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mandos-mind-trick · 1 year

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Here’s To The Future (Let Me Forget The Past) - Part 1: Aftermath

Summary: The war’s over. That should be cause for celebration, except the wrong side won. Things begin to change quickly, and it doesn't take long for Midnight to realize something’s not right among the clone army. She should be glad the war is over, but the threat of her losing her boys is all too real. She did swear she would do everything she could to keep them from being separated when the war ended.

She’s not going to give up on that promise. Even if it kills her.

Pairing: The Bad Batch x reader (no clonecest)

Warnings: Order 66 and the aftermath of it, inhibitor chips, The Empire and its shady methods, smut, fingering, P in V sex, Wrecker’s size kink, violence, injuries, Crosshair.

A/N: Well, here it is. Sooner than I expected, but this is more of a test run. I might delay the next parts a bit depending on how this one does. Grab your tissues folks cause this is a rough one. They’ll be rough for a while then...you’ll see. Takes place during Episode 1 of Season 1. Also, I gave Midnight a last name that will only show up in this part mostly for plot. It’ll make sense as you read.

Also I am still looking for a beta reader for this one, so if you’re interested...

Definitely suggest reading at least a couple parts of the one-shot series before this one for the relationships to make sense.

Next > | SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Midnight stares down at her hands as she sits on her bed in the Marauder. They’re shaking, fingers trembling. She’s still in her armor, sweaty and dirty from their last mission.

It had not gone like she had thought it would. Then again, she could have never guessed what had happened would be reality.

“Hunter!” Midnight stops, hearing blaster fire behind them. She turns, finding the regs firing on General Billaba. Midnight stares in disbelief. Just moments before they had been defending her, and now they were...trying to kill her. “What-”

A sturdy hand on her shoulder. Hunter’s behind her, all of them watching in shock and horror.

“What are they doing?” Echo asks, his own voice thick with disbelief.

Midnight screws her eyes closed, trying to block out the final anguished cries of the General. In her comms there’s no normal chatter of the battlefield, the relayed messages from the control centers. There’s only one thing relaying on a loop:

‘Execute Order 66.’

Things had not gotten better since then. They’d split up, Tech and Echo going to find the reg Captain to try and figure out what was going on. Hunter and Crosshair had gone after General Billaba’s padawan, and she had been left with Wrecker to try and stall the regs from following.

They were more rude than usual.

Midnight had returned straight to her bunk. Something was very wrong, but she can’t figure out what. The regs had been acting strangely, and even Crosshair seemed more standoffish than usual. She just hopes they can get more information on Kamino.

She’s drawn from her thoughts when her door slides open, Hunter standing there. He steps inside, closing the door behind him. He looks tired. She knows he’s as impacted by this as she is.

“Are you okay?” He asks, sitting next to her on the bed. It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long since they’d been in a similar position.

“Do you want an honest answer?” She asks, leaning her head back against the wall as she stares up at him.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” He says.

Midnight sighs. “Why? Why would they go from defending her one minute to killing her the next?”

“I don’t know.” Hunter takes her hand, squeezing it. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Do you think it’s true?” She asks, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Is the war going to be over soon?”

“It’s possible.” He says slowly. “We’ll figure that out too. I’m not going to let them separate us that easily.”

We may not have much of a choice. She won’t say it out loud.

***

Midnight can’t help the nerves twisting her stomach into knots as they exit the Marauder. Kamino seems like an entirely different place. There’s a tenseness in the air she can’t place. She tries to make herself as small as possible as she walks in the middle of the squad.

“Shock troopers?” Hunter says as a group of troopers pass them with familiar red and white armor. “What’s the Coruscant Guard doing here?”

“Level five lockdown remains in effect. Security teams, report to the command center.” A voice says over the PA system.

“This isn’t a drill.” Tech says.

“Aw man! What did we miss now?” Wrecker complains.

“The end of the war.” An approaching shock trooper says.

“Say again, Trooper.” Hunter says.

“General Grievous was defeated on Utapau.” The trooper says, stopping to speak to Hunter. “The Separatist leadership has collapsed. The war is over.”

“Just like I said.” Tech says.

“It is just like you said.” Wrecker gasps.

Midnight swallows thickly as two troopers pass carrying a stretcher. She doesn’t need to hear the clank of a lightsaber falling to know it’s a Jedi. She had never met the Jedi stationed on Kamino since their visits were so few and far between, and she usually avoided more populated areas.

The shock trooper bends down, picking up the lightsaber. He turns back to Hunter. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem.” Hunter says. “We’ll just head to our barracks then.”

“Best hurry.” The trooper says. “There’s a mandatory general assembly at 1500.”

Midnight sticks close between them as they make their way towards the barracks, taking up her usual spot between them. They pass many clones on their way, but none of them even bother to glance at them. It’s strange, as usually someone would make a comment, or give a nasty look. Midnight almost misses the rude exchanges compared to this new attitude.

“It’s not just the clones on Kaller.” Hunter says. “All the regs are acting strange.”

“Let’s test that theory,” Tech says, stepping in front of one of the approaching clones. “Excuse me, trooper, what division are you from?”

The clone shoves him to the side with his shoulder. “Step aside.”

“Well, they seem the same to me.” Tech says.

Midnight keeps her head down as they make their way to the barracks. The regs had turned their backs on the Jedi so easily. Who’s to say they wouldn’t do the same to civilians? She knows her boys would never let anything happen to her. They’d fight all of Kamino if they had to, but she’d rather not take that risk.

“Good to be back.” Wrecker says as they step into the barracks.

“The smell’s getting worse.” Echo says.

Midnight feels a weight coming off her shoulders, glad to be in her home away from home, so to speak. She sniffs the air, her nose wrinkling a bit. “Are you sure there’s not a dead animal in here?”

Crosshair pushes his way past Echo and Hunter, heading for his bunk.

Midnight heads for her hammock, settling into it with a sigh. She scratches at her scalp, half a nervous habit, and half because it was horribly itchy. She desperately wants a shower, but she knows they don’t have time. She’ll have to attend the general assembly as well. The few civilians employed on Kamino would be required to be there, especially if it was something related to the end of the war.

The end of the war.

As much as she hated the fighting, the constant stress, the constant danger, she feared the end of the war almost more. She doesn't know what’s going to happen now. What’s going to happen to the millions of clones? What’s going to happen to her? She had made a promise to herself that she would figure something out. She wouldn’t let her boys be taken from her. She’s not going to let them be separated. But how? With the regs acting strangely, she knows it’s going to be difficult.

“Eleven more successful missions.” Wrecker says. “Like there was any doubt.”

“Kaller wasn’t a win.” Echo says.

“Says who?” Wrecker asks, sitting on his bunk. “We completed our objective.”

“Not every objective.” Crosshair says. “Hunter let that Jedi kid escape. Or do you want to keep lying to us?”

Midnight stiffens a bit. Crosshair had been acting strangely since Kaller, since the order had been given. Was he being affected in the same way the regs were? Why weren’t the others then?

Hunter rises from his seat, walking over to the window. Midnight stares at him, watching the others in the reflection. “I don’t like to think of executing our commanders as a mission objective.”

“An order is an order.” Crosshair says, stepping closer to Hunter.

“Since when?” Hunter turns to face him.

Midnight sits up, glancing between the two. She knows getting between them in a fight is dangerous, but the last thing she wants is any of them fighting.

“None of this makes sense.” Echo says. “Those clones served alongside General Billaba for years. How could they turn on her like that?”

“Because of the regs programming.” Tech says from his work desk, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What programming?” Hunter asks, turning his gaze from Crosshair.

“It’s been well documented that the Kaminoans inhibited the cognitive functions of clones to engineer them to follow orders without question.” Tech explains.

“Ha!” Wrecker exclaims, hitting Crosshair’s shoulder with Lula. “We sure don’t.” He wraps an arm around the obviously annoyed clone.

“Obviously, we are different.” Tech continues. “They manipulated preexisting aberrations in our DNA, resulting in your brute strength, Crosshair's sharpshooting skills, Hunter’s enhanced senses, and my exceptional mind. My guess is we are immune to the effects of the programming. Though I can’t be 100% certain of it.” He glances at Crosshair.

“What about Echo?” Hunter asks. “He was a reg before he joined us.”

“Yeah, if all the regs were programmed, why didn’t I react like the others?” Echo asks.

“The damage you sustained on Skako Minor most likely wiped out all of your preset behavioral modifications.” Tech says. “You are more machine than man...percentagewise, at least.”

“Lucky me.” Echo sighs.

“All personnel report to the staging area for a briefing on the state of the Republic.” The voice says over the PA system.

“This is one meeting I don’t want to miss.” Hunter says. He offers a hand to her, helping her out of the hammock. He squeezes it gently, obviously having sensed her turmoil, and her anxiety with Crosshair’s unusual behavior.

She squeezes it back, offering him a small smile before they make their way out of the barracks, Midnight not missing the icy stare from Crosshair. Midnight wants to keep her hold on Hunter’s hand as they walk to the staging area, but she knows that’s not possible. That was an issue they did not need to add to the ever growing list.

“See you when it’s over?” Hunter says, turning to her as they reach the staging area.

Midnight nods. “I’ll be here.”

***

“In order to ensure the security and continuing stability...the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire! For a safe and secure society.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Midnight glances to the side at one of the other civilians. She can see her boys from where she’s standing behind them on one of the raised platforms with the other civilians.

“What do we do now?” Another asks.

“We’re getting out of here.” The first that had spoken says. “Since the Republic is no more, our contracts are void. We’re getting on the next ship out of here.”

The cheering of the clones can be heard from her position.

“For all we know, we’ll wind up as nothing more than slaves to this new Empire if we stay.” Another civilian says. “I suggest getting out of here while you still can.”

Midnight watches them leave, before looking back down at the rows of clones. This was getting more and more difficult.

***

“Galactic Empire?” Echo says as they make their way back towards their barracks. “We’re soldiers of the Republic.”

“Republic, Empire...What’s the difference?” Crosshair says.

“The systematic termination of the Jedi is a big one for me.” Tech says.

Hunter stops, holding up a hand. “Lads, we’ve got company.”

They all turn around, Midnight surprised to see a...child?

“Hello.” She says, waving at them.

“What’s that?” Wrecker asks, bending down to look at her closer.

“Adolescent human female. Origins...uncertain.” Tech says, getting a closer look too.

Midnight can’t help but roll her eyes.

“My name’s Omega. I was wondering when you guys would come back.” She says with a smile.

“You know who we are?” Hunter asks, stepping closer to her.

“Hunter, Echo, Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair,” She nods at each clone. “And Midnight. You’re Clone Force 99.”

“What are you doing on Kamino, kid?” Hunter asks.

“Her job, of course.” A smooth voice says. They all straighten up, looking up at the Kaminoan approaching them. “She is my medical assistant. One with a curious mind that causes her to wander. Come, Omega. There is work to do.”

Omega gives them a smile before following the Kaminoan down the hallway. She turns and gives them a wave before they turn a corner.

“This day keeps getting weirder and weirder.” Hunter says.

“I think it’s kind of sweet.” Midnight says, smiling. They all turn to her, giving her a look. “What? You have a fan.”

***

Midnight stands in the shower, letting the water flow over her head. She’s glad to be in a real shower. Though Tech had updated the one on the Marauder, it never left her feeling quite as clean as the showers on Kamino. Something about the fresh water, and the pressure, made her feel so much better.

She leans her hands against the wall, letting the water flow down her back. She doesn’t hear the door open, nor does she hear the approaching footsteps. She jumps slightly when hands slide up her sides. The touch is soft, almost hesitant.

Midnight smiles softly, staying still. “Hi, Wrecker.”

His hands find her breasts, big hands closing around them. “Hi, mesh’la.” He hums, pressing slightly closer to her.

He’s naked, his erection pressing against her lower back as he folds himself over her, his face pressing into her neck. She braces her hands on the wall, arching against him as his fingers pluck at her nipples.

“Missed you.” He murmurs, lips trailing over her neck.

“I’ve been gone five minutes.” She gasps, one of his hands sliding down her stomach.

“No,” He hums in her ear, a thick finger sliding through her slick folds. “I’ve missed this.”

She moans, her head falling back to expose more of her neck to him. He takes advantage of it as he eases one of his fingers into her. She flutters around the intrusion, eyes rolling back as he picks up a slow pace, gently stretching her.

“Kriff, Wrecker.” She moans, lifting onto her toes as he presses a second finger into her.

“I’m not even inside you yet and you’re already moaning like that?” He says, wrapping his free arm around her to hold her up.

“Feel so good, Wrecker.” She moans, rocking her hips in time with his movements.

Kriff, she really needs this. More than she thought she had.

She nearly cums as he slips a third finger into her, the stretch almost painful. Her fingers tense against the wall, hips trying to pull away from him but he holds her still.

