the dip of your waist, “I’m probably not very comfortable.”

You laugh and press a kiss to his temple, “You’re plenty comfortable. Best seat in the house.”

His eyes meet yours. Dilated. Blinking slowly as he examines the contours of your face. You can feel his breath on your lips, you can’t believe that you’re this close to him. You’re the luckiest person in the world. When your lips press together again, his fingers dig tighter into your waist and your toes curl. He gasps against your mouth when you swipe at the seam of his lips with your tongue, moaning deep in the back of his throat as his tongue tangles with yours. There’s a warmth steadily growing between your thighs, your legs tighten around Nagito’s and your fingers dig into his soft white hair, pulling him closer to you. Then you shift in his lap, and feel a hardness growing in his jeans. Nagito gasps and pulls his lips from yours.

“I--I’m sorry...I just…”

“Nagito.” You whisper, letting one of your hands trail down his chest, “I told you. I want to go as far as you will let me.” Your hand comes in contact with his cock, rubbing him encouragingly through his jeans, “Is this still okay?”

He whimpers, hips stuttering up into your hand, “Ah! Are you sure you want to?”

“Very.” You shuffle backwards, slipping down off the bed and onto your knees between his legs. Your hands are resting on his waistband, just waiting for his permission, “Can i take your pants off?”

Nagito nods nervously, but lifts up his hips to help you tug his jeans down over his thighs. You get them down to his knees before you stop, toying with the hemline of his boxers, “Can these come off too?”

“Ah...If you want?” His voice is shaky, but he doesn't seem reluctant when you grab the elastic waistband and start tugging them down. You are trying to keep your cool, to seem like you have done this many times more than you actually have, but when his erect cock pops out and slaps backwards onto his stomach. You can feel your eyes grow wider, and have to physically bite down on your lip to hold in a gasp. Nagito is looking down at you nervously as you pull his jeans and boxers over his feet and drop them onto the floor. He sits up on his elbows and you can see his throat bob, “Are you sure you still want this? I...ah...I know i'm not much to look at.”

“I’ll have to respectfully disagree…” you whisper, eyes trailing up the length of his pale legs, lingering on the jut of his hips where they disappear up under his shirt. His breathing is heavy, cheeks turned pink and hair in disarray from your tangling fingers, “you’re gorgeous.”

“Aha...You are too kind…” Nagito breathes, avoiding your eyes.

You swallow, hands coming up to rub encouraging circles on his bare thighs, “I want to use my mouth.” You cock your head to the side, “would that be alright?”

Nagito makes a shocked noise in the back of his throat. Eyes wide in disbelief, even as his cock twitches at your words, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea...I...I would not be worthy of such a thing…”

“Is that a no because you think i don't want to?” you ask gently, pressing a kiss to one of his bony knees, “or is it a no because you don't want me to? Those are two very different things.”

He looks at you, almost incredulous, “Well of course I want you to! But I don't want you to ruin your- ack!~”

You grip tight on his jutting hip bones and sink your mouth down on his cock, as far as you can take it. Nagito moans loud , his legs tensing under your arms as you start lathing the underside of his head with your tongue and slowly pulling your lips up and down the length of him. He feels hot and smooth in your mouth and a gasp escapes you when his hips stutter in deeper, the head of his cock kissing the back of your throat.

“I...I’m sorry…” he whimpers, breathless and panicked, “Did i choke you? I’m a pathetic excuse for a human being…”

He is apparently too lost in his own head, to notice how thoroughly you are enjoying yourself. Moaning wontanly as you bob your head up and down, thighs rubbing together with every little noise you hear escaping his throat. He makes such pretty sounds, you want desperately to hear more of them.

“You...Your mouth...it’s so warm” Nagtio hisses through clenched teeth. You can feel the muscles working in his thighs as he tries to hold back the urge to chase the heat of your mouth. His legs are quivering , “I cant believe that you would let me-- ahhhh! ” his fingers curl tight into the sheets, chest heaving as you slowly insert a finger inside of him.

“Was that okay?” you ask, stilling your finger, worried that you’ve hurt him, “Do you need me to stop?”

Nagito whines and shakes his head, hips bucking forward into your hand like he’s trying to force your finger deeper, “M--more... please .”

You laugh a little, gently lapping at the head of his cock while pushing your finger deeper. Nagito wriggles and moans when you get it the whole way in, slowly pumping it in and out. You moan against his cock when you feel him tighten around you, “Can you take another?”

“Yes... yes… ” he pants, breath coming hot and heavy as he quivers beneath you, “I want it...want you ”

It’s getting harder to focus. Hearing his noises, feeling him moving and keening under your touch. You’re soaking wet, craving any sort of friction, but still determined to give Nagito the night of his life. You rub your thighs together, and slip a second finger into him.

The noise he makes is indescribable. The whole neighborhood probably heard it, and all you can think about is how lucky they all are, because it is the most beautiful noise you’ve ever heard.

“I could listen to you forever…” you breathe, pistoning your fingers in and out of him while pumping his cock with your other hand, “Do you want another finger?”

He whines aloud at the thought of it, but still shakes his head, “I don’t... ahh! I don't want to cum…” he hisses a breath in through his teeth, “until you do.”

You can feel your cheeks burning. Embarrassed as his insinuation like you don't currently have your fingers three knuckles deep in his ass, “What do you want to do then…?”

“I...I want to taste you” Nagito purrs, leaning up on his elbows, peering down at you, “Would you indulge me?”

“Oh...sure…” you whisper, slipping your fingers out of him and shimmying out of your pants. Nagito audibly gasps as the sight of your bare legs, and you feel yourself getting a little bit egotistic. No matter what concerns you may have with your body, it’s hard to remember them when he looks at you like that . Just as you are climbing onto the bed, you let out a gasp when Nagito grabs your thighs and tugs you up onto his chest, “Nagito...what-”

“Sit on my face, please. ”

You swallow. Cheeks heating up at the despartation in his voice, “Okay…” you breathe, shuffling up until your knees are resting firmly on the mattress above his shoulders. Your thighs are shaking, “Sorry. I’m kind of embarrassed…”

Nagito chuckles beneath you, peering up at your face through his pale eyelashes, “there’s no need to be embarrassed.” he whispers, hands curling around your thighs, “It’s just me. I want to pleasure you like you did for me. Is that okay?”

Your sex throbs at his words, and you have to sink your teeth into your lip to hold in a moan. He’s smiling at you, you can feel his cool breath on your bare cunt and as you slowly lower yourself to meet his mouth, you feel his fingers tighten against your flesh. He moans unabashedly as he drags his tongue up the length of you, keening and whimpering like he is the one being pleasured. His lips wrap around your swollen clit and your hips buck further into his face, you bite down on your hand to stop yourself from screaming.

“No...please…” nagito whispers from beneath you, “I want to hear you, let me hear how good I am making you feel.”

His tongue gets back to work, slowly dipping in and out of your dripping entrance as his hands curl around your thighs.

“Ooh— ooohhh! ” You croon, grinding your hips sinfully against the lower half of his face, “You’re so good...your tongue feels so-- ahhh! S--So good, Nagito…”

Nagito moans . You can feel the vibrations through his tongue as it thrusts in and out of you. He sucks and licks with the desperation of a man who wants to taste every inch of you, every millimeter . He’s shaking under you, frantic and needy with nothing more than a desire for you. It’s almost overwhelming, you’ve never had someone want you like this before and it makes a powerful heat stroke at your core.

“F-Fuck…” You manage to hiss, centleching your eyes shut and digging a hand into the halo of his hair, “Nagito...I...I want you... please! ”

He slows his ministrations for just a moment. Big green eyes blinking up at you from between your thighs, “Are you sure? I’m more than happy to keep doing this.” he laughs a little, “I’m enjoying myself quite a bit.”

You caution a glance behind yourself to where his cock is still standing at full attention, twitching and dripping . He is enjoying himself, that is very much clear.

“I’m sure.” you give him a smile and brush some of his hair from his face, “I’ll take you up on the offer next time though.”

Nagito’s breath hitches, and you feel his fingers dig tight into your thighs, “...next time?”

“Yeah. Next time.” You swallow, “If you want a next time, that is.”

You can't really see his mouth, but you can still tell that he is grinning, “I...I do want a next time.”

“Ah, good. It would have been really awkward if you said no…” you clear your throat, “Condom?”

“Top drawer.” He replies, nodding in the direction of his bedside table before returning his mouth to your clit. You reach behind yourself and slap his thigh.

“Stop that! I’m not going to be able to rip a condom open if I'm shaking…”

He chuckles, “but you taste so good…”

Biting your lower lip to hold in a moan, you manage to wriggle a hand into Nagito’s drawer and locate a box of condoms. Still shrinkwrapped, “ah, shit. I hate opening this stuff.”

Nagito does not offer to help you. Still caressing your sex with his tongue. He hits your clit hard for a moment and your hips jump forward.

“Fuck...Nagito!” You moan and squeeze your eyes shut, “I need to get this stupid box open.” You manage to get a corner of the shrinkwrap between your teeth and tear it open. Nagito now has his tongue back inside of you, “hnng…” you force out, pulling a condom out and just letting the box fall to the floor, “stop distracting me!”

You can feel him laugh against you, gently lapping his tongue at your insides as you finally manage to tear the condom open, “Oh! These are ribbed for my pleasure! How very polite of you.” you tease, shuffling down from his face and between his legs.

Nagito turns red, the lower of his face glistening with your slick. He brings up an arm and cleans himself off with the back of his hand, “Ah...I just...I figured if I was going to buy some…”

Your lips quirk up in a smile as you roll the condom down over his twitching cock. He hisses at the feeling of your palm caressing him, “What are you so worried about? I mean it, it was a nice gesture.”

Nagito gasps when you swing a leg over his bony hips, hovering just over his cock, so close that you can just feel the head brushing your folds. Nagito has his hands buried in the sheets and you can see him quivering beneath you, “Everything okay? Do you need to stop?”

He shakes his head, adam’s apple bobbing as he traces your form with his eyes, “I just...I can’t believe you're about to do this.” he chokes on a laugh, covering his mouth with a hand, “I’m going to ruin you…”

A smile crawls up your cheek as you slowly start lowering yourself down. Nagito makes a shocked noise at the back of his throat when the head pops inside of you, “and I, you.”

You watch in awe as his chest rises and falls, as his eyes squeeze shut. His brow creases, his cheeks are painted in a gorgeous red. He looks like a masterpiece, and there's a little voice in your head, praising yourself for being the one who did this to him. Then, he is fully inside of you, stretching you out and pulsing against your tight heat.

Nagito’s hips buck just a little, a hiss escaping his mouth, “Ah... ahhh .” he swallows thickly as his eyes open, staring up at you in absolute adoration, “I’m inside you...I’m really inside you…”

“Sure are.” You reply, lifting yourself up just a little before dropping back down again. A moan rips from his mouth, and a needy whine escapes yours, “You feel...really good…”

He nods his head, staring up at the ceiling like he is trying to ground himself, “You’re so warm...you’re taking me so perfectly…”

You shiver at the compliment. Relishing in the feeling of Nagito’s desperate little thrusts, it feels like he is trying to hold himself back, but he just can’t . Like he needs you, like he craves you. You roll your hips, moaning long and hard at the sensation of him moving inside of you. Nagito whimpers, hips shaking as he tries his hardest to stay still.

“What are you waiting for?” You ask, “I’m all yours, Nagito. Take me.”

His hips snap up. Just the once, his body responding to your words before his head even has a chance to catch up, “You...you’re mine… ” he breathes, disbelieving, but utterly hungry. His hands slowly curl around your hips, pads of his fingers digging into your flesh as he starts moving in earnest. The sound that cuts loose from your throat is so loud that it surprises even you, the feeling of him bottoming out inside of you is insane. It makes your toes curl, your stomach tense, your heart race.

“You liked that?” He whispers, voice gravelly and breathless as he continues pounding up into you, like he doesn't want to be outside of you for more than a second, “You feel so good...so perfect...i couldn't resist you even if i wanted to--” he throws his head back and groans, “--you take my cock like it was meant for you and you alone…”

It isn't clear if he is doing it on purpose, or if he is just saying exactly what he is thinking. Either way, Nagito knows exactly what to say to push your buttons. The insinuation that you were made for his cock, and that it was made for you has you clenching hard around him. Sweaty and clammy, grinding your hips harder and harder. Desperate for more of him. More of Nagito. All of Nagito.

“M’close…” You force out, breath growing shaky and thighs quivering on either side of his hips.

Nagito laughs, it's loud and wild. It echoes around the room, “You’re going to cum for me?”

“Just for you. All for you.”

He moans, letting one hand drop down from your hip to circle your clit instead. You howl and Nagito hisses through his teeth, you’re bouncing on his cock now. Keening and whining, the warmth in your stomach is growing unbearable, and watching Nagito’s mouth drop open in a perfect moan doesn't help. It’s right then, that he shoves himself up inside of you hard , hitting just the right place for you to finally come undone. There's white behind your eyes as all the tension within you snaps, hips gyrating furiously as you ride out your orgasm. Nagito lets out a cry and pounds up into you with a surprising ferocity, cock twitching between your walls as he cums. His face in that moment is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

It takes a minute for you to come back down from your high. Falling forward and resting your head in the join between Nagito’s neck and shoulder, breathing deeply as the shivers from your orgasm slowly subside. Nagito starts rubbing gently circles on your back, his hands are shaky, but you aren't sure if he is just lethargic or if he is also nervous. You lift yourself up with your arms and press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m getting off you now, ready?”

He nods sleepily, and you lift your leg up and over him, collapsing bodily onto the bed beside him. Everything is still fizzing and popping, from your heart out to your fingertips. If it feels like the sun has awoken inside your chest. You just want to lie here forever.

“Just...ah...give me a minute, and then I'll move out to the couch.” Nagito says, panting quietly, “You can take the bed.”

You roll over to face him, “Nagito...you really think i'm going to kick you out of your own bed?”

“Oh, i don't know...I just...didn't want to presume.”

With an affectionate sigh, you shuffle a little closer to him, resting your head on his chest and tucking your arm in around his waist, “No presumption necessary. I want to sleep with you.”

Nagito laughs, “You already did.”

“Hey! You know what I meant.” you lean up a little and press a kiss to his shoulder before snuggling deeper into his chest, “I want to actually sleep with you.”

“I still can’t believe you're here with me…” he sighs happily, curling an arm around your shoulders, “In my bed, no less.”

“That’s what you get for being so cute all the time. I’ve been staring at you for like, the past two months.”

“Ah...for a long time i assumed that there was always something stuck in my teeth. That uh, happens to me a lot.”

You press your ear to his chest, closing your eyes and listening to the sound of his heart, “Nah. Nothing stuck in your teeth. I just thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen.”

You hear him choke at that, his hand tightening around your shoulders, “You are...the most wonderful person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He plants a kiss to the top of your head, “I wouldn't be surprised if this was all a dream, that i’ll wake up tomorrow and you’ll be gone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You whisper, and the gentle thump of his heart slowly soothes you into sleep.

