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chris-prank · 2 months ago

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A desperate yandere in your area

Chapter 1 : Something warm

Sub pathetic yandere x GN reader

CW: NSFW, pet play?, praise kink, masturbation, humping, porn with plot, yandere behavior, mention of stalking and use of y/n

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Word count: Over 3K

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The winter cold had arrived in town, but you had underestimated it. You could clearly see the vapor escape your mouth as you breathed on your palms to warm them up. It was lunch break, so you had decided to treat yourself with a hot drink at the local coffee shop. They had a large variety of food and drinks, which was always nice when in a rush. It was really close to the place you worked at, so the perfect opportunity to get some fresh air in your system.

I wonder if Jacce is going to be there today, you ask yourself while rubbing your hands together and placing them in your pockets. He was one of the baristas. He always took the time to make little doodles on your cup to go or make foam art if you stayed for longer. You never really had a deep conversation, but you often thought it would be nice to get to know him.

You arrived in front of the open sign and swiftly pushed the door to take shelter from the cold. Jacce seemed to cheer up as he noticed you. He made his way to the counter, a small smile gracing his lips while he adjusted his apron. Despite his tall figure, Jacce’s hunched over pose almost made him eye to eye with you. Emphasis on almost, he was still way taller.

“Welcome back! Wh-what can I get you today?”

You told him you wanted a chicken soup with your hot drink, since you had the time to stay a bit longer today. While ordering, you noticed little button pins on his neck strap. One was definitely the pansexual flag and the other was the band Ghost’s logo.

“I like your button pins!” You commented while handing him the right amount of money, your fingers brushing lightly against his palm.

“O-oh! Thanks! you're the first client to notice them… well to say something about it at least.”

He started fidgeting with them and gave you a sheepish grin. You swore his face had gotten more flushed than before, but not thinking much of it you made your way to a nearby table. Soon, Jacce arrived with your food ready in hand. You took the tray and admired his work of art. It was a cute Shiba Inu made of foam milk coming out of the mug. He really made it impressively detailed. You took a glance at the soup and the croissant next to it… A croissant? Your neurons finally made the connections that you didn’t order this, after a good second of zoning out. You looked up at Jacce, but he simply glanced away. Oh, it was on purpose.

“Aw! You didn’t have to!”

“It’s nothing really…You are m— our favorite regular after all, I need to treat you from time to time.” He pouted, as if it was an insult not to give you special attention. His comment turned your cheeks slightly red. You didn’t know at all that the people working here liked you this much.

Jacce stayed in place despite already giving you your order. It seemed like the barista wanted to chat longer, but another customer was waiting, so he left reluctantly.

“The art is really cute by the way!” You shouted from your seat. You saw Jacce lit up with a giddy smile, but in a matter of seconds he returned to his neutral face when addressing the man at the counter.

You took out your phone to take a picture of the little foam dog before it disappeared into the warm liquid. After that you decided to attack the croissant first, not wanting to give your tongue a second degree burn with the chicken soup or the drink. You took a huge bite, crumbs falling on your laps despite your best efforts. They really had amazing pastry here. The price reflected that, and your wallet definitely knew it well. You were so wrapped in your own little world that your brain blocked out everything going on around you, until an angry voice disturbed your peace.

“DON’T try to give excuses!”

“S-sir, p-please…”

A man, probably in his fifties, was menacingly pointing his finger at Jacce. He anxiously ran a hand through his mud brown hair, looking everywhere except in the clients eyes. Your heartbeat picked up in pace as you watched the scene unfold, you didn’t want to imagine how the poor barista felt.

“I don’t have any music playing, I swear! It’s just to take out surrendering noises when I’m —”

“Your generation are such snowflakes! I want to talk to your manager!”

Jacce let out an anxious laugh before answering.

“I a-am actually the… manager, but I’m als–”

“FOR GOD SAKE! Proof that this place is run by idiots!”

Ok, this guy is seriously going overboard. You looked around to watch the reaction of the other customers. They were understandably all silent, almost frozen in their seats. Seeing no one ready to advocate for the poor guy caused your protective side to kick in.

“How is it even a problem if he can hear you perfectly?”

The man turned to you with a surprise expression, not expecting anyone to intervene, but soon enough he gave you the same angry stare Jacce had received.

“It’s a matter of respect.”

“Well you're not being really respectful right now.”

“Are you fricking— You know what? You just lost a valuable customer.” He spat out at the barista and stormed off, but not before knocking over a stand of straws.

Jacce was visibly affected by this whole encounter. He almost looked like he was going to have an anxiety attack, because of the way he was gripping his shirt. You quickly went up to the counter and kneeled down to clean up the mess.

“I am so sorry for you, people can be so rude! That’s why I prefer a job without any social interaction, a pure paradise I tell you!” you joked, trying to soothe him. “I hope it didn’t ruin your day…”

Your attention wandered away as you picked off the ground the reusable straws. You could hear Jacce say something, but only for it to be mixed with the background noises.

“Mm what did you say?”

“Oh em— I just said that it won’t affect the rest of my day, don't worry.”

Jacce’s hand reached up and it looked like he was scratching his neck. He seemed to have calmed down which made you a bit relieved. After all that, you went back to your table and finished your food and drink. You told Jacce goodbye before going back to your own job.

The rest of your day went normally, but it was still pretty intense. You were at least glad that you didn’t have to deal with angry clients unlike a certain someone. On that note your mind wandered back to Jacce. Next time you should try to get to know him better. He seemed to be eager for it as well.

***

I hope they’ll come by today, Jacce whined internally as he tried to search out the window for a glimpse of his beloved. It has been two days since the last time he officially saw them, two days too much in his opinion. He did follow them after work, but it wasn’t the same. The barista wanted to talk to them, even if it was just for a second.

Jacce mindlessly twisted the sleeve of his forest green turtleneck between his fingers. He had a huge collection of thrifted knitted turtleneck sweater, but this one was definitely his favorite since it was the softest on his skin.

After one more hour of torture, waiting for a certain someone, they finally pushed open the door of the coffee shop. It took merely a second for Jacce to notice them. He wanted to run to the counter to make sure his coworkers didn't steal this moment from him, but it would have looked suspicious. Luckily, everyone else was too busy to take care of it.

“Welcome back! Wh-what can I get for you today?” The question was more a force of habits than an honest one. Jacce knew perfectly their favorite drink and how they wanted it to be prepared. Just like he expected, y/n ordered the same thing as usual, but with chicken soup. That’s a good sign, he thought; they always order something to eat when they are planning on staying.

Jacce told them the price and took the chance to admire their complexion while they were busy searching in their wallet. He really loved everything about his darling, from head to toe. As they paid, he felt the tip of y/n finger brush against his palm, shooting heat to his face and somewhere else.

“I like your button pins!”

The sudden compliment caught him off guard. He was already overjoyed by the touch of his favorite client, but this was definitely making his face burn ten times more. He awkwardly thanked them, but thankfully they didn’t seem to notice his intense reaction, instead leaving to take a seat soon after their interaction.

Jacce calmed himself down as he brainstormed what he could possibly make in milk foam this time. He ended up with the idea of a cute dog. Everyone likes dogs, right? He sure hoped they did. Furthermore, he took the opportunity to add a croissant next to the bowl of soup. It was a slow day anyway and it's not like it was making the business lose a lot of money. The barista carefully took the tray and brought it to their table. Normally they would just call people at the counter to get their order, but he seriously wasn’t going to bother y/n for such a silly thing.

Jacce was so proud at the stunned look on his the customers face when they saw the little Shiba Inu made out of foam milk and the free croissant. He couldn’t help but sweat as they looked up at him.

“Aw Jacce! You didn’t have to!”

“It’s nothing really…You are m— our favorite regular after all, I need to treat you from time to time.” He pouted.

He soon noticed that they were blushing. Fuck! I made them blush! That’s what he wanted more than anything, to make them love him just as much as he loved them. This definitely was a good sign. If only he could stay longer to admire them from up close, but no. Another customer had to enter and ruin the only good moment of his day.

“The art is really cute by the way!” He heard them shout from their table as he left. Jacce lit up with a giddy smile, but in a matter of seconds he returned to his neutral face when addressing the man at the counter.

“What can I get you sir?” He asks with a monotone voice while gently tugging at his only dark strand of hair.

“I’ll get a black cof– are you listening to music, young man?”

Jacce looked up at the client that had noticed his earbuds.

“No sir, I can assure you I’m not.”

“DON’T lie to me!”

“S-sir, p-please…”

The man, probably in his fifties, menacingly pointed his finger at him. Jacce anxiously ran a hand through his mud brown hair, looking everywhere except in the clients eyes. This was going worse than he expected. He could feel himself sweating profusely.

“I don’t have a-any music playing, I swear! It’s just to take out surrendering noises when I’m —”

“Your generation are such snowflakes! I want to talk to your manager!”

Jacce let out an anxious laugh before answering.

“I a-am actually the… manager, but I’m als–”

“FOR GOD SAKE! Proof that this place is run by idiots!”

A worker named Pierre opened his mouth to intervene, but he was not quick enough it seemed.

“How is it even a problem sir if he can hear you perfectly?”

Jacce had to hold himself back to not cry from happiness. There they were, his precious love standing up for him.

The man turned to them with a surprise expression, not expecting anyone to speak up, but soon enough gave y/n an angry stare. Jacce couldn’t let that slide. This man was definitely banned from the shop.

“It’s a matter of respect.”

“Well you're not being really respectful right now.”

“Are you fricking— You know what? You just lost a valuable customer.” He spat out in Jacce’s way and stormed off, but not before knocking over a stand of straws.

Jacce could never get used to situations like this, it always affected him. Still, he tried his best to regulate his breathing as he gripped his shirt. Y/n quickly went up to the counter and kneeled down out of view. The barista leaned against the counter to look at what they were doing. His darling was cleaning up the mess the waste of air had just caused.

“I am so sorry for you, people can be so rude! That’s why I prefer a job without any social interaction, a pure paradise I tell you!” They joked, “I hope it didn’t ruin your day…”

It was so sweet of them, not only did they advocate on his behalf but they were thoughtful enough to lift his spirit too. Jacce really couldn’t wait to be theirs and repay them for all their kindness.

“No need to worry about that, you made it perfect already.”

“Mm what did you say?”

“Oh em— I just said that it won’t affect the rest of my day, don’t worry.”

The man could feel his erection pressing painfully against the restraint of his pants. Instinctively, he reached up to the collar hidden under his clothes to brush it with his fingers. It had a tag with Jacce engraved on the front. On the backside it said “property of” followed by y/n and their phone number. He clenched his fist, he really couldn’t wait to get home.

When they left, the rest of Jacce’s day consisted of him daydreaming about the chivalry of his sweetheart. Once he arrived at his house, it was a matter of seconds before his pants were taken off. He didn’t even wait to be in his room, instead opting for the cold tile floor of his bathroom. He took out of one of the cabinets a small bottle of lotion, opened it with his left hand and generously poured the content on the other. He had these bottles scattered all around his home, including the bag that he brought with him everywhere he went. Biting his bottom lips, he ran his hand down his happy trail, where it connected to the base of his shaft. A doggy-like whine escaped his lips as he began to wrap his finger around it and slowly moved up.

“S-shit Mmfff! Please…A-aahh use me master.”

Wet noises soon started echoing around the room and the hallway, accompanying the incessant buzzing of electricity. It was a true miracle that Jacce never got a noise complaint since he moved into this house. His neighbor could definitely hear his nightly worshiping session if they went out into their backyard. It's not like he was loud on purpose, but when it came to the object of his affection he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. It made him wonder on some occasions if he didn’t end up in a neighborhood full of perverts that loved listening to his lewd activities. At this point, his legs had started shaking violently from how sensitive he was, making him lean more against the wall for support.

“I’m just a dumb little puppy for y-you, t-touching my-myself everyday …Nnhg.”

He arched his back as his hand stroked his cock at a higher speed, crying out for them desperately. His imagination couldn’t settle on one vision. He kept switching from images of them bouncing on his cock to them bobbing their head up and down on it and even having them fuck his little ass raw. He only slowed down his movements to run his thumb under the foreskin of its head, filling his brain with an other wave of pleasure.

“I’m a… greedy little mutt, so Uugh so greedy.”

He cursed at himself under his breath for having such lewd fantasies about the person he loved, which turned him on even more. Precum was abundantly leaking out of the tip of his dick now, resembling pearly water drops. Wanting more, he used his free hand to reach under his turtleneck and pinched at his nipples. Jacce bullied the poor thing by twisting it between is fingers. He couldn’t help but shiver from the stimulation he was giving himself.