“That’s it.” He breathes, easing all three fingers into her. “You can take it.”

She whines, pushing away from the wall to press her back against his chest. The change in position sinks his fingers further into her, her head dropping back against his shoulder.

“You gonna cum?” He asks, deep voice rumbling against her back.

She nods, unable to find words. She squeezes around his fingers, dropping a hand to brush once, twice over her clit before she’s cumming. She trembles in his hold, squeezing his fingers as he stills, letting her ride out her high for a moment. She can still feel him, thick and hard against her back.

“Ready for me?” He murmurs, kissing her shoulder.

She nods, easing his fingers out of her. He pushes her forward, pressing her against the wall of the shower once more. She hears the familiar pop of a cap opening, glad he remembered to bring some lube. He places a hand on her hip, holding her still as he presses the thick head of his cock against her.

She relaxes, pushing her hips out more as he slowly eases inside of her. She gasps at the stretch, never quite prepared for it. He holds onto her, rocking his hips in slow bursts to work his way inside of her.

She curses, head dropping as he stretches her open. “Wrecker!” She gasps as he snaps his hips just a bit harder, sinking halfway into her. “So big! Kriff, too big!”

“Kriff, mesh’la.” He breathes, forehead pressing against her shoulder. He groans, sinking in as far as he can. “You can take it.”

She whimpers, both of them stilling as he gives her a moment to adjust. Her legs are shaking already, heavy breaths echoing in the fresher. The others can probably hear them...will hear them. She’ll apologize later. Right now she doesn’t care.

Wrecker begins moving, slowly rocking his hips. The painful stretch has eased, morphing into pleasure for her. They’ve had plenty of time to practice, plenty of time to work out the best method. He knew what was safe, and what not to do. He had learned quickly, though much of it had been trial and error. Maker bless Tech for having to help with the...errors.

Wrecker picks up the pace, his movements still slow and careful. He’s careful with his strength, knowing he could easily break her. He doesn't want to, though, so he keeps it slow and easy. It’s more than enough for her, his thick cock hitting places deep inside her, and rubbing against all the right places.

She shifts her hands against the wall, pressing back to meet his thrusts. Her legs are tired of standing, shaking partly out of pleasure and partly from exhaustion. Her hand drops to his on her hip, squeezing it. “Wait.”

He stops and she pulls away, turning around. She puts her hands on his shoulders, jumping up. He catches her easily, taking a step forward to press her back against the shower wall. He holds her with one arm, using the other to press into her once more. It’s easier this time, her body already adjusted to his size.

He slips his hands under her thighs, holding her up as he thrusts into her. Her arms wrap around his thick shoulders, face pressing against his skin. She curses, every word she can think of as the angle forces him right against that spot inside her. She won’t last long, and she knows he won’t either.

“Wrecker!” She squeals, her whole body shaking as she’s thrown into her orgasm suddenly.

He holds her closely, thrusting a couple more times before he reaches his own, spilling into her with a groan. He keeps his hold on her for a few moments, face pressed against her neck.

She’s going to be sore later.

He eases her back onto her feet, holding her steady as they both quickly clean up before leaving the fresher. Midnight walks out fully dressed, not trusting the barracks like she did the ship. Virtually anyone could walk in at any point if the door wasn’t locked.

It usually isn’t, not until they were getting ready to go to bed. Despite the darkness outside the window, she knows it’s not nearly that time yet.

“We’re heading to the mess hall.” Hunter says as Wrecker puts his armor back on. “You coming?” He asks her.

She debates it for a second. She had eaten with them in the mess hall only twice, and both times had not been pleasant experiences. With the change in the regs, she’s not entirely sure she wants to risk it a third time. “No, I’ll stay here.” She finally answers.

“We’ll bring you something.” He says, leaning down to kiss her before they take their leave.

Midnight debates locking the door once she’s alone.

***

Midnight moves as fast as she dares without drawing attention to herself. She hates navigating the halls of Tipoca City herself, but she was not about to let that stop her. The regs she passes hardly give her more than a glance. She missed the sneers, the inappropriate comments. At least that had felt normal.

“Where is he?” She almost skids to a stop in front of the others.

“He’s probably fine.” Hunter says, rolling his eyes.

“You left him in there alone?” She asks in disbelief before walking right in through the doors.

“Ha! Told you he’s alive!” Wrecker shouts as they make their way to the second bed where Echo is sitting. “You owe me two credits.”

Midnight rolls her eyes, moving to Echo’s side. “How are you?”

“CT-1409’s condition is stable.” The AZI droid says, floating up to the others. “But I have some distressing news for the rest of you. According to your test results, you all appear to be genetically defective clones. I will leave you to process the shock of this revelation.”

“I’m fine.” Echo says, squeezing her hand for a moment. “But we’ve got a problem.”

“Not really. We’re more deviant than we are defective.” Tech says.

“Not that.” Echo shakes his head. “Admiral Tarkin’s here. He’s the one evaluating the clones.”

“The same Tarkin from the Citadel rescue when you, uh...” Tech pauses. “How should I put this?”

“Blew up?” Wrecker offers.

“And turned into that.” Crosshair says.

Echo sighs. “Yes. And he’s not a big supporter of clones.”

“We’ll soon find out.” Hunter says. “We’ve been summoned by the prime minister.”

“Guess he didn’t find that mess hall fight amusing. But I sure did!” Wrecker says.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Hunter says.

They begin to walk out of the medical bay, but a voice stops them. “Wait!” Omega calls, following them. “The fight was my fault. I’m going too.”

“Not happening.” Hunter says. “We’ll handle this.”

“But I-”

“Listen, kid,” Hunter says, turning around to face her. “Our squad’s nothing but trouble. For your sake, keep your distance. Got it?”

Midnight takes up her usual place walking in the middle of them as they make their way down the hallway. “She likes you.”

Hunter glances at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“The kid, Omega. She likes you.” Midnight repeats. “She’s probably lonely.”

Midnight can’t help but feel for the kid. She knew what it was like, being alone, not having many friends. With how the regs acted, she can’t blame the girl for not wanting to befriend them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” One of the passing shock troopers stops them. “The training facility is that way.” He points in the opposite direction they were going.

“Training facility?” Hunter asks.

“For a battle simulation.” The trooper says. “Admiral Tarkin has requested to see more of your squad in action.”

“Then we are not being reprimanded?” Tech asks.

“No, you’re being tested.” The trooper answers. “Now go gear up.” His gaze drops to Midnight. “Except you, civilian.”

Hunter steps slightly in front of her, staring down the reg. “She’s part of this squad.”

“Admiral Tarkin requested to see only clones in action. Not civilians.”

In a way, Midnight is glad. She’s not sure she can handle the training facility built for clones. She’d never used it. The little combat training she’d received had been on a different course, meant for civilians who weren’t going head on into combat. Most of her combat training had happened in the field.

She knows this isn’t good, though. Tarkin only wanting the clones meant one thing. Her time with her boys is about to be cut short.

***

Midnight hasn’t been able to sit still since she got back to the barracks. She’s alone again, the normally slightly cramped space feeling too big without the others. She’s not sure why she’s nervous. They’d spent most of their lives training in that facility, and they’d fought in hundreds of real battles. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them.

She doesn’t trust Admiral Tarkin not to try something.

She can feel a headache starting to blossom. She’s tired, in desperate need of sleep, but she knows she won’t be getting any. Not for a while.

“They used live rounds? On us?” Wrecker says, barreling in through the door angrily.

Midnight’s head snaps up, looking at them with wide eyes. “They did what?”

“We were there, Wrecker. We know.” Tech says.

“I tried to warn you about Tarkin.” Echo says, stepping closer to Wrecker.

Midnight moves closer, spotting the blaster mark on Wrecker’s chestplate.

“Who’s that Imperial snake think he is?” Wrecker yells angrily.

“Stow it, already. You got shot. It happens all the time.” Crosshair says.

Midnight frowns. She had been right in her worries.

“There’s a fundamental difference between taking fire in battle and being used for target practice.” Tech says.

“Exactly!” Wrecker says. “We’re not dummy droids.”

“That much we agree on.”

All of them spin around at the voice in the doorway. Tarkin is standing there, flanked by two shock troopers. They all stand at attention, Midnight shooting Hunter a glance as she stands across from him.

“That was quite an impressive display.” Tarkin says as he makes his way into their barracks.

“Didn’t have much choice.” Hunter says.

“Our new empire may have methods which seem a bit unorthodox,” Tarkin says, taking in each of the clones. “But so does this squadron. Both certainly have their merits.” He takes the most time studying Wrecker. “Nala Se speaks quite highly of her five enhanced clones. She claims you’re more capable than an army.”

“You have a mission for us, sir?” Hunter asks.

“Indeed.” He turns back to Hunter. “We have tracked a group of insurgents to the Onderon sector. They must be dealt with.”

“What sort of insurgents?” Echo asks.

“Separatist forces intent on keeping the galaxy at war. If you neutralize this grave threat, you will be looked upon most favorably as I assess the needs of the Imperial Army. The five of you will be leaving immediately.” He turns to her. “You, Miss Mylark, will not be going.”

Midnight tries not to flinch at the use of her real name. It’s been so long since she’s heard it. She straightens herself even more as Tarkin runs his gaze over her.

“You will be staying here.” He says to her. “I’d like you in my office tomorrow at 0900 hours sharp.”

She swallows the lump in her throat, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

He stares at her for another moment before he takes his leave.

Midnight deflates as soon as he’s out of sight, moving to sit on the workbench.

“A mission without Midnight?” Wrecker asks, turning to look down at her.

“I don’t like this.” Hunter says.

“You’re telling me.” She says, rubbing her forehead. “I have to be alone in a room with him tomorrow.”

“What could he possibly want to talk about?” Echo asks.

“There’s a lot he could talk about.” Midnight says, trying to stave off the looming fear beginning to bubble under the surface. They all turn to look at her. “Contract negotiations, a new job offer, termination, imprisonment.” Midnight scoffs. “Technically since the Republic’s gone, my contract is void. I shouldn’t even still be here.”

“Night-” Hunter starts but Midnight cuts him off.

“No, I knew this was going to happen.” She starts pacing, unable to stay still anymore. “No matter who won, I knew something like this was going to be the outcome. I’m a civilian. I’m not even a qualified civilian. That’s why I was put on this squad in the first place.”

“We’re perfectly capable without her.” Crosshair says contemptuously.

“Cross-”

“He’s right.” Midnight cuts Hunter off again. “How long were you together before me? I add nothing to this squad but another blaster. I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. I thought up plan after plan for how this was going to work, and now here we are and...I can’t even think about what to do.” She can feel her resolve quickly crumbling.

Arms wrap around her, pulling her against a firm chest. “We’ll worry about this when we get back.” Hunter says. He pulls away, his hand cupping her face. “Try to stall as much as you can. We’re not going to let them separate us.”

Midnight wants to believe him. She really does.

***

Sleeping in the barracks alone is strange. Rarely she’s alone in the bunks, usually when they were eating. At least then she knew they would return soon. Now she’s truly alone. There were no promises they were coming back. She wouldn’t put it past Tarkin to send them on a suicide mission. Of course, suicide missions were their specialty.

She doesn’t get much sleep, too nervous from being alone, and too nervous about her meeting. What could Tarkin possibly want to see her about? It could be any number of things. She spends most of the night thinking over all of those things.

She dresses in her armor in the morning, unsure of how she should dress otherwise. Civilian clothes probably wouldn’t be appropriate, and she felt safe in her armor. As uncomfortable as it is, it feels like a safety blanket.

The doors hiss open, Midnight stepping back in surprise to see two shock troopers waiting for her. How long had they been there? Had they been there all night, making sure she wouldn’t try to escape?

“We’re here to escort you to Admiral Tarkin.” One of them says.

“Lead the way.” She says, following them through the halls.

She steps through the door at 0900 sharp, just as Tarkin had ordered. His office is plain and white, as most of Kamino is. It’s raining as usual, the dark clouds doing nothing to help her feel better.

“Miss Mylark, take a seat.” He says, motioning to the chairs across his desk.

Midnight hides her disdain at the use of her real name, taking a seat.

“You joined the Grand Army of the Republic a year ago, correct?”

Has it been a year already? “Yes, sir.” She answers.

“You were placed with Clone Force 99 at the special request of Clone Marshal Commander CC-2224 almost nine months ago.”

Cody. She hadn’t even thought about Cody in all of this. “Correct, sir.” She says, waiting for where he’s going with this.

“Your achievements are impressive, Miss Mylark. Your survival alone speaks of your talent in battle. But, as you are a civilian, your contract is no longer valid.”

Midnight stays quiet as he pauses, unsure of where this is going.

“I am putting together an initiative to conscript non-clone soldiers into the Imperial Army. You could be a great asset to the Empire. I am offering you a job under this new initiative.”