Hey guys. Note from Bree here. I hope that this was okay, I’ve been feeling really down on my writing recently and I’m really not sure why, but i just dont think anything im posting has been any good. So i just hope that you still enjoyed this even though its a mess. Im so worried that im losing nagito’s voice. im like, scared about it actually, cause this is the only thing im good at, you know? and what’s even the point of me if i cant do this one thing anymore...... ugh, sorry for being such a complain jane. i just, idk. the komaeda who lives in my head is calling me trash 24/7 hahahahahahahhaa

#komaeda x reader #nagito komaeda #komaeda nagito #nagito x reader #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa

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palmett-hoes · 4 years ago

Note

per your post "every single one of the monsters is autistic and/or adhd" will you elaborate on that?, if you do i will love you forever (not that i wont if you dont do it)

oh boy i would love to!!! unironically nothing brings me more joy than writing long, convoluted character analysis posts

---

okay so i’ve written several posts before about why andrew is autistic. his moral code, the roundabout way he communicates, his body language, his stimulation-seeking behavior, his strict adherence to transactional deals, the emphasis on honesty, and a dozen other details. at this point i just take andrew being autistic as fact, not just an interpretation

h o w e v e r i also hc that andrew is dyslexic, which is also a neurodiverse condition

- - -

similarly, i’ve seen more than one person interpret kevin as autistic, and i absolutely agree that it fits. not just the hyperfocus on exy but mostly the way he communicates. he’s very indirect, especially in his affection but very direct with his opinions. he tries to be helpful in a material way to the people he cares about, even if he comes off as negative. he wants the people he cares about to be safe and successful so he pushes them to work hard and reminds them in measurable ways how to stay healthy. he doesn’t factor in a lot of room for emotions, so instead he focuses on quantifiable things that he can improve. i personally act very similarly. approaching someone emotionally is hard for me, so when the people i care about have problems all i can think to do is try offering solutions, check up on their well-being, etc. practicality instead of conventional sentiment is extremely common with asd

- - -

so now let’s talk about neil. i had to think on this one for a WHILE but ultimately came to the conclusion that neil is adhd, probably hyperactive type.

like obviously neil is high energy. i would say he probably does the most exercise of anyone on the team. morning run, morning practice, afternoon practice, night practice with kevin and andrew, plus he doesn’t have a car so he runs to class (on a BIG ass campus), and goes for an extra run when he feels stressed. that’s... insane, honestly.

neil reminds me SO MUCH of this post that goes:

“Was just informed by my mom that I do in fact have ADHD and the reason I thought I didn’t was because ever since I was seven whenever I got super energetic my mom would have me go chop wood so now when I’m feeling The ADHD I go chop wood”

(phenomenal post) and that’s neil to a t. tell me this isn’t exactly how neil handles his problems and also exactly what mary would have had to do to keep her unmedicated and very energetic son focused on the task of staying alive

neil also definitely has that ADHD on/off switch with his interest. the obvious being exy which is like the definition of a hyperfixation, but you can see it in other things: the way he runs totally hot or totally cold with people, his complete disinterest in his schoolwork, the way he can’t seem to sit still long enough to follow movies. but then there’s also the hyperfocus. doing the same drill for hours on end. watching exy game after exy game. staring at andrew until time falls away

what’s more, neil on many occasions shows racing thoughts, both in an anxiety way (and anxiety often goes hand-and-hand with adhd) but also as a way to quickly and accurately take in details about people to build a character profile of them. this is what allows him to connect with the foxes, how he manages to get through andrew’s puzzles, and even how he knows what to say in order to knock riko down a peg. his brain just works so fast and it takes in a lot of very specific details and disparate information to make connections.

but also like,, neil has a HUGE problem with time blindness. like the instant he didn’t have his mother around to manage and direct him anymore he lost all sense of time. he stayed in Millport for a YEAR. and what did he keep telling himself during that time? basically “i really need to move on, but not just yet.” for a YEAR! then he gets to palmetto and he’s like “i’ll cut and run in a month or two” then he doesn’t “i’ll be gone by halloween” wrong again “i’ll leave by the raven’s game” nope. like,, the boy just has NO sense of time and he can’t seem to make himself DO anything outside of an externally enforced schedule. and even then,,, HE HAD 48 FUCKING DAYS TO FIGURE OUT SOMETHING TO DO TO NOT GET MURDERED! 48 WHOLE DAYS. he didn’t make a plan, he didn’t write down any letters with goodbyes, he didn’t GO TO THE FBI LIKE HE’D INTENDED TO THE WHOLE TIME! nah he just made out with andrew and when he finally got to zero he was just like “ah shit, that was fast. oh well guess i’ll die” and that’s time blindness, babey!

---

let’s move on to nicky.

now i think it would be really easy to say nicky is just adhd because he’s high energy and forgetful but tbh,, i don’t think that’s all of it. like if you really look at nicky’s character and especially at his problems, he has asd problems just as much as he has adhd problems.

so nicky is dual diagnosis asd and adhd. also nicky reminds me a lot of a girl i used to know who was autistic/adhd

so, adhd:

very generally speaking, ppl with adhd will struggle with sitting still, listening to and following instructions, planning/organization, following a schedule, and some social boundaries like “appropriate” times and topics of conversation

i would say you see hints of this with nicky. he’s definitely a rambunctious personality, constantly on the move, constantly stimulation seeking. he’s very tactile. he likes to dance, he likes to party, he complains about it but he’s an elite-level athlete. he’s also decidedly very chatty, and doesn’t seem to really pay attention to what he’s saying. he distracts himself and the people around him have to keep him on track. he has some trouble with boundaries. he’s a little all over the place. he’s almost a bit of an adhd stereotype

also one thing i find interesting is that when neil sees him in the library doing work neil is surprised to see he’s capable of that, especially bc when we see the upperclassmen doing work they generally do it in their dorms or on the bus and/or with other people around. that hyper-social nicky would be alone in a quiet place is weird. but this is like the most common tip for dealing with adhd. don’t do it in a familiar space. have a designated space and time to do work. limit distractions. just a lil detail

so now, asd:

in all honesty, most of nicky’s actual problems in the narrative could be viewed as stemming from asd symptoms. his number one issue being that he has a lot of trouble with nonverbal cues (and tbh, verbal ones too). the twins are mostly quiet. andrew especially (when he’s sober) communicates primarily nonverbally, and nicky seems to have a lot of trouble with this. despite knowing them for the longest on the team, nicky honestly seems to have the least insight into the way either of the twins actually thinks or processes things. he loves them, and he’s very forgiving of them, but he fundamentally doesn’t understand them.

the twins, andrew especially, put up a LOT of nonverbal boundaries, and nicky sort of inadvertently keeps trampling all over them. he’s touchy in a way they don’t like. he talks a lot about their personal lives to other people. he treats them like they’re joking when they’re serious. etc. and like,,, you kind of get the sense that the upperclassmen feel similarly about him. beyond the homophobia, beyond the fact that he’s loyal to andrew, the upperclassmen still treat him with this sense of,, bafflement, i suppose? it’s clear that they don’t really understand him and he doesn’t really understand them. although, nicky IS curious about the upperclassmen, while the upperclassmen are pretty dismissive of him. it reminds me of when my sweet, floppy dog tries to play with my cat. their body language is different; they’re each receiving different signals than they believe they’re sending out

only,, nicky loves people!! he likes being around them, he likes talking to them. he’s interested in their lives and stories, but it’s very clear that he can’t read between the lines on people. he has an incredibly hard time with people who expect their actions to speak for them, which is most people, but is especially his cousins.

actually this is very much also an issue that i have: things need to be spelled out for me. the way i deal with it is i ask a lot of questions. ‘how do you want me to react to this potential situation?’ ‘what are specific things that make you most comfortable?’ ‘please explain to me exactly how you feel and what has prompted those feelings?’ and i’m always communicating vice versa like that with other people. a lot of specifics in both questions and answers

and the interesting thing is, when i was skimming through the books reviewing dialogue styles for another ask, i noticed that, actually, nicky DOES do this. with neil and the upperclassmen, nicky asks a LOT of quick, clarifying questions. things that ask after tone, that ask after intent. it’s kinda sad that he does this for communicating with acquaintances, but with the twins, the people he’s closest to, he makes a lot more assumptions. and i’m really proud of nicky for having this coping skill, because i can’t imagine it’s something he grew up doing. there’s no way he was raised in an environment that fostered this kind of open communication so it must have been something he learned about much later, probably in germany with the kloses, which would also explain why he’s a lil imperfect about it

---

now last but not least, aaron

this is another one i had to think through for a long time before it felt like it fit

much like how i felt that it would be easy to read nicky as simply adhd rather than also asd, i think it would be easy to say aaron is autistic simply because he is quieter, less rambunctious. however, i actually think he’s adhd, likely primarily inattentive type

in all honesty, aaron’s #1 character trait for the first two books is basically that he’s disconnected. detached. separated both from his family and his team. not in the same forcefully apathetic way that andrew is, more,, spaced out. he’s just kind,, there. not really paying attention to what’s going on, tuning in every once in a while only if something really catches his eye/ear then tuning right back out again. just sits in his corner and plays on his phone. and the thing is, from the moments when he does tune in, you can tell that he actually does care. he backs nicky when seth insults him in tfc, and we know he cares deeply about andrew even if he’s become disillusioned with their fraught relationship. he even hangs with his family, doesn’t seem to really try and slip away to other friends besides katelyn, he’s fine spending his leisure time with the monsters. so it’s not totally apathy, he’s just,,, tuned out most of the time

and, yea, that sounds like adhd. it’s not the type that most people are familiar with, and for a lot of people this causes it to slip under the radar. it can make it hard to get help or a dx because it doesn’t fit with how adhd “should” look or how someone “should” act, but difficulty focusing your thoughts and staying in tune with the current moment is absolutely part of adhd

addiction is also a huge problem for people with adhd. a lot of stimulants affect people with adhd very differently than neurotypicals, especially in small doses, and an adhd kid who’s struggled their whole lives with the disorder might try speed or god-forbid meth or fuck even coffee and suddenly find that things are a lot easier for them. they start to self-medicate, they don’t actually know what they’re doing, and then they’re addicted, and everything spirals out of control. we don’t know too many details about aaron’s addiction other than that his mother enabled him, but wouldn’t this fit? it’s also an explanation for aaron still taking drugs at eden’s, given that cracker dust seems to be a mild amphetamine. (aaron talk to betsy about the neurocog and get an actual prescription please)

(total throw away but aaron plays videogames and videogames are like,, adhd culture)

#Anonymous #txt #andrew minyard #kevin day #neil josten #nicky hemmick #aaron minyard #my posts #im talkin #cw addiction #cw addiction mentioned

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,152)

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

Part Seven: Ranboo

Page 1

I’m not really sure how to start this.

One of the most important things to know is probably that this is a different journal from the other one. So just in case you forget: this isn’t your memory book. This is for something different. But it’s still really important that you keep track of this one. Maybe not as important as the memory book? But I’m not really sure.

So don’t lose it.

Now’s the part where I’d say exactly what it’s for, except I don’t really know yet. I don’t know anything. You’d think that wasn’t anything new for me, but this is… different. I keep putting that it’s different without explaining why. Words are just not my friends.

I think I’m wasting ink.

This is a dream journal, I guess? I don’t know how else to put it. Because I’ve been having some really, really weird dreams for the past few weeks, and it’s gotten to the point where I just. Feel like I need to be keeping track of them? Because it’s kind of weird that I’m having so many dreams at all considering what usually happens when I fall asleep (check the memory book? for that? if you need to?), so I just don’t know. I don’t know anything. Which is nothing new, but still. I feel kind of bad that I bought a whole book and a whole new pen just to write down how much I don’t know stuff, but it’s okay. I’ve been winning more recently so I had enough money.

The thing about the dreams is that they’re really vivid. Almost like they feel real. The details always go fuzzy after a while, so I don’t actually have anything specific to write down here yet, but I know they’re weird. There’s just something about them.

So, new book. Dream journal.

Next time you have one of them, remember to write it down here.

---

Page 2

Okay so I forgot I bought this for like a week but I remember now. And I just woke up and I had one of those really weird dreams, so here’s what it was about:

There were some people with me. I don’t remember what their faces looked like. I think they were all shorter than me, but that doesn’t really narrow it down. There were… three? Maybe? I think there were three of them. And I felt like I knew them. Dream-me knew them, I mean. I have no idea who they were.

They were talking about something, and I was talking too, like I knew what they were talking about, even though I definitely didn’t. That’s something weird about all these dreams—I’m pretty sure that while I’m in them, it always feels? Right, I guess? Even though I definitely don’t know what’s going on literally ever?? But anyway they were talking about something, and I don’t really remember what but they seemed upset. I think I was upset too. I felt kind of upset.

They had swords. Really fancy ones.

It was cold??? But like really, really cold. Colder than I think I’ve ever been? Or at least colder than I remember ever being, so it’s kind of weird that my brain could make up something that cold.

There’s not much else to write because I don’t remember what the conversation was about. It just felt like there was something bad happening. But I don’t feel like the people were bad. The people felt good, actually. Safe?

Oh, and one of them hugged me at the end. Which was weird because I don’t usually like to be hugged or touched by people, especially people who I don’t know, but in the dream I was fine with it. I even liked it. It felt… safe’s a good word to use. It felt warm and safe and I didn’t feel so scared anymore. It was a really good hug actually. I kind of wish it weren’t a dream because if someone hugged me like that I think I wouldn’t mind hugging so much.

I think that guy had wings. Or maybe it was a really big, weird blanket. I don’t really know. Felt good though.

---

Page 3

I had another one. All I remember is a name.

Who’s Michael?

---

Page 4

I think tonight was a normal night. I don’t remember anything in particular but I woke up feeling really unsettled for some reason. So it was probably just a regular dream, or maybe a nightmare. I was in the same place though, so not sleepwalking I hope.

I can’t stop thinking about the name Michael. It feels really important. I wish I knew why.

---

Page 7

It’s been a week of weird little fragments and strange feelings and things I can’t remember, but I remembered more when I woke up this morning.

I was running with someone. Two someones? I think there were two. But they were different from the people from before. Or at least I think they were. I still don’t remember what they looked like. I think I didn’t know what they looked like in the dream either. I don’t know if that’s because I was dreaming or maybe all of this really is just my brain making up stuff and it just can’t invent whole people for me to look at.

I wouldn’t be surprised, actually. This whole thing is probably pointless.

But anyway, we were running, and that was pretty much the whole thing. There was a really loud noise too, and it was making my ears hurt. And I remember I felt really scared. Not just for myself, but also for the people I was with. That’s one of the things that makes me not so sure that these are normal dreams, because even if my brain was making up hazy not-real people for me to do stuff with, would it be able to make up the feelings that I have for them? Whenever there’s someone with me in a dream, they always feel really important to me. I’m usually worried about them.

I still can’t remember what they were saying or the sound of their voices. I feel bad about it. Probably worse than I should.