“I j-just Unnf want to b-be yours.”

He sincerely wanted them to use him, ravage him even, but he also yearned for the sensations his darling would give his body. They would be so good for him just like he would be for them.

Despite the fact that he wanted to continue more than anything, it had to last longer. As he felt his climax approaching, Jacce loosened his grip on his shaft. A pathetic whine escaped his lips while he tried to keep himself from cumming. He staggered to his feet, gripping the sink for support. He felt so weak, his legs hardly supporting his weight anymore. Every friction his dick received made him fold in half, prolonging even more his travel to his room. As he continued his journey, a long string of precum was left behind him. He will have clean it later, but for now he didn’t care if he made a mess. In a way, it was part of the fun.

He finally crawled onto the bed, lazily placing a pillow between his legs. It was wrapped with one of y/n stolen hoodies, in other words, his most prized possessions. Jacce winced when the fabric made direct contact with his glistening cock. He closed his eyes, trying to picture them under him, praising him for being able to hold his orgasm. He was being such a good boy for y/n, why couldn’t they see?

He started humping that thing like the horny mutt he was. His ass wiggling cutely from the incessant movement. Jacce wanted them to see him like this so badly. A pure mess that couldn’t help but make high pitched whines at every trust.

“I j–just want to cum for you, all f–for you.” He mumbled, while tears rolled down his face, cheek flushed.

His cock was so sensitive, giving him the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. He wasn’t capable of closing his mouth anymore, drool leaking out of it like a waterfall. Jacce tried to keep up the speed as he chased his inevitable climax.

“Master, I'm c-cumming, A-ah… I'm cumming! I… l-love you!” He cried out while thrusting his hips forward uncontrollably, shooting hot ropes of cum all over the pillow.

After falling face first onto the bed, he pulled it up to his chest, cradling the dirty hoodie as if it was really them, but ultimately it wasn’t enough. He was just too impatient to tease himself for an extended period of time. In addition, the desire to cum and becoming dumb for a few seconds was way too alluring. Jacce was sure that if he was with y/n, they would edge him way longer than what he could ever do.

He knew for a fact that's what they would do, since, one time at the cafe, he had the chance to watch them enter the code on their computer. With that crucial information he was able to open it when he broke into their house came unannounced. He was stunned when he saw the tags of the spicy fanfiction his precious darling reads. They both had the same taste in terms of kinky sex. Another proof to fill his delusion that he was destined to be theirs.

As he laid there, tired and dazed, he thought about how nice it would be to be enveloped by their smell. He took a big breath into the hoodie. Yay it lost the particular scent he was looking for. He knew it was wrong, but maybe he could pay them a “visit”…just to feel a bit closer. Jacce looked at the clock. He still had time to do it before they arrived at their apartment.

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Even if I only post it now, this was actually the first yandere story I ever wrote, back in september of 2023, so the writing maybe be less good than my other stuff!

This story will also be posted on my ao3 account

Plus an old drawing I made back then for this chapter

#yandere #yandere x gn reader #yandere male #yandere oc #tw yandere #sub!yandere #sub yandere #gn reader #x gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #My oc-Jacce #dom reader #pathetic yandere #male yandere #desperate yandere #yandere x you

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seravphs · 2 years ago

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ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo Satoru likes his girls clingy.

wc — 1k

tags — confident reader

He lets you loop your arms around his neck and whine for kisses, gifts, everything he has. With an unlimited budget and the deep pockets of a man in love, he spoils you rotten.

Here’s the problem with being the strongest: you will always be the strongest. From the day he was born, there was no competition. Gojo didn’t even have to begin to outstrip his peers. He was simply born better than them.

But eventually, even that level of talent grew exponentially until he went from being simply unbeatable to untouchable. His growth was incomparable, leaving him a lonely god on his own plane of existence.

That’s why he needs you: sweet and soft and demanding. Everyone else had it all wrong.

The Gojo clan spoiled their young head rotten. Knowing that he would bear the burden of the world from the moment he was born and those blue eyes opened, his mother demanded her child grow up in peace. Nothing was asked of him, no demands, no pleas for help.

The outside world relied on Gojo as their saviour, but within the Gojo compound, he was just a spoiled little boy whose mother adored him.

The way he acts within the walls of the Gojo stronghold is a carefully kept secret. He’s as soft as a newborn kitten, hair carefully washed by his childhood nurses and left out to sun in a patch of light. He’s sleepy and warm and mellow, hardly the strongest anymore. Without knowing any of this, you somehow bring that back out in him years later.

An auxiliary manager in training, you first met him when you were tagging along with Ijichi on one of Gojo’s missions. Ijichi was flustered, even more so than usual, at the thought of having to care for a mentee when he could hardly take care of himself.

It only made matters worse that your first mission would be with Gojo. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach, despairing at how he would inevitably fail to shield you from his barbed comments and wicked teasing.

In the end, he needn’t have worried. The two of you turn the tables on him.

Poor Ijichi.

It started off as a way to bully him more, because Gojo could be such a little tyrant.

“Come on, Ijichi. Let her tag along, what’s the harm!”

“You heard him,” you had announced self-importantly, and thrown yourself promptly into the passenger seat.

That was usually Gojo’s seat, but he was willing to give it up for some amusement.

You hadn’t been given permission to go on this mission, but you had insisted. First you wheedled, then you whined, finally you outright demanded. You wanted see the powerful Satoru Gojo in action.

He leans forward, arms draped over the back of your seat. He pokes your cheek playfully as he says, “Oh, are you a fan?”

“As if!” You scoff. “I don’t care about you, I care about your cursed technique.”

Gojo takes your bluntness in stride. Maybe it’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about his technique (he caught you demanding details on Hollow Purple from Ijichi once) or maybe it’s the way your cheeks puff out when you pout. He knows you’re lying. Part of your assignment to Ijichi is because you begged Masamichi to be placed where you could watch Gojo work.

It’s easy work for him. The curse is vaporized in seconds. He makes it look so weak you wonder why they even bothered with it at all until you remember that this curse had been failed to be exorcised by a first grade sorcerer who had come back licking his wounds. It’s not that it’s weak, it’s that he’s too strong.

“Anyone up for lunch? My treat,” Gojo says, still immaculate as ever.

Ijichi, who had been standing so close he got covered in some strange muck, not even from the curse but from Hollow Purple cutting through the mud, looks at him suspiciously. Gojo is never this nice.

You have no such reservations. Ijichi yelps and protests when Gojo brings you to a luxurious restaurant in the heart of Tokyo without a reservation, relying on the strength of his name alone. He doesn’t even eat much, content to watch you order whatever you like on his dime. It amuses him, the way you’re so confident about it, as if you know he won’t refuse you.

He won’t.

By the time you order dessert - for you and Gojo, telling him he’ll like whatever you choose for him - he can’t bear the burning question that’s been lurking in the back of his mind anymore.

“Smoke break!” He demands cheerfully.

“You don’t even smoke!” Ijichi says, terrified, as if Gojo is some high school bully dragging him out under another pretense to shake him down for cash. He might, just for fun.

You smile and wave them off. You wouldn’t let Gojo do that seriously, but Ijichi is just so fun to tease. You’ll come rescue him later if it looks like he’s really miserable.

“Alright, spill the beans,” Gojo says, leaning against the doorframe and blockading Ijichi from going back inside. “What’s her deal?”

Ijichi just stares at him slack jawed, open mouthed, terrified, clearly still waiting for some kind of attack.

“Oh, come on! I’m not that mean to you, am I?” Even Gojo can’t resist a twitchy smile at what he’s saying. “Who is she? Where’s she from?”

Ijichi blinks. “She’s just some girl. Masamichi hired her.”

“She’s a right little princess,” Gojo murmured. “What, is she the daughter of a clan head or something? Maybe even the Three Clans?”

Ijichi sighs. “You would think so with that attitude, but she just comes from a normal non-sorcerer family.”

“Her?” Gojo asks disbelievingly. “A girl like that? Impossible.”

“It’s true,” Ijichi says. “I don’t even know where Masamichi picked her up.”

Gojo returns to his seat with a overly sweet parfait waiting for him. You’re right, he does like it. Or maybe he likes it because you’re finally giving him your full attention, waiting with rapt delight to see if he’ll give it full stars.

He thinks he might take you out to dinner more, if it gets you to look at him like that. You might not be a clan princess yet, but he can’t wait to make you one.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojou x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #gojou fluff

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sugarlywhispers · 2 months ago

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b.katsuki x reader (fem) | prohero!bakugou x ex!reader (civilian)

a.n; HEAVY ANGST. PREPARE YOUSELVES TO CRY LIKE BABIES (like i did while writing this😭). Also, heavily inspired by this scene of a k-drama (LINK), but it doesn't follow the story of it or anything. I only used a little bit of the dialogue cuz 💔💔💔💔

02:01 a.m.

It's very late at night and Katsuki knows he shouldn’t be here. The moon is up in the night sky, shining bright, and the cold, winter wind would chill any other person’s bones. Yet he runs hot, so his level of cold is minimal; still, he wears his puff jacket, zipped up, and hands inside his pockets. The hoody over his head conceals his person a bit, yet it’s not necessary considering how cold it is no soul is wandering the streets. No sane person would willingly take a night walk in this weather.

Thanks to the old hag and dad for the quirk they give him, he literally is a walking human heater.

That’s what you used to call him.

Katsuki sighs, the air he breathes out creating a mist that evaporates quickly due to the weather. He knows for sure you’d be cold right now. He would never admit it out loud, but even though the cold made it a tiny bit hard for him to use his quirk to its full potential, he liked the cold thanks to you. Or well, he liked the fact that you would stick to his side and be all over him thanks to how warm he was.

Your own personal human heater, it’s what you mockingly called him, smiling as you hide your face in his neck, arms hugging his torso inside his opened jacket –the same one he’s currently wearing, that you gifted him for one of his birthdays. Your body would stick so close to his, like trying to become one with him. Bakugou Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but he loved that you did that. He loved that you were so small compared to him that you would practically disappear from view whenever his body shielded yours. He loved that your cold nose over the skin of his neck made him want to purr like some stupid cat, spreading tingles all over his body.

He loved that you used him for warmth when you were cold.

He loved you. He still fucking does. He loves you so fucking much it hurts.

And he knows you’re probably cold now.

And he’s not your human heater anymore. That hurts even more.

Katsuki sighs again, the vapor of his breath colliding with his face once again, as he stops in his tracks looking down at his shoes. He doesn’t need to look to know where he is. He has been taking this route on purpose for the last month.

He doesn’t know why he is doing this to himself. Maybe he is a fucking masochist who loves getting his heart beaten bloody and in pain. Yeah, maybe that’s it. Or maybe is because he still loves you and he couldn’t get you out of his head since Izuku shot him with the news.

You’re back. You're back in Japan. You even made your dream come true and opened a cozy coffee shop in the center of Tokyo, like you always wanted.

Katsuki had stayed. He stayed in Japan. He even made his own dream come true and became a successful pro hero, ranking number 2 –right behind Deku, but always competing with him for the first spot that goes up and down between the two. Like he always wanted.

You both got what you wanted. Except not all.

He doesn’t understand why he is here, in front of your little coffee shop crossing the street. Maybe he just wants a peek at you, a short glance at who you’ve become. Yet he knows. He knows you’re the freaking best. He knows you’re successful, you have always been fucking number one at everything you did. And your little business isn’t the exception. It is the talk of the city. He even saw a publicity of it on the TV yesterday. He had smiled proudly, thinking, “That’s my girl”. He had slapped his face in correction. You weren’t his anymore. He was not yours anymore. You two weren't together any-fucking-more.

Yet, here he is, yearning for a little glimpse of you like the air he needs to live.

It’s very late at night, it shouldn’t be even possible for you to be at the little shop at this hour. But if he knows you better, which he fucking does, he knows you’re there. Staying after hours to clean and let everything be prepped for the next day, like the overachiever little thing you are and always have been.

When Katsuki finally raises his head and looks, his eyes find you with ease. Your shop has glass walls, so it isn’t very difficult to distinguish where you are inside and what you’re doing. Your little form comes and goes around the empty shop, putting the last little Christmas decorations around. He chuckles, he was right, you’re still there. Figures.

He watches from a distance like he has been doing for the last month. He hadn’t run into you yet, considering his apartment is on the other side of the city –and fuck, yes, he has been avoiding patrols on this side where your coffee shop is. Call him a coward, he doesn’t fucking care. However, Izuku had bumped into you. He said you hugged him tightly, almost cried even, saying how much you have missed everyone. It made Katsuki wonder if he was included.