Midnight stares at him for a moment, taking in his words. She had thought he might offer her a new contract under the Empire. It was one of the many scenarios she’d played through her head last night. Actually hearing it though, made it all too real. If she accepted, she’d likely be staying here. Even then, though, the chances of her seeing her boys again was slim.

“If I refuse?” She asks, mostly out of curiosity.

He grins at her maliciously, and she almost regrets asking. “I thought you might need a bit of persuasion.” He stands from his seat, turning to face the window. “You are aware that fraternization was a criminal offense under the Republic, yes?”

Midnight’s mouth goes dry. Her stomach feels as if it's dropped through her chair and straight into the ocean below. “S-Sir?”

“That is a belief the Empire intends to uphold as well.” He turns around to face her. “Miss Mylark, I received a rather distressing report about your...relations with your former squad.”

“I-I’m not sure what you’re talking about, sir.” Midnight says, trying to keep her heart from pounding right out of her chest.

He sets a datapad down in front of her and she picks it up, skimming through the report. It’s very descriptive, relaying details only someone who was there would know. Her stomach twists painfully as she reaches the bottom, reading the signature multiple times in disbelief.

Crosshair.

Midnight swallows the lump in her throat, steeling herself using the anger bubbling in her. She has to be smart about this. It’s not just about her anymore. “You would believe the word of a clone over me?”

“This clone, yes. He has proven himself very loyal to the Empire, compared to the others in Clone Force 99.” Tarkin takes a seat once more, the doors sliding open as the two shock troopers enter. “You are running out of options, Miss Mylark. If you refuse this kind offer I am extending for you, you will be placed under arrest, along with the members of Clone Force 99. You will be tried and charged with fraternization among other offenses and placed in prison, and the clones will be decommissioned.”

Midnight sets the datapad on the desk, cursing the obvious shake of her hands. “You’re blackmailing me?”

“This is not the Republic anymore, Miss Mylark.” He leans in closer to her. “The Empire is not opposed to using...extreme measures when necessary.” He smiles at her again. “So, Miss Mylark. What is your decision?”

****

Midnight’s hands are shaking as she walks through the halls. She feels a bit like she had after her first battle. She’s waiting on the shock and the panic to set in, the paralysis as she’d sat there among the destroyed battle droids. Only, there’s no Hunter to bring her back, to place a gentle hand on her shoulder and whisper that it’s okay, that it’s over. No Hunter to remind her she’s still alive, she made it out the other side.

Her mind is racing, her shoulder knocking painfully against a passing trooper, but she doesn’t care.

Had she made the right decision?

She hadn’t had much of a choice. She’d been backed into a corner. She wasn’t going to put the others through that. She had no guarantee Tarkin wouldn’t use it against them anyway. They all outranked her. He could use that to twist the story. Crosshair had proven he would side with the Empire. He could be molded to tell a different story.

She had just proven she could be too.

She needs to contact Hunter, but she’s not sure she can. If Crosshair had betrayed her, had he betrayed the others as well? She can’t risk it. She’d have to wait for their return, hope she could have just a minute with them, something. She needs to warn them. She needs to do something.

The barracks are almost bare when she returns.

She stares around in shock for a moment, thinking maybe she walked into the wrong one in her confusion, but no, there was the 99 on the wall of Hunter’s bunk. There was her stuff, piled in a corner. It looked so...clean. Even the smell was slowly disappearing. Midnight rifles through her stuff, glad she kept most of her belongings on the Marauder.

Something is happening. Something had happened with the mission. She has to find out what happened, but she’s not sure how. Too many questions would raise too much attention. She can’t risk that. Not right now. Maybe she should wait for them at the landing bay. If she could get to them first she could warn them.

“Not with your boys?” A mocking voice says behind her as she passes the training facility.

She stops, turning around to face the group of troopers. ��Excuse me?” She blinks at him, choosing for once not to ignore the rude remarks of a reg.

He smirks, the others in the group chuckling. “Heard your boys are locked up in the brig. Figured you’d be in there with them, civvy.”

Midnight smirks, stepping closer. Perfect. At least now she knows where they are. “Why? Jealous that they got to stare at me while all you had to look at was a hundred exact copies of yourself?”

She turns on her heel, making her way back down the hallway, leaving the seething clones behind her. It wasn’t smart, making enemies at this point, but with the plan that was beginning to form in her head, it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t be spending much time around regs after this.

***

“This is stupid.” Midnight breathes to herself as she walks down the hallway, fully armored. No one paid her much mind, as it wasn’t that unusual of a sight. “This is so stupid.”

She gets into the lift, taking a big breath in. There’s going to be hundreds of guards down there. Hundreds of guards and one of her. She lets out the breath she’d been holding as the lift begins to slow. She’d fought in almost hundreds of battles at this point. She’d gone up against impossible odds time and time again and she’d survived each and every one.

She’d gone up against General Grievous with nothing but a blaster and a knife. Was this any different than that?

The lift doors open, Midnight stepping out. There’s shockingly fewer guards than she’d expected, most of them marching the hallways as troopers always seemed to do, even during the war. She waits for the current group to pass before heading towards the brig. She doesn’t know where they’re being held, but seeing as there weren’t many prisoners, they shouldn’t be that hard to find.

She peeks around a corner, spotting two shock troopers standing outside a door. That had to be them. She takes a deep breath, pulling her blaster out of its holster. She can do this. She can do this for her boys.

She marches towards the troopers, gaining their attention.

“You’re not allowed down here.” One of them says. “We have strict orders to-”

She doesn’t let him finish, stunning both of them quickly. She didn’t have it in her to actually shoot them. If Tech was right, they didn’t know what they were doing. They weren’t in control of themselves. She grabs one of their blasters, opening the door.

She stuns the other three troopers inside, stepping in. Wrecker, Tech, Hunter, and Echo are standing behind the energy shield with the girl, Omega. “Hello, boys.” She says, stepping up to the controls.

“Midnight!” Wrecker cheers excitedly. “Boy am I glad to see you!”

She pulls the switch in the middle, releasing them. “Where’s Crosshair.”

“They took him somewhere.” Hunter says, him and Tech grabbing the reg’s blasters. “We need to find out where. Let’s move.”

Hunter takes the lead, sneaking through the halls. She’s thankful for the few guards, and Hunter’s enhanced senses.

“We’re not going to get very far without our gear.” Tech sighs as they pause at a corner.

“It’s not in the barracks.” Midnight says. “They cleared those out.”

“They started moving all your things to the hangar.” Omega says. Midnight blinks, wondering how she knew that. “Your gear might be there too.”

Hunter looks down at her and Midnight can tell for a moment he’s questioning it, but they didn’t have much of a choice. “This way.” He says, leading them down the hallway.

Tech gets them through the doors, crates full of their gear stacked in front of the Marauder. Midnight is glad most of her belongings are on the ship as she stands guard.

“All right, boys, suit up. Let’s make this quick.” Hunter says, beginning to armor himself. “Tech, power up the ship with Midnight. The rest of us will go after Crosshair.”

“What?” Midnight protests. “I’m going with you.”

“No.” Hunter says, the command clear in his voice. “You stay here with Omega. Help Tech get the ship started.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not putting you at risk anymore. You’ve done enough for us.”

Midnight wants to argue, but she can see it in his gaze. She’s too close to this. They had no idea what they would find when they reached Crosshair. He’s trying to protect her.

“I don’t think we’ll have to go far.” Omega says as the bay doors open, a squad of troopers entering.

They all duck behind the crates, Midnight holding her breath. They were so close. Midnight grips her blaster tighter, the steps to the Marauder just two feet away.

“Is that...Crosshair?” Wrecker asks, peeking over the crates.

Midnight sits up on her knees, peeking over the crate as well. Her breath catches in her throat, the familiar form of Crosshair standing at the other end of the bay. “No.” She whispers, fingers beginning to tremble around the blaster.

Hunter stands, moving to the aisle between the crates.

“Best stand down, Sergeant.” Crosshair says. “Make it easy on yourself.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Hunter growls out.

“We should have killed that Jedi. You disobeyed orders.”

“I did what I thought was right.” Hunter argues.

“You never could see the bigger picture. Now surrender.” Crosshair threatens.

Wrecker pulls his helmet all the way down, Echo adjusting his grip on his blaster. Midnight grips hers tighter, not wanting to have to shoot at Crosshair.

This isn’t Crosshair.

She knows Crosshair. They all did. He was a prick, but he had been just as willing to go against orders, to bend rules as the others. This...This is someone else entirely.

“Is that an order?” Hunter asks.

“I guess it is.” Crosshair smirks.

“Well, I guess I’m disobeying that one too.”

Thunder rumbles from the open bay door, the sound loud in the tense silence of the hangar. Midnight takes a shaky breath, and for a moment she wishes she had just gotten on the ship. At least she wouldn’t have had to see this.

Hunter ducks as Crosshair takes the first shot, diving behind a crate as the other troopers begin shooting. Midnight, Echo, and Wrecker begin returning fire, two of the troopers throwing smoke grenades.

“Tech, we gotta move, now!” Hunter says through the comms.

“I’m working on it.” Tech says.

“Wrecker, clear the smoke on three. Midnight, get onto the ship and help Tech.” Hunter orders.

“You got it, boss.” Wrecker says.

Midnight ducks behind the crate, staring at the steps up to the Marauder. They’re only two feet away. She can make that. She’s run from worse things in her lifetime. She’s run in more tense situations than this.

“Omega, stay low.” Hunter says. “One...two...”

“Three!” Wrecker says, moving to the isle with the tops of a couple crates.

Midnight uses him for cover and a distraction, darting up the steps to the Marauder.

She almost makes it.

She’s right at the top of the steps when pain burns through her leg. It gives out under her, and she collapses to the floor of the ship with a cry. Shots spark around the interior of the ship and she drags herself out of sight. She lays on the floor of the ship for a moment, the metal thrumming to life as Tech gets the engines started.

She needs to move, she needs to get to the cockpit. Tears blur her vision as she pulls herself to stand.

Crosshair.

He had turned against them so easily. He had betrayed them in so many ways. She knows it’s not him. The Empire had done something to him. He had been off since Kaller, more than just his normal prickly attitude. She hadn’t thought it would lead to this though.

She limps, more like half drags, herself to the cockpit, collapsing into one of the seats. She’s been shot before. She’d been shot badly before. She’d been able to hide it, at least until her enhanced squad had noticed. It shouldn’t hurt this bad.

She knows it’s not just the fact she’d been shot.

It was who had shot her.

She squeezes her eyes closed, the ship rumbling as Hunter shouts for Tech to take off. Midnight holds onto the seat, the Marauder speeding through the atmosphere and away from Kamino.

Tears slide down her cheeks, squeezed out from the corners of her eyes. She can hear Echo, Hunter, and Wrecker in the back. This hadn’t been part of her plan. This hadn’t been part of any of her plans, any of the many scenarios she’d played through her head.

She had promised. She had promised herself and she had promised them she wouldn’t let anything separate them. She wouldn’t let anything take them from her no matter what.

She’d already failed.

Taglist:

@amyroswell, @dangraccoon, @hunnythebee, @lokigirlszendaya, @kriffingmeshla, @storm-breaker7

#star wars #star wars fic #the bad batch #the bad batch fic #the bad batch x reader #hunter x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #tech x reader #echo x reader

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hopelesswrites · 2 years

Text

Midnight - Joseph Quinn pt. 3

Joe makes promises to you to make things right.

18+ MDNI, smut!!!!

(I really wanted to give you a happy ending but their relationship is still a little rocky, so I give more Joe being a dickhead. Can they fix things now? idk lmao.)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

The next couple days were spent laying in bed curing your hangover. To be fair, the first day was because of your hangover, but the other two days of sulking were purely because of Joe. All you wanted was a call, a text, a knock at your door but as the days go on your confidence in that diminishes. He’s gone, swooped up by Hollywood and pretty models and out of your life.

Come Thursday you decide you can’t keep brooding away, you have to shake it off and go to work. So for the rest of the week you busy yourself with work, staying back and doing overtime just so you don’t have to think about Joe. Your boss also said you had a lot to catch up on, so that kept you occupied.

Friday evening came by quickly and you were finishing up your extended day at work, ready to head home. You were scared to go home, knowing the weekend would bring two more days of staying in bed feeling sad and sorry for yourself. Part of you was ready to welcome those feelings back, the more productive part desperately wanted it to be over, that you’d wake up tomorrow morning feeling great, maybe go for a run, visit the local bakery for a proper substantial breakfast for once this week, no thought of Joe crossing your mind.

As you made your way home you kept your mind on that bakery. How good it would feel to get out of the house. How much you need to go for that run, let the cold morning air hit your face, maybe knock some damn sense into you. Joe was in the deep depths of your mind now, no longer causing a tight feeling in your chest like he had for the first half of the week.