They’re just dreams, right?

---

Page 10

Dream.

---

Page 11

Not sure what that was? Note to self, do a better job at including context.

---

Page 13

A crack in the earth and a break in the code and something old something waiting something watching something that calls in the dark and in the shadows and in the corners and in the mirror and it is waiting it is waiting it is waiting it is waiting it wants it wants it wants blood and it will have blood it wants blood and it will drink and the skies will break apart and the ground will shatter and it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have

---

Page 14

I had another pretty clear one. It was really hot. I think there was a lot of smoke. I was scared again, because there was… someone coming? Maybe?? Or something coming. I’m not sure. But whatever it was, it was bad, and we didn’t want it to get there.

There were three people again. I think I didn’t like one of them. When I looked at them I felt really, really angry. But that one, the one I didn’t like, they were kneeling on the ground, and there was a book in their hands? I know it was a book but I couldn’t see what it said. Isn’t that supposed to be a thing, not being able to read in dreams? I don’t know.

I think that person was reading from the book. I couldn’t understand the words, but the air felt weird. Heavy. And then I think there was a fourth person too, and then I think there were people trying to stop the person reading because they were doing something bad? They were going to hurt someone? It got muddled here and I don’t know why we were trying to stop them all of a sudden when I think we were fine with it at first, but I guess dreams don’t have to make sense.

None of this makes any sense.

But anyway, something happened, I think. Something really, really bad and I don’t remember what, because that’s when I woke up. But something went wrong. I think the bad thing got there.

I think there might also have been blood. But I’m not sure.

I’m not sure of anything.

---

Page 16

Wait, what happened on page 13?

I can’t read what it says. Did I cross that out?

---

Page 17

I can’t help but wonder if these are dreams at all. I’ve already got memory problems so who’s to say this isn’t just some more of that, just in a different form?

But the thing about that is, if these are memories of some kind I’ve got no idea when they could’ve happened. And I know my memory’s not great, but could I really forget being on a completely different server?

No, I could definitely forget being on a different server. I definitely could. I don’t even know where I came from originally. But I know I’ve been on Hypixel for years. I know I’ve been here, even if I don’t really remember a whole lot of particulars, so when did any of this happen?

I don’t know if I want these dreams to be memories. Some of them feel really scary.

---

Page 18

I woke up crying.

I think someone was dead in my dream. Someone I really really cared about.

I’m still crying a little bit. It hurts. I don’t want these to be memories. I don’t want to have lost someone like that.

---

Page 21

I defintiely dont want these to be memories I’m still shaking and I dont I cant

---

Page 22

Okay. I’ve calmed down. I need to write this. I need to remember later.

I think I hurt someone. Really, really hurt someone.

I’m going to describe this as best I can.

The whole thing felt dim and kind of hazy, but not in the normal dream sort of way. Like there was an actual haze in the air. And everywhere I looked it was all red, like I was wearing tinted glasses or something. I was with other people. Different people from any of the ones before, I think, and I felt different about them too. I wrote down how usually I’m worried about the people I’m with, but it wasn’t like that this time.

I think I hated them. I’m not sure. I don’t really know what that feels like.

But anyway, we were going somewhere together. There was something like an island, only it was in the sky. Like a big chunk of floating rock. And we were trying to get up there, and then we did and there was someone waiting for us. I can’t picture what they looked like except I think they were weirdly blurry? But everyone in these dreams is weirdly blurry. I don’t know, this felt like a different kind of blurriness. I think this person was trying to talk to us or stop us or something, but it was really easy to get past them. Almost like we could go straight through them.

And then we were inside. There was a building of some kind. Big and kind of pretty? Maybe? It was hard to see details, because of the haze and blurriness and everything, and it still all looked really red. There was someone else waiting for us inside. I remember this part because it was really weird, because at first this person was like, normal sized. And then they got super big. So many feet tall. Taller than me, and that’s weird. That doesn’t happen very often.

And then we were all fighting this person. I don’t remember this part super well. Somebody got hurt I think, and maybe there was also lightning?? I think I remember lightning. And the fight went on for a while, and then I went somewhere else so I don’t know how it ended, whether the big guy won or the people I was with or what.

But so I went down this hallway. And then a bunch of hallways and then I was in a bigger room. This is the important part. There were three people in this room. One of them was sitting with their back facing me, one of them was kind of in the middle, looking my way, and the other one was really little and sitting in the corner.

I don’t

I don’t know why I did what I did next. I’m not even sure that I wanted to. It was like I was watching myself do it, almost. Like there was something else moving me and I didn’t like that at all and I really don’t want to think about it more but there it is.

And then I

I don’t want to write this

The whole room lit up. There was some kind of glowing design on the ground. The person with their back to me was on the edge of it, and the person in the middle was. In the middle. Of it. And they saw me. They looked at me and I felt

I don’t even know what I felt.

And then it was like the whole world just. Stopped. I don’t know how to describe it. And the other person shouted something and then I just

And then I stepped forward, and I grabbed the first person by the hair, and there was a sword in my hand, and I think I

I slit their throat.

The other person was screaming. I don’t know what happened to the little one.

And then it all went dark, and I woke up.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t even want to remember this, even though I guess I should. If it’s more than just a dream, but I don’t want it to be more than just a dream.

And if this is a memory or something, I don’t know what to do.

Should I turn myself in? What would I even say? Hi, I think I murdered someone. No, I’m not sure, but I had this weird dream you see, and it’s actually possible that I might have done this because sometimes I do things in my sleep that I don’t remember later and my memory is just, incredibly bad in general so it’s actually super possible that I killed someone and then forgot about it.

Would anyone even believe that? Should I try?

I don’t want to hurt someone.

---

Page 24

The dreams keep coming, but none of them have been as detailed as that last one.

I still don’t know what to do.

I wish someone would tell me what to do.

But I don’t think I can tell anyone about this. Who would I even tell?

Can I put myself in prison? Can someone do that? At least I would know for certain that I’m not hurting anyone.

Sometimes I think I have blood on my hands and I just want to scrub it off so bad but that’s not a good idea for obvious reasons but I just

I really need a solution.

---

He’s wandering around one of Hypixel’s hubs when he sees the news. Hypixel’s pretty good for that: news from other servers. Probably because so many players from so many places converge here. But he’s never bothered very much with that kind of stuff. There’s not much to bother with, considering that he has no idea where he was before he was here, and he has no idea where he’d go if he ever left. It’s not like he knows anybody. Literally. Anywhere. It’s kind of sad, if he’s being honest.

But for some reason, Ranboo hears the name ‘Dream SMP’ and stops dead in his tracks.

Which, not his best idea ever, considering that this is a crowded hub, so someone bumps into him pretty much right away, and then they glare at him right in his eyes, and he has to duck his head and apologize because oops, he’s inconvenienced someone so now he’d like the earth to swallow him whole, please, and also eye contact. Hm. Not good. He doesn’t like that. It makes his chest buzz and his head ache and every bone in his body go all stiff and tense.

So he makes himself start walking again before he can cause any more trouble. He just makes sure he heads in the direction of the news cast. For no particular reason, it’s just—that name. It strikes a chord in him, and he’d like to know a little more, that’s all.

There’s a few people hanging around, obviously with the same idea. They don’t pay him any attention, which is nice, because that means he can just stand there and listen without worrying about having to talk to anyone.

The newscaster is talking about an election. Being held on this server, the Dream SMP. He’s not sure why something like that would matter here, especially after the newscaster goes on to say that there’s only a few dozen players on this server in total. Except then it turns out that people don’t have to be on this server to vote in this election, which doesn’t make any sense to him at all. Something about how influential the server is? So other people get a say in stuff?

He’s not going to bother writing that part down, because he wouldn’t understand it even if he did.

And then the newscaster starts talking about the people who are running for office in this country on this server. And there’s. Pictures. And he’s pretty sure that his heart is trying to crawl up his throat and literally outside of his body. Because. Okay. Most of these people, he has no idea who they are. Which is absolutely what he expected.

But then, the news shows the current president. Who is also running. And the current president’s vice president. And—he doesn’t recognize this Wilbur person.

Somehow, though, he sees TommyInnit, and he almost bursts into tears, which, wow. Strong reaction much? And he tries really hard not to cry if he can help it, which makes this even more weird. It’s not even that he recognizes him, because he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t. Or if he does, he can’t place where he knows him from. But he looks at this guy—and he doesn’t look like anything special, really, just a guy, a teenager, blond hair and kind of lanky, red and white t-shirt—and feels a whirlwind of emotions in him, rising up, threatening to bubble over, and it’s strange and confusing because he doesn’t know why.

Just to be sure, he pulls out his memory book and leafs through it. No mention of anyone named TommyInnit, or even just Tommy. He pulls out the dream journal, too, but it’s the same. The only name in there is Michael. No Tommy.

There’s plenty of other things written in there. Things he doesn’t want to think about. Even though trying not to think about them kind of just makes him think about them more, and then he feels terrible, and then—

“Huh,” the guys standing nearest to him says, very suddenly. “How about that.”

He’s scared for a second, because he thinks the guy might be talking to him, about him, that he’s read some of his writing over his shoulder or something. But no, the guy is looking at the screen, still. His eyebrows are raised. Ranboo focuses on them, because he’s found that if he looks at people’s eyebrows, it’s close enough to eye contact that people won’t ask why he’s not looking at them, and it’s far enough that he’s not bothered. Best of both worlds. And it’s also probably better to stare there than at the guy’s big, curling horns, or the way he’s dressed. In a fancy suit—and that’s odd. Not the suit part, because Ranboo likes to wear suits himself, when he can get them. Because they’re cool and snazzy. Mostly, it’s just the fact that it’s so well-fitting. Obviously expensive, even to his eyes.

He doubts that this is the sort of person who competes in the tournaments.

And then, the guy turns toward him, and he regrets. So very much, so very intensely. He shouldn’t have stared at all.

“The hell are you looking at?” the guy says, and. Um. This is not very good, actually.

“Sorry,” he says, and averts his eyes really, really far away. Back to the screen. “You just. I mean. You talked, and no one else here really is, so I just. Yeah. Sorry.”

The guy laughs, so maybe he’s not mad. “Don’t sweat it, kid,” he says, but then, instead of leaving him alone, he keeps talking to him. Oh boy. What has he started. “You interested in shit like this?”

What does he say to that? He’s not even sure what this is, exactly.

“Kind of?” he ventures. “I guess I just wanted to know what was going on.” That’s good. Nice and vague.

The guy shakes his head. “You and me both. Never woulda thought Wilbur had something like this in him. Politics was never his shtick. But hey, best of luck to him, right? I’m rooting for him.”

Oh! So this guy knows one of the people on the server. The president. Wilbur Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was, He Forgot.

“Do you,” he starts, and breaks off after the guy turns back to him. But no, he wants to know. This is a reasonable question to ask, he thinks. “I mean, do you know how somebody might, um. Go about trying to get on this server? If they thought there was someone there they knew?”

The guy laughs again, louder, and he cringes back. “Trying to get on that server?” he says. “Good luck with that. They say Dream’s exclusive as hell with who he invites. If you’ve got someone’s private comm code, you might have some luck there, be able to plead your case, but you’re shit out of luck otherwise. Unless you wanna try hacking, but I wouldn’t recommend that. Shit’s too much of a risk, not enough payoff, especially when it’s Dream you’re dealing with.”

“Oh,” he says. “Um. Dream. That’s the admin?”

“Bastard,” the guy says, nodding. “Banned me, the asshole. Not that I care about being on his shitty server, but it’s the principle of the thing. You get it, don’t you?”

“Sure?” He doesn’t. Or, well, maybe.

His brain has gotten a bit stuck on the idea of hacking. Which is not a good idea, of course. Not a good idea at all. Even if he managed to get on, somehow, he’d be kicked off before he could do anything, surely. And if he failed—he’s heard stories. Rumors, more than anything. Players who get stuck in the void, locked out of any server at all. Players who mess with their own code by mistake, causing glitches, mutations, splices. Players who are never seen again.

Hacking’s a dangerous kind of magic. Not something to be messed with lightly.

“What’s your name, kid?” the guy asks, and he jolts.

“Um. Ranboo,” he says. “I’m Ranboo.”

“Ranboo,” the guy repeats. He doesn’t pronounce it quite right. “Weird fucking name. Well, good luck with whatever the hell you’re doing, I guess. If you do anything illegal, it’s nothing that I told you about.”

“Of course?” he says, but the guy’s already walking away. He’s got a confident kind of walk. Ranboo feels uneasy, watching his retreating back vanish into the crowds of the hub.

He looks back at the screen. The news has moved on. He wishes it hadn’t; he would’ve liked to hear it all again so the details were fresher.

Because this—this should go in the memory book. He’s not entirely sure why. But it’s important, and he doesn’t want to forget important things. What he’ll do with the information, he’ll figure out later.

Hacking. He shouldn’t. He definitely shouldn’t.

But something about this Tommy—

He brings out his memory book and his pen, and he starts to write.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #ranboo #jschlatt #/rp #cw memory loss #cw mild unreality #cw blood mention #cw implied death #that last one's regarding the original timeline #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #it's been nearly a month but surprise got an update for y'all

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lordabovehelpme · 4 years ago

Text

Save the Day- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: For your DFWL series (which is the best series? I?) May I request for reeza and the twins somehow accidently break a vase or something, and Myles has to be a big brother and attempt to like fix it and try to make sure the parents dont find out cause they went out for a bit? Or just hcs of Myles being a good big bro because i think it would be the cutest! - anon

A/n: Hello lovely! I am so happy to hear that you have been enjoying DFWL so far! I know I have been having a blast writing it! This is such a good idea, so I hope you enjoy this chapter!!! Love ya!

This is the next chapter of my Days filled with Love series. You can find the first chapter here! :)

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“Okay Ready?” Reeza asks as she grabs the back of Isabets little legs.

“REE VAH!” A pat is given to Reeza’s head and she laughs.

“Alright, hold on!” She leans forward a little and starts to kick her foot, just as Paz had told them bulls do. “MMmmmmmmmm.” She takes off and sprints around the meadow.

Both girls giggle and scream as they feel like they are flying. Tobbi laughs from where he sits with Grogu, crayons and markers all over the porch. Myles happily draws pictures with his fellow brothers.

The five of them were supposed to be being watched by Paz. However, the giant warrior had ultimately fallen asleep on the couch. Who could blame him? Five energetic kids is a lot to watch.

You and Din are out on a date, one eagerly prompted by their uncle. “You guys never get out anymore. Go have fun! I’ll watch the kids. And maybe you can come back with the news of another!”

You had blushed and complained that your family was already big enough. But the two mandalorians, in their mandalorian way, giggled back and forth. They assured you that in their culture, a family never stops growing. However they both laughed when you sighed, “My back already hurts.”

So here the kids are, having already worn their uncle out and still lots of energy to keep them up.

“MYLES!” Reeza rushes back to her brothers with Isabet still on her back.

“What?” He looks up from his very detailed landscape he was currently drawing.

“BEES!”