He snorts. Wouldn’t his wretched heart love that. Fucking masochist.

Katsuki watches you struggle a bit with an old ladder that you set right at the open door of the shop, clearly intending to climb it, decorations on your hands to put right over the frame. He frowns when you climb two steps and the ladder trembles. Fuck, you're fucking serious?? It’s pretty clear the thing is old enough to already be made barbecue fire. Why the hell do you have that thing?? After you’ve climbed almost half of it and still don’t reach the frame, the stupid ladder shaking like is about to fucking break under you, his worry said enough. His legs move fast, almost without will, but fully knowing you’re about to kiss the fucking floor thanks to that old ladder if he doesn’t move quickly.

When he gets closer, he hears the distinctive crack of wood and your small worried gasp as you fall. You never get to touch the floor, because Bakugou Katsuki is already there, catching you on time.

Your eyes find his, opened wide in surprise. The warmth you used to hold in them is still there, capturing him like a moth stuck in honey, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“Kat– Bakugou…” The almost slip of his name doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you, tinting your cheeks in a cute shade of pink. Ah, yes, the little sparks inside his being you produced every time you even looked at him are still there too. He thought he had already extinguished them. But no, they’re still there.

“H-hi,” he wanted his voice to sound more sure, more firm. Yet it sounded like his throat was dry and constricted. Like he was holding back a fucking cry –which is true.

His eyes are glued to yours, his arms hold you tight against his body as both your breathing go back to normal. He doesn’t want to be the first one to break with any contact, so he waits. He enjoys this little bubble that’s been created between you two after years of not knowing anything about each other. Of being so far away from each other that Katsuki felt for the first time the piercing cold everyone talks about in winter. It literally felt like years of winter for him. A cold and merciless winter that made his heartache burn. And now, a simple touch, a closeness of your body to his, and he feels like spring just bloomed again.

How fucking pathetic of him.

“Hi,” you finally answer back, your breath colliding with his face. He breathes it in, feeling like that is just all he needs to survive –at least for one more second. The shy smile that adorns your face makes him want to smother you in kisses all over your face like he used to do. But he can’t. He fucking can’t now.

“I… Thanks,” your beautiful smiling eyes make him want to punch his stomach so the damn butterflies stop fluttering.

“Your ladder was fucking old,” he complains, putting your feet back on the ground.

Your giggles sound like the symphony of heaven in Katsuki’s ears.

“I know, I shouldn’t have trusted it would help me at all.”

“You could have had a stupid accident, dumbass,” he squats to pick up the broken pieces of the ladder and what was left of it under your watch.

He doesn’t see the way you smile at him, but he hears you say, “Some things never change, huh?”

You’re right. His feelings for you would never change. And, fucking hell, he tried. He tried so hard not to feel anything for you all these years. Yet every mention of your name made him melt like a weak ass marshmallow in a hot chocolate drink. He even found himself daydreaming about seeing you, talking to you, touching you in any way you would let him.

Again, how fucking pathetic.

Bakugou Katsuki hasn’t stopped loving you since the day you parted ways.

It had been a mutual decision. He was very focused on his training and work to be a pro hero; lots of agencies wanted him to join. You were surrounded by options too, yet you decided to quit any hero dream you once had and chose to live a mundane, quiet life. That’s when Thirteen offered to speak of you to a colleague in the USA for a scholarship to join a cooking course. Katsuki saw your eyes shine lively, happy when you told him.

He knew then and there that you were going away from him. And he was not going to stop you. You had your dream, he had his. He was never going to make you choose between him and your dream. Because if he had to pick between you and his own, he would have picked his dream. Don’t misunderstand, he loved you, and still does, to death. But both of you were young, kids trying to find a path in the new world left after the war. Healing, failing, succeeding. Sometimes tripping down and getting back up. You were simply kids trying to understand life. Not that it has been any easier as adults, on the contrary. But now the circumstances are different. All of you have matured, gotten wise even. And it’s that same wisdom that made Katsuki not reach out to you again, despite his all-consuming feelings for you.

Bakugou Katsuki is now pro hero Dynamight, one of the most successful heroes of this generation. Which also means, he is a target most of the time. Villains hate him as much as he hates them.

Katsuki would cut his own hands himself if something ever happened to you, especially if it was because of him.

“Where do you want this trash?” He asks standing up and looking back at you. Your eyes shine, glassy and watering looking under the night lights. His chest tightens when he realizes you’re holding back tears. Fuck, he can’t look at you, or he’ll start fucking crying too.

“T-there’s… umm…” you clear your throat, trying to find your normal voice. “There’s a small closet at the back of the shop, on the left side. Just throw it there.”

Katsuki nods, entering the nice coffee shop and following your directions. This whole interaction is more than he expected, more than he hoped for. He has been watching you from afar, like a pathetic stalker. Avoiding to breathe in the same direction you did. Because of this.

The tears. The yearning. The fucking love that clouded every sense in him. All for you.

When he walks back to the front of the shop, he finds you sitting at one of the small tables for two. You’re holding a cup of something, and another waits for him in the seat in front of you.

Katsuki takes one deep breath in before walking towards where you are. He sits but you don’t look at him, you’re looking down at the cup between your small hands. He slightly smiles, he knows what you’re doing. Your hands are always cold, so you like holding the cup between your hands with anything warm in it to try to warm them. You have done this since he could remember, and that thought makes his insides sparkle. You haven’t changed at all.

Yet many things have changed.

The sweet and warm smell of hot chocolate fills his nostrils, and the smile widens on his face as he sees the contents of his cup. Katsuki isn’t the type to like sweet things, yet your hot chocolate has always been his weakness.

He hasn’t had it in years, since you moved away to another continent, so he can avoid to enjoy quite thoroughly the first sip. And yeah, it tastes just as he remembers. All you.

There’s silence. He doesn’t push a conversation and neither do you. You both just drink your hot cocoa and wait. Wait for anyone to gather some courage and say something.

There’s so much to say, so much to ask, so much to answer. Yet the bubble is nice and cozy, Katsuki really doesn’t want to be the one to pop it.

Right at the last sip of the drink, you are the one who decides to finally pop the bubble.

“I know,” it’s all you say, and Katsuki understands it perfectly.

You know he has been around. You know he has been watching from afar, carefully protecting you from the shadows. You know he has sent Izuku and Eijirou more times than he cares to admit just so he knew you were okay, safe. You know it had been Katsuki the one who dealt with that piece of trash who left the shop without paying and sent the money via mailing to you. You know he was the one who hung the big sign of your shop after it fell due to a strong windy day. You know he has been aware of every one of your moves around the shop for a month.

You know.

“I was… I didn’t want to-...” His voice breaks when he looks up and sees the tears running down your cheeks. His own eyes fill with uncontrollable tears he knows he won’t be able to hold back any longer either.

For the first time, Katsuki thinks his heart won’t survive this.

Despite this, he smiles genuinely at you and asks, “H-how have you been doing?”

You don’t break eye contact as you clean the tears from your face and murmur a simple, “Good.”

Katsuki knows himself well, and he knows he is a complete bastard. Because it pisses him off. It makes him mad that you’re good when he carries this turmoil of feelings for you that are making him go insane day by day.

He feels his insides bursting, all the emotions spilling out from his being pathetically as he cries in front of you. “Really?” One nod in answer. And he can’t stand looking at your facade of neutral features as tears keep escaping your eyes in betrayal.

Katsuki snorts, forearms leaning over the table and his head hanging low, “Why it fuckin’ annoys me that you’re doing well? Damn it.”

“You don’t actually mean that…”

“I do, I always mean everything I fuckin’ say,” he leans back against the chair, eyes going back to yours. His probably are even redder thanks to his tears, just like yours already look puffy from yours.

Katsuki decides then that this is the moment. This is the moment to finally pour out everything he has been carrying inside for you.

“Because you see, as I’m sure you’re aware now, day by fuckin’ day, I’m dying a little more inside without you. And you’re just– doing well.”

The sudden cry that leaves your being makes him want to hold you, and the little sobs only sink him more into the pit of feelings he named ‘Y/N’. Because he hasn’t been able to get out of it, nor has he actually put enough effort to, swimming there painfully pleasantly.

And yet… there you are. Doing well.

So well, that you are going to marry another guy.

Katsuki stretches his arm over the table and reaches without struggle the wrist of one of your hands that hides your crying face. You let him bring that hand toward the table, and he holds it in between his. He smiles again; he was right, your hands are always cold.

“Y-you waited…” you weep, your other hand resting over your chest, right where your heart is.

He nods, “I waited…”

You close your eyes, head going to a side and sobbing again. It hurts him so much to see you like this, just as much as the thought of another man being the carer of that precious heart of yours.

“Oh, Katsuki…”

The way you whimper his name like it physically hurts you, made him want to vomit. It brought a new deep pain to his chest that he doubts he is ever going to recover from.

There’s silence again, both of you sniffing and trying to gather your emotions back in control.

He doesn’t know why he came here. Probably he needed a confirmation of what Izuku told him after his first encounter with you.

“She’s going to marry, Kacchan,” Izuku’s words had been like an ice-cold bucket of water thrown at his back, leaving him breathless and distressed. But it didn’t compare with the next bomb, “because she’s pregnant. She wanted the ceremony to be here, in commemoration of her parents.”

He pucked right then and there; Izuku being the best fucking friend he always has been tended to Katsuki’s breakdown that day. The nerd even held him in a tight hug as he bawled his soul out.

But again, the pain doesn’t compare to the living proof right in front of his eyes now.

The hand he’s holding in between his is the one where an engagement ring adorns your beautiful finger. A ring that should have been from him, and not that other guy.

The very discreet little bump on your abdomen he got to feel when he caught you when you fell from the old ladder makes him boil with frustration. That should have been his little brat inside you, and not the other guy’s.

Bakugou Katsuki really feels like a sword has stroked right through the middle of his heart.

And it doesn’t matter anymore, he’s going to die watching from afar how the love of his life is being united to another guy. Well, you already are.

Ah.

Katsuki didn’t mind the cold. The quirk his parents gave him made him run hot most of the time.

Yet, from now on, Katsuki thinks he’s going to feel the piercing cold everyone talks about in winter forever.

He thinks he’s going to hate the cold now.

374 notes · View notes

incorrectmarvelquotesss · 14 days ago

Text

— obscured vision —

Warnings: angst, stalking, gun violence, blood, mentions of a fight, illusions of death

Summary: Jason can’t see anything but you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Female Reader

Word Count: ~5.4k

A/N: I wanted it out, so here you are! Enjoy ;)

Jason’s breath turned into vapor in the winter air, his boots slushing and crunching through the wet snow. He barely suppressed a groan as he took another step up, his stitched abdomen protesting with each jarring movement on the stairs.

Taking the fire escape had been a stupid idea, but he’d forgotten his keys and knew the window would be cracked open. His face was hidden beneath his hoodie, his red helmet stuffed in his backpack. A bruised face unhidden by makeup and a hoodie over his head would have to do tonight.

As he tugged the window upward, its stubborn wheels jammed halfway, as usual. He let out a frustrated growl, resting his forehead against the cold glass as his breath fogged it, despite his usual distaste for condensation. His breaths came shallow, each one catching on his aching side, while the city buzzed below him.

His shoulders sagged as he turned, slipping off his backpack and tossing it through the narrow gap with a careless flick. Leaning back against the now wet glass, he closed his eyes, letting the ambient sounds drift around him: a distant siren, a muted shout, the rustle of wind down the alley.

He slid down onto the gritty metal of the fire escape, the rough brick behind him biting into his jacket. He didn’t care. Bruce had been slipping too much cash into his account each month anyway; he could replace any jacket. His mind idly wondered what the others used theirs for.

Between Dick, Tim, and Damian, he was certain he was the only one who knew what it was like to have empty pockets and a cold room as a kid.

He opened his eyes. The alley below was cloaked in shadows, save for the occasional beam of a passing headlight catching on the dumpster. He kept his eyes trained there, letting his head sink back against the sill, neck aching with the effort. He let his gaze drift up at last, tracing the clouds rolling thickly over Gotham’s sky.

He exhaled, and the dampness in the air clung to his face.

It had rained all evening. The snow that everyone had eagerly enjoyed yesterday had turned into slush as it always did. He had lived in Gotham for his whole life—not including the five years he was dead or training with the League of Assassins.