Your flatmate was at the front door when you arrived home, she looked anxious as she paced back and forth across the small front patio.

“Thank god you’re here” She sighed once you came into view.

“I tried to tell him to fuck off but he was so persistent, barged his way in”

Your stomach sank, you didn’t need any more information, it was him. You really didn’t want to face him, the reality of it hitting you finally. He was going to end all communication, completely reject you and leave you alone forever. You didn’t want that.

Walking through the hall and to your bedroom, you see him sitting on your bed through the crack in the door. His head snaps up at the sound of your door opening, a stunned look plastered on his face.

“Hi” He said quietly, watching as you dropped your bag down and stood by the door, keeping your distance.

“I didn’t know your work schedule so I waited” He tried again, but you didn’t know what to say. Part of you didn’t want to start talking at all, getting closer to the end tugged at your heart.

“I want to apologise” He sighed, getting up and slowly inching closer, he had a way of manipulating you so subtly, getting what he wanted without you noticing until its too late. It infuriated you, made you hate him so much, hate how much you loved him regardless.

“Go on then” You answered, eyes trained to the floor, Joes eye contact was too strong.

“I shouldn’t have acted the way I did the other night, I care about you and was so worried, I didn’t think about how cruel I had been”.

You watched Joes feet shuffle, his ugly shoes making you frown, you distinctly remember telling him not to buy them.

“I also want to apologise for the way I’ve treated you over the past year, it’s not been fair on you and I cant keep stringing you along”

‘Here we go’ you think.

“Things are different in my life, and I don’t want to lose you, I want you in my life, but that means things have to change a bit”.

You looked up after hearing his last line, falling into the depths of his sad sorrowful eyes. He had you, you were trapped, it made you feel sick.

Joe reached out and grasped your hand in his, tugging you closer forcing you to look up at him.

“Let me do things right, let me take you out, I’ve got a premiere to go to tomorrow night, I want you with me.”

You didn’t give it a second thought, head nodding viscously, agreeing to whatever Joe wanted from you. The spell he had cast on you was in no time lifting, you could feel that.

The next evening you were dressing up in your best dress, most uncomfortable heels, hair and face all done up. You were simply excited, happy to finally feel like you were a part of Joes new life. There was no time to feel silly, or manipulated, what could go wrong?

Joe arrived to pick you up, dressed in all black. Not too dissimilar to the getup he had on a few months ago when he came to visit you. He was hot, you thought, there was no way you’d be getting through the night with him looking like that. He took your hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze before guiding you down to the car waiting, he had a god damn private driver. You ignored the feeling that gave you, the feeling of not belonging, because you were with Joe, you belonged with him.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” Joe whispered in your ear as you got out of the car, arriving at the venue.

“A few times. Can’t go wrong with a couple more though” You replied, eyeing off the crowd in front of you. People were arriving in all sorts of fancy cars, dressed in stunning gowns and suits. Security guided guests around, into the building, off to the side where you noticed a red carpet, this was an official thing, still that feeling of not belonging got pushed to the side, Joe had you close, you belonged.

His arm snaked around your waist firmly, another reassuring squeeze as you were both guided off to the side, the red carpet.

“I’m going to take a few photos, bosses orders, why don’t you wait for me down the end?” Joe said, removing his grip on you and motioning down behind the carpet, out of camera view. You agreed, making your way down the path where you noticed a group huddled by the door at the other end, you concluded this was where managers and escorts waited, unfamous guests.

You struggled to ignore the anxiety you began to feel without Joe by your side, you didn’t belong here anymore, this wasn’t your crowd and you just needed him back beside you, holding you tight to get you through this whole night.

It wasn’t long before you saw the man make his way off the carpet and back to you, he offered you a small smile, and took your hand in his again. You tried to ignore the lack of a squeeze this time, but it ate at the insecurity you felt inside.

Inside the building people chatted and drank, waiting for the theatre to open up. Joe was quick to grab two drinks for the both of you and manoeuvre his way through the crowd until he was stopped. A tall woman tapped his shoulder, greeting him like old friends. You watched as they laughed and chatted, you beside Joe, your hand he once held forgotten. More people approached him, more greetings, not one towards you. You did not belong here.

When the theatre doors opened Joes hand lay flat on the small of your back guiding you in, no longer wrapped around you like before. His dismissal of you hurt, it felt worse than any ignoring he had been doing previously, you were finally in his world and you were still invisible.

The screening was painful to sit through. Joes fingers fiddled with the fabric of your dress cascading over your thigh until the end credits played. Before anyone got up Joe was whisking you away and out of the theatre into the lobby, his hand now grasping your wrist rather than your hand.

“What’s wrong?” You asked watching as he looked around, he looked frantic.

“Here” He replied pulling you towards a bathroom, locking the door after you had entered.

Without explanation you were slammed against the door, Joes mouth falling to your neck in quick harsh sucks and bites, he was ravenous.

“Joe what is-“

His lips came up quick, swallowing your sentence in a kiss, his teeth scrapping over your lip as he pulled away and resumed his assault to your throat.

“Been dying to have you all night Baby” Joe mumbled against your skin, his hands roaming over your backside, bunching the dress up and slotting a clothed leg between yours.

The pressure elicited a content sigh from you, Joes grip now firmly on your hips, guiding you to grind on his leg. The pleasure forced all rationality out of your brain as you submitted to the man you loved.

“You’ll have to be quiet for me, okay?” Joe groaned as he twisted you around so your chest was against the tile, ass out.

You listened for the sound of his belt buckle, but it never came. Instead, you got a harsh slap to the ass followed by Joes quick fingers rubbing you through your panties. You fought off a loud moan as electricity shot through your body. Joe pressed up against you, his lips finding purchase on the sensitive skin behind your ear, his hot breathe creating goosebumps over your skin. His fingers stopped their movement to pull his own pants down, the feeling of his skin against yours almost sending you over the edge. It felt pathetic, to be so affected by him, to need him as much as you did.

Joe rubbed himself against your entrance testing the waters by pushing in a little and pulled out. You eagerly waited for what you were craving so much, to feel him completely, but it never came.

“Lets get these off yeah?” Joe mumbled, tapping your foot with his own before leaning down and gentle pulling your heels off your feet. The relief was almost as good as the sex itself, but with your height difference from the lack of shoes Joe was quick to resume his movements, slipping in effortlessly, his hand snaking around your face, covering your mouth before he began thrusting. The pleasure was overbearing, Joes small grunts in your ear sending shockwaves through your body. You couldn’t see him but you knew the blissed out look on his face, could picture it, and it got you through to your own orgasm, legs quivering as the coil snapped and you let yourself go all too quickly.

Joes movements became sloppy and you knew he was close.

“Let me” You whispered, turning around and dropping to your knees, swatting his hand away pumping him a couple times, tongue out ready to catch his load.

“Fuckfuckfuck” A string of curses left his swollen lips as he released above you. You took everything he gave you, quite happily as embarrassing as it was, and watched him come back to above you. His chest rising and falling, a small trickle of sweat sliding down his temple, his eyes screwed shut still. You wanted him to look down at you, smile at you, give you anything but he stood back, tucking himself back into his pants, head thrown back as he let out a shaky sigh.

Your heart sank, even in such an intimate moment he was ignoring you.

“That’s it huh?” You frowned, gaining his attention again.

Joe looked at you confused, “Didn’t you come? I thought-“

You cut him off with a laugh, “You just don’t get it!” You raised your voice as you stood up, slipping your shoes back on. “Or you do get it and just don’t care” That was what worried you the most, being nothing to Joe and him being actively aware of it. Actively making you aware of it.

“I come out here with you, surround myself in an environment I’m not comfortable in to make YOU happy, and you blow a load in the bathroom like we’re goddamn teenagers.”

Joe stuttered out useless apologies, but you couldn’t care to listen to them.

“I’m going to go now, don’t follow me, I’m serious” You spoke sternly, watching him carefully, worried he might reach out, touch you and break you down again. “And don’t contact me, I think we’re done”.

#Joseph Quinn #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #joe quinn smut #Joe Quinn #joe quinn fanfic #Smut #fluff #joseph quinn fanfiction #stranger things

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minsungjinho · 1 year

Text

~seoul city boxing~ STORY BASED ON THIS TIKTOK: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT81tk7MP/

enjoy :)

Warnings: fluff, bit of angst, some derogatory terms, homophobic attitude from strangers, suggestive

it was another late night at the Seoul City Boxing and Gym building, a quiet atmosphere besides the punches being thrown by Minho. the gym was at ground level but with high ceilings that made every impact against the punching bag echo. the windows were tall and old, and despite the extra airflow from air conditioners and ceiling fans it still smelled faintly musty. Jisung tapped a beat against the paper of a notebook with his pen, humming a tune repeatedly until it was to his liking.

he picked up his phone and squinted at its shining light as he checked the time, sighing due to the fact that it was well past midnight. he rubbed his eyes tiredly and leaned against the mat that was propped against the cold bricked walls. upon opening his eyes he saw a blurry figure right in front of him, his face only inches away.

“jesus!” Jisung yelped while pushing back himself deeper into the wall, frightened.

“wow babe, you’re really that frightened by my face?” a sweaty Minho chuckled, squatting right in front of him.

once the blurriness from rubbing his eyes went away he shook his head, embarrassed, and gently shoved Minho’s shoulder causing him to lose balance and fall on his ass. Leeknow took this opportunity and crawled right up to Han, placing a kiss on his nose. As he pushed himself away, Jisung’s eyes were open wide and his cheeks more red than the gloves on Minho’s hands.

“There are other people here! you can’t do that..” Han looked down at his shoes, his cheeks still warm.

“I don’t see anyone else here, why would there be when it’s this late?” Leeknow rebutted, using the top of his boxing glove to raise Jisung’s chin toward him.

Han’s eyes refused to meet that of his boyfriend’s. “yeah speaking of it, why are we still here?” he said with a sassy tone, his eyes still looking everywhere else other than to match the gaze of Minho.

“just a couple more minutes,” Minho dropped his hand and stood above Han, tightening his gloves with a grin before walking over to the boxing ring. “I’ll be done before you’ve got your things packed.”

Jisung nodded and started to collect his belongings, glancing up at his man under the spotlight once or twice before zipping up his bag and standing up. Leeknow dodged and punched at the air inside of the ring, his shirt sticking to him with sweat. He walked a bit closer to watch the movements up close, leaning against a worn punching bag as he observed.

Han’s eyes drifted to posters, and newspaper articles all around the walls of the gym. Minho’s face was plastered on most of them, whether they were winning articles or simple pictures of him fighting in the ring. His eyes returned back to the ring where Minho was stepping out between the ropes. “help me take these off?” he yelled from afar, referring to his gloves.

they sat on a bench press while Jisung removed the white tape from Leeknows hands, a protective layer that helps prevent bruising even with the gloves on. He hummed the tune of the song he was writing while doing so, being careful not to yank the tape too hard. Minho has his head tilted back slightly, trying to prevent the sweat droplets from his face from dripping onto that of his boyfriend. he smiles softly as Han hums and assists him with something he could easily do himself. though his smile fades when a towel is thrown over his face and he can no longer see anything.

“wipe up your face and hands, you’re so sweaty you could probably fill up an empty jug.” Jisung scoffs and stands, grabbing his bag.

As Minho wipes his sweat off, he slowly lifts himself up and walks over to where his belongings lay in the corner near the exit. He shoves the hand towel into the pocket of his shorts and grabs his jacket off of the hook. Han waits for the boxing champ while looking down at his phone, browsing through Instagram while he waits. once Leeknow’s jacket is all zipped up and he grabs his bottle of water and phone they both leave the building and head in the direction of home.

“aren’t you cold?” Jisung asks quietly as a breeze flows past them. Minho shakes his head and looks toward him. “You?” he questions back with a raised brow. Han shakes his head and returns his eyes back to the direction they’re walking. they talked briefly about music, and Minho’s next boxing match while walking home. in less crowded areas they held hands, or wrapped an arm around one another, while on the busier streets, they looked like just a couple of friends walking home from the bar.

“let's stop in here and grab some drinks to take home,” Leeknow suggests, pulling Han in the direction of the convenience store. they each grab a few small cans of beer and walk up to the counter where a younger-looking girl is standing.

“will that be all?” she asked in a chipper tone, much happier than someone working the overnight shift should be. they both nodded while Minho pulled his phone from his pocket to tap the card reader and asked for a bag. the employee looks Han up and down with a blank look while bagging up their drinks before smiling up at Minho and thanking him for his purchase. they both nodded and made their way out of the store.

Jisung’s hands returned to the pockets of his oversized hoodie while Minho carried the bag of alcohol. He shook his head and fumbles with his fingers inside of the pockets while walking. Minho noticed the mood change and nudged Han gently with his elbow. “what is it?” he questioned. Han stopped walking and looked up at him with a pissy frown.