“What do you- BEES!” Flying behind the two girls is a swarm of insects, instantly recognized from the bright yellow and buzz of their wings. Myles, ever the quick thinker, yells out, “GO TO THE LAKE! THEY CAN’T GET YOU IN WATER!”

Reeza runs as fast as her legs will carry her. “Okay Issy, time to learn how to swim!” She gets about hip deep before taking her sister into her arms. Making sure both their heads stay above the water she gets as deep as she can into the lake.

A loud battle cry comes from Myles as he runs to the shore where the bees have stopped. In his hand he pulls the hose and aims it towards the swarm. Holding it like a blaster, just the way his father taught him, he places his finger over the nozzle. The spray of water becomes harsh and unforgiving.

“HAH TAKE THAT! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU MESS WITH THE DJARINS!”

“WAIT WHAT ABOUT TOBBI AND GROGU?” Reeza calls out from the safety of the lake.

“CRAP!” Myles instantly drops the hose and runs back to the house, on a mission to keep his brothers safe. Rushing up to the porch he scoops his brothers into his arms and does a 180, sprinting towards the lake. Tobbi squeals in delight and his little legs kick as Myles enters the water.

The five of them wait for about seven minutes before starting to bicker about who will walk out first.

“Myles, you're the oldest, you go first.”

“But I’m holding Grogu and Tobbi, and I can hold Isabet, you can’t hold all three of them. We are the older siblings so we have to keep them safe.”

Reeza huffs before realizing her brother is correct. “Fine, but if I die it’s your fault.” She hands Isabet to Myles before slowly wadding towards the shore. It’s a humorous sight. Myles, waist deep in the water with his three squirming siblings in his arms.

All four children watch as their sister walks onto the shore and cautiously looks around. She does a full 360, checking for the insects.

“Okay, it’s alright.”

***

Now in clean dry clothes the children decided that maybe it is safer to stay inside.

Paz is still passed out on the couch, and the kids, trying to be as respectful as they can, decided that the living room is off limits.

They are currently in the kitchen, on a mission for snacks. Raiding cabinet after cabinet they eventually find the items that appeal to them most.

“Let’s eat the grapes in the fridge too, Mom always says we have to eat as many fruits as we do crackers.”

Happy with this, Reeza sits down at the table after strapping her siblings into their chairs.

Myles opens the fridge and grabs the bowl of fruit you had cut up this morning as well as some peanut butter. Reeza opens the packet of crackers and places them in a design on a plate.

“We shall dine like Kings and Queens!” She announces while tucking her napkin into her shirt. Myles laughs while sitting down at his own seat.

Grogu, noticing the lack of parents, smiles before holding his hand out. A single grape rises from the bowl. Tobbi giggles while he holds a cracker in his fist.

Reeza drops down from her seat and rushes over to the side of the room. “Grogu, let’s play a game. You throw the fruit around and I’ll try to catch it with my mouth!”

Grogu claps his hands in agreement. Instantly the grap flies through the air towards Reeza. She leans towards the right and effectively catches it in her mouth. All five kids erupt in laughter. Well, except Isabet, she just sits with a scowl on her face, but you all have come to realize it is just her natural face.

This game goes on until the bowl is almost empty. Grogu has Reeza doing rolls and jumps to try and get the food. However, on the last piece of fruit Grogu throws it towards her left. She rolls and goes to stand up, but…

BAM!

It almost happens in slow motion. She had run into the tall table you have near the window. Some of your trusted house plants rest there as it is one of the places that the house gets the most sun. The vase with a bouquet of wildflowers the kids had picked you wobbles. It shakes and then tilts off of the table.

They all watch in horror as the vase crashes to the floor. Thankfully it landed on the mat by the door so it only broke into about six pieces, but water goes everywhere.

Reeza turns to her brother, head tucked into her shoulders and tears welling at her eyes. Myles runs about four different scenarios through his head in the span of a couple seconds, weighing each option against one another.

After only five seconds he has a plan. Rushing over to his sister he hugs her. “It’s okay.”

“Mom is going to be so mad!” Tears start to fall on her cheeks.

“No no it’ll be fine. We’ll fix it. But I’m going to need your help, alright?” He looks at her. She wipes away her tears and nods. “Okay I need you to go grab some towels.” She nods again and rushes off towards the laundry room.

Myles turns to where his three siblings sit at the table, all their eyes wide. “You guys stay put, we don’t want glass to get into your feet.”

When none of them go to move he turns towards the oven. Grabbing a stove mit he starts to pick up pieces of the vase. Separating the glass and the flowers, he’s happy when he has two piles.

Reeza bounds down the stairs, quieter than usual as she doesn’t want to wake their uncle. In her hands are two towels.

“Okay, I think I got all the glass up but be careful. Go ahead and put the first towel on the ground and try to soak up as much as you can.” Following his command she does exactly as told. “I am going to go get some glue, don’t let them leave the table.”

Running as fast as he can, he rushes to where his father has supplies to fix about anything. Opening drawer after drawer he finally finds some super glue. “Perfect!”

Making a mental note of where he found the glue he goes back to the kitchen. Analysing the broken pieces he can see where the pieces fit together. Being extra careful, he applies glue to one piece and then another, and presses them together.

“Reeza how is the water going?”

“Towel one is soaked but all the water is up.”

“Great, can you please go quickly throw those in the hamper and put the clean towel back where you found it.”

She nods, her face as serious as he’s ever seen it.

“Okay Grogu, I need your help.” At the sound of his name, he looks up at his brother. “Can you hold these pieces together?” As if it were magic, the pieces are pressed against one another and held in place. Grogu coos, overjoyed that his older brother needs him.

“Perfect! Now I am going to start to glue and add more pieces, so can you do more than one at a time?”

Grogu coos once again and his little eyebrows furrow in concentration. When Myles adds another piece, he effectively holds it right in place. “Alright! There we go!”

Reeza sits down next to her brother, however her usual bright cheery smile is replaced by a frown. “Do you think Mommy is going to be mad?”

Picking his words carefully, Myles turns to look at her. “No, don’t worry about it. I’ll tell them. They won’t be mad at you.”

***

The vase is officially glued back together and it seems to be holding water. The glue is back where Myles found it and the flowers are back in the vase.

“Parents alert!” Reeza informs from where she was sitting at the window. In the distance she can see the Crest flying towards the house.

“Okay time for the clean protocol!”

They move faster than they ever have before. They pick up the crayons and markers from outside, put away the dishes from the kitchen, and settle in on the couch with their uncle. The house looks just as you had left it, no evidence of their eventful day.

Just as they practiced, as soon as the door is unlocked, they all close their eyes and pretend to be asleep. Even the twins know the routine by now.

“Oh babe, look how cute!” They can hear your hushed voice as you talk to their dad.

“Uh hum. You could hear Paz’s snore from the next planet over.”

A soft slap echos through the living room. “Don’t be mean, he gave up his day so we could go out. Be nice.”

They listen as your footsteps get closer and you pick the twins up. Still playing the part, they keep their eyes closed.

“Paz?” Your hushed voice tries to wake him.

The giant warrior stirs before finally waking. “Hmm what?”

“Glad to see you’re awake. We’re back.”

“I can see that.”

You giggle. “How were the kids?”

His arms lift as he looks around and counts heads. “They were great!”

“That’s good. Are you going to stay the night? I know it’s late and I’d hate to kick you out.”

“It’s late?” He mumbles to himself. “Oh umm no, I need to get back but if you need me to stay I can.”

“Oh no it’s alright. Thank you again for watching them.”

“Yeah no problem. You know how much I love them.”

Din has already taken the twins and Grogu up to their room and put them down. He walks back down just as Paz rises from the couch. They give one another a hug and a firm pat on the back. “Thanks man.”

“For sure.” Paz looks back at you before turning towards his brother. “When are you two having the next one?”

Din chuckles. “You try and ask her. Last time I did I had to carry a twenty pound weight around for a week. That shit’s not fun.”

Paz lets out a loud laugh but immediately stops after you scowl at him and point to the kids. “Sorry.”

After the three of you talk for a few more minutes, Paz makes his way out of the door. You sit down on the couch between Reeza and Myles. Reeza shuffles a little and settles down onto your lap. You smile and start to softly brush her hair.

Myles opens his eyes, as if he just woke up. “Hi Mom.”

“Hi baby.” Your arm wraps around his shoulder and pulls him close to you, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “How was your day?”

“It was good… uneventful.” It takes everything in Reeza to stop herself from snickering.

“Oh, that’s good.” Din sits down on the other side of Myles and places his arm on the back of the couch, keeping all three of you within his hold.

“How was your date?”

“It was good, although I missed you guys.” You press another kiss to Myles cheek and he giggles.

“Your mother has separation anxiety.”

Myles laughs while you glare at your husband. “Of course I do! You guys are my babies.” Looking down at Reeza, you scratch her back and you feel a shiver run down her spine.

“Time to go to bed.” Your husband huffs as he stands up, taking Reeza into his arms he beckons Myles to follow him. “Say goodnight to your mother.”

“Goodnight mom.” Myles wraps his arms around your neck and presses a kiss to your cheek. You smile and hold him close.

“Goodnight my love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

You turn the faucet and warm water starts to run. Hands grip at your hips and kisses are placed against the back of your neck. He pulls the zipper down on the back of your dress. Every inch of skin that is revealed to him he sucks and nips at it.

“You looked so good in this dress.”

Turning around in his arms, you press a kiss to his lips. “Mm thank you.”

He growls as you bite his bottom lip.

“Reeza was awake, wasn’t she?”

“Definitely.”

You giggle and slip from his hold. “They’re so funny. I hope they were alright today.”

He sighs as he realizes he’s not getting as lucky as he originally thought. “Cyare, you worry too much. They said they had a great day.”

You slip into the bubbly water and lean forward, silently asking him to slide in behind you. “I can’t help it.”

He kicks off his pants and sits behind you, pulling you into his chest. You rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes.

The two of you just stay against each other in the comfort of warm water for a second.

“Cyare?”

“Mmm?”

His hand moves over your stomach. “Are you sure you don’t want another one?”

You sigh. “Din, babe, the twins aren’t even one yet.”

“Soooo?”

You laugh, “You’re insatiable. You can ask again in a year. I need a break for right now.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I just love you so much.” You turn your head so he can press a kiss to your lips. “And our family.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Part: Rainy Day

I hope you all liked it!

Please consider leaving a comment or reblogging, I love hearing what you all have to say! It makes my day!

Love, Lordy :)

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi @coldlilheart @remmysbounty @t3a-bag

If you want to be added/removed from my taglist- just give me a holler! :)

#din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #days filled with love #dfwl

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raph-and-spike · 4 years ago

Text

Taking a Swim - Leo x fem!reader

request? yes/no

I want a Story WITH LEO It could be also nsfw. 😅🤤🤭 i'm a long friend of April and she make a Meeting between the turtles and me.Leo fall in love with me and dont know how he should tell me that. We meet us in 4th July at first. Then its the 14.august and the turtles, April, casey and i go Swimming in a little sea... I hope you know the scenes,that i mean.. Have a good day 🤗😘 Nice wishes from germany

a/n: @tkappi I hope you don’t mind that I slightly altered it... I wanted the swimming scene to be a little more intimate ;) I’m sorry this request took so long!! Hope you like it <33

warnings: NSFW...aka smut. Read at your own risk. For the sake of this being smut, both the reader and Leo will be 18 years old in this imagine.

Finally, you thought to yourself with a smile of relief as you gripped the straps of your backpack on your walk home. It was summer–which meant you were free from school, free to do whatever you please for the next two and a half months. You couldn’t wait to spend everyday with your best friend, April O’Neil. The two of you had been best friends for as long as you could remember; you knew the redhead like the back of your hand.

Though, summer didn’t end up going according to plan. Instead, you spent it calling April every morning and afternoon, asking to hang out. At first, she’d claimed that she was spending time with her aunt or hanging out with Casey. You believed her for a while, but once her excuses turned into not answering her phone, you began to get angry. It had already been the beginning of July, and the two of you had yet to hang out once! You’d had it.

Stomping on the pavement to her apartment, your mind raced with millions of different phrases you’d say to her. ‘Why haven’t you been answering my calls?’ was one. ‘Do you not like me anymore?’ was another. As you reached her apartment door, your heart raced through your chest as you brought your knuckles to the hard, painted wood. As it begun to swing open, you froze in your spot.

“Raph, you could have just used the fire escape–”

You froze as a green figure stood in front of you, wearing an orange mask with matching nunchucks at its sides. You couldn’t move nor could you speak. You felt paralyzed.

“Uh, guys?!” It spoke.

You looked behind it, two identical creatures standing next to April and Casey. You watched April’s eyes meet yours, her blue orbs widening in fear at your frozen figure. She wasn’t sure what to do or how to alleviate this situation. Panicking, she finally decided to pull you into her bedroom and tell you what she’d been hiding.

“We need to talk,” she stated calmly, grabbing your hand and pulling you into her apartment, leading you into her bedroom.

Once she shut her bedroom door behind you, she took a seat on her bed. You couldn’t find the ability to sit, so you stood in front of her with your arms at your sides.

“I met them at the beginning of last year. My Dad and I...” she struggled for words, “we were taken by these alien robots, called the ‘Kraang’.”

You cocked an eyebrow, obviously thinking that she was making this up.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, Y/n, but you have to listen,” she begged.

With a sigh, you sat down on the bed next to her and did as you were told. She told you everything. From when they saved her, to when her father was freed and then mutated, how she'd been trained by her turtle friends’ father–a tall rat, apparently–to be a kunoichi, to their adventures saving the city from not only mutants, but their enemy named Shredder, as well. You had no choice but to believe the redhead. After all, you’d known the girl your entire life.

“So, that’s why you’ve been dodging my calls?” you asked, rerunning the story she’d just told you over again in your head.

She nodded sadly. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, Y/n. I’m so sorry,” she admitted guiltily.

You put a hand on her shoulder with a small smile. “It’s okay, April...just promise me that you won’t push me away like that again? I mean, we’ve been through everything together, you can’t get rid of me now with a few mutant turtles,” you said with a laugh.

She chuckled before pulling you into a hug.

“Actually, the turtles, Casey, and I were going to spend the rest of the summer at the farmhouse, and now since you know about them...” she trailed off before a knocking on the door interrupted her.

“Can you two, like, hurry up or somethin’? Mikey’s eatin’ all the road snacks!” a voice yelled from outside the door.

She rolled her eyes. “Coming, Raph!”

She looked at you, raising her eyebrows.

“You wanna spend your summer with a couple of mutants at a farmhouse upstate?”

After introducing you to the turtles, and quickly bringing you to your own apartment so that you could fill a suitcase with clothes and other belongings, all seven of you sat in Mr. O’Neil’s Volkswagen bus as Casey drove to April’s farmhouse. With Mikey pestering you with questions–and a certain blue-masked turtle telling him to leave you alone–the ride went by pretty fast.

The house was beautiful. It was incredibly secluded and quiet, which you preferred much more to the loud, packed city of New York.