This was how winter had always started. He had never enjoyed the transition from fall to winter, but the lovely winter was worth it.

He shivered as the first icy droplet hit his cheek, reminding him he needed to get inside before he was soaked. Gripping the edge of the window, he braced himself, shoving the glass upward with a strained grunt.

The chill of the window stung his hands as he scrambled through, landing hard on his couch. The throbbing in his side flared, and he bit back a curse, ignoring the muddy tracks he’d left across the carpet.

“Todd,” a familiar voice called from his kitchen.

Jason groaned, head turning just enough to gaze into the dark kitchen. He could make out the faint outline of his youngest brother, Damian, from the small light of the numbers on the stove. “Demon,” he replied smoothly, keeping his tone measured. Every bit of him wanted to tell Damian to leave his place, but there was no fight in him left tonight. “What do you want?”

“Father’s having one of those… nights,” Damian explained with his arms still crossed. Jason noted the kid’s barely visible flinch. If Jason squinted, he could make out the shape of a backpack on Damian’s back. “I needed a place to stay.”

“And you chose mine over Dick’s?” Jason asked with one of his eyebrows raised. It was rare for Tim or Damian to crash at his apartment rather than Dick’s for when Bruce was having one of those bad nights where he kept snapping at them and Alfred.

The last time Tim had crashed at his, it was because Dick was off-planet.

Damian managed a shrug as he walked closer. “I needed someone quiet.” Damian muttered, barely audible. But Jason heard it, even over the hum of his refrigerator. Damian’s hand reached out and he flicked the living room light on swiftly, watching with an amused smirk as Jason squinted against the sudden harsh lighting.

“Turn that off, brat,” Jason grumbled out, voice rumbling through the somewhat area. Damian, in his usual fashion, ignored Jason. He looked around the apartment, nose wrinkling as he took in the mess; laundry piles, books, take out bags, anything to everything was lying around.

“You’re getting tardy, Todd.” Damian’s nose wrinkled a bit more as his eyes snagged on the muddy footprints Jason had just tracked in. He kicked over a pile of laundry mercilessly. Damian’s eyes darted to Jason’s bedroom door and then back to Jason. “Where’s Y/N?”

Jason’s chest tightened, the room seeming colder than before. He averted his gaze, shoulders slumping as he leaned back into the couch cushions. Just hearing your name reopened the wound he’d been trying to bury. Only a week since the fight, yet it felt like months. Every day was a hollow routine, made worse by your absence.

“She’s not here right now,” Jason muttered out, the words like bile on his tongue. He didn’t meet Damian’s gaze as he spoke. He knew what Damian would say if he knew why you weren’t here.

Damian crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “What did you do, Todd?”

Jason could feel the judgement radiating from the younger teen. His own mind was spewing a bunch of nonsense about how he didn’t deserve you and it’d be better if he had let you go for good. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see your clothes in his closet. Maybe then the second toothbrush in the bathroom wouldn’t be so glaringly vibrant. Maybe then he could ignore the judgement on Damian’s face.

“Nothing,” Jason grumbled, his eyes cast on the mud tracks. “I didn’t—”

“Bullshit, Todd.” Damian’s voice was just as harsh as Jason thought it would be. “She couldn’t have just up and left you.” That was the harder truth to swallow for him. The fact that if he hadn’t messed up, you would have been here. You probably would have already fed and tucked Damian into the spare bedroom before waiting out here for him.

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Demon—”

“As much as we all hate to admit it, she loves you for a reason I don’t understand.”

“Damian,” Jason cut in harshly. “It doesn’t matter. She’s gone, okay?”

Damian’s face turned harder, frown deepening. “But—”

“I said, shut up.” Jason’s words were sharp as glass, each syllable flaring the ache in his side. He inhaled deeply, willing himself not to think about you, about your absence that seemed to seep into every corner of the apartment.

He’d even used your shampoo this morning, clinging to the fading scent. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as he fought to stay grounded. He inhaled deeply, trying not to think about you or the fact that you weren’t here, sleeping in his bed, in his room.

Damian glared back, silence filling the air between them. Finally, with a curt nod, he muttered, “Goodnight, Todd.”

Jason offered a brief nod in return, his throat tight. Damian disappeared into the guest room, the door clicking softly shut behind him. Alone again, Jason let his head fall back against the couch, eyes stinging under the bright lights. He didn’t bother turning them off, didn’t bother kicking off his boots.

Without you there, urging him to get up or scolding him for the mess, he sank deeper into the quiet, heavy ache of the night, eyes fixed on the ceiling as he told himself the sting was only from the light.

The faint buzz from his pocket tugged him back to the present, cutting through the haze of his thoughts like a blade. He sighed, a soft curse slipping past his lips as he fumbled for the phone. If it was Tim asking for a place to crash again, he might just let it ring out.

But as his eyes flicked to the screen, the air shifted in his lungs. Your face—peeking over a book in the picture he’d taken months ago��stared back at him. His hand stilled, heart lurching in a way that made his ribs ache. His thumb moved on instinct, swiping to answer.

He pressed the phone to his ear, his voice betraying him with a crack. “Hey, sweetheart. You okay?” The way the question splintered in his throat made him wince. He hadn’t heard your voice in days, and the ache of your absence pressed heavier than the bruises littering his body.

He clenched his jaw to keep himself steady, to not let the desperation seep through. But all he could think about now was how good it would feel to hear you say his name again, soft and familiar.

“Jason,” you breathed. The sound of your voice over the line sent a wave of relief and something sharper through him. There was strain beneath it, though—like a string pulled too tight, ready to snap. His shoulders stiffened, the dull burn of his battered muscles forgotten as he sat straighter.

“What’s wrong?” The question came low and urgent, his tone dipping into something darker. His hand tightened on the phone as he heard the hesitation in your next breath.

“I think… someone’s following me,” you whispered. The tremor in your voice tightened his chest, his pulse thudding harder. In the background, the sharp crackle of a passing vehicle echoed through the phone, every sound amplified in his ears.

Jason stood, ignoring the protest of his battered body. His stitches pulled, a faint sting blooming at his side, but he didn’t care. He crouched to grab his backpack, the weight of his helmet inside grounding him as the panic in your voice lingered in his ears.

“Where are you?” His words came quick, the edges rougher than he intended. His heartbeat roared, drowning out everything else. Screw logistics. Screw the rest he’d planned tonight or the fact that Damian would have to hunt him down if he woke up. None of that mattered. Not when you were out there alone, afraid.

You rattled off a street intersection near your campus he knew very well. He could practically smell the sweet scent of sugar and the bitter taste of coffee from the cafe near where you were. He had picked you up so many times before for this one class.

He cursed himself mentally as he tried to shake the guilt of not being there right now, regardless of the fact that you two had fought. You were his girl.

He strode to the window, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the glass as if sheer will could bridge the distance between you. “Stay on the phone with me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone softer but no less intense. “I'm coming to get you.”

“Okay,” came your soft reply, fear embedded into the one word. He let out a deep breath as he pushed open the window, ignoring the burning sensation that made his teeth clench. The cool night air hit Jason like a slap as he swung himself onto the fire escape, his movements swift despite the dull fire in his muscles. The phone stayed pressed to his ear, your breathing on the other end the only thing grounding him.

He cursed himself for every moment he’d wasted, every second he wasn’t already there.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice steadier now, though his body was alight with adrenaline.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a hitch in your breath, a telltale sign of you trying to hold it together. It broke something deep inside him. His chest ached again.

“Good. Keep talking to me,” he said as he climbed down, his boots landing with a soft thud on the alley pavement. His bike wasn’t far. He broke into a jog, ignoring the way his body protested, his stitches pulling tight beneath his jacket. “What do you see? Anyone around?”

“No, just... cars parked on the street. A few lights on in the apartments above the shops. It’s quiet,” you said, your voice trembling. He heard the little exhale you let out, evidently overwhelmed and scared. He could almost imagine you, shoulders curling in and phone pressed to your ear with that little pinch in your brows.

Jason grit his teeth, his free hand curling into a fist. He hated this—the vulnerability in your tone, the fear lacing every word. You weren’t supposed to sound like this. Not his girl. Not because someone was too stupid to know who they were messing with.

“You’re doing great,” he said, his voice dropping into something softer as he reached his bike. He stuffed his hoodie into the bag, the red bat symbol now on display. He yanked the red helmet free from his bag, tossing it on with practiced ease. “Just keep walking, sweetheart. I’m right behind you.”

The lie slipped out so easily he almost believed it himself. But you didn’t call him on it. Instead, you exhaled shakily again, the sound like static in his ear.

“Jason,” you whispered, his name barely audible over the distant hum of an engine passing you. He closed his eyes briefly at the slight comfort you saying his name brought him.

“I’m here,” he said firmly, his voice steady and sure even as his heartbeat thundered. He started the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

The streets of Gotham blurred past him as he sped through the city, the cold wind biting at his skin. Every turn brought him closer, but it wasn’t fast enough. He knew that intersection—the alleyways, the blind corners, the spots where someone could lurk unseen. He was thinking in a way he hadn’t done since Damian was kidnapped by his grandfather. All the ways he could protect you, hold you near him when he reached you.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone firmer now. “Do you have the gun I gave you?” His stomach lurched as he asked the question, the thought of you needing it pushing bile into his throat. He had given it to you, but he had also mentioned that you would never need to use it.

Now he was left contemplating his promise to you. The promises of protection, of caring, of loving you falling hollow.

There was a beat of silence on the line, and Jason’s grip on the handlebars tightened, his knuckles whitening. The roar of the bike’s engine couldn’t drown out the pounding in his ears as he waited for your answer.

“Yes,” you finally said, your voice trembling. “It’s in my bag.” Relief warred with something darker in his chest. He was glad you had it, but the fact you might need it made his stomach churn. He hated this—hated that he couldn’t reach through the phone and pull you into his arms, hated the way his promises felt like empty echoes now.

“Good,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even as he leaned into a sharp turn, the tires skidding slightly on the slick Gotham streets. “Keep it close, sweetheart, but don’t touch it unless you have to. Do you understand?” The rain started pouring down a bit faster.

“Okay,” you whispered, the word fragile and uncertain, but he clung to it like a lifeline.

The city blurred past him—neon lights bleeding into shadows, the cold air slicing against his exposed skin. He weaved between cars, reckless but controlled, every second bringing him closer. But it still felt like miles too far. Too far from you.

“I’m so sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have called you. I just—I didn’t know who else—”

“Hey,” he cut you off sharply, the bike screeching to a halt for a moment as he waited for a light to change. When they didn’t change a second later, he ran the red lights. He didn’t care about the looks he got from passing drivers, the chaos of the city fading into the background. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for calling me. You did the right thing, okay? You call me every damn time, no matter what.”

You didn’t respond, but he could hear the faint hitch in your breathing, the sound tightening something deep inside him. He softened his tone, the rough edges smoothing out.

“Sweetheart, listen to me,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “I’m yours. You get that? Doesn’t matter what we’ve said or what’s happened. You call me, I come running. Every time. No questions. No hesitations.”

A few moments passed in just laboured and shaky breaths. “I’m almost there,” he said, the words coming out like a promise. And this time, he’d keep it.

The rain intensified, turning the streets into slick ribbons of black and gold. Jason’s tires kicked up sprays of water as he pushed the bike harder, weaving through the chaotic Gotham traffic like a man possessed. The world outside the phone call didn’t exist—only you, your shaky breaths and the distance he was tearing apart to get to you.

He didn’t care that he would most likely wake up with a dozen missed calls from Bruce to reprimand his behaviour in public as Red Hood. He could deal with that tomorrow.

“Tell me what’s around you now,” he demanded, his voice steady but lined with urgency. He could see the tallest building of your campus now, the red lights dim in the neon signs surrounding it.

“Um...” Your breath hitched again, the sound rattling through his chest. “I just passed the café. I can see the bookstore across the street. There’s... there’s an alley up ahead. Jason, I—”

“Don’t go near it,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening. He could picture the intersection perfectly now—the dim street lights barely cutting through the fog of rain, the shadows pooling in places no one should walk alone. “Stay in the light, sweetheart. Keep moving, but don’t rush. Just act natural, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the faint sound of your steps echoing faintly through the phone. The roar of his bike echoed off the buildings as he turned onto your street, his heart pounding with every beat that he wasn’t by your side. He could see the café sign now, its neon glow muted by the rain.

“I see the café,” you said, your voice so soft he almost missed it.