“that store clerk is always so happy and flirty towards you but then looks at me like I’m a moldy apple, always.” he looks up at Leeknow who has a grin on his face. “what?” Han questions.

“oh nothing, but I’ll make sure to keep going there on our way home.” Minho grabs a hand from Jisung’s pocket and interlocks his fingers before bringing them closer together. Jisung looks around briefly and tries pulling away, of course failing due to his boyfriend’s much more impressive strength.

“why would we keep going there? it bothers me.” Han questions, giving up on removing himself from Leeknow’s side, and sighs. “I like seeing you bothered, it's cute.” he responds point-blank while looking straight ahead. Han’s eyes go wide once again and he pulls his hood down over his face so no one could see his red cheeks.

they walk quietly together, just a few blocks away from their apartment. while walking side by side a group of three guys come stumbling out of a bar to their right, bumping into Minho and jostling the bag of drinks he holds. “hey, watch where you’re going.” Minho states before continuing to walk home.

the drunk men start laughing and cursing up a storm, homophobic slurs practically dripping from their mouths while the couple has their backs turned. Leeknow stops walking and lets go of Jisung’s hand- turning back toward the group of guys with a blank stare in his eyes. Jisung grabs Minho’s arm pleading for him to keep walking. the plastic bag drops to the ground and Minho steps hastily toward the men, brushing Han off.

“say it again,” he mumbles while stepping directly in front of what seems to be the tough guy of the group.

“what was that, pretty boy? you two gonna go drink those girly cocktails and make out like fags?” the man chuckles and looks at his buddies who don’t seem to think the joke is funny anymore. “what?” the aggressor quietly asked his two guys. they all mumbled to each other, words like “fighting” and “boxing” popping up. “you think a twink like this can fight? doubt it.” he chuckles once more.

Leeknow’s fist swiftly takes ahold of the man's shirt collar, pulling him close. “apologize.” he says through his teeth. the man starts laughing once more before Minho places a hard, jaw-breaking punch to this man's face, letting him fall to the ground after impact. the other two men step back, looking at each other questioningly before the guy on the right runs toward Minho with his fist held high.

he grabs the fist of the idiotic drunk friend and pulls him into his knee, causing the man to run directly into it. the drunkard falls to the ground gasping for air and clutching his stomach while Leeknow steps over him in the direction of the last guy.

Han picks up the plastic bag and hides inside his hoodie, yelling Minho’s name as people are taking pictures and videos. he backs up slowly, covering most of his face with the extra big sleeve showing only his big, wide eyes. Jisung trips over a curb and falls right on his butt while Leeknow starts to fight with the remaining man. He hisses in slight pain, rubbing his leg where his body took the most weight.

Minho delivers one last jab to the nose before backing away from the three men laying on the cold road in pain. he starts to walk away, looking at his boyfriend getting up from the ground with beer cans cluttered on the sidewalk. he grabs the bag and collects the drinks once more, turning to Han whose expression is worried and fearful. Minho walks to the backside of Jisung, wiping off any dirt and debris that collected on his clothes when he fell.

“let's go home, watch Ponyo, and get drunk.” Leeknow started while grabbing Jisung’s hand once more. “and we drink beers, assholes.” he yells to the three injured men, holding up the plastic bag as the two walk away hand in hand…

“that guy had a good point, we should go makeout.” Han chuckles.

#minsung #skz #stray kids #skz fanfic

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reiningsoral · 4 months

Note

You can talk about Stuff for hours if you'd like, I don't mind

you know sometimes i forget this is the nerd website.

anyway you've given me an excellent excuse to talk about Stuff! disclaimer tho it's past midnight and im very very fucked in the brain rn bc finals r coming up... i kinda just used this as an excuse to word vomit a bunch of unrelated feelings and infodumps into on mildly incoherent post so yeah sorry bout that

mlp theory!!

so in the first episode of the first season of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Nightmare Moon is prophesized to be released/freed from her prison (the moon) by the stars. now that at first gets you thinking, "okay, but why would the stars want nightmare moon to be freed? she's evil." and you're right... kind of?

twilight's cutie mark is a sparkle, or rather, a star. see where im going? well now you're thinking "but twilight actively works against nightmare moon!" and you're right! but, i dont think the prophecy was actually about freeing nightmare moon, but about freeing Luna.

luna herself didnt ever want to cause the kind of harm that happened when she was nightmare moon, and she was essentially imprisoned in her own mind via corruption in a weird sort of venom-and-eddie-but-not-really kind of thing

twilight sparkle, the stars, frees Luna from her prison (nightmare moon) which was a state originally brought on by corruption, i think(?)

dhmis!!

dont hug me im scared makes me very nostalgic for a multitude of reasons, but also extremely uncomfortable in a comforting way?

uh if you havent guessed im autistic (undiagnosed but whtv) and this section of my half-past-midnight, feelings-induced, whatever-ness of a post/ask answer is about how dhmis made me feel and why i guess

dhmis makes me think of jack stauber's videos. i think the connection is pretty obvious, i mean, you cant take a look at bumblebees are out and then take a look at dhmis and tell me they arent at all similar.

umm, dhmis's approach to horror is very interesting and unique to itself, its (or was, when it was first introduced) a very new style of horror. it's a psychological nightmare, but even without the even surface-level analysies of the psychological horror, it's still absolutely horrifying. it's uncomfortable, it's gross, and it's generally very unpleasant.

so like,,, why do we watch it?

or i guess, why do i watch it.

all three guys (yellow, red, duck) are trapped in this repeating nightmare of a day, with incompetent people masquerading as teachers who dont know what they're talking about. this, again, very deeply resonates with me, as the kid who had a lot of special interests which coincidentally corresponded to a lot of things we learned in school. i liked a lot of things science related, expecially since my parents are both scientists. i often like, knew more about the topics that were being taught (read: shoved down my throat, incorrectly i might add) to me. i, being the justice seeker i was, would raise my hand to correct the teacher because i needed to make sure that this clearly innocent mistake was corrected so that no one carried misinformation. which is rude, apparently, there's a reason i dont like talking about stuff anymore, thanks middleschool. that bit about yellow guy turning smart for a bit really hit, sorry.

the whole part of the first ever episode about the arranging-leaves-and-sticks-into-one's-favorite-color makes me think about that time in fifth grade. the scene is so hilariously jarring in one way, then it hits you again. "go and collect some leaves and sticks, and arrange them into your favorite colors" is a line that, at first, just makes completely no sense at all, because, how the fuck does one arrange a pretty much monochromatic pallette and arrange it to be in your favorite colors? youre given only a half a second to be confused before the three comply in a different way than the viewer didnt think was the option. they arrange the sticks to spell out thier favorite colors. and then, yeah! that makes sense, so youre satisfied. but the episode punches you in the goddamn face again, by telling yellow he's wrong because "green is not a creative color" which is both very jarring and triggering, and just, infinitely hilarious to me. so how does any of that remind me of fifth grade? it's more autistic childhood stuff, lmao:

when i was in fifth grade, i had teacher who didnt communicate her kind of already nonsensical rules in a way little autistic me could understand, and i didnt ask questions because id been trained to know that asking questions is "giving sass" or fucking, whatever the hell nt adults think it is idk. anyway, this one weekish, at some point, my more rowdy classmates had gotten out of hand using their water bottles and kept spilling water everywhere, so my teacher said that we had to keep our water bottles at her desk at all times. and i was immediately distressed for two reasons: one, it was interrupting a status-quo that had been established (i.e., keeping out water bottles by us, at our feet, every day), and two, i couldnt drink water if Ms. teacher had my bottle. and the way she said it made it extremely easy for an autistic who takes almost everything too literally to misinterpert what she was saying. everyone else got the memo apparently, but i didnt.

id go on more about this but im too tired for an emotional deep dive rn and i wasnt to make an actual post about just dhmis at some point. anyway the point ofthat section was basically i really relate to yellow guy.

the truman show!!

the truman show is a work of absolute fucking genius. i was actually introduced to it via ranboo's generation loss, which is an analogue horror series with a youtube channel with around six(?) vids and a three-part streamed-vod series which was inspired by the truman series i think.

anywaay the inherent horror but comfort in your whole entire life being carefully crafted to be entertainment for thousands upon thousands of people! untapped venting market tbh.

the way that, at the start of the movie, the show is already unraveling, his dad shows up in almost the first scene.

i think the way that the actors subtly break character throughout the show and then try to cover it up in a way that makes sense to their character so that truman doesnt realize they're not real.

but then how the subtlety of the character breaks slowly becomes less and less subtle, and it just... unravels.

um, anyway yeah theres a couple of,,, things that ive been kinda thinking about, mostly incomprehensible because yet again it's past midnight, but i needed to word vomit idk

#ask #the truman show #dhmis #mlp #autism #adhd #word vomit #dont judge me bro im really tired and have been listening to patricia taxxon this whole time so its really weird ok!#also yeah bestie at some point one of my senseless infodumps about probably fucken. mlp. will come for you #so yeah thanks for the confirmation you're chill with it :3 #idek what half of this post says tho #i really was just typing.

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hollandorks · 2 years

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matt murdock x original female character

chapter fifteen

Summary: Fleeing from an abusive relationship, Grace St. James goes to the only place she still has a friend: Hell’s Kitchen. She’s forced to live in her car and beg for a job from the law firm Nelson, Murdock, and Page all the while making sure her past doesn’t catch up to her. Enter Matt Murdock: cocky, handsome, and willing to let her live with him for free until she can afford to get a place of her own. Grace is drawn to Matt in a way she’s never been drawn to anyone, causing sparks to fly as they inevitably grow closer and closer.

a/n: do I really need a note here since I’m posting so frequently? Idk, it feels like it’s a requirement so I just do it out of habit! All I can really say is that I keep meaning to write angsty bits for this story and all that comes out is flirting....oops.

*NSFW themes in this one but nothing too explicit! (which tbh you can kind of expect from here on out oops*

Series Masterlist

word count: 4227

Grace vowed that no matter what Matt Murdock did, he’d at least still be her friend.

She hoped.

Grace’s POV

Unfortunately, Grace didn’t see Matt that night. When she left the office, he was still working, buried in a pile of papers with Foggy, working on a potential new case.

She ate dinner in the silent apartment, wishing that Matt had a TV. She watched videos on her phone to combat the silence, then did laundry to wash the scent of her night off of Matt’s fancy sheets. Then she cleaned up the kitchen, making sure everything went back in its original spot so Matt wouldn’t miss it.

It was late by the time she got ready for bed, and still no Matt. She texted him asking teasingly if she needed to come save him and Foggy from an avalanche of paperwork but he didn’t respond.

She wondered if he was avoiding her.

She really shouldn’t have brought up the bet first thing. She should have talked to him about it, instead, and told him that maybe she wanted something more.

She fell asleep daydreaming about him sleeping next to her.

In the morning, Matt was either still gone or already at the office. She wondered again if he was avoiding her, but brushed the thought off as stupid and paranoid, especially when she saw him enter the building right before her. She must have just missed him.

“Hey, Matt,” she called out as she caught the door. Matt paused as he was folding up his cane.

“Hey,” he said softly. Karen and Foggy weren’t in yet. “Must have just missed you.”

“Oh, so you didn’t sleep at the office?” she teased with a lightness she didn’t quite feel as she slung her jacket over her chair.

Matt laughed softly. “No, but almost. Foggy woke me up at midnight, I think, so we could both go home. We fell asleep on our desks, like we were in college again.”

“Must be an important case if you were both working late while being hungover.” She clicked her computer on and frowned at the work that had piled up for her, mostly stuff for her to transcribe and a few order forms with Foggy’s messy handwriting. “Looks like I should have stayed late too,” she murmured to herself as she began sorting through the stacks.

“Yeah, sorry about that. It could be big. We’re still researching stuff, though.” Matt shrugged out of his jacket and slung it and his cane on a chair right inside his office. Grace watched as the material of his shirt pulled taut across his chest for a moment with the movement, then looked away.

She hesitated before sitting down at her desk, then walked to stand in Matt’s doorway. “Hey, can we…talk about the other night?”

Matt paused, head tilted to the side. She tried really hard not to remember him doing that, painted in neon, shirt open. “I…you don’t owe me any money, Grace,” he said softly.

Shame flared hotly in her chest. “I know, I–it was a stupid bet and–” She stopped, unsure how to say what she needed to. It was a stupid bet because I want to be something more than friends with you. It was a stupid bet because it was the only way my drunk brain could think of to get you to kiss me and I’d really like to do it again.

“Yeah, it was stupid,” Matt said. His shoulders tensed as he spoke.

Grace stepped back as if the words had been a physical blow. Yeah, it was stupid.