Mikey offered to cook everyday, often switching with you whenever he was busy sparring with the others, or occupied with comic books. You didn’t mind it, cooking eased your mind. You’d offer to do the dishes afterwards as well. It wasn’t until Mikey had picked up a new compelling comic series, when you’d been picking up cooking and dish-washing duty almost daily. Leo noticed this and offered to help one night. You immediately accepted his offer with a blush.

You ordered him to dry the dishes and put them away after you washed them. It was a steady, easy system between the two of you. He’d ask you questions about your interests and hobbies, and you’d ask him about his. You noticed that he didn’t seem much interested in talking about himself–he seemed rather interested in your answers instead. Talking with Leo was easy. With him, you knew he wouldn’t judge you or make you feel uncomfortable.

He easily became closer to you than the others, always making excuses to spend time with you, and even asking you to teach him how to cook. You taught him how to make homemade pizzas, much to Mikey’s dinner request, along with some easy pasta dishes.

One night, as you slept on the twin bed in April’s old childhood bedroom, you felt a tapping on your shoulder. You sat up, peering into the deep blue eyes that still seemed so magnetic in the darkness.

“I want to show you something,” he whispered.

Butterflies swarming in your stomach, you grinned.

Quietly tip-toeing down the creeky, aged wooden stairs and out the door, he gently grabbed your hand and began leading you through the grass. Once the two of you headed toward the edge of the forest, you frowned.

“Why are you taking me into the woods?” you asked, suspicion in your voice.

He stopped, a dreamy smile on his lips. “It’s going to be good, I promise.”

You chewed your lip hesitantly, causing his invisible eyebrows to knit together.

“If I gave you one of my katanas, would you feel safer?” he asked, skillfully pulling the blade out from its sheath on his shell.

You gladly took it, gripping the wrapped hilt as he lead you deeper into the forest. The broken twigs, rocks, and rough roots weren’t gentle on the bare soles of your feet, but your excitement and nervousness distracted you from it.

At last, a large clearing with a wide pond stared back at you, entirely lit by the large moon in the sky. Your jaw nearly dropped at the beautiful sight in front of you, tossing his katana onto the ground whilst you stared in awe.

“I found it yesterday,” the blue-masked turtle explained briefly.

You hadn’t noticed that he was staring at you, wondering how the girl of his dreams would react to his discovery.

“Leo, it’s,” you struggled for words, “’incredible’ feels like too small of a word to describe it,” you admitted.

He chuckled. “I know what you mean, that’s how I felt when I first saw it too... It’s–”

“Perfect,” you finished.

He gazed at you as if you were a star–no, that’s too small. He gazed at you as if you were an entire universe; he felt like a small, floating asteroid compared to you, an entire universe. How were you so perfect? How was creation able to give you such beautiful features, a personality sculpted just for him? Dissecting your mind all this time while the two of you spent so much time together made him realize just how much he’d fallen for you and how much he adored you.

You watched him as he stared at you intently, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Leo?” you asked hesitantly.

“Can I, uhm, may I...kiss you?” he stuttered, attempting to raise his shoulders back confidently as he waited for your response.

You felt your cheeks turn crimson. With a slow nod, you moved to fill the space between the two of you, watching as he stared at you in awe. Within seconds, he pressed his lips against yours. Surprised, you nearly pulled away before melting against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and closing your eyes. He didn’t attempt to move his lips, after all, he had no experience with kissing whatsoever. You took the initiative to begin moving your lips slowly, knowing not to introduce your tongue just yet. Your lips moved gently against each other’s, and you’d never felt closer to Leo.

Pulling away to catch your breath, you turned your head toward the pond, and back at Leo. Getting your drift, he grinned, shrugging his other katana off before jumping into the pond. You looked down at your pajamas. Deciding not to get them wet, you slowly pulled your pajama top off, revealing your bra to Leonardo. He watched from the water, cheeks pinker than you’d ever seen them before, as you began to pull down your pajama bottoms. You stood in the cool, summer night air, nearly naked, before jumping into the water with him. With a shriek at the cold temperature of the pond, you attempted to swim toward him before he moved away.

“I have sort of an...issue; we should probably keep our distance,” he admitted, his cheeks still blushing profusely.

You cocked a brow in confusion. “What?”

He made a downward motion with his head, before it hit you. Your own cheeks flushed once more.

“Well,” you began, slowing making your way toward him, despite his warning, “we can...fix that, if you want.”

You watched as his blue orbs widened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped.

“A-are you sure?” he asked, looking bewildered, shocked that someone as beautiful as you would ever want to do something like that with him.

You nodded, closing the space between the two of you and forcing his lips against your own. This kiss was incredibly different than the first; it was needy, it was desperate, as if you couldn’t breathe without him in between your legs.

You didn’t waste time introducing your tongue, feeling him do the same as your lips danced sloppily against each other’s, begging for a release of tension. He leant down, grabbing your legs to wrap them around his waist. You easily leant into him, the water helping hold you up, as you felt his hardened length brush against your clothed core. You moaned against his lips, grinding your heat against it. Growling, he brought his hands to your bum, ripping the fabric of your panties off. You gasped, feeling his hands squeeze your bare ass and push you further against him.

With ease, due to how wet you were, he was able to slide his length into you. You groaned, feeling him fill you up.

“Is this okay? A-am I doing this right?” he asked, his voice breathy and raspy.

“Yes, Leo, move,” you begged, resting your forehead against his.

He thrusted hard, causing you to nearly scream. He continued to thrust, every stroke going deeper and deeper until he developed a steady rhythm. His thrusts quickened as your walls began to clench, grasping onto his plastron as you felt your climax nearing.

“Leo, please,” you groaned, shoving your head into the crook of his neck, trying to muffle your moans into his skin.

He thrusted even faster, squeezing your ass against him as your hips met his movements. Your eyes squeezed shut as your climax hit you, body spasming against him as you felt his own hips still, his cock spurting inside of you. Your body fell weak against him as you felt him gently pull out. He moved his hands to your back, stroking the soft skin whilst he held you against his chest.

The two of you rested there, basking in the moonlight, warm skin pressed against each other. It was then, that Leo knew he was in love.

#tmnt #TMNT 2012 #tmnt 2k12 #TMNT x reader #tmnt leo x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo hamato #teenage mutant ninja turtles x reader

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spookypotato · 4 years ago

Text

Hey! It's the 20th of January! Perfect time for me to finally post my secret santa fic I might have forgotten about right? Absolutely. So here it goes :)

This was and is still for megss (@charginger)

I also wrote her a poem and I thought I would include it :)

Your Secret Santa, it is I,

so okay, I would really lie,

if I were to tell you I would have guessed,

that you would be a bit more impressed.

Anyway this is the big reveal,

the time for my identity to unseal,

Hey, I'm Veronika, I hope you like what I made,

may it help the christmas cheer to not fade!

I had two assistants, I shall not forget,

@ninak803 and @marauderss-hp only because of them it's finally set.

there might be mistakes, at least so I worry,

my english isnt perfect, I am sorry.

Merry Christmas! you wonderful snowflake,

now read to find out what Sirius might bake!

cw: food

Hope's favourite cookies

"Hurry, Remus.", Sirius was running around in the kitchen, trying to find ingredients for their christmas cookies.

"I am, I am, although I dont think this is exacly an important task, right now."

"Remus, mon loup", he stilled for a short moment and placed a kiss on Remus' nose, "This will be my first christmas with your family. It needs to be perfect. They need to like me.", he stated, like it was obvious and began looking over the recipe, mumbling to himself.

"I'm pretty sure, you're like their favourite non-related person in the world-", realizing Sirius wasn't even listening and carefully pouring the exact amount of flour in the bowl they needed, Remus trailed off.

Walking over to his - way to stressed for this occasion - boyfriend and wrapping his arms around Sirius' waist, he told him, looking over his shoulder at the dough he'd made so far, "Baby. Please relax, alright? They already love you and it will be perfect."

When Sirius turned around in his arms Remus could see the doubt and stress on his boyfriend's face as two lines formed on his forehead. Going up to his toes, he kissed them away, like he had wanted to do for years. "Besides", Remus grabbed a bit of the dough and put it into his mouth, "not serving my mom's favourite cookies is definitely not on the bad-boyfriend-list."

Sirius finally looked a bit more relaxed. Then he suddenly narrowed his eyes at Remus, "There isn't actually a list, right?"

"'course there is", Remus answered and watched the fear as it seeped into the face in front of him. "I'm kidding, baby.", he gasped out after he couldnt hold his laughter back any longer, "Don't worry, okay? They love you and nothing will change that. Now put this dough in the fridge, there are more important things to do!"

They parked in front of the Dumais' house. Remus looked at the time displayed in Sirius car. "We're late. May be because of your obsessive need to achieve perfection, but at least we're finally done with everything right?", Remus leaned over and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek.

Sirius smiled sheepishly, "Yeah, sorry. I'm just nervous, you know?"

"I promise you, the evening with our familys will be perfect. Now stop worrying, we're late.", with that Remus got out of the car leaving his boyfriend to shake out of his daze and follow.

Their arms piled with presents, they made their way to the front door, Remus using his foot to ring the doorbell, as if it was an everyday task.

The door opened with a "Bonjour!". Sirius could'nt see the other man, but recognized Pascal's voice behind the big present he was holding.

"Hey Dumo. How are you?", he heard Remus say as they walked into the living room, toeing of their shoes to not get the clean floors dirty.

"Good. Finally relaxed now that the presents are all done.", he added the last part as he moved closer to the couple, almost whispering.

It was that moment they all heard loud footsteps on the ceiling. Children running around to the direction of the staircase.

"Shit. Um-", Sirius almost threw the present into Dumos' arms, the gears in his head visibly clicking into place to find a solution for their poor time management, "Okay, Remus! Can you get the rest? I'll distract the kids."

Remus looked amused as he saw Sirius determination to not ruin the children's christmas with the shocking discovery that santa was in fact just their parents.

So he obediently got all the presents from the trunk of Sirius' car and brought them into the basement, so Pascal and Celeste could place them underneath the tree in the night.

Sirius having chased Marc up the stairs, could be heard as he probably tickled him mercilessly, if the shrieks and laughs from both boys were anything to go off of.

As his boyfriends was probably just waiting for some kind of sign from Remus, that he had stored the boxes away, he went up the stairs aswell, just catching Marc running off to his room, having escaped Sirius grasp. Sirius made a move to follow him, but stopped as he saw Remus.

"All set up?", he asked, putting his arms around Remus waist.

"Yes. Stored securely away from curious children's eyes. They probably know about Santa already, you know?", he leaned against his boyfriends chest.

Putting his chin on top of Remus head he replied, "Yeah, I know. I just don't want to risk it. I dont want to ruin their view of christmas."

"What about Santa?", came a small voice from their right. They hadn't noticed Katie's door opening. "Did you hear something from him?"

She looked a bit tired, but somehow also full of excitement for the evening and probably even more for tomorrow morning.

"Non, mon petit chat. But, usually that's a good sign.", he let go of Remus to lean down to her, "It just means that he's busy making and flying out presents. And that nothing went wrong, so let's hope we only hear from him tomorrow morning, eh?"

"Oh. Yeah, then I hope so too.", there was a short pause, but then the seven-year-old's energy came back. "Ooh, Sirius! Can you help me choose a dress for dinner?" She was jumping with excitement and how could anyone say no to that face.

He kissed Remus and smiled at him, before following Katie into her room.

"So, I have a green one, a pink one and a blue one. Which one should I wear?"

Sirius knowing she would look adorable in all of them actually couldn't decide. Her whole evening could depend on this choice. Okay, maybe he was being dramatic, but he wanted to choose a good one. Then he noticed her glancing over to the green one, again and again. So he told her that, he liked that one the best and was rewarded with a wide smile.

Kissing her head with a "See you downstairs in a bit.", he left her room to join the others in the kitchen.

Just as he wanted to enter, the door bell rang.

He went over, hearing Remus and Pascal trail behind him and opened the door.

"Merry Christmas Eve!", Hope said cheerfully and hugged Remus.

"Hi, mum. I missed you."

"You forgot about us, Re'?", he just saw Julian run up to them, from where he had still been at the car, jumping up to his brother.

Remus lifted him with ease, "Wait, who are you again?". At the shocked expression of his brother he cracked up, laughing and getting them both inside.

"Pascal.", he Lyall greeted, "Thank you so much for hosting us all this Christmas."

"We're happy to have you! You're Sirius' family, so you're mine! Now, come inside. It's way too cold out here and dinner is almost done."

They all went into the kitchen. The food smelled amazing, so it was pretty hard not to be drawn to Celeste's current working space. Even though she was clearly a bit stressed, she chipped into the conversation every once in a while.

Sirius looked around from where he was leaning against the counter, standing next to Remus, "So when will Reg be making an appearance? I didn't think he'd go out on Christmas Eve."

"Oh. He's not. He in the basement-"

Dumo was cut of by Sirius, who was now leaving the room with quick steps in the direction of the stairs, shouting, "In the- That little shit. It's Christmas, Reg!"

Finally everyone was sitting at the beautifully set table. There were candles and carefully set up evergreen twigs, next to the delicious Christmas feast (it could not be described as a dinner). From were the table was positioned, everyone also had a wonderful view of their Christmas tree. Decorated with red and gold ornaments and an angel on the very top.

As soon as they had all sat down to eat, the stress Sirius had piled onto himself was somehow gone. He held up easy conversations with everyone, even one on one with Lyall. He seemed like he'd known them for years. They talked about hockey and the ride here and Remus really enjoyed watching his boyfriend bond with his family.

Until his mum joined in again, having had a separate conversation with Pascal about their kids.

"You know, I have video of Remus and Julian on christmas, when we bought them each their first hockey equipment."

Remus knew exacly how that had gone so he was determined to not show any reaction and just move on to the next topic. Sirius however had exacly the opposite planned and he never despised his boyfriend more then in that moment.

"Hope. Please. With all that holy to me, I beg you to show me that video someday."

Okay, that could go alright. Someday. Maybe Sirius would have forgotten until someday.

Once they were all finished eating and the kids were already starting to go to bed, they thanked Dumo and Celeste again, not only for the beautiful atmosphere, but also for the amazing food that left them all more than full up to the point, they couldn't even eat Celeste's christmas cookies anymore. Of course they got a to-go package full of every flavour that she had made that year.

Afterwards they all left for Sirius' house.

"Please can I drive with you? Pleeeaaase?", Julian begged Remus, standing in front of Sirius' car.

"'course, Jules-", Remus barely finished before his brother said, "Thanks. Alright, shotgun!"

And that's how Remus got to watch his boyfriend and little brother from the backseat, while they were discussing what Jules might get for Christmas.

It was a rather short ride to their house, filled with a long string of "I won't tell you." 's and "Pleeeaaaase." 's, but when they arrived Julian jumped out of the car like it was on fire.

"Easy there. You won't get any gifts from us until mum and dad are here."

Now they were all settled onto Sirius' massive couch and Julian was jumping up and down, probably breaking the springs any moment.