“I see it too,” Jason replied, relief flooding his tone as he spotted you a few paces ahead. Your figure was small under the weight of the storm, your bag clutched tightly at your side. He could see the trench coat you were wearing and the half-broken umbrella in your hands.

But he wasn’t the only one who’d spotted you. His eyes locked on a shadow moving behind you, too deliberate to be a casual passerby. The figure lingered near the edge of the light, pacing a little too perfectly with your steps.

Jason’s jaw clenched, his vision tunneling. “Sweetheart, don’t look back,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Just keep walking toward the bookstore. I’m right behind you now.”

You hesitated, your steps faltering slightly. “Jason—”

“Trust me,” he said, his tone firm but pleading. “I’ve got you.”

He cut the engine and dismounted the bike in one fluid motion, his boots splashing onto the wet pavement. The rain poured around him, soaking through his jacket, but he didn’t feel it. His focus was locked on the man trailing you.

Jason’s hand hovered near his holster, his movements smooth and deliberate as he closed the distance between him and the stranger. The man was too preoccupied with you to notice the Red Hood stalking behind him, and Jason intended to keep it that way—until it was too late.

Jason moved with the precision of a predator, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. The man trailing you was oblivious to his approach until it was too late. In one swift, silent motion, Jason’s arm locked around the stranger’s neck, earning a quick struggle before the man managed to kick out of his grasp.

Jason’s eyes flared as he threw a punch. The man staggered back, his hand shooting for his waistband, but Jason was already on him. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the nearby wall, the impact rattling the alley.

Jason felt a faint shift in the air—a movement too fast, too sharp to be ignored. He spun, his instincts screaming just as a second man emerged from the shadows, his gun raised and aimed straight at Jason’s chest. The man behind Jason kicked his knee, effectively knocking Jason to his knees.

Jason’s breath left him in a sharp hiss as the kick collided with his knee, sending a jolt of pain through his leg. He stumbled but caught himself, barely, his body teetering on the edge of collapse. His eyes locked onto the gun aimed at his chest, the barrel glinting in the dim light of the alley. His eyes flickered between the gun and the man. The man from behind cackled.

The gunman took a step closer, the cold muzzle pressing against the red bat symbol on his chest. “Red Hood. Saving pretty girls, huh? Thought you used to be above all that.”

Jason’s jaw tightened, his muscles coiling in preparation, but the pain in his knee was a constant reminder that he was in no position to fight back easily. The gunman’s words cut through the night, a taunt designed to throw him off balance. But Jason wasn’t going to let that happen. Not tonight.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” Jason said, his voice low, threatening, as he forced his back a little straighter, despite the throbbing pain. His fingers twitched at his side, inching closer to his own gun.

Just as the gunman took another step, a rustle from the other side of the alley caught Jason’s attention. A flash of movement, a shadow that wasn’t there before. It was enough to shift the gunman’s focus, just for a split second. That was all it took. Before the gunman could react, a loud crack echoed in the alley. The force of the shot sent the man reeling back, his body crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.

Jason swiveled around, kicking out the man’s legs from him and then knocking him out. Jason’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes darting to the source of the shot. There you were, just an arm’s length away now. Coming to a stop in the alley, your hand shaking slightly as you lowered the gun, still aimed in the direction of the man who had just fallen. Your chest heaved as you stared at the limp body, the weight of what you had just done settling over you.

Jason’s chest tightened, the relief of survival and the shock of what had just happened colliding in a heavy rush. He had no words at first—only a stunned silence that rang louder than any sound in the night. His knees still were firmly pressing down onto the pavement. His hands reached for the gun, gently pulling it from your grasp and sliding it into an empty holster. He held your hand a bit tighter.

His hand pulled you lower, closer, tugging until there was barely an inch left between the two of you. His gaze left the body on the wet cement, falling upon your wet hair and trailing down your face slowly to your lips. His chest heaved with exertion against yours. His eyes snapped up to yours, watching you keep your gaze on the body. One gloved hand pulled the back of your neck to move your head to face him. He ducked his head to block the sight of the body.

“Hey,” he murmured, his eyes trying to snap you out of the trance you were in. “Hey, look at me, sweetheart.” His thumb brushed against your cheek, the rough material of his leather doing nothing to hide the heat emitting from the two of you.

The action seemed to break your trance, wide and fearful eyes meeting his through his helmet. Your hands came up to deftly take it off, fingers more steady than your panicked breathing. He let you take it off, silently letting you raise it above his head and pull it away from his face. A sob tore out of your lips just as his gaze met yours.

“Sweetheart.”

Jason’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, his own breath catching in his throat. He had never seen you like this—so vulnerable, so shaken by what you had just done. He could feel the tension in the air, thick with the weight of the moment. Your eyes, wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, searched his face for something—reassurance, perhaps, or just some kind of grounding.

He gently reached for your trembling hands, cupping them in his own, his gloved fingers brushing over your skin in a pattern. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice unsteady, but soft. “You did what you had to do.”

But you shook your head, your breath still ragged as you took in the scene around you. The gunman, still lying motionless, the echoes of the gunshot ringing in your ears. It had all happened so fast—too fast for you to fully process. He swallowed thickly, not caring about the fact that he was still in costume without his helmet on with you in an alleyway.

Instead, he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as he sought to anchor you. “Look at me,” he urged again, his voice low and steady, trying to cut through the whirlwind of your thoughts. He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. It was a gentle way forcing your eyes away from the body, blocking all of your sight of the body on the pavement.

His eerily green eyes stared into your teary ones.

Your hands, still trembling, found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his suit as if it was the only thing holding you together. The silence between you both stretched, heavy with everything unsaid, everything unprocessed. But his presence, his touch, was grounding you, even if it didn’t take away the storm inside you.

Slowly, you met his eyes, your breathing steadier now. The pain in your chest didn’t fade, but it became something more bearable, something you could hold onto.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, the words faltering at the edges.

Jason’s eyes softened, his hand gently pulling you even closer. “You didn’t have a choice, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “You saved me. You saved us.”

Jason cradled your head and pulled your face into the crook of his neck. His eyes darted to the limp body, studying it for a moment before he noticed the slight movement of his chest. He kissed your hair. “He’s alive, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your temple, dropping another kiss, lips lingering.

Your body stiffened, but Jason’s arms only tightened around you, offering comfort in the midst of your confusion and guilt. You could feel his heartbeat under your ear, steady and reassuring, as his fingers gently threaded through your hair. It was grounding, but the overwhelming emotions still churned inside of you like a storm.

“Alive,” you repeated, your voice faint and distant as you pulled back just enough to look at him. The weight of the word felt heavier than it should have, the knowledge that the danger wasn’t fully over, that the man you had just shot was still breathing.

Jason’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with something unreadable. “Yeah. But you did what you had to do. You protected yourself. You protected me.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still gripping the front of his suit like a lifeline, as if the very fabric of him was the only thing keeping you grounded in reality. The thoughts were swirling too fast, too loud in your head. You weren’t sure how to process it all—the gunshot, the blood, the adrenaline still pumping in your veins.

Jason seemed to sense your inner turmoil, his hand moving down your back in a slow, calming motion, like he was trying to steady you, keep you from slipping. “You’re okay,” he murmured softly, his lips brushing the top of your head again. “We’re okay.”

But you weren’t so sure. Everything felt wrong. You had just almost taken someone’s life, even if it had been in self-defense. Your stomach churned with nausea, and you clung to Jason’s chest, hiding your face against him, letting his presence shield you from the reality of the situation.

You steadied your breathing and looked up at him, ignoring the urge to look back at the limp bodies. “What—what’re we supposed to do now?”

Jason’s expression softened further, a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he saw the fear still clouding your gaze. He gently tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes, trying to anchor you in the present moment. “First thing’s first,” he said quietly, his voice steady but with an edge of urgency. “We get you out of here.”

His hand didn’t leave your chin, his thumb brushing against your skin in slow, soothing motions. But there was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the sharpness in his movements. He was calculating, already thinking several steps ahead, but he made sure you felt none of it. His focus was entirely on you now.

“The police’ll show up soon,” he murmured, his voice low, almost unreadable. “I’ll tell Oracle—Barbara what happened. She’ll handle it.” He raked his hand through your hair, staring down at you in concern.

You nodded, still unsure, still reeling from everything that had just happened. The reality of the situation was setting in—the cold, harsh aftermath of your actions. You hadn’t just fired a weapon; you’d taken control of a life. Even if it was in self-defense, the gravity of that decision was heavier than any physical injury.

“We can’t be here when they do. We don’t need to explain any of this to them. Not tonight.” He glanced toward the fallen man, his jaw tightening.

“What about him?” you asked, your voice small, trembling, though you immediately regretted it. The man you’d shot, his life still hanging by a thread. His future, whatever that was now, was out of your hands, but you couldn’t ignore the guilt crawling under your skin.

Jason's eyes darkened slightly at your question, but his expression remained controlled, calm. He didn't immediately answer, his gaze lingering on the fallen man for a moment before he looked back at you. The faintest of sighs escaped his lips, but his tone was resolute. “I’ll take care of him,” he said quietly. “He won’t be a threat to us. Not again.”

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down your spine, but you didn’t flinch away from him. Jason’s world was one of calculated decisions, harsh realities, and necessary actions. You’d seen glimpses of that before—the man who operated in shadows, whose choices often weighed heavy, but always with purpose.

Your heart still raced, the guilt and uncertainty gnawing at you, but you forced yourself to breathe steadily, pushing the questions from your mind for now. The sound of distant sirens began to echo through the alley, too close for comfort, and Jason’s grip on you tightened just a fraction.

He gave you a small, reassuring nod. “We need to move. Now.” Without waiting for another word, Jason gently pulled you with him, leading you further down the alley. The sounds of the night seemed muffled, your mind still focused on the chaos you’d just left behind. But with each step you took away from the scene, the weight of the situation shifted.

You weren’t in control of it—not yet, not fully—but Jason was, and for now, that was enough.

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yuanist · 19 days ago

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kuroo, you think, has been out here for quite a while now.

when you left to go meet with your study group—sometime between six-thirty and seven—the snow was just beginning to pile up. it hadn't started sticking to the roads yet, but you could see the vapor slip from the few leaves left on the trees; a symptom of early winter, you suppose.

now, though, there must be four or five inches out here. the old oak tree that hangs over your building is starting to sag, and the moon seems heavier than it did before, hanging lowly along the glow of street light.

kuroo is sitting on the steps up to your apartment, looking down at his phone. he has more than a few flakes in his hair, and if it wasn't for the ridge in the snow where he'd pushed it aside to sit, you'd think he'd been out here the whole time.

"cold?" you ask, shuffling towards him. you can hear the crunch of your feet under you.

"me? never."

he looks up at you then and, you'll admit, you like seeing him like this. lately, he's been against the whole 'text me before you come over' thing, and you know it's mostly because you don't reply, but, in part, that's so you can see him here.

his hands are half-tucked under the sleeves of his coat, and there's a stretch of pink from the tops of his cheeks to the tip of his nose. his lips are chapped (you can only assume from being out here so often) and there's a little smile tugging at the sides of his mouth, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth.

"oh, you want me to leave you out here then? give you a little more time?" you're smug—or, at least you're trying to be, anyway. the more time you spend with kuroo, the worse you are at pretending you don't like him. recently, you've been failing at that more than you'd care to admit.

"hey, i didn't say that." he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. "plus, what's the point of coming all the way over here if i can't see my favorite girl?"

you shake your head at him, aiming your chin towards the ground. in a strange way, you feel like you're suffocating.

"you mean the cat?" you ask.

and he chuckles, "sure."

a beat of silence hangs in the air for a second, before you plod your way up the steps, pulling your keys out of your pocket. you can hear kuroo rise behind you, attempting to brush some of the moisture out of his sleeves.

"y'know," you say, pushing the key into the door. "if you like coming over when i'm not home so much, i could tell the neighbor to let you in."

his hood rustles; he's shaking his head.

"where's the fun in that? kinda ruins my whole 'mysterious stranger' act."

"also kinda ruins the 'guy stalking the apartment complex' act." you swing the door open and make your way up the stairs. "i'm sure everyone is so enthused by the guy sitting on the stairs every friday."

a laugh, "oh i'm sure. if they report me for loitering promise you'll come bail me out?"

"depends on how much i like you that day." you can feel the heat of your apartment as you approach the end of the hall.

"really," he says. "if they took me in right now?"

"i would think about it." you pause. "maybe."