She tried to remind herself of what Karen had said, about Matt closing himself off as a coping mechanism. But it didn’t feel like that’s what he was doing. It felt like he was trying to let her down easy. It felt like…he thought it was a mistake.

“Yeah,” she said faintly. “I’m…sorry.” The world faded and narrowed around her as the hot flame of embarrassment in her chest flared even hotter.

When she blinked, she was back at her desk. She put her head in her hands for a moment and sighed. “Fuck,” she said under her breath. She’d wanted to talk to him about exploring more of what was between them, this time without alcohol.

But if he felt like it was stupid, she didn’t want to press for more and potentially ruin anything between them. She wanted to stay friends, wanted to keep the easy camaraderie between them. Even if, at that moment, the gulf between them felt insurmountable.

After letting herself wallow in self pity for a minute, she straightened and got to work. There was nothing else to do. Matt felt like it was a mistake, so she would treat it as one. They could move on, simple as that.

She spent the day buried underneath as much paperwork as her three coworkers, all of them catching up from a slow, hungover morning the day before. They were also catching up on other, smaller cases that had been put off in preparation for the trial.

At the end of the day, they went to dinner together, all four of them. Matt was nothing but polite and professional towards her. She pretended that she didn’t see the secret looks Foggy and Karen kept exchanging, or the way Karen raised her eyebrows at her once when Matt was just a little too curt.

The shame lodged like a solid coal in her chest.

“I’m going to head home,” she said the minute she finished her food and paid. She wasn’t sure she could endure Matt’s forced politeness any longer. “See you guys tomorrow.”

She tried to hurry out, only for Matt to catch up with her at the door. He sure was fast for a blind man, she thought.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said softly. He held his arm out for a minute. She stared at it and remembered walking home from Josie’s with him, the two of them laughing and flirtatious.

She sighed and took his arm right as he started to lower it.

“How was your day?” he said carefully as they started to walk.

Grace grit her teeth at the benign pleasantry. “It’s okay, Matt,” she said. “We don’t have to make small talk if you don’t want to.”

“I–that’s not–”

She nudged him gently. “I’m letting you off the hook.”

Matt turned his head towards her. “I wasn’t aware I was on the hook.” She caught the edge of a smile. But she also noted that he was blushing a little.

“Seems like you’ve been wanting off the hook to me,” she said. “Since you kind of blew me off this morning.”

Matt hesitated, almost tripping before catching himself. “I…didn’t mean to blow you off.”

“Look, I get it. I work for you. We’re roommates. We were drunk. It’s fine.” She shrugged. “We can just go back to normal, yeah?”

Matt made a little noise. “I think I fucked up, didn’t I?” he said so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.

“I said I’m letting you off the hook, Matt,” she said softly.

“Just because I was on the hook doesn’t mean I don’t want to know how your day was,” he said after a moment. She watched his cane swing back and forth across the sidewalk.

“We work together, you should know how my day was since you kept dropping stuff on my desk,” she said, but she kept her tone light and teasing. Back to normal, she told herself. “All three of you.”

“Sorry about that,” Matt said with an awkward little laugh. “You can see why we were so desperate to hire you.”

“I’m surprised you survived so long without me.” They turned a corner and the apartment building came into view.

“Me too. Foggy’s terrible at filing, and since Karen used to be our office manager neither of us wanted to treat her like that again.” Matt laughed and she drank in the sound of it.

“And you? Are you terrible at filing too?” She squeezed his arm playfully.

“Oh no, obviously I’m great at it.” They both laughed at the joke.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said as they stepped into the building’s elevator. Matt leaned back against the wall and tilted his head towards her. His eyebrows raised behind his tinted glasses.

“What’s that mean?” he asked. There was an undercurrent to the words that she couldn’t quite figure out.

She almost said something about him being good at hearing things he shouldn’t hear or how he sometimes found things on the first try with his hands. Instead, with a burst of unexpected bravery, she said, “It means, Matt Murdock, that I’ve found you surprisingly good at unexpected things.” It came out much more husky and flirty than she’d intended. It was too late to take the words back, though, so she let them hang in the air between them. Let him make of it what he would.

Matt was saved having to reply by the elevator doors opening. She walked out casually, as if she hadn’t just reminded him of the very thing they were pretending hadn’t happened. But fuck it, she thought as she unlocked the apartment door. He had been unexpectedly good at it, and she didn’t regret how good it had made her feel. She only regretted the awkwardness it had created between them. She regretted that he thought it had been a mistake.

“Do you need the bathroom first?” she called over her shoulder. She turned and found a still stunned Matt standing in the elevator. The doors started to slide shut and his hand snapped out to catch them.

“Uh, what?” he asked as he finally followed her into the apartment.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need the bathroom first?” She couldn’t help but feel a little pleased that she’d rendered him speechless. Matt was so confident and cocky more often than not that she enjoyed having the roles reversed for once. Even if she’d been almost unintentionally flirty.

“Oh. No, no, you go ahead, I’m gonna–get changed. Probably go to the gym or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Okay,” she said with a little nod. She bit her tongue against the urge to invite him to shower with her. He was very clear about it being a mistake, she reminded herself. That didn’t stop her from imagining it for a moment. Maybe the urge was because she liked him. Maybe it was because it was easy to flirt with him. She didn’t know, but it overpowered her for a moment as her thoughts drifted.

Maybe it’s because you want another three orgasms, she told herself as she stripped off her work clothes in the bathroom. She groaned and leaned back against the bathroom door.

Her mind flipped rapidly between daydreams and memories. Daydreams of Matt joining her in the shower. Memories of him painted in red on his knees before her.

A cold shower should work. Hopefully. Because try as she might to stop it, she’d been thinking about those three orgasms pretty much since they’d happened. Her mind helpfully provided more flashes of that night even as the cold water hit her skin like a wall of ice.

Grace sucked in a sharp breath as she leaned against the tile wall and let herself remember, just for a moment. Matt’s hands on her ass, carrying her to the bed. The way he’d looked at her, even with his eyes sightless, like he wanted to devour her. That low growl of a voice when he said Sweetheart, that was just my hands before he did devour her. His moan as she pulled on his hair.

She let her hands ghost across her breasts and stomach, lower and lower as she remembered. And then her thoughts drifted to what could have happened. She would have undressed Matt slowly, revealed each and every one of those delicious muscles before she laid him on the bed and repaid the favor with her mouth. She remembered how hard he’d been against her, right where she’d wanted as they’d kissed on the counter. She bit back a moan as she imagined being in that same position but naked instead, the counter cold underneath her bare skin, Matt’s hands braced against her hip and the mirror.

Her breath came in pants as she came, hard, around her own fingers while she imagined all of the things she wanted to do to Matt Murdock.

–

Matt’s POV

In the other room, Matt could hear everything. He’d stepped into the bedroom as soon as the shower had turned on and grabbed something more comfortable to sleep in.

His thoughts were a wreck as he thought of her teasing in the elevator. It means, Matt Murdock, that I’ve found you surprisingly good at unexpected things.

He’d known immediately what she’d been referring to. It had stunned him into stillness, a gut reaction beaten into him by his nightly activities. Fight, flight, or freeze, wasn’t that the saying? So he’d frozen, his mind churning out exactly what unexpected things he’d been good at.

She’d been flirting with him. He might have been blind, but he wasn’t that blind.

Grace had told him that she wanted to go back to normal, but God if he wasn’t having a hard time with that already.

He practically ripped his shirt off. Maybe he’d go out that night. He’d probably feel better burning off some of the lingering adrenaline in his veins. He’d intended to do that after leaving the office the night before, but he and Foggy had both dozed off at their desks like a couple of amateurs.

Plus, it was Friday. He was supposed to meet her that night, at twelve thirty, as Daredevil.

He didn’t know if he could face her. He was terrified she’d recognize him. That whatever tentative truce they’d just reached would be obliterated by the truth.

As soon as he yanked on his sweatpants, he heard it.

A stifled moan.

Matt froze for the second time in less than ten minutes, his shirt halfway on.

Was she–

His whole body reacted to the noises coming from the shower. Noises any regular man wouldn’t be able to hear.

Even with the shower on, the scent of her arousal hit him so hard he stumbled back a step.

He unfroze and chose another of the three options: flight.

Matt half-ran up to the roof, trying to get as far away as he could from what was happening in his goddamn bathroom. He hated his abilities at that moment. He didn’t want to intrude like that on such an obviously private moment. He didn’t want to be able to hear and even smell everything she’d done in there. Everything she was doing.

He strode to the edge of the roof but it wasn’t far enough. He could still hear her heart accelerating, hear her fingers moving, hear the way she bit her lip to keep any more noises from slipping out.

He leapt onto the next roof and kept running until he couldn’t hear her anymore. He was at least four blocks away now, and even though the sounds had faded, it felt like he wasn’t far enough.

One thought pierced through his panic.

What was she thinking about?

Matt cursed under his breath and dug his fingers into his hair.

It was so much worse than when she’d had whatever dream she’d had. Because now he knew what it was like to have her.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there trying to calm his breathing, but he eventually made his way back to his apartment.

He could hear her rustling around getting ready for bed as he came back through the roof access door and bolted it shut. How was he going to face her after that? Nothing like that had ever happened in the weeks she’d been staying with him. Even after her dream, she hadn’t…touched herself.

He had to focus very hard in order to keep the thoughts of her touching herself at bay.

“Oh, hey,” Grace said as she stepped out of the bedroom. He’d somehow missed the sound of the door sliding open. He barely kept himself from visibly startling. “Your turn,” she said. There was a note of something in her voice and her heartbeat picked up as she moved past him towards the kitchen. Guilt? Embarrassment? Lust? He couldn’t pinpoint it.

Despite the shower, he could smell it all over her. He cursed himself silently as she grabbed a drink of some sort from the fridge. He couldn’t concentrate enough to be able to tell.

He fled into the bathroom. He was supposed to go to the gym or pretend he was going to the gym and go out as Daredevil.

But the smell was stronger there, in the bathroom, so Matt flipped the shower on with a muttered curse. His body was overheating.

He regretted inviting her to live with him for the barest of moments.

Did she have any idea the kind of torture she was putting him through? Of course she didn’t, Matt reasoned as he stepped into the cold spray. On his sensitive skin, it may as well have been like bathing in the Arctic.

Maybe she wouldn’t notice if he showered twice. Because no matter what he did, no matter how many times he had to use his own hands to take care of things, nothing helped ease the fire raging in his body like a fight did. He would have to go out, have to find a criminal of some sort to fight, and come home sweaty and in need of a second shower.

Matt groaned quietly. Grace was driving him crazy. She might be able to pretend things were normal, but he wasn’t so sure he could.

When he came back out, hair dripping slightly, she was sitting in the bed in those same goddamn silk pajamas. He could hear the whisper of it against her skin, something about the soft slide of it innately sexual. Or maybe that was just the memory of when she’d worn them last.

There was a rustle of something else, too. Paper. The scent of ink and dust. A book.

“Hey,” she said with a voice softened by sleepiness. “I could take the couch tonight, you know.”

Matt half-smiled. “No, it’s alright. I…was going to go to the gym. I don’t want to wake you up when I get home later.” He knew he looked like an idiot, freshly showered and talking about going to the gym.

Grace sighed, either not noticing him contradicting himself or not caring. “Matt, you’re like, ten feet too long for that couch. And last night you slept at your desk for part of the night. If you won’t sleep on the bed I need to at least foot the bill for your chiropractor.”

Something in Matt’s chest squeezed at her words. “My back is fine. Besides, I’ll get my bed back when you get your own place.”

“Ouch. Trying to kick me out already?” Her tone was light and teasing.

Matt frowned. “Of course not.” The thought sent panic through him, even though what she’d done in the shower earlier had made it nearly impossible to share a space with her. Yet the thought of her leaving made him…sad, almost. It was better to her her here, where he could protect her even as she unknowingly tortured him, than to have her leave.

Grace made a sound between a laugh and a sigh. “Always so serious, Murdock. I was kidding. I know your good Catholic heart won’t let you kick me out on the streets.”

It was Matt’s turn to sigh. “I don’t think that has anything to do with my Catholicism.”

“It’s because you like my company, isn’t it?”

Another pang in his chest. She was teasing and had no idea how right she was. “Nah, it’s because you clean up after me. It’s like having a maid that works for free.” He grinned at her. He heard her book sail through the air and forced himself not to react until it hit him in the chest. “Hey, you can’t just throw things at a blind guy!” But he laughed, because of course she would do something like that. She’d never treated his disability as something to tiptoe around, for which he was grateful. Foggy and Karen were the same way, and it was a big part of the reason they got along so well.

“I can if he’s being a dick,” she said back but she was laughing too. “I don’t buy the poor little blind boy act, anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Matt said as he bent over to retrieve her book. He made sure to miss it a few times before she sighed and told him it was to the left. He held it out to her. “What makes you say that?”