"Alright, seeing as Jules is ready to burst from excitement we'll start with our gifts."

Sirius left to get the big red one they had hidden in their bedroom.

Meanwhile, Hope was leaning over and noting smugly, "our gift, huh? You two bought your gifts together?"

Remus looked at her a bit sheepishly. They had been dating for over a year now, it didn't feel wrong to give out gifts together.

His mum saw his worried face and simply said, "No, don't worry. It's sweet."

Just as Remus wanted to reply his boyfriend came back into the room with Julian's gift, placing it on the floor in front of him. It was nearly as tall as Julian himself.

He picked it up and shook it. He could hear something moving inside, but that didn't help him determine what it could be.

Remus tore his eyes away from his brother's excited face, to look at his equally excited boyfriend. He was on the tips of his toes until he broke, "Come on, Jules! I'm dying here. Just rip it open!"

Remus had to laugh at Sirius impatience and enthusiasm, but he also wanted to see his brother's reaction.

"No!", was the first thing they heard and it was Lyall's voice. Apparently he had already seen part of the gift.

Julian ripped the wrapping away completely and tore the box open, revealing a lions hockey stick and a jersey, both with his number and name printed on it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love them!", running over to his brother and Sirius and hugged them both, almost making them fall over from his force. "My team is going fo freak out!"

"I'm glad you like them."

Sirius visibly relaxed, "Can't be a real Lion, if you don't have the proper gear."

"Well, now I can! Okay, okay. I have something for you, too."

Sirius and Remus sat down and waited for Julian to get Remus' gift from where they had left them in front of the door.

"Here. For when you miss us."

Remus carefully ripped the wrapping paper away to reveal a snow globe. He turned it around a saw landmarks from his home state. It was incredible.

Remus eyes became teary. "I love it. But hopefully you'll never be gone long enough for me to miss. Oh, come here."

Jules came over and hugged him, but then the younger jumped up and ran out the door again.

He came back with another gift. He walked over to Sirius. "For you.", Julian held out he gift.

"Jules! There was no need to-"

"Its nothing, really. It's just something small. You might not like it, but I made it and I wanted to give it to you.", Julian looked a bit embarrassed, now.

Sirius removed the wrapping from the rectangular object to reveal-

"It's a picture of my family.", Julian told him.

Sirius looked at the framed photo. It was after a game. The Lupins had come down to the lockerroom. It was Lyall with his arm around Hope. Julian in front of them, flashing his brightest smile. Remus standing next to them. And to his right Sirius. Holding Remus close, a hand on Julian's shoulder, smiling. Now it was Sirius' time for tears.

"Jules, Julian. This is the sweetest gift I've ever received, thank you." Sirius couldn't really put into words how much this meant to him. To not only be accepted, but welcomed into this new family.

"Oh, come on. I- I need a group hug, please."

They all piled onto Hope like they were on the ice. Sirius being the first, hugged her the tightest, not wanting to let go. He could feel all of Julian pressed to his side and Remus as he kissed his temple. He even felt Lyall's hand from the other side on his shoulder blade, pressing the group together.

Apparently, he really didn't need any cookie bribes, it seemed like he was fine just the way he was.

mon petit chat- my little cat

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ifmywishescametrue · 4 years ago

Note

omg another taylor x stevetony stan!!! if you're feeling it, can i ask for a 'dont you'-inspired steve/tony fic?? the angst potential (and ofc happy ending) of that song is just *chef's kiss* and perfect for steve and tony! thank youuu

ahhh I love that you sent me this! don’t you absolutely screams stevetony

hope you like this one :)

He knew it would happen sometime or another. At some party or event that Tony doesn’t even want to be at in the first place, or maybe crossed paths on the sidewalk or the grocery store. For a city with millions of people, it’s still near impossible to avoid someone forever in New York. It doesn’t help that all of his friends, with few exceptions, were Steve’s first and cutting them out of his life was just too hard on top of losing him.

From them he knows that Steve moved on. A few dates here and there in the beginning, stops and starts for the first couple months after the break up that gave Tony a false sense of hope that maybe it wasn’t quite over. Maybe Steve was having such a hard time starting with someone else because he couldn't let go of what they had, either.

He doesn’t know the new girl’s name. Couldn’t bring himself to ask and none of his friends were offering anything except for sympathy. All he knows is that she’s blonde and beautiful and makes Steve smile in all of the photographs. She’s only been around for a month now, longer than the others have lasted, but Tony knows that this one means that it’s really done. There’s no recovery for them this time.

Unfortunately, knowing he would run into Steve eventually doesn’t quite prepare him for the reality of it.

He isn’t expecting to see Steve here of all places. It’s too late in the night, for one thing, going half past two on a Thursday morning. Tony’s eyes are aching with exhaustion, and he’s been swirling around the last dregs of his drink for far too long. He hates this coffee shop and its poor excuse for espresso and too bright fluorescent lights. Hates the playlist with the same ten songs in a loop and the guy behind the counter who never stops snapping his fingers along with it, but it’s the only one around him that stays open this late. It’s sort of their brand, giving lonely, pathetic people like him somewhere to be, and that’s another reason why Steve doesn’t belong here.

Tony looks up at the chime of the door opening, along with the other two occupants, and he shrinks into his chair when he recognizes that familiar golden hair and broad frame. Seven months isn’t nearly long enough to be able to forget the sight of him. Steve’s hands are in the pocket of his sweatshirt, and his cheeks are pink with the cold. He walks up to the counter and orders while Tony contemplates running out the door.

He wonders if Steve would notice, though. If he would get caught running away and how embarrassing that would be. Then he’s wondering if he should approach first to make it seem like he doesn’t care. Play the unaffected, blasé role like he’s doing just fine these days. But would Steve see through him? Would he take one look into Tony’s eyes and just know the truth in that easy way of his? Probably, he thinks. His pale skin looks like it hasn’t seen daylight in quite a while, and he’s clearly behind on haircuts these days and not in a good way.

In the end the choice is made for him, because he’s so busy running through the possibilities that he doesn’t notice that Steve is already coming over, not until he’s right there and saying, “Hey, Tony.”

Tony straightens instantly, almost knocking over his cup with the quick movement and catching it at the last second. He winces internally, the casual act already ruined. “Steve, um, hi.”

Steve’s smile is soft, sending a sharp pang through Tony’s chest. He points to the chair opposite him and asks, “Do you mind?”

Tony shakes his head, and the chair’s metal legs scrape against the linoleum when Steve sits down. Steve leans forwards, elbows on the table and hands wrapped around the paper cup of what Tony would bet is peppermint hot chocolate.

Neither of them speak, awkward, stifling silence settling between them like a weight that Tony can feel. There’s no safe topics between them anymore, and that hurts to realize more than it probably should.

“How have you been?” Steve finally asks, and Tony almost laughs.

“Fantastic. What about you?” he replies dryly.

Steve cracks another small smile. “Same here, I guess. I heard about the launch coming up. Nat mentioned it a couple of weeks ago, said it was running a bit behind schedule. How’s that going?”

“Back on track.”

Steve nods, taking Tony’s short answer in stride. “She mentioned there was a problem with the battery -”

“We don’t have to do this,” Tony interrupts, gesturing between the two of them. “The whole catching up thing and acting like we’re friends. It’s really not necessary.”

He sees the bobbing of Steve’s throat when he swallows, and Steve stares at a spot somewhere over Tony’s shoulder so he isn’t looking at him anymore. “I wasn’t trying to pretend to be friends, I just thought…”

Steve trails off, and Tony asks, “Thought what?”

“That it’s been long enough that maybe we could just actually be friends again. Like it used to be, before everything.”

“Like it used to be,” Tony echoes. “That’s what you want?”

“You were one of my best friends, you know,” Steve says, and he meets Tony’s eyes again. “You knew me better than just about anyone, even Buck sometimes. I miss that. Don’t you?”

Of course he does, but that’s not what he misses most. He misses waking up with Steve’s heartbeat beneath his ear and the warmth of his arms. Misses those little jokes and lingering looks, the way that Steve could make everything else just disappear with one touch.

Tony remembers thinking back then, before everything, as Steve called it, that being Steve’s friend would be enough for him, when he thought his feelings were one-sided and everything he actually wanted was unattainable. But now that he knows what it feels like to have everything, just some of it can’t possibly be enough anymore.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” Tony says, pushing back from the table. “I can’t.”

He walks out without looking back, hands shoved deep into his pocket and head down against the wind. The sting in his eyes has a new source, but he refuses to let anything fall. Steve doesn’t get to have that kind of effect anymore. He’ll keep pretending to be fine, until hopefully it stops being an act one day.

“Wait,” Tony hears. “Please don’t leave.”

If anything he walks faster, shaking his head. “Just let it go, Steve. We aren’t anything to each other anymore.”

Steve’s hand catches his elbow, spinning him back around and keeping him there. “I don’t think that’s true. Maybe we can’t be friends, but we’re not nothing.”

“You broke up with me,” Tony reminds him pointedly. “That makes us nothing.”

Sadness and pain contort Steve’s features. “I know I did, but -”

“But nothing. You have somebody else, and I’m really trying to be happy for you and to be happy on my own, and I can’t do that and still have to see you. That’s not fair to me.”

“I don’t have somebody else. There’s no one.”

Tony folds his arms over his chest. “Don’t lie. I’ve seen the pictures, and I still talk to your friends.”

“We broke up,” Steve says, and then he hesitates. His other hand reaches for Tony’s hip, and he takes a step in closer. Tony’s breath catches in his throat at the proximity and at the feeling of Steve’s hands on him again after so long without it. “She said she didn’t want someone who really wanted someone else, and I realized that I’d rather be alone than with anyone but you.”

Tony bites his lip, having to look away from the intensity of Steve’s gaze. It’s too much and not enough and he doesn’t know how to process any of it. But if there’s any chance of having this back, he won’t hesitate to take it.

“We’re still not friends,” he says.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs. “So don’t be my friend then.”

“You broke up with me,” Tony repeats. “You left.”

“I was wrong.”

Tony huffs a laugh, “There’s a first.”

“I should’ve said it a long time ago,” Steve says earnestly. “I fucked up, and I didn’t think you’d forgive me, so I tried to move on, but it wasn’t working. Then you were here, and I don’t really want to be your friend, either, but it’s better than not knowing you at all. I don’t like not having you in my life, even if it means I can only get part of you. But, God, if you’d let me, I swear I’d never leave again.”

“You should’ve come back sooner.”

Steve’s face falls, hope extinguished. “I’m too late to fix this, aren’t I?”

He moves back, but Tony doesn’t let him go far. Steve’s jawline has more stubble than Tony can ever remember feeling before, and he runs his palm over the rough texture as he pulls him back.

“You should’ve come back sooner, because we were both wrong,” Tony corrects. “We both fucked it up, and I don’t blame you for going, but I always want you to come back. Fight with me and slam doors sometimes, but come back.”

Steve nods, and his arms come back to hold him again. “I’ll come back next time.”

“Every time.”

“Every time,” Steve repeats. “I promise.”

“And I promise I’ll try not to make you leave so much,” Tony smiles, and he gets one from Steve in return. Now that he has the real one again, he realizes just how hollow the ones in those photographs were. “Don’t listen to me when I tell you to go. I never really want that.”

“I hope you remember that you said that next time you try to kick me out.”

Tony laughs, “I’ll probably deny it, but don’t listen to that, either.”

“Always gotta read between the lines with you,” Steve murmurs, thumb stroking across his cheek. “Never make it easy on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony says honestly.

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t be. You’re worth the effort.”

“Come back home with me?” Tony asks, and Steve kisses him softly, like a whisper of everything to come.

“Always.”

There’s still more to talk about and issues to work out, but for right now, with Steve’s hand back in his, this is enough.

#stevetony #stony #my writing #my fic #superhusbands #stevetony fic

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olde-scratch · 4 years ago

Text

So I watched LUCIDS 1-4 without any prior knowledge...

and here were my thoughts. I didn’t watch any backstory or anything so enjoy my suffering.

PART 1

“So what happens when the people inside of their dreams go to sleep?” They die

“What happens when we wake up? Do they go on living while we’re not there?” THEY DIE-

“Who are they anyway?” they’re faces that our brain catalogs and stores for later use, although it’s also arguable that every time we dream we go to an alternate reality and inhabit the body of another version of ourselves. Now, were you in a car accident and trapped underwater or-

Are they twins?

(Me tuning out to do something)

“-the squirrel in spongebob was your soulmate, making you a Sandy simp-”

Me, snapping back to the video: hold up-

[missed the part about the worksheet, realized it when i rewatched 10 mins later to make this post]

yall speakin gibberish idk what youre saying-

“I’m gonna go to bed.” bro it literally looks like morning-

“You should get some sleep you look terrible.” i get six hours of sleep a night minimum and i look worse than him shut up bro-

“jump into someone else’s dream” ah i know this con-

why they all got the same face-

haha funni meme

“--an interruptiion can create feedback and tear them apart.” Death. I long for thee.

Is that Karl Jacob’s jacket?

“a second grader” makes me think this is a different school system. [i was wrong? i think?]

“[get him to] eat your apple”

[in the dream sequence] weird dream, but ive had weirder. now, Why Pamper’s-

why does he suddenly have a knife-

“You put a filter on the Dreamscape feed?”

“Technically, you are seven years old.”

???????????

the second hand embarrassment is UGGGHHH

[reading the description] you mean like the guy who was knocked out for 2 minutes on a football field and woke to find he’d dreamt 17 years of his life? oh this shall be Fun

PART 2

[I check the description] “jasper cult” what the fu-

how many camp camp references can i make during this

Is the apple a reference to religion or does the creator just really ilke apples?

“meal.”

“meal?”

meal????

Wait why couldn’t that guy eat the apple? If he wanted it in the fruit bowl, wouldn’t there be a chance of the guy eating it anyways?? Why can’t the guy who brought the apple eat it?

well he’s Dead

[debating if I should read the backstory}

n a h h h h h -

Was he gonna feed the dead guy the apple or something? Why is he upset about the apple in this scene???

oooo the grownups are fightinnnngggg

Is he an antagonist?

HE WROTE A BOOK???

oh now i want food

ESTABLISH JUSTICE ENSURE DOMESTIC TRANQUILITYYYYYYYYYYYYY

“I watched all those aforementioned shows” what shows did i miss something what-

man why you gotta hate on her jane austen fanfic let her live bro

string theory! i can get behind that! sorta-

o no he found the memes-

BOY GOT KNOCKED OUT-

kim there’s people that are dying-

is SHE an antagonist?

quinn? calling himself jasper? u sure hes not just nonbinary? is this just a metaphor for transphobic parenting?

“He died... but somewhere, he grew up.” So is your plan to take a Quinn from a different universe and make him your own, thereby robbing another version of yourself from happiness? When does this ever go well?