"wow." you can hear the rasp in his voice as he drags out the 'o.' "tough crowd."

your apartment smells like pine and vanilla—the workings of two little wax melters on opposite sides of the rooms. you turned them off before you left (you double and triple-checked), but the scent lingers, itching at your nose as you cross through the door.

kuroo follows close behind, scaping his shoes off on the mat before slipping them onto the little shoe rack in the corner. his jacket squeaks as he shrugs it off—a sound so distinctly made from the shifting of wet nylon that you barely have to turn around to identify it.

every time he follows you up here, you find yourself glancing around your apartment—looking for something that could possibly be out of place. something incriminating: three-day-old dishes that you know you already washed; your vibrator, forgotten on the nightstand, even though you remember putting it back in its designated drawer.

for some reason, you have a tendency to think that the things around your home that make you distinctly human are also the things that would make you distinctly unappealing. you're aware of how silly the thought is, but there you are, quickly looking over at your nightstand as you stick your coat back in the closet.

"so," you hum, rubbing a bit of the warmth back into your hands. "to what do i owe the pleasure tonight? you here to eat all of my leftovers again?"

"depends," he says. "you have leftovers to be eaten?"

"not this time." you make your way to the couch, and he pouts, following behind you. "but if i did, they'd be all yours."

"aw, you mean it?" you eye him. "i'm honored."

as much as you hate to admit it, this has sort of become habit. you come home a little later than expected and you find kuroo sitting on your front stoop. you're not exactly sure how any of it started—or, really, how the two of you became friends in the first place—but you ran in the same circles for a while and, eventually, you ended up here.

"well," he begins, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. "study group?"

"boring." you nudge your way beneath his shoulder. "practice?"

"thrilling, obviously. greatest two hours of my life, even. i think you could go as far as to—" you eye him again. "same thing as yesterday."

you chuckle, swatting a hand into his chest.

there's silence for a moment, something warm pulling through the air of the room. quiet breaths spill from kuroo's lips, and you resign yourself to listening to each one—in, and out.

he still smells cold; like the heavy, wet snow you have to shovel off of the porch the morning after a blizzard. for every breath, it lessens, bleeding into the heat of the room, but you let the scent linger at the base of your nose.

you're not sure how much time you've spent taking in pieces of kuroo, but you know it's more than you ever plan to tell. you know his hands take longer to warm up than the rest of him—he chalks it up to bad circulation most of the time, you know that too; he rarely spends a night at home because he doesn't like sitting in silence; he twitches sometimes, when he's nervous, a little flick of his hands; his favorite color is red but sometimes he's drawn to deep blues because he likes the sky better when it's absent of stars—he says there's something enchanting about the abyss.

he's too dense to know you're in love with him but too smart to think you're not. sometimes you catch him looking at you after you say something in a tone a little too far beyond friendly and you swear that he knows what you mean. sometimes, you think he's going to break the silence, and, sometimes, you think he never will.

tonight, he swings his head back, eyes lightly shut, slowly sinking into the back of the couch. you can hear the sputter of your vents and the sound of the wind against the windows—snow still trying to fight its way through the glass.

you're going to ask him to stay the night tonight—you already know it. you're going to wake up to him on the couch tomorrow, with his hair messed up, and his eyes half-lidded, and that stupid look on his face that makes you want to slip your tongue into his mouth.

you're going to think about that time you slept together last year—once, after a halloween party—and you're going to think about the way the inside of his mouth tasted; you're going to sink your teeth into your lips so hard that you're going to bleed.

you're going to consider telling him that you love him, that you always have and you think you always will, and then you're going to ask him if he wants coffee instead—hoping the smell of the pot is enough to make your head feel less fuzzy.

you're going to wait, and hope he says something, even though you'll know he never does. and then, next friday, when you come home to him sitting on your front steps, you're going to do it all again.

reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

#hq x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x you #haikyuu #hq!!#aw this is so cute i wrote this one last november and look at us now #early birthday present for my little weirdo methinks

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maneatercore · 1 month ago

Text

𝐢'𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : steve harrington x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you move to hawkins because it's cursed, and what is a curse if not inspiration for art? you plan to spend your days painting and thinking about the macabre. what you don't plan is steve - his perfect smile, the ease of his affection, the inexplicable need you have for him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ minors dni! unprotected piv, oral sex (f receiving), size kink, multiple orgasms, pining, slight breeding kink even though r is on the pill, biting, r is kind of weird and steve loves it

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 5.8k

You’re smoking in the cemetery when Steve first meets you.

You’re wearing all black: tights, leg warmers, and a long sleeve dress. He assumes you’re mourning someone freshly deceased, so he gives you a polite, acknowledging nod when you look at him. You don’t react.

The wind is bitter, biting. The tip of your nose is so cold it’s numb, so you rub at it while you exhale a puff of smoke into the dreary November air. You watch the stranger find the grave he’s looking for, and when he squats down by it and disappears from sight for a few minutes, you go back to reading the names on the tombstones closest to you. Birthdays, death days. You think about how old they were - or how young. You try to picture them in your head.

“It’s cold out here,” a voice says beside you. When you look up, there he is, hands stuffed into his pockets. He’s got a nice face: pretty pink lips and wide eyes framed with long lashes, cold-kissed cheeks flushed deep. His breath fogs in puffs of white vapor. “Do you want to take my jacket? I have another in the car.”

Before you can respond, he's already shrugging out of the garment in question, a brown coat lined with warm-looking sherpa. You leave your cigarette in your mouth and slip into the jacket because that's what he wants you to do. "Thanks," you say around your cig.

"Who are you?" He asks the question in an almost demanding way, but then he catches himself and shakes his head with a grimace. "Sorry. I just haven't seen you around."

"It's okay. I just moved here." You tell him your name. He repeats it back, his voice soft but gruff in all the right places. You decide that you really, really like the sound of your name in his mouth.

"Steve," he introduces himself, then goes to shake your hand. He wants to ask why you're here. Why you'd move to this town while everyone else is trying to get out. Who you know that's dead. Instead, he just says, "Well. Welcome to Hawkins."

"Thanks," you say. It looks like he's going to leave - his car is parked in the street nearby, and he's walking backwards toward it. "Wait. I can't take your jacket."

"If "No, it's fine, take it. I don't want you to freeze out here." He pauses his backwards-walking. Bites at his lip like he's stalling, deciding something. "If you want to give it back, I work at the diner in town.

Basically every day. I make a mean coffee."

You ask, "Are you flirting with me?" and he freezes.

But then you smile, so he gives a nervous little laugh and looks away. "Bad place to flirt, I know. Sorry. I'll see you sometime?"

You nod at him, lips still quirked upwards, and he says something like okay cool bye before he rushes back to his car, clearly shivering.

Steve does make a mean coffee. He asks if you like it sweet, and you do, so he gives you a steaming mug of caramel-colored liquid, still swirling with freshly poured creamer and what looks like cinnamon. You take a sip and sigh deep.

🕯️

Outside, it's gray and gloomy and absolutely frigid, as it so often has been throughout autumn in Hawkins. You wore Steve's jacket all the way inside, until you slipped into the vinyl seat of your booth, and he'd practically tripped over his feet to come and greet you with a million-dollar smile. Now you're listening to his recommendations while the warmth of the coffee in your system spills outward to your limbs.

"And, I mean, the bacon is just... Crazy. You've gotta pour maple syrup over it." He lifts his hand to his head and makes an explosion sound with his lips pursed, fist opening in time with the noise. You snicker at him. "We have the real stuff, like, from the tree, not the other crap. You'll love it. Promise. Are you laughing at me?"

"Yes," you tell him, body shaking with giggles, and he doesn't even look hurt. "'m sorry, you're just funny. I'll take whatever you think is good, okay?"

Just when you notice that Steve's cheeks are tinted the prettiest, faintest shade of pink, he nods, spins around, and disappears into the kitchen.

He comes back ten minutes later with way too much food. There are too many plates to count, piled high with wide, fluffy pancakes, grits slick with butter, pepper-flecked scrambled eggs, and that bacon Steve promises is mind-blowing.

"Steve," you say as he slides the last plate onto the table. Perfectly toasted triangles of bread, with jam and butter. "I cannot eat all of this."

"Take whatever you can't eat to go. It's on me, if you're worried about how much it is. You told me to give you whatever's good, and there's a lot, so..."

"Help me?" You grab one of the napkin-wrapped bundles of silverware and unravel it, eyes on him. He takes in a sharp breath and looks around the diner.

It's Wednesday morning, ten o'clock. There's two other people nursing coffees at the bar, one of them reading a newspaper, the other watching the tiny television fixed to the wall. The emptiness of the place encourages him to slide into the seat opposite you. "Since you asked so nicely," he says, grabbing his own bundle of silverware.

The two of you eat around the assortment of plates, and he's right - everything is good. The bacon, smothered in that "real" maple syrup Steve talked up, is utterly divine. You eat until your stomach feels like it's stretched to double its size, and wash it all down with coffee and orange juice.

"Thoughts?" Steve asks. He wipes a sheen of hash brown grease from his lips with a napkin.

"Good. So good," you say, "but I'm going to need to hibernate after all of this.

"That's how you know it's good ole comfort food." Steve stands up and wipes his hands on his apron, then starts to stack empty plates in a complicated pile. You try to help, but he playfully swats your hand away with a chastising look. "'ll be back," he tells you and rushes off to discard the dishes and grab a few to-go boxes.

He doesn't let you help him pack up the leftovers, nor does he let you even see the price of everything you'd devoured. You try to stuff some cash into the pocket of his apron but he backs away with expert agility.

"First I steal vour iacket. now this? | feel like a leech."

"You're not a leech. I'm buttering you up on purpose."

"Oh?" You grab your discarded scarf from your seat and wrap it loosely around your throat. "And why is that, Steve?"

There's something mischievous sparkling in his eyes. He lets a couple beats pass, then slides over your plastic bag of to-go boxes. "Just welcoming you to Hawkins."

🕯️

You can't make Steve pay for your food and flirt with you on the job forever, and you certainly can't live on pancakes and bacon grease, so the two of you eventually move your hang-outs to non-working hours. You invite him to your place: a shabby little cottage on the edge of the forest, rented for stupid cheap from a family that just wanted to skip town and not worry about selling the house first. You've been here for a month or two, you're not really sure, but you've already settled in nicely. There are old wooden shelves pinned to the walls, sporting half-melted candles in silver holders and a few jars of oddities you've collected over the years: animal bones, butterfly wings, funny-shaped rocks, dried herbs. Long-dead flowers hang in bunches throughout the home, and on nearly every flat surface, there are collections of thoroughly used paint brushes and squeezed tubes of acrylic paint.

Stupidly, you'd tried to hide the countless canvases bearing your paintings in varying states of completion when Steve had first come over. But of course, he'd found them.

"Creepy," he'd mumbled while he browsed through your work. He caught himself sounding rude and stammered, "I mean, in a good way, in a really good way.”

He looked through your paintings for what felt like hours, oohing and ahhing at the whorls of black and violet and scarlet paint, portraits of frightened-looking women and blood-splattered angel wings.

Even though Steve must've already known you were somewhat... Odd, given your choice of clothing and jewelry and makeup, the sight of him taking in your art made your palms sweat. Because what if it was too much? What if he thought you were too strange?

Instead, he'd turned to you with a lightbulb-moment expression. "I should introduce you to Will, a friend of mine. He paints. He'd probably love this stuff. It's good."

And that had been enough to keep you from worrying that he'd run for the hills from you, yelling burn the witch!

Now, it seems silly that you could ever doubt Steve's interest in you. He comes by your house a few times a week, brings you leftover sweets from the diner that he promises were free of charge. He leaves you notes on the kitchen table that you never seem to catch him writing, and calls you on the days when he's too tired after work to come over. He wipes chocolate frosting from the corners of your lips and massages your forearms while you hum along to the mixtape you'd made for him, An Intro to Real Music, darkwave beats thrumming in the close quarters of your home. He makes your heartbeat feel unsteady.

"I have a stupid question," he tells you today, as one song peters out from the speakers and the next begins. He's rubbing circles in your arms, and the warmth of his touch is so comforting you think you could fall asleep like this.

"Hm?"

"What do you look like without your makeup?"

You can kind of hear him hold his breath. Truthfully, it's not a stupid question. Not when you wear black kohl eyeliner like it's going out of style, smudged all around your eyes and pointed outward at the inner and outer corners. You cover your face with foundation a shade or two too light, and your lipstick is always a smear of deep, wine red. Still, it's sweet that he thinks he's being insensitive.

"Normal. Boring, I guess. Why? You wanna see?"