“I think even though you’re blind, you’re just a regular guy. You use the blindness to hide behind to get away with stuff. Like those guys who are so handsome that they can get away with anything. Except you’re handsome and blind.” She snorted a little. “So somebody has to keep you humble. Like me. And Foggy. And Karen, though she’s much nicer about it.”

“Oh, so you think I’m handsome?” he said before he could stop the words, hands on his hips. He silently cursed himself for flirting with her.

He could hear her shift, that damn silk sliding over her skin. He heard the sound of her teeth rasping over her slightly chapped bottom lip. Her heart started beating faster, too, and he hated that he knew what he did to her, because he just wanted to be normal, just for once.

“Matt, even though you can’t see yourself, I know you know you’re handsome. I’m rolling my eyes at you, by the way.” Her light tone betrayed her nerves, if that’s what they were.

Matt didn’t want to go down this road with her. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “Can I plead the fifth?” he said instead of all the things he wanted to say. All the things he wanted to do, like crawl into bed with her and kiss her senseless. To beg her to tell him what she’d been thinking about in the shower.

Grace laughed and it was the best sound in the world. He wanted to make her laugh every day for the rest of his life. Which is probably why he kept flirting with her, teasing her–because it almost always got a laugh, and he was addicted to the sound.

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Lawyer Man. I just said I need to keep you humble. So maybe I’m going to mix up all your little color-coded notes in your closet and start doing laundry and turn your white shirts pink.” She raised her finger in the air, likely pointing it at him. Her heart was still pounding. She was enjoying this, he thought a bit helplessly. Too much. And so was he. “I’m pointing my finger at you all threateningly by the way.”

Matt couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “Well if you’re going to do that, then you can sleep on the couch from here on out.”

“Hey!” she said, laughing. “I thought you were a gentleman!”

Matt must have been drunk again, even though he hadn’t had any alcohol in two nights, because the words slipped out of his mouth in a rough voice. “We both know I’m not a gentleman.”

Grace froze, and he wished yet again he could see her. Her breath was coming in little pants and–goddamn it, he could smell her arousal.

What the hell was wrong with him?

“I should go,” Matt finally said, pretending really hard that he couldn’t tell she was a little nervous but aroused by his words. “Goodnight, Grace.”

There was a silence at his back as he retreated towards the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him.

“Goodnight, Matt,” she finally called out to him, swallowing so hard he was certain he could have heard it without his abilities.

Matt yanked out the duffel bag that held his suit. He was such an idiot. But there was something about her that made him react that way. Some kind of gut instinct around her that came out and made him cocky, made him flirt. He hadn’t acted that way around a girl since–

The thought sobered him.

Since Elektra.

Matt closed his eyes and leaned against the wall.

Grace was nothing like Elektra, but something about her still reminded him of her. Elektra had always been teasing and flirty like that, too, but often in a much more dangerous way. A way that usually involved blades, blood, or violence. Or all three.

Matt realized it had been a while since he’d thought of the woman he’d lost. He still missed her, still hated that she had died the way she had–both times.

But Grace made it almost easy to forget Elektra. Matt used to be afraid of meeting another woman, of dishonoring Elektra’s memory. He thought he would compare them all to the woman he’d lost–twice–and nothing would stick.

Yet Grace wasn’t Elektra, and for the first time, the thought didn’t take Matt’s breath away.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@zaminoo @yanna-banana @bellal1 @thetrinitytest @harry-bowie-mercury @lorosette @feliciab1990

#matt murdock x oc #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x original female character #matt murdock x original character #matt murdock #daredevil x oc #daredevil x ofc #daredevil x original character #daredevil x original female character #daredevil #netflix daredevil #saved #saved fic #saved daredevil

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campbells-content · 1 year

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Part 2 of road trip au, post road trip. Also un checked and unedited.

They don't spend the next few days together on purpose.

So, as I said, Chloe offers a ride to Juleka, but once they get to the boat, Juleka asks Chloe if she wants to hang out. She says yes and the first day they just hangout on the boat, talking for hours, watching movies and laughing at Luka's reaction to the jumpscares. By the time they realized how long its been it is midnight and Chloe ends up spending the night. In the morning they get dressed and get ready. They take a detour on the way to the hotel and go shopping till they get hungry, then go eat. They get to the hotel and Chloe asks her if she wants to come up for a bit. They do and they just lay on the bed and talk. "So, you're dad has partial custody?" "Yeah, which sucks cause he lives in America." "Is anything gonna happen since you just up and left?" "Probably not, he's pretty laid back. Maybe even a little too laid back." "I guess it has its perks." "Yep." "You wanna get out of here?" Chloe sat up with a smile. "It'll be fun."

They end up going around Paris, to the park and then up to the observation deck on arc de triomphe in time for the sunset. They're not alone but they kindof get lost in eachother, almost missing golden hour. When golden hour does happen Juleka can't look away. Chloe can't look away from her. Chloe realizes she may or may not have feelings for her. After the sunset they walk around for a few hours then head back to the hotel, laughing about the fact that they've spent the last like 9 nights together and were about to spent 1 more. They couldn't sleep so they went up to the roof, keep in mind it is now the middle of the night. No one is there and there is no event so the lights are all off. Chloe looked around for the power box and flicked on the lights. She dragged Juleka to the railing where she new they'd get the best view.

The city was still so alive with lights everywhere. Again, they just talked. "It's sad." "Hmm?" "That we trade the lights in the sky for the ones on the ground." "Oh." "Sorry, that was probably a little to dreary." "Juleka?" "Yeah?" "We have been trading trama stories for the past week." "I know." "Your cute concern about light pollution is not too dreary." "Oh." "If anything it's kindof endearing." "How?" "Even when you see something this beautiful, you still think about what it costs. Then again you did grow up with Rose." "She might've affected my view of the world a teensy bit." "You two are close?" "Have been for years. Oh, shit. She doesn't even know I'm back."

"Yeah she does." "What?" "She's been asking in the group chat. The others messaged about the details of the road on the plane ride home." "Oh." "What?" "Nothing." "Trouble in paradise?" "No, nothing like that. It just hit me that this has to end eventually." "What does?" "This-" she motioned between the two of them "-I've just really enjoyed hanging out." "It's not ending now, is it?" There was a mini desperation in her tone that only seemed to ring in the seconds of silence. "I don't think so." Filled with relief, Chloe suggested they go back inside and they did after almost falling in the pool and cutting out the lights. They watched another movie and fell asleep. Chloe woke up first to butler guy knocking on her door. He just told her that Andre is glad she got home safe and would like to schedule a dinner sometime this week. She said yeah, sure and went back to bed. She couldn't get back to sleep so she stared at Juleka until she realized she was staring at Juleka. Then she just got up and sat on her balcony with the door open. Juleka woke up and silently joined her. They mumbled their goodmornings and just enjoyed the morning air in silence. 30ish minutes later, another knock on the door as butler dude came to tell Chloe they're about to stop serving breakfast.

He is a little surprised when Juleka is standing behind Chloe but continues to tell them both about the breakfast ending. Chloe asks if Juleka wants to get this or go out. They get hotel breakfast, joking as they ate in the dining area. Butler guy comes to tell Chloe about the dinner scheduled in three days. She nodded and he left. They finished eating and went back up to Chloe's room. They just chilled out in there for a few hours until they got hungry again. They raided the kitchen and then Chloe got a text from Adrien. A: "wana hng ut" C: "with who?" A: "me n alya" C: "can juleka come?" A: "👀" A: "sur" They went to Adrien's and played some video games, watched a movie, and played some bored games. They ended up staying the night there and sleeping on a pallet while. Chloe woke up to Adrien and Alya talking from the bed. When they saw her up they laughed and said goodmorning. "Whats so funny?" "Nothing." "You and Juleka seem close." "We've been hanging out." "For how long?" "Did you even drop her off?" She got flustered at that and glared at Alya. "I was going to! Really, I was, but she asked if I wanted to hang out." "And you just haven't left?" "Did you even want to?" She was silent, her face getting more flushed. "Chloe..." "You're down bad, girl." She looked back to make sure Juleka was still asleep. "...I know." Alya laughed at and teased her and Adrien tried to console her. Eventually Juleka woke up and they ate breakfast. Chloe focused on her food and aladrien kept glancing at everyone. Juleka pretended she didn't notice. Afterwards aladrien say they are gonna go mess around and record at the park. Chloleka just went back to the hotel to get Juleka's stuff that she left because they weren't planning on spending the night at Adrien's. They watched another movie, then another, and another. Juleka said she should probably go home after one more. They start the movie but Chloe kinda just falls asleep.

The movie ends and Juleka is about to leave but she doesn't want to leave without good bye. She lays there for a minute and pulls out her phone to text Luka. J: 'Probably not gonna make it home tonight.' L: 'This is a very long date' J: '>-<' J: 'Its not a date.' L: 'Sure its not' J: 'Shush' L: ':P' J: 'ur gae' L: 'Says the one on week long date' J: 'Its not a date.' L: 'Sure' J: 'I'm going to ignore that and go to sleep.' L: 'Really? Its a little early don't you think?' J: 'Its 10?' L: 'I'm guessing she's already asleep?' J: 'Yep. Gn.' L: 'Lol night ig' She lays there for a while before putting on another movie and getting comfy under the covers.

This is where it ends for now cause I've hit a mental block

#miraculous ladybug #chloe bourgeois #miraculous lb #miraculous au #miraculous ladybug au #miraculous #mlb #chloé bourgeois #chloleka #juleka couffaine #mlb juleka #chloe x juleka #road trip au

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whiskeyswifty · 2 years

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i love reading your analysis despite disagreeing with a lot of it because i think it’s important to see other people’s pov. but i do find it comical when u were talking about midnights vs lover because lover is easily my least favourite of her albums and the only time i ever felt disappointed by an album. i totally agree what u said about folkmore getting sandwiched between them though and making it a catch 22 for her post that release cycle, i think to a degree anything that was diff from what she did with folkmore was going to be more scrutinized, even if it was phenomenal! thanks for making such interesting commentary!

I hope its okay that i put your asks together, because i think that's a huge part of my original post as well! Lover and Midnights to me, and my circle who engages with her, are both albums that are reductive ultimately. and this is particularly damning for an artist who at the very least is always pushing herself and the state of music in new directions, whether you like the outcome of those pushes or not. and that's what makes her so interesting to talk about and her art such a great marker for culture at any given time. i totally agree on the whole that lover came after several albums of new and exciting work and was comparatively stagnant. i'm a bit higher on lover personally than you are i think, but i by no means rank it high and don't consider it an achievement of any kind. and i think that's kind of what a lot of dissenting midnights opinions feel about this album; that it's uninteresting and unexciting work from a person who is usually very interesting and exciting. and considering that they're both mid at best, in the eyes of me and my circle, it's fun to compare them back to back as if folkmore never happened. and it's fun to see history repeat itself a bit. not exactly, as reputation was not as well received writ large as folklore, to say the least, but still it's a similar phenomenon. to pose the question; what predispositions caused the feelings we have about this piece of art and is it fair to have those feelings when they conflict with past feelings of similar circumstance? all art exists in and is born of context and cannot be divorced from it, but it's interesting to try and parse how much of my opinion is objective and merit based, and how much of it came with a set of expectations that might have been unfair from a critical standpoint?

ultimately i still zone out during midnights adklfjadlkjfdf so that's something that can't be helped. but thank you so much for adding this and sharing your experiences! even if we disagree on some points, we're definitely aligned in a lot of our thoughts on how her albums are often scrutinized based on expectations set by previous releases. and how it's just a fact! fair or unfair notwithstanding. and i'm glad you find it as interesting to think about as i do!

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happy-tori-friends · 3 months

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“They hurt you, despite knowing what I would do.” With Splendid and Fliqpy? I just really like how you write those two sorry

aww thank you, i really appreciate that! …tragically, despite the brain craving angst, i do not think i did this one very well. in my brain's defense, most of it was written past midnight. there's very slight gore mentions but im bad at writing actions and describing things so it's very not good. i'm a dialoguer, not a describer.

There were not many people who would mess with Flippy. Those that would likely didn't know about his capabilities or Fliqpy. And though Fliqpy was the protector, more often than not able to handle himself, there were times when he couldn't, whether it be PTSD messing with him or just having an off day. Though he always tried to deny it, Fliqpy was not invincible.

It hardly ever came into play though, so Splendid tended to just assume that Fliq could handle most every that came his way His pride and being paralyzed by the PTSD would likely cause him not to call for help, either, and the chances of him flying by on patrol and witnessing it were slim.

It was an average patrol - fly around town, look and listen for people in need of help or criminals up to no good. He'd taken on Splendont's route as well, since his brother had a meeting with a client. That led him to the bad part of Tree Town, which he knew would certainly give him a workout.