Yknow most people, when they lose a kid,,,, kinda,,,,,,, dont go on a ceaseless quest to find another version of their kid that grew up without knowing that another version of his mother was invading other peoples’ dreams to find and kidnap him,,,,,,,, like aint u got a therapist-

“Once you get past the point of not knowing what’s real anymore, you realize it doesn’t matter.” Well, I Got Called Out-

PART 3

“you’re real, oliver.”

aRe yOu sUrE aBoUt tHaT-

“you’ve been infected by the anti-love parasite of Mandadon” the amatonormativity is strong

so anyways ive been infected since birth hbu-

“James Jasperson, creator of Japple” did you mean to Fancy Well-Educated Man in a Black Turtleneck? cause the only FWEMBT i allow near me is prof. hidgens

“are you winning?” says the capitalist

why did you rewind to see his face?? you have the same face????? is this just bc the creator doesnt like working with other people cause in that case same but???????

“it’s a bad idea. i’m not gonna do it.” we’ve all been there. and we’ve all done it.

looks like me trying to study. (i say, a person who has studied a total of five minutes throughout their entire life.)

your “Spartan trial” looks like a bunch of guys standing on a hill pretending to be something they’re not. Let The Man Bring His Snacks.

eat the apple.

is this your first existential crisis or something what a loser lets all point and laugh

“One of you should be spared, the other shall’nt.” did you mean shant or was that a choice-

yall gonna get called out for talking shut UP

“sorry if this is too personal, btw. are you okay?”

me, confused and half understanding what’s going on and also needing to sleep cause its almost one in the morning but wanting to finish what i can find of lucids which i only starting watching cause i saw an animatic of ranboo and dream w audio from it: i don’t know anymore

“i just want my life back... i was gonna get married-” AREN’T YOU LIKE SEVEN-

ay man if this is a sacrificial cult yall gotta get daniel-

UPDATE: I H A V E N O T F O U N D I T -

“oliver”

I F O U N D I T -

WHICH ONE IS QUINN?? WHO’S JASPER???? WHICH ONE IS BENJAMIN???? I THOUGH BENJAMIN WAS SEVEN BUT I THOUGHT HE WAS THE ONE GETTING MARRIED WHAT-

oliver. eat the apple.

“Can you still have memories even when you’re dreaming?” One time I woke up to my alarm and fell back asleep and in my dream I remembered that I had class in a few minutes and my dream self woke my real self up so fast I thought I was gonna get whiplash. Anyways, I was late to class bc of my computer but that doesn’t matter.

NOPE I FOUND IT. HERE’S THE AUDIO. THE ANIMATIC ONE. FINALLY.

im thinking car crash. but also maybe murder. but also maybe both? is it raining or was he drowning? is he in a coma? hmmmmmm?

wait olivers the one with the apple does that mean he’s the one dreaming? is the ending gonna be him and jasper (quinn? idk) fighting against ben and mrs hills about jasper eating the apple to save oliver from the dream? hmmmmmmmmmm-

waitwaitwait i thought oliver was 7 how is benjamin 7 years younger than him if they look the same age what what what explain america explain what you mean arkansaw-

are the cuts on his nose plot-relevant or

“What if you hadn’t been driving?” So I was right about the car accident but Mrs. Hills still said he was seven so did i mishear her say that BENJAMIN was seven? but even then oliver would be 14 and that would still be illegal-

“How are you feeling?”

“Like you’re a pretty bad therapist.”

mood

“--it makes it all bearable to have power over the stories we write in our heads” that’s why i write fanfiction

HE’S GOT THE NOTEBOOK HE’S GONNA WRITE SOMETHING ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US

WHAT YOU MEAN AN EXPERIMENT THAT’S HIS NAME-

[upon reading the description] so i was right.

wait was that supposed to be the twist in part 2 about the apple in his pocket is that what the existential crisis was about i thought it was because he was introduced to the multiple worlds theory-

PART 4

wait wasnt the other one january 2018 why we going back to 2017-

appol

“--the future and the past all already exist” mhm yep figured this out long ago

there was simultaneously a point in time in which i hadn’t known about this, had been looking it up, had been watching it, and had been writing an ending to this post, and had been posting it the next morning before class. that time is both now and not now. Welcome To The Multiverse Theory or whatever its called-

“--my favorite scene of the movie is waking up next to you.” Mine is eating fast food as I listen to AJJ and play Minecraft. We are not the same.

Now I’m hungry but it’s 1 in the morning and i already put my retainer in god fu-

[reading description] what do you mean previously??? she did that in the first episode????????

[still on description] WHAT DO YOU MEAN WILL QUINN BITE THE APPLE AND GO TO BENJAMINS REALITY ISNT THIS OLIVERS REALITY AND HE HAS TO GET BEN TO BITE THE APPLE WHY IS APPLE CAPITALIZED IS THIS THE DOING OF THE FWEMBT

i should have watched the backstory i should have watched the backstory i should have watched the backstory i should have wa-

[description] oh ive been spelling quinn right the whole time nice

i hope she rejects you /j

WAIT BENJAMIN WAS THE ONE GETTING MARRIED TO ISABELLE

ISNT HE IN SECOND GRADE-

HE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD HOW IS HE GETTING MARRIED ARE THERE TWO BENJAMINS THAT WE’RE FOCUSING ON-

bro get out of the road ull get hit

how do you knOW WHICH ONE IS QUINN THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON-

wait

hills wants ben to feed quinn the apple bc in his mind, that will give hills and quinn a happy ending and she doesnt want ben to see the apple bc thats gonna mean ben will know that his reality isnt reality at all. so then oliver has to,,,, not let anyone eat his apple? he just has to wake up?

IS HILLS THE VILLAIN AFTER ALL ORRRRR

wait but if ben sees the apple wont he realize that his reality is wrong and his reality will change, making it so that hills doesnt get her son? or is there some time-based rule that says they’re only transported to the reality that the person believes at that moment? or is this another stab at the multiverse thing where an infinite amount of hills gets their happy endings while an infinite amount of hills doesnt and etc etc?

i should have watched the ba-

oooo dramatique

they’re in a time loop?

nope thats a new powerpoint

wait so theyre,,,, no-

wait-

nvm-

IS THE BEN WE KNOW AN ADULT GETTING MARRIED TO ISABELLE OR NOT-

“they were actually pretty nice” didnt they throw someone off a cliff-

oh so it got confusing THEN??? NOT BEFORE?????

“it all seemed so real.” is that Not the point of vivid REM sleep hallucinations-

is oliver gonna show ben the apple and ruin hills’ whole operation

WHO ARE ALEX AND RYAN-

“what’s 25-8″ bro dont do this to me-

yep hes gonna show the apple

ayyy the guy who stole karl jacobs jacket it back

the second hand embarrassment is back and I Hate It

all that happens in episode ONE??? bro get some better writers that is bad pacing

“it’s the best!” wait until season eight. no show has a good season eight.

quinn knows about the apple thing w the dreams and multiverse and realities dont he

YOU KILLED HIM

NOT KARL JACOBS NOOOOO HES ALREADY DIED ONCE

oliver is v relatable

wHaT iN tArNaTiOn-

lemme hear that explanaton again-

is bill cipher gonna show up? i hope bill cipher shows up. i miss gravity falls

“ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!” moooooooood

did hills murder quinn

is your family the jasper cult

TOXXIICCCCCC get that lady out of your life quinn that is so toxic

“ ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree! ah! a tree! ah! a tree! ah a tree!” mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT’S THE END NO WHAT WHY NO

The Adventures of Benjamin and Oliver

he is Not Good

ope-

wait so ben is equal parts an adult AND a child?? okay that clears a lot up

I MEAN HE WAS RIGHT THO BEN U CAN’T REALLY ARGUE ON THAT-

ew get off the floor

butterfly effect, multiverse theory, memory decay, and your imagination ALL exist yall gonna ignore that cause you wanna be famous?

“We already know what the future looks like!”

aRe yOu sUrE aBoUt tHaT-

to add to the list of bad things: Cats (2019)

YA BOI THINKS IT’S NOT ALREADY FIFTY YEARS TOO LATE TO START FIGHTING CLIMATE CHANGE FFFFF

BINGO BABYYYY

get what what

what mapped-

awwwww he thinks THEY’RE creating the multiverse

you gonna dismiss the multiverse theory bc of something you created in your current reality? loooserrrrrr

ABUSE YOUR GODLIKE POWERS

she draggin that seven year old

a lot makes sense now why didnt i do this first-

Jasper

the food shortages-

bro that calculators like 90 bucks at walmart

imagine meeting a stranger and they know Everything about your life like that’s gotta be so weird

what’s even weirder is them telling you you’re the deity of a cult that sacrifices animals

THAT FOURTH WALL BREAK WAS-

KARL JACOBS IS DEAD NOOOOOO

ooohhh there’s context for that

OOOOHHHH THERE’S CONTEXT FOR THIS TOOOO

w h a t -

W H A T -

Conclusion:

it’s 2 in the morning and i need sleep but hOOOOO MY GODS THAT WAS GOOD IS IT OVER OR NOT IDK ANYMORE IM TIRED THAT WAS CRAZY I HOPE QUINN AND JASPER GO ON TO BE VERY GOOD FRIENDS, AND I HOPE BENJAMIN AND OLIVER STAY VERY GOOD FRIENDS AND I HOPE HILLS FINDS A THERAPIST WAS A LITTLE CONFUSING BUT I ENJOYED IT

if i dream about apples im suing /j /lh

#lucids #nicholas podany #there's a metaphor in there somewhere #but im not gonna be the one to find it #i dont think i dreamed about apples #youre safe for now podany #for now #EDIT #I PUT 'something their not'#WRONG THERE #I HAVE NO EXCUSE #IM SORRY

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

Text

Six Months

someone wondered when the Baroness (a side character from the Tournament aka Sir Reynard and the Red Knight which I wrote earlier this year) was coming back and uh, “back” implies that she ever left in the first place, tbh. spoilers: she didn’t.

anyway so here’s a little something something

its a quick family story plus a story about civilians in wartime packed into a little over 4000 words. rated PG. ft teen romance drama, sheep, grown up romance non drama, and not a single canon witcher character. think Roseanne (original show not the weird remake that died on arrival for Reasons) but in the setting of The Witcher. or don’t if u have no idea what i’m even talking about b/c u dont watch 90s cable sitcoms constantly like i do lol.

Six Months:

The Nilfgaardian soldiers came at night, but they found an empty manor house. The occupants had had plenty of warning they were on their way; the family’s oldest son had ridden nonstop from Rivia Castle to warn them that there had been a coup, that the Queen had vanished and her young son was in charge, and that it was only a matter of time before their old enemy Caldwell came looking for them. Hilde thought they were, in many ways, fortunate - not lucky, because no luck had been involved - fortunate that their son was riding his fastest horse, fortunate that the rest of the household managed to collect what they could and hide the rest without dramatics or incident, fortunate to have somewhere else to go. An old herbalist’s hut in the woods wasn’t much, but it was, she’d said, a roof over their heads. They’d always had a plan, in case everything in their lives went very badly wrong. Everything had, and the hut was part of it.

Then her son rode off with most of her other sons and the rest of her husband’s knights, on the chance that the Queen was out there somewhere, and left the place somewhat emptier-feeling in his absence.

“Wish I was going with them,” the Baron said, looking down the woodland road after them.

“We talked about this, Eldred; you’re sixty-seven years old, your eyesight’s going bad, and your knees don’t bend anymore. A warband’s got no use for you.”

“I know that,” he said. “Don’t mean I don’t wish I was going.”

A little flock of sheep crossed the path, with some of her nephews trailing after them, waving sticks and shouting.

“I’ll be worried about them, too,” she said, as one of the sheep suddenly bolted. Eldred took her hand, squeezed it, and limped off after it.

The next time their paths crossed he was in a slightly better mood. She hooked her arm through his elbow and looked up at the full moon through the trees.

“Can’t hear myself think in there, so I came out here for some fresh air,” he said. There wasn’t enough room inside for even half the people who had followed them along. Most of the household had settled around the hut in tents and bedrolls. The inside of the hut was still jammed with the smaller children. They were also fortunate that it was spring, and nobody would freeze to death sleeping outside. No luck involved, again. No army fought in the winter, although she wouldn’t put it past the Empire to try.

“We’ll have to build pens for the sheep and pigs, tomorrow,” she said. “Maybe some more shelters, too. The farmhands can do it. And I’ll organize some of the women t’ forage in the woods. We’re fortunate it’s spring. We might be living off pottage of oats and chickweed, but we won’t starve t’ death.”

“You know,” Eldred said, “I was thinking I might get a shot at some of these invaders after all. They might turn up here.”

“They might.”

“Wouldn’t want any spies or wanderers t’ spot us and take word back to th’ army that we’re out here.”

“No.”

“Anyhow, with all these boys out here, I thought I might train ‘em up a little, just in case.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“Might take some of these girls, too,” he added.

“Even better,” she said. He smiled down at her.

“We’ll be safe here.”

“Of course we will, with you around,” she said.

———

Wars were just a part of life. She was born and raised in Rivia; she’d grown up watching her brothers and father ride off to war with Lyria, over and over again. Her father was killed by a Lyrian archer when she was twenty-three. She’d watched her mother’s face while they buried him. She never wanted to know what it took to make someone wear that hard, dead expression. Over a decade later the King married a Lyrian princess and those wars stopped, but more took their place. There had been the rebellion, after the King died, led by her own disgruntled brothers, who refused to serve a Lyrian; her husband’s promotion from petty knight to Baron was a direct result of the glory he’d won putting it down. That war had almost destroyed her marriage, but they’d pulled through, in the end. Then there had been bandits, minor invasions, civil unrest; it seemed like there was always something to fight over, but never anything new. Whether Lyrians were killing Rivians or Nilfgaardians were killing Rivians, they always had the same damn excuses for it. The older she got, the less patience she had for any of them.

———

Smoke from cooking fires floated through the newly cleared area around the camp. The forest echoed with the sounds of axes hitting wood and more trees falling. The pigs slept in the shade out of the heat, watched over by a pack of skinny boys from the village. The herbalist’s hut sat surrounded by a dozen almost identical buildings - buildings, children, chickens, dogs, a donkey that someone had brought in, loaded down with rushes -

The Nilfgaardians hadn’t found them, but a whole lot of other people somehow had. Some of them brought livestock or food, but a hell of a lot of them had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Hilde refused to turn them away, even if a few of the hands muttered darkly about spies and famine. More was better; more people meant more hands to work and more eyes to keep watch. Eldred’s little force of skinny teenagers with homemade bows and farmhands armed with handaxes had grown in size, if not, in her opinion, in quality. He seemed pleased with them, at least. Some of them were standing watch at the edges of the clearing. She was pretty sure none of them were asleep.

It turned out they weren’t; a minor racket interrupted the idyllic peace of the summer afternoon - some kind of argument, she thought. She abandoned the shirt she was mending and headed to the north side of the buildings, where she found a pair of youths shouting at each other. One, she noticed, was her own youngest son, waving a bow and turning an impressive shade of red. The other was a dark-haired girl. The latter spotted her before the former; Hilde watched with detached interest as the girl’s eyes widened and her stance shifted from aggressive to frozen fear.