"Seriously? No, no, it's fine. I was just... Wondering. Dunno." His hands find one of yours, and he rubs his thumbs into your palms to relieve the tension there.

Tension you didn't even know was there.

You peer up at him and smile, eyes finding his. "You wanna see. Okay, hold on."

Standing up from the cheap, rickety couch in the living room, you make your way to the bathroom and rifle through your cabinets for a container of Pond's lotion. It takes a good while to rub away all the makeup, but you're patient with it, and eventually you emerge from the bathroom makeup-free, skin shiny with moisture. Steve is still on the couch, and it looks like he's biting his nails when he looks up and sees you.

You gesture to your face and murmur a little ta-da! as you climb back onto the couch beside him. His arm snakes around your shoulders and he uses his free hand to pinch your chin, just to angle your face perfectly for his viewing. "God," he says.

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"Good, good," Steve rushes out, "I think you're just as pretty. But it's different. I like you both ways, I think."

You smile shyly at him, not really knowing what to say. The mixtape plays a few more songs while the two of you slip back into conversation. Steve is curious about you, and you feel the same about him, so you take turns trading little life anecdotes. He learns that you came to Hawkins because it's cheap and you felt drawn to its paranormal allure - you know, being cursed and all. You learn that he's lived here his whole life, long before it started getting...

Weird.

You don't ask him why he doesn't leave. The people he talks about, his friends, his found family, are clearly important to him. And they've stayed. Steve strikes you as one of the most loyal people you've ever met.

🕯️

It snows for the first time of the season in late November. You wake up to it that Sunday morning, pulling open the curtains and seeing flurries cascading down to the gray-brown earth. You get a fire going in the living room, poking at the flames with the set of wrought iron tools by the fireplace.

The phone rings.

"Hello," you say into the phone. You already know who it is - you don't get calls from anyone else.

"Did you look outside yet?"

"Mhm, it's pretty. I'm freezing." You twist your finger around the coiled cord of the landline, listening and agreeing in all the right moments as Steve invites himself over for coffee and banana bread. Both of which are provided by him.

When you hear the hum of his car engine outside, you wrap a blanket around yourself and swing open the front door to greet him. He's clad in a puffy jacket and a blue flannel underneath, nose beet red as he rushes through the door with a glass dish covered by aluminum foil. "Hi," you say and he shifts the dish to one hand to give you a quick hug. "Hi," he says back.

You both agree that the warmest place in your tiny is the rug next to the fireplace, so the two of you lay out some blankets and pillows there to share breakfast. The banana bread is, like, ridiculously good.

"Did you make this?" You cover your mouth to keep from spitting out a crumb while you talk.

Steve snorts. "No, my mom did. Sorry to disappoint."

You stop chewing and give him a funny look. "She made it... For me?"

"Oh, uh. No. I kind of swiped it from the kitchen this morning." He breaks eye contact and looks very focused on a speck of dirt or dust or lint on his jeans. It almost looks like he winces at himself. You hum your response, not really surprised by his admission. You swallow a mouthful of banana bread and chase it with some coffee. "I don't really talk to my parents," Steve blurts suddenly, and you give him another funny look, though you try to mask it. He charges on. "So they don't know about you. But my friends know. I mean, about you. I've told them about you."

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, and you're acutely aware of how soft his gaze is, how sweetly he looks at you when you're together. You couldn't keep from smiling if you tried. "What have you told them about me?"

Your question earns a scoff of surprise from Steve.

"What haven't I told them? That you're pretty, but, like, kind of intimidating at first. That you're an artist and everything you create is crazy good - art museum kinda stuff. You're smart, mysterious, and just... Cool. So cool. l've never met anyone as cool as you."

Laughing, you wrinkle your nose. "Nobody's ever called me cool before."

"That's insane. You really are so cool."

"You're embarrassing me," you mutter as your cheeks warm, surely spreading redness from your face to the tips of your ears. Steve says sorry, reaches forward, and grabs your hand. Your fingers intertwine and he's so warm, it thaws you out instantly.

It's hard not to pry any further. You want to ask Steve what you are to him - what he tells his friends you are. Just another friend? Some girl? Or something else? You open your mouth to ask but he doesn't see it, so he dives into a story about how the first snow of the season is always the most magical, because even though you see it every winter, its return carries the excitement and comfort and familiarity of seeing an old friend.

🕯️

December comes, and with it, more snow.

Christmas lights blink at you from where they line the homes on Steve's street, a few snowmen standing guard in the whiteness of the front lawns.

The car pulls into Steve's driveway and he puts it in park, turning to you with a grin. "Here," he announces unnecessarily.

The two of you make your way inside and hang up your outerwear, toeing your shoes off by the door.

You've brought a backpack with you, stuffed to the brim with everything you need to stay the night - Steve suggested that you two should have a

"sleepover" since his parents were out of town, and how could you say no? Of course, he'd made sure to qualify that it was an innocent sleepover, as opposed to... The other kind?

You're genuinely intimidated by the niceness of his house - it's bigger than any home you've ever lived in.

Even so, Steve looks embarrassed as he gestures around vaguely and says welcome. He asks if you want hot cocoa and you do, so you follow him into the too-big kitchen where he searches the too-big cabinets and too-big fridge for everything he needs.

You stand by the island and look around some more, only stopping when Steve places your warm mug in front of you.

You take a sip and shift around, the noise of your backpack ruffling catching Steve's "Oh, shit. You wanna put that upstairs? Sorry. Forgot you had a bag." He reaches out to take it from you and you oblige, trailing after him yet again as he leads you upstairs to his bedroom. It's crazy, the sheer amount of lights in his house. He has to flick a new lightswitch every few feet, and the house just keeps spilling out before you.

When you finally reach his room, he places your backpack on his neatly made bed. The room is nothing particularly notable, but the fact that you're in his room at all makes your neck get hot, and you bite at your lip to self-soothe.

"I don't know what you want to do tonight," Steve says, "but I have movies and music, some board games too. You can pick?"

He seems anxious, too, and you wonder if it's for the same reason that you are. The intimacy of being in his house for the first time, the fact that you'll be alone with him until tomorrow afternoon or maybe even later. The emptiness of the hours in front of you. The pressure to fill that time with something interesting.

"Let's make a fort." You take a few steps up to his bed and touch a folded-up blanket that sits atop his duvet cover. "Got more blankets than this? Pillows, too? We'll need lots of them."

So, you find yourself spending the night building a fort in Steve's living room with an array of sheets, blankets, comforters, and pillows. You two have creative differences regarding the structure, but when all is said and done, it's a pretty solid fortress.

You're panting from the effort of it all, the back of your shirt stuck to your spine with sweat, when you finally splay out on the pillows inside the fort. Steve is beside you nursing the last of his hot cocoa, equally spent from all the effort. "I haven't built a fort since I was a kid," he reflects, and you nod in agreement.

"Same here. That was fun. What should we call it?"

Steve thinks, shrugs his shoulders. "I'm bad at names. Let's just call it The Fort."

"Okay. The Fort." You let out a laugh and Steve's lips twitch into a smile. He reaches down at you and swipes a strand of loose hair from your face, expression turning serious. The change makes your heartbeat pick up a few notches. It's quiet, so quiet, until Steve says, "You are so pretty it hurts."

You're lying flat on the pillows and you want to sink further into them, because his words make you feel like you're melting. You mumble something that you hope sounds like thank you, shy under the intense gaze Steve's giving you. He licks his lips and you watch the quick flash of his pink tongue. Then, he sets his empty mug just outside The Fort, turning just for a second before he's facing you again. He shuffles around until he can lower himself onto the pillows beside you.

"I'm sorry. Was that too much?"

"What?"

"I said you're so pretty it hurts. And I meant it, by the way. But do you not like that? When I call you pretty?"

You tap your foot, pick at your nails, whatever you can do to expel some of the nervous energy that buzzes in you. "I do like it," you tell him, "especially because it's you saying it."

You can feel him moving beside you; your peripheral vision lets you see that he's turned his head so he can look at you. The sound of his breathing is closer than its ever been. Or maybe you're just more conscious of it than you've ever been. You close your eyes, turn your head to face him, and open your eyes again. Just like you'd thought, he's already looking at you.

You somehow find your voice enough to say, "You're also pretty. So pretty it hurts."

Steve's pupils dilate wide, and you think for a moment to a time someone had told you that your eyes do that when you're looking at someone you like.

You can't do it anymore. The holding back. You give up and kiss him.

Steve tastes like his hot cocoa, so sweet and chocolatey, but there's also the taste of him underneath the Swiss Miss that makes you shiver.

He holds you through the tremors, hands all over you but somehow not on you enough, and you struggle to breathe when he moves to climb on top of you and cradle your hips as you make out. Your tongues slide against each other and Steve's saliva is slick in your mouth, but you want more of him, as much of him as you can have.

You moan into his mouth and the sound makes him draw in a ragged breath through his nose.

"How can I get you to do that again?" The question is murmured against your lips, but before you can think of an answer, Steve is nosing at your jawline, inhaling your scent and pressing open-mouthed kisses to the smooth skin of your neck. You keen at him, sigh and moan at him, squirm underneath him with your eyes squeezed shut, and he loves it all.

"Yeah?" he asks once, when you moan particularly high in your throat. He'd found a sweet spot on the crook of your neck, and your noises encourage him to stay there until an angry, purple-red bruise marks you.

"Steve," you call out, because he keeps going. His hands slip under your shirt and he's warm on your belly, the soft fat of your hips, the roll of your skin underneath your bra. He unclasps the bra in one quick motion and then palms at the round swells of your breasts, nipples already peaked under his thumbs. "God," he gasps into your throat. "You're going to kill me."

"I would never," you whisper back. Steve huffs a short laugh and brings his lips back up to yours to kiss you deep. Then he breathes out, "Do you want this?"

He rocks his hips forward and you feel something hard bump against your hip. The sensation sends a cascade of butterflies throuah vou. "Please." is all is all you can manage to say.

So he peels your shirt from your torso and sets it somewhere to the side with your bra. Then he's staring at the newly exposed skin before him, the planes of your stomach and sternum, the soft flesh that's thrumming with the need for him. His lips are parted and his eyes are so, so wide.

"Beautiful," he murmurs before he litters your body with hot kisses. You don't think he's aware of how he's moving against you, the restrained length of his cock grinding down on you in search of friction. You hook your leg around his waist and cant your hips up to meet him and he makes a tortured sound, panting. Encouraged, he works on undoing your pants and working them from your hips, until you re just in your lace panties and fuzzy socks.

Steve looks like he really is going to die. Brown hair mussed, lips swollen and blushing, pupils taking over his irises. You want him inside you. So you tell him, "I want you inside me."

His brows knit together and his expression looks like he's been kicked in the head. "God, okay, of course, yeah. But I have to get you ready for me. That okay?"

You think you're so wet that you could take him already, but the prospect of him stretching you open in other ways is thrilling, so you let him roll your panties off and bring his fingers to the wet heat of your cunt, the flood of arousal pooled at your entrance. His eyes roll back for a second or two when he feels you.

"So wet for me," he says in a strangled kind of voice.

"Bet you want me to just fuck you already, huh?" His words simultaneously embarrass and arouse you, setting you aflame with need. You bite the inside of your cheek and nod, thin brows furrowing as he spreads your wetness through your folds, all the way up to the swollen nub of your clit. Your hips twitch and you gasp while he plays with you, his attentive gaze watching for every subtle change in your expression. He works you open with one finger, then two, the thickness of the digits inside of you leaving you whining.

He's still fully clothed, towering over you with his hand between your legs, and the fact that you're so vulnerable in the moment while he's still in his still in his stupid sweater and stupid jeans makes you want to rip the fabric from his body. But it's hard to move when he's scissoring his fingers inside of you, then leaning over and opening his mouth to let a mouthful of saliva drip down onto your already-drenched folds. You whimper at the obscenity of the gesture, then whimper some more when he brings his mouth to your cunt and spreads his own saliva with his tongue, his low grunts and moans vibrating against you. It's too much, but it's somehow not enough. You're writhing beneath him, the fat of your inner thighs pushing inward to cage his head between them, and he doesn't stop, he just keeps lapping at your cunt like a man possessed, fingers pumping into you at a relentless pace. The promise of an orgasm burns bright in the heat of your lower belly, and when it gets too much to bear, you go rigid and release a tortured sound from your lips.

Steve can feel your hole squeezing him like a vice, but he fucks his fingers into that extra tightness to help you ride out your orgasm, tongue prodding at your clit until you're twitching away from his touch.

"There you go, babe," he says as he pulls back from your oversensitive cunt. "That wasn't so hard, was it?”

You're too dizzy with lust to respond so you just nod at him. He moves back up your body to kiss you again, the taste of your cunt in his mouth, and when he pulls back he's smiling at you. "D'you like tasting yourself?"

"Yes," you breathe. Your hands search for the hem of his sweater and tug until he chuckles at you and obliges, undressing himself too slowly for your liking. When it's just him in his boxers and you in your socks, you sit up, gaze falling to the hardened length of Steve's cock obscured with a thin layer of fabric. You gulp because he's big. He's really big.

"Told you I had to get you ready." Steve smirks at you, having caught on to the way you looked at his cock. "C'mere, baby."

You breathe through your nose as you crawl over to him and palm his length through his boxers, salivating in your mouth when you finally get the courage to pull the elastic waistband down and free his cock. It's big and it's pretty and it looks almost heavy, the weight of it tapping his stomach briefly when it bobs free. His tip is wet with precum, and you bring your thumb up to spread it around, You breathe through your nose as you crawl over to him and palm his length through his boxers, salivating in your mouth when you finally get the courage to pull the elastic waistband down and free his cock. It's big and it's pretty and it looks almost heavy, the weight of it tapping his stomach briefly when it bobs free. His tip is wet with precum, and you bring your thumb up to spread it around, prompting a sharp inhale from Steve as he watches.

He curses under his breath.

"Spit on it," he tells you. His hand finds your hair and he pets at it.

You do as you're told, gathering spit in your mouth until it's enough to coat his cock. Steve's hips rock forward when you circle your hand around him and spread the wetness of your saliva, the glide of your skin on his too easy. He draws in another quick breath and then moves to stand up, only pausing when you grab at his hand.

"Where are you going?" You frown at him.

"Gonna get a condom," he says with a wry smile,

"What? You can't wait that long?"

When you shake your head, he laughs. You insist,

"I'm serious. I take birth control."

The smugness of his expression falls, his eyes The smugness of his expression falls, his eyes searching your face for a hint that you're joking, but when you're not he makes a show of flaring his nostrils and rolling his eyes back.

"Fuck, okay. Lie down."

So you do. You spread your legs for him to climb between, and his body is a welcome heat against yours; the feel of his skin on you is so tantalizing you think you might pass out. The prod of his head against your entrance sobers you up, and then he's sinking into you inch by inch, face pulled into an expression you want to memorize forever. But then he tucks his face into your neck to bite at your sensitive skin. his breath hot and needv as he So you do. You spread your legs for him to climb between, and his body is a welcome heat against yours; the feel of his skin on you is so tantalizing you think you might pass out. The prod of his head against your entrance sobers you up, and then he's sinking into you inch by inch, face pulled into an expression you want to memorize forever. But then he tucks his face into your neck to bite at your sensitive skin, his breath hot and needy as he bottoms out.

"How's that feel?" Steve grunts.

"Good, so good, please move, Steve." Your cunt squeezes around him in encouragement.

When he starts to fuck you in earnest, the slapping sound of skin against skin ringing out in the living room, the way he hits something blindingly good within you makes your mind go blank. You're not usually so pliant in bed, but he's so good, and you can't think to do anything other than just take it as he ruts himself into you. His hands come to grab your hips with a bruising grip, and even that feels impossibly good. Steve's not quiet about how much he's enjoying himself, either, responding to your sweet moans and cries with his own curses and grunts, good girl and so tight for me falling from his lips in an endless stream.

You're a panting mess beneath him when he reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit, the sensation drawing a ragged gasp from you.

"Come for me again?" Steve asks but it's not much of a question, because he's dragging a second orgasm out of you already, fucking into you without abandon while you cry out his name and arch your back in pleasure. The sight of you like that, stretched out under him and lost in your own haze of lust, letting him fuck you as hard as he wants, it's just too fucking much for him. He leans closer to you and tells you he's going to come, and when you chant inside inside inside at him he damn near bites your neck open.

"You want me to fill you up?" He pants out the question while he chases his release, hips snapping into yours impossibly fast. You're nodding, eyes squeezed shut. "Huh? Tell me."

The blunt edges of his fingernails dig into the fat of your hips, and he doesn't slow down to let you speak easier. "Yes,"

' you gasp out, "Please, please fill

me up with you, please--"

"Mm. Good girl." Steve brings a hand up to pet at your cheek and then he's coming, hips stuttering as he fucks into you a few more times, somehow deeper than before, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot while he spurts his cum within "Mm. Good girl." Steve brings a hand up to pet at your cheek and then he's coming, hips stuttering as he fucks into you a few more times, somehow deeper than before, the head of his cock brushing against your g-spot while he spurts his cum within you. The warmth of it makes you feel whole.

It takes a while for the two of you to come back to your senses. You're sweaty and struggling to breathe, wrapped up in him, and he brings his mouth to yours in a touchingly tender kiss that makes your stomach turn. Cum leaks from your hole when he finally pulls himself out. He looks at you with a dazed sort of expression when he slips his fingers into you again, pushing some of his semen back into your cunt. He beams at you as if you aren't whining and rolling your hips at his touch. "Can't let it go to waste, now, can we."

"You're evil," you say to him when he removes his hand from between your leg and kisses you on the cheek, settling into the pillows beside you again.

"Not always. You like it, don't you?"

A beat. "Yes," you confess.

"Knew it. We should shower. C'mon." Steve gathers the discarded clothes circling The Fort, then taps your hip to encourage you up. He leads you upstairs to his bathroom, where the shower is insanely big, and it's too tempting to keep yourselves from fooling around again when you're halfway through lathering your bodies with soap. And Steve fucks you again when you're in bed, hair still damp from the shower, then another time still when you wake up next to each other the following morning.

Outside, it snows so hard that the world looks like a painting. The lawn is powder white and the streets are empty, howling winter winds keeping you cuddled up to Steve for every morsel of warmth you can find. He kisses you like you're his, and you think maybe you are.

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut

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thearizerway · 1 year ago

Text

The ArGo (or Arizer Go) is a pocket vaporizer. This product produces smooth and tasty vapor, a unique characteristic of our Arizer brand. The swappable batteries of the product are an exclusive feature, and you can easily fine-tune its custom device settings using Arizer’s Custom Session Settings. Today, we will discuss how to choose the best portable vaporizer and why ArGo from Arizer is the top choice amongst other pocket vaporizers. Let’s find out more!

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The most substantial advantage of convection heating in our pocket vaporizer product is the higher levels of vaping productivity and effectiveness. This kind of pocket vaporizer draws more active materials from the dry herbs.

Handpicked Related Content ArGo vs. Solo II: Why ArGo Reigns Supreme Among Pocket Vaporizers

Significant Features in a Pocket Vaporizer

Modern vaporizers must integrate innovative technology features to enhance their vaping performance. We must look at revolutionary features and explore how Arizer is transforming its pocket vaporizer product.

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With the ArGo pocket vaporizer, you can simply swap out your battery with a new, fully charged one. Interchangeable batteries help in increasing vaping session length. This pocket vaporizer can be charged by a USB cable and enables pass-through charging, which means the product can be used even during the charging process.

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Our product offers everything a beginner or practiced vaper could need and provides the best pocket vape experience. You must make an informed decision based on your personal preferences and usage requirements while choosing the best pocket vaporizer.

Why Arizer ArGo is the Top Choice Amongst the Other Pocket Vaporizers

Cleaning, Maintenance & Draw Resistance

As with other vaporizers by Arizer, the ArGo requires extremely low maintenance. Our pocket vaporizer needs minimal cleaning if you precisely pack the chamber on the glass stem with some space between herbs and the oven.

To clean the oven, you can use a Q-Tip dipped in ISO (isopropyl alcohol), which works impeccably. Isopropyl alcohol is even useful for cleaning the glass stems.

When you regularly clean the bowl between sessions, you can ensure you’re not re-vaping any burnt particles. With a clean bowl, you don’t limit the airflow on the ArGo.

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The other way to clean the aroma tubes is to utilize it until it becomes too dirty for you. This is a personal choice. Then, once you’ve collected a few dirty stems you can put them in a ISO bath for 2 – 4 hours and rinse them off with water.

Bowl Capacity

At utmost capacity, the bowl on the ArGo grips 0.30 grams. The explicit quantity of herbs for the ArGo should be around 0.10 to 0.15 grams.

This quantity doesn’t restrict the airflow and enables the dry herb in the glass chamber to appropriately heat and vaporize.

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The ArGo has a lifetime warranty on its heating elements and a two-year warranty that covers defects in materials or workmanship, which excludes the battery. You can retain dated proof of product purchase to get the warranty service.

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The flavor is extremely tasty

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Takes minimal herbs to have the looked-for effect

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User-friendly and simple to operate

So, the ArGo, our pocket vaporizer product, offers exclusive portability and discreet usage for its user base. Unleash the ultimate power of ArGo, the top choice amongst pocket vaporizers for dry herbs.

This article was originally published on Arizer's blog.

#pocket vape #best pocket vape #pocket vaporizer #herb pocket vaporizer #Arizer Go #ArGo

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zriasstuff · 8 months ago

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All because I liked a boy

Theodore Nott x reader

Before you scroll: THANK YOU FOR 314 FOLLOWERS RAHHH <<33 (the pi number is perfect) and special shoutout to @babygoddam who ALWAYS likes my shit first, you a real one. Feel absolutely free to send in requests (totally not because im running out of ideas)!!!! // pt.2 here

Summary: Theo is dating Pansy, but is also seeing you secretly behind her back. What happens when you get sick of that and present him an ultimatum. Will it be her or you? And what if a unexpected friendship develops from all this?

It’s your last year at hogwarts, so that makes you about 17/18 yo.

Everything about your clandestine meetups behind the quidditch field was morally wrong. As you’re walking up to your meetup spot, you feel the urge to stop yourself and go back to your dorm. You want to, and most importantly should stop making the same mistake again and again. But your lack of self control would be the eventual death of you.

Actually, no. Theodore Nott would be the eventual death of you. He was the reason for your lack of self control.

The freezing January air made it impossible to breathe, your red nose hurting from every drawn breath. Shivers ran through your body, all the way to your head where you were experiencing a first hand brain freeze. How was it possible that this is what your life has come to.

Through the foggy air, you eventually make out a tall and lean figure, approaching you with arms crossed and head down. Death has arrived.

“My bad on suggesting to meet up here in this crappy weather, but my dorm is occupied”, he breathed out while clouds of vapor escaped his mouth.

“What about the library then?”, you suggested. Any place inside would be better than this.

“No”, he decisively rejects your idea while shaking his head.

“Why not”, you ask.

“You know why”, he says, sounding increasingly annoyed.

“I don’t” You do. You know exactly why. You want to hear him say it.

“Don’t do this”

“I really don’t know”

“Stop, I really don't want to do this right now” Theo let out a repressed huff with his head lowered. One of his hands that was in his jacket pocket began ruffling through his hair. Whenever he was uneasy he did that.

“Fine”, you let it go. Truth be told, you were also afraid that you wouldn’t be able to digest what Theo would say. On one side, you knew that this was wrong. But on the other hand, admitting it was wrong meant that you would have to end it, otherwise it would make you guys horrible people.

Not that you weren’t horrible people now, but saying it just made it all the more real. Real is bad. Reality sucks. It was easier to hide in a bubble.

Theo looks you in the eyes again, assessing that this probably wasn’t a great time to do anything. But he didn’t want to make you feel like trash either.

“So how was your day?”, he awkwardly asks.

“We don’t have to do this, don’t pretend you actually care”, you sigh. His attempt was meant well, but it was futile. He could never make you feel fully cared for. And that was alright. You know you don’t deserve it anyway.

“I do care”, he exhales while nailing you with his intense stare.

“For your dirty mistress? How naive do you think i am”

“So you do want to do this right now” You thought you didn’t, but today seemed to be especially hard on you. Perhaps it was the stress from classes, perhaps it was the passive aggressive letter you got from your parents, or perhaps it was Theo barely acknowledging your existence in between classes.

“If not now, when then? I'm getting sick of not talking about it” It was time to face reality and put your fears aside.

“I thought you were okay with this”, he raised his voice confusingly.

“With being your side chick who can’t be seen or associated with you in public? Am I okay with seeing you prance around with Pansy, while I have to meet you out here like this?”

“Hey I'm not the bad guy who is forcing you to do this”

Theodore Nott wasn’t forcing you to do anything. No. He would