Almost immediately, Splendid heard gunshots and stiffened. He was aware it wasn't exactly uncommon, but it still worried him. He hoped it wasn't too big of a scuffle.

He began to fly towards the source until he heard something else.

“He's a veteran, right? Maybe he's rich. Think we can make him pay us to leave him be?”

Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he pushed the gunshots to the back of his mind. He changed courses and landed near the source of the comment, glancing over the scene.

In the midst of a switch, or maybe stunned by memories of war, stood Fliqpy, cornered by two young looking men. Older than the twins, he assumed, but not nearly smart enough to know who not to mess with.

“I suggest you leave him alone,” Splendid announced, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles. “I'm not above beating up criminal scum like you. And believe me, it will not be pretty and it will not be painless.”

With a smirk, the second of the two, the one who had not yet said anything, spoke. “Yeah, right What are you going to do about it?”

The two young men threw each other a look, before the glint of a blade caught his eye in the second's hand. He assumed he was bluffing, or that Fliqpy's reflexes would kick in, but when the knife plunged into his boyfriend's side and he barely flinched, Splendid realized that he should not have been so optimistic.

And upon that realization, he saw red.

One punch was all it took to send one of them flying into a building, splattering upon impact. The other, the one that held the knife, took it out and immediately dropped it upon hearing and looking at the impact, his friend's body broken and leaving a crimson stain in its wake.

“Craaap, this is one of those superheroes!” he hissed, eyes darting around as he tried to look for a route to escape. He let out a sigh of relief and began to run, trying to round a corner.

…Only for Splendid's heat vision to reduce him to ash.

He did not intend to kill them, but it seemed the curse liked to male his powers a bit more potent than usual, which led to a lot of accidents and, well… But that was not the point - he didn't have time to think about his failures. The curse had seemingly kicked in, and the chaotic nature of it could easily male that stab wound more dangerous than normal, fatal even. Unless it wasn't technically caused by the curse but…

Bah! Not the time to consider semantics! He needed to treat it with urgency, no matter what!

“Hey, Fliq,” he approached carefully, so as not to startle him. “Are you…”

“…Got stabbed,” Fliqpy responded, gaze still vacant, not even looking at him. “Kinda hurts.”

It was a good thing Splendid always cane prepared with-

“…Oh dear. It… looks like I've forgotten my mini first aid kit at home.” He still, albeit hesitantly, lifted up the other's shirt, looking over the wound. “It doesn't look to be too deep, though it obviously needs treatment.”

A shaking breath, and Fliqpy grit his teeth. “I'll be fine. I can handle it. I was only… The gunshots fucked with me and… Fuck, sometimes I miss the days where I just killed, because the memories didn't hurt. They just felt like the present and I went wild.” The mint haired man let out a low laugh, looking around and steadying himself. “You killed them for me, this time. Probably better that way. If I went into a state like I used to, they wouldn't be the only one's dead.”

Splendid let out a hum. He didn't want to kill them, but… he didn't regret it a single bit. “They hurt you, despite knowing what I would do.” He had warned them - they were just stupid enough to pick the wrong person to mess with and not realize they were being confronted by a superhero.

“But it's going to be fine,” Fliqpy assured him, putting pressure on his own wound to stop the bleeding. “They deserved it, and they should've listened, but I'm okay in the end.”

“I know you are… I just… worry sometimes,” Splendid admitted, pulling the other closer and placing a kiss on his forehead. “You can usually handle yourself but you were all frozen here. This isn't uncommon in this part of town, why were you over here?”

Fliqpy tensed at the contact at first, but relaxed a few moments later, wrapping his arms tightly around the other. “Dropping something Flip made off for Red's double trouble duo. But PTSD's a bitch and shit happens and then suddenly you've been stabbed and stuff.”

It was good they were getting along, and Splendont would especially be happy his boyfriends were getting along with someone they'd been terrified of prior. Not that Splendid cared for Lifty or Shifty that much, but he respected his brother enough to be civil. At least they weren't going around stabbing people to coax cash from them.

“Oh!” He wrapped his arms around Fliqpy. “We should go to my place and clean that wound. I'll take care of it for you.”

The other let out a huff, but in a fond sort of way. “You really are my hero.”

A smile bloomed across the cyan haired man's face as he took off, careful not to hold him too tight. He'd stopped anything worse from happening to his boyfriend, and any excuse to spend time with him was wonderful.

…The gunshots were forgotten in the wake of this however.

#tori talks #asks #prompt fill #splendid ☄️#fliqpy 🔪#supertroopers ☄️🏅🔪

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felixcloud6288 · 6 months

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Higurashi: Beyond Midnight Final Chapter

It is 6am.

Otobe is confronted by not just Mifune but his own mindset that he's most familiar with. One nice bit of detail is the spirit of Otobe's past self is wearing the same outfit he wore when he ran away to Tokyo.

Arakawa charged in screaming and likely flailing his arms the whole way.

This arc has a central theme around having the resolve to live to the fullest and that includes doing what you feel has to be done even if you're scared.

Otobe starts as the antithesis of this. He's just coaxing through life with no goals and always taking the easy way out of everything. His choices are not based on what he feels he should do or wants out of life, but what is easiest. Contrast that with the rest of the cast who are willing to put their lives on the line to do what they can in the situation.

On the most extreme end, we have Mion who is literally fighting for her life to ensure she keeps control of the Sonozaki group. Her determination was to the point that she literally was crawling toward the place the bell was cause she felt it was worth getting.

Then we have Towada who chose to kill her abusive boyfriend so she could take back her life. She discovered too late that her choice may have been the wrong one, but she decides to move forward, first by atoning for her actions.

Then we have Arakawa. He's a normal guy who got swept into some very not normal circumstances. At every moment, he's the voice of reason when it's reasonable to abandon what's happening and save yourself. But despite that and despite him being utterly afraid for his life, he still chose to help because he couldn't just leave the others behind.

Just like last chapter, death is not treated with the same tone as the rest of the series. Mifune gets killed very nonchalantly by Mion Shion.

So yeah, that was actually Shion this whole time. Based on her remarks at being called that, it seems she had taken Mion's name after the real Mion had died. But also, Mion's spirit had possessed her during this arc so she could get the bell to Shion. And Shion survived cause Mion's spirit took the blow.

I don't get it. It's dumb.

And the last part of the story takes place at the ruins of the school where everyone died. Shion talks about her own feelings on everyone's deaths and Otobe passes on Mion's final words: "It would be great if we were twins in the next life."

Thinking on it, Shion probably survives most of the arcs in the series on account of not being in Hinamizawa at the time. So she's often left behind. Despite her connections to the others, she is part of the secondary cast.

Mion's toothpaste analogy is really silly but if you think about it, it ties into the themes of this arc. A tube of toothpaste has only so much toothpaste in it, and the tube costs the same whether you use all, half, or none of it. So if you want to get the most worth out of it, you use every last bit of the toothpaste and only discard the tube when it's empty.

So if we were to compare life to a tube of toothpaste, it has the same value whether it's partially or wholly used, but it doesn't get its maximum worth until you've gotten everything out of it.

And now the group leaves with the resolve to live their lives to the fullest. Otobe is going to go back home and figure out how to pay off his debts; Shion is going to claim her spot as the head of the Sonozaki group; Towada is going to turn herself in and then start her life over anew; and Arakawa... is gonna take a nap on the ride home before figuring out how to write his article.

And Shion leaves behind the Tamahajiki no katana and an Ace of Spades card. Just like the others, she will live her life fully. And the first step is to not be shackled by the past, but instead look forward to the future, both for this life and the next.

back

Spoiler Discussion

The feeling is mutual. Mion's final words are what Shion says in the final arc when she believes she's marching to her death to help the others.

#higurashi no naku koro ni #higurashi no naku koro ni reread #higurashi when they cry

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nininehaaa · 1 year

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Leo valdez - crying

‼️SELF HARM‼️

TW: THIS CHAPTER HAS MENTIONS OF SELH HARM AND DESCRIPTIONS OF IT❗️❗️❗️❗️

I too struggle with sh so this chapter is to spread awareness that there is ALWAYS another way of coping.

Y/N's PoV:

I cried. I have been crying. I've been crying for years, being a hades child wasn't the best. If you were though, you'd be bullied, abused, harassed and generally hated. People would avoid you like the plague. Besides, who would associate with someone that could kill them?

Leo Valdez would. And he did

I laid emotionlessly on my bed, as I watched the long lines of blood flow down my arms and

Drop of my elbows. My eyes pinched together at the sting of tears dropping on the cuts.

My mind was blank, all this suffering and pain and loss just cause the gods couldn't keep it in their pants.

I was kicked out of my trance as I heard a nock on the cabin door. Shit, Leo was probably early for our date to the party .

I quickly dragged myself out of bed and went to put on a longed sleeved shirt.

As I walked to the door I prayed that Leo wouldn't notice my demeanour.

"Hey Leo "

" HII YN YOU READY????"

"Leo it doesn't start till 8"

"So? Come on let's be early!!!"

"3 hours early?"

"Huh?"

"Leo it's only 5"

"WHAT"

"Umm yeah"

"OH SHIT "

What?"

"ITS 5!!!!!"

"So ?"

"I HAVE TO GO BYEEE"

"Oh ok"

"ILL SEE YOU AT THE PARTY "

Just like that Leo ran of into camp and left me confused as hell as to what he had planned at 5.

After I cried for a tad bit more I went and got ready for the party.it was tricky finding something long sleeved but I decided on wearing:

After putting on some makeup you did your hair and was ready.

~~at da party~~

Leo's PoV:

I couldn't wait to surprise YN . I had been working on a necklace for the past few months so that I could give it her on our anniversary. Tomorrow is our anniversary of one year so I'm going to give it to her at midnight .

I suddenly heard my name being called and I realised that it was YN. She looked beautiful.

Except the fact that she seemed a bit upset. I frowned , she was fine when I was with her yesterday so what happened?

"Oh hey Leo "

"YN! You look hot as hell"

"Why thank you, you don't look to bad yourself

"Hey!"

"I'm just kiddingggg"

"K well why aren't you wearing the other one?"

"What do you mean?"

"The dress y' know , other purple one"

"Oh umm I'm cold"

"It's 24 degrees?"

"Still your the fire one , of course your hot"

"Oh okay"

After the party I took her to the docks to give her my present

"Leooo why'd you bring me here?"

"Just wait it's nearly 12"

"Huh ,why are you waiting for 12?"

"Yessss it's finally midnight "I said looking at my watch

I slowly removed the box out of my pocket and put it in Y/N's hand.

I saw the confusion and excitement in her eyes as her shaking hands undid the ribbon and put the necklace out.

The necklace:

"Leo did you make this for me?"

"Uh yeah, I know how much you like scream and um well I spend a few months making it cause I- it's made of styrangian iron and I um couldn't really find an-"

She cut my rambling of with a passionate kiss.

"Leo it's perfect, I- I love it"

P2 sooon

#tw self destructive behavior #self h@rm #self love #leo valdez #pjo series #pjo #loveyourself #angst

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skenpiel · 4 years

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we finished deltarune!!!!!!! tomorrow im going to force my sister to listen to me babble for HOURS about deltarune/undertale theories

#ooohhh boy oh boy oh boy thatll be awesome #also shes such a stupid little baby it is literally 1:40am and as we were playing i wanted to talk to everyone cause its fun #and i think its important #and she just kept going please i wanna go to bed im so tired are we done yet please can we just stop playing im tired #like dude it is hardly past midnight on a friday night youre such a little. idiot baby. if you will.#anyway im gonna eat soooo many nacho chips and then when everyones gone to bed ill shower #hey! i ate a proper meal today! i think!#my entire body isnt completely stale and cold! hell fuckin yeah!!!!!!#also i cannot do any voices but playing these games with her still requires me to read the lines out #and i do what i can to differentiate the characters #but lancers voice fucked my throat up after doing it for however long this game took #like 3 or 4 hours probably #but yeah it fucked my voice up a bit #again i cant. im not a voice actor i cant do any impressions or voices or nothin #oh except for a toad impression that one im great at #but uhhh thats beside the point #the only thing i can really do is either make my voice higher pitched or squeaky or gruffy #blegh but not talking with your natural voice is a pain #@all trans ppl who do voice training: you are so strong and sexy holy fucking christ

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inkykeiji · 4 years

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little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis:

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

✰ ✰ ✰

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

✰ ✰ ✰

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

✰ ✰ ✰

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

✰ ✰ ✰

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

�� ✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

✰ ✰ ✰

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi #takami keigo #bnha smut #mha smut #aaaaaah fucking MONSTER #anywayyy cant wait to hear what u all think!!!#dabi don't get mad at me i lost track of time editing n i've been real good going to bed on time #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw daddy kink #tw drugs #tw:abuse

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