“Herron,” she said. “It’s -”

“What’s this about?” Hilde asked.

“- your mother.”

Herron deflated, visibly.

“We were just - we were talking,” he said, staring at his own feet.

“I heard.”

“Just a - a disagreement over the watch schedule,” said the girl. She raised an eyebrow, considered telling them to cut the shit, and then decided not to. Whatever it was, it was probably harmless, and it wouldn’t be improved by her involvement.

“If you have an issue, take it up with the Baron,” she said. “Meanwhile, quit disturbing the peace.”

The girl bowed and escaped at not quite a jog. Herron stared after her, still beet red.

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“Nobody.”

“No?”

“She’s just - she wasn’t at the right guardpost.”

“Whatever you say,” she said. Herron was shifting uncomfortably, showing the usual signs of a teenager who desperately wanted to escape.

“Go on,” she said. “Get back t’ work.”

———

Herron had begged to go to war with his brothers. He was only fourteen, and although he looked like a skinny, lanky, teenage copy of his father, he had none of Eldred’s athletic ability. The best that could be said for him was he was a decent shot. Maybe he would have survived the battlefield, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Besides, he was her baby boy; she felt like he had been ten years old only the week before. She couldn’t let him go, and Eldred had taken one look at her face and hadn’t argued with her. The resulting angst had taken weeks to wear off.

Whatever Herron was up to, she was just glad he was finally speaking to her again.

———

The rainy season hit exactly on time; a genuine stroke of luck, because the rain would keep their ever-increasing hideout a secret for a little longer. The pigs were happy, but the sheep and humans less so. Hilde and her selected lieutenants kept the place running anyway, despite the endless mud, the nonstop damp, and the weather that ranged from a drizzly mist in the mornings to downpours in the afternoons and evenings that were so heavy Eldred stopped making his militia patrol the forest for fear they’d get lost or drown in a flash flood.

During one of the downpours one of the militia members came splashing through the mud and into the hut. Eldred stopped scrubbing rust off his sword.

“Something going on?”

Hilde thought he sounded a little too hopeful.

“Nothin’,” the man said. “Not really. Just, we had this kid come up t’ th’ east guardpost just now.”

“Ask around; has t’ belong to someone around here,” Hilde said.

“Don’t think so, milady, on account of it ain’t a human child.”

“Oh. I’ll take a look,” she said. “Go on, I’ll be there.”

Eldred shook his head slightly at her as she stood and pulled a cloak around herself.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

She could barely see where she was going, but she managed to slop her way through the muck between the huts and made her way the guardpost. A little pack of militia stood around the spot, watching a single, very small shape that huddled under a blanket. The shape didn’t look up when the guards all spotted her and stood.

“Honestly,” she said. “How many people does it take to keep an eye on one five-year-old? Don’t you all have work to do?”

“We were thinkin’ maybe there could be Squirrels about,” someone explained, awkwardly. She rolled her eyes; the expression might have lost some effect in the pouring rain and dark, so she added a little of it to her tone.

“Yes, well. If so, I’ll protect you, Jenny. Get going, all of you. Find something else to do.”

Most of them trailed off, muttering among themselves. One man stuck around; she raised an eyebrow at him, which he seemed to take as a sign. He stumped off a few yards away and stood squinting out at the dark woods. She rolled her eyes again and crouched down.

“Hello. Who are you?”

“I’m six,” the huddled shape said.

“What’s that?”

“You said I was five.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s hard to tell for sure, under that blanket.”

“I don’t want t’ get wet.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ailfe.”

“My name’s Hilde,” she said. “If you come with me, you can get something to eat and sit in front of a fire. What do you say?”

“Alright.”

Ailfe sat next to the fire, inhaling a steaming bowl of barley and dandelion leaves. Hilde offered seconds after the first bowl was done, bided her time, and, finally, asked, “So - Ailfe. Where are your parents?”

The girl shrugged, took just enough time away from eating to say, “Dead,” and went back to it. Eldred shook his head again, slightly, when she glanced at him; he had looked less than surprised when she came in out of the rain lugging a bundle. He was trying to look like he was wearily embracing the inevitable, but she could see a hint of a smile in the corners of his mouth. She smiled back.

“Where are you from?”

“Dravograd,” Ailfe said.

“Ah.”

She’d heard rumors, in passing, through the militia, who’d heard them from the merchants on the roads. Hilde knew enough to believe them.

“Well,” she said, “You can stay here, if you like; it’s not like we don’t have the room, and you can help my nephews with the sheep. How’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

Not twenty minutes later, the girl was dead asleep. Hilde pulled a dry blanket around her and stretched out on the pallet in the corner next to Eldred.

“Couldn’t let her starve,” she said to him.

“We’ve had stranger things than elves in our family, I suppose,” he replied. “Remember my uncle Egbert? Th’ one who turned into an enthusiast and became a priest of Pareplut?”

“I always wanted a daughter.”

“I know,” he said, kissed the side of her head, and added, “I love you.”

“And I love you, Eldred,” she said.

-——

When she’d decided she was going to marry him, her parents hadn’t been too sure about the idea. She was twenty and he was slightly more than a decade older, but she’d seen him in the tournaments, and she’d heard about him outside them. He was very often the best knight on the field - perfect form, an undeniable talent - and he was a close cousin to the King, and her aunt’s husband had it on good authority that he was as capable an administrator as he was a fighter. It was true that he wasn’t much to look at, but she wasn’t foolish enough to care about his missing front tooth, or the scar on his chin, or his crooked nose. The day he’d won yet another tournament and gallantly offered her the prize with a gap-toothed smile, she knew nobody in the world was going to change her mind about Sir Eldred Greenwood. Her parents would just have to get used to it.

——

The rain stopped for good and the sun cooked all the water out of the air. She started sending the kids and donkeys off to the stream, a mile away, every morning and evening to fill kegs with water. Ailfe trooped along with the others, wearing a shapeless cap that covered her ears, looking as filthy and half-wild as any of them. She had forgotten about the incident with Herron completely.

She was sitting on the top rail of a fence in the twilight, watching bats flutter through the smoke and lights of the camp and chatting about nothing in particular with Eldred. Anything resembling privacy was hard to come by, but most people seemed to be off doing something, somewhere, and nobody was near the sheep pens. At least, they didn’t think so, but they were wrong. Right around the time she lost interest in the bats and they ran out of things to talk about, something interrupted the forgotten background hum of insects and humanity.

“Wynn?” a voice said, from the nearby guardpost, out of sight past a shed. Eldred jumped about three inches and, to her mild disappointment, stopped kissing her.

“What the hell-”

She covered his mouth with her hand, quickly.

“Shush.”

It was only Herron. She recognized his voice. She didn’t immediately recognize the voice that responded.

“Hi Herron. You on watch?”

“Yep.”

“When do you get off?”

“Uh, in around an hour. Why?”

She figured it out, after some thought; it was the girl he’d been arguing with, weeks earlier. Eldred raised an inquiring eyebrow up at her. She shook her head at him.

“Do you want t’ get dinner afterward? My folks are cooking a chicken that quit laying.”

“Oh,” Herron said. “I already ate.”

After a brief pause, the girl said, “Um, well, have a good shift, then. I’ll see you later.”

“Later,” Herron replied.

Hilde waited a minute, then sighed wearily. Eldred looked pained.

“That was the single worst thing I’ve ever overheard,” he commented.

“I’m thinking you ought to have a talk with our son,” she replied, quietly.

“First thing in the morning, and not a minute later,” he agreed. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“We weren’t.”

————

They’d had five sons. The oldest, Hal, had a wife and children of his own. He was at court, most of the time; Eldred had sworn off the place as soon as Hal was old enough to go without him, and only went up for holidays and emergencies. Edgar and Robin, the twins, were five years younger and as unalike as they could make themselves. Edgar was a wanderer, had barely been home for most of the last decade. She wasn’t sure if it was fortunate or not that he had been home during the spring. Robin had just gotten married during the winter, and had a position at court. Jack, the fourth, had died of consumption when he was four. Her youngest son was a surprise; she’d been over forty when he was born, and nobody had expected both of them to survive the event, but they’d been wrong. Herron was weedy, but he was as strong as an ox. He looked like his father, crooked nose and all, but he acted just like her long-dead oldest brother - kind, loyal, brilliant, and unbelievably easy to manipulate. It worried her, sometimes, but she knew better than to wonder if her youngest son would come to a similar end. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past, and even less by trying to predict the future.

———

The dry spell continued. One evening the donkeys and children went off as usual. An hour later as she was helping finish butcher one of the pigs, one of the boys scrambled out of the woods. Hilde balanced the knife in her hand and glanced at the trees behind him. Nothing seemed to be following him - at least, not very closely.

“What’s wrong?”

“They’re comin’,” he said, wide-eyed and shaking.

“Who?”

“Black Ones. We was on our way back, and - and -”

She swore under her breath and turned quickly; she would have told one of the others to get Eldred, find the militia, but it was too late; someone had already gone.

“- they took all the donkeys,” he continued, “Even Donny.”

“What about all your friends? The other kids?”

“I don’t know; everyone was running around, and there were soldiers, and nobody was payin’ attention to me and I just ran away.”

Herron raced up, sweating heavily.

“Ma, someone said th’ enemy’s here, and dad says t’ get everyone inside th’ stockade-”

“Yes, I know what t’ do,” she said. “There’s a bunch of kids out in these woods, somewhere.”

Her daughter was out there, somewhere. She had to go find them.

“I’ll go look for them,” Herron said. “I’ll find them.”

He looked terrified. She couldn’t send him - but she couldn’t not send him; she knew she couldn’t really go herself. What would she do out in the woods? Get lost. Get killed. Herron was, if nothing else, a good shot, and a halfway decent hunter.

“I can do it,” he said. He looked even younger than he actually was, but he sounded confident. She breathed out and nodded.

“Please be careful.”

“I’ll try.”

The stockade was barely a wall; it was a fence with a gate, but it was better than nothing. They’d built it to head height with the sharp ends of logs pointed out toward the trees, and it wouldn’t stop an arrow, but it would stop a horse. Hilde stood by the gate, looking through the holes in the fence at the path her husband and a bunch of teenagers and farmers had taken into the woods. He had trooped out with a sword in his hand, smiled at her under his helmet, and hadn’t looked back. She told herself he would be fine, and Herron would be fine, and the collection of women armed with axes and pitchforks and old spears left over to defend the entirety of the camp would be fine.

Hours passed, and nothing happened. The feeling of stretched nerves in the air turned to one of faint boredom as the afternoon wore on. She took to pacing the perimeter of the fence, watching the trees for movement, listening for a sound other than the endless rattle of cicadas and crickets and the noise of livestock and people. The shadows got long, and nothing happened. She sternly told herself not to worry, or, at least, not to imagine horrible things that could be happening very far away.

“Horses,” someone suddenly said. “I hear horses comin’.”

She stared out at the woods, clutching the makeshift spear she’d armed herself with. There were horses out there; she heard a rumble that could only be a line of heavy cavalry, dozens of armored horses and men. She’d heard them a thousand times in a thousand melees, and she could imagine exactly what they would do to her mass of barely-armed, unarmored peasants if they broke through the fence.

“Get ready with the spears,” she said. “Just like we practiced.”

Spears was an overstatement; more than a few of the people who lined up behind the fence with the points of their weapons facing toward the trees were holding pitchforks, but Eldred had thought they’d do just as well. She had her own doubts, but they didn’t have anything better. Any side conversations ended as the sound of the oncoming cavalry rumbled louder; they stood and sweated and waited until the first horse appeared on the narrow road between the trees. She squinted at it; it was hard to see in the dusk, and she wasn’t very familiar with Nilfgaardian armor, but she didn’t think the rider was wearing black. In fact, the knight riding up at the head of the column had a distinctly familiar seat. She breathed, finally, and leaned the spear on the fence.

“Those are Lyrian banners,” someone said.

“It’s a trick,” someone else replied, shakily.

“No,” she said. “No it isn’t. Open the gate.”

She trooped up the road, met the column, found Herron limping along beside them with a bandage on his leg, a pack of children surrounding him, and Ailfe in his arms.

“What happened?”

“I did it,” Ailfe announced. “I saved the day.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sort of,” her son replied. “She did keep the Blackclads from catching her and the other kids -”

“-we climbed a tree,” a boy announced, smugly.

“-and then I found them and they caught me -”

“Herron fought like a good one,” said Ailfe. “He got wounded, look.”

“- then Dad and the lads turned up and attacked the Nilfs -”

Ailfe finished the story in an excited shout.

“- and then, durin’ the fight, th’ army came!”

The knight from the head of the column pulled up and stopped.

“Not that we needed help,” he said.

“No, of course not,” Hilde replied, rolling her eyes at him.

“- anyway, it all ended more or less well,” said Herron. “And they’re saying the Queen’s back.”

She looked up at Eldred, caught a gap-toothed grin on his face.

“Oh?”

Eldred nodded at her.

“We can go home soon,” Herron said.

“Home?” Ailfe asked.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” he said. “Come on, let’s get down to the camp. Ma, are you coming?”

“In a minute,” Hilde said.

“Well,” she said, in the comparative quiet after they left, “Did you see any of our sons?”

“Not in this unit - these people are just scouts, really,” Eldred said.

“They’re all alive, at least?”

“Far as I know. We’ll see them soon enough, if all goes well.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Can I give you a lift back?”

“A ride from a noble knight? I can’t say no to that,” she said.

The camp was swarming with Lyrian soldiers, Rivian civilians, donkeys, barking dogs, and runaway goats and sheep. Eldred reined in the horse at the gate and overlooked the chaos. She thought she caught a glimpse of Herron and Wynn, ducking out of sight behind a hut, and quickly pointed out the leader of the soldiers.

“Ah,” Eldred said. “Well, I suppose we could wade into this mess and talk to him -”

“You’re the Baron,” she interrupted. “You can’t just sneak off by yourself with all this going on. Also, it’s getting dark.”

“I wasn’t going to go by myself.”

“Oh,” she said.

“What I’m thinking is we go off somewhere and come back after this has a chance t’ calm itself down -”

“I suppose I can always pretend you kidnapped me,” she said. “Someone has to maintain an appearance of responsibility around here.”

“I promise to have you back before dark,” he said. “What d’ you say?”

“It’s a deal.”

“Someone told me our Hal’s a Colonel, now,” he said, turning the horse around. She wrapped her arms around his waist and propped her chin up on his shoulder to see the road ahead.

“Is he?”

“Not that it’s a surprise; he’s just like you.”

“A social climber?”

“A pragmatist.”

“You always were a romantic, Eldred.”

“I’m a lucky man. We wouldn’t have made it all these months without you.”

Luck had nothing to do with it; they’d planned and fought and were, again, fortunate that it had all worked out in the end. She buried her face in his neck and let him think it had, anyway.

“I can’t wait to go home,” she said.

#witcher #fanfiction #original characters #drama #humor #romance #relationships #thronebreaker #middle aged women running things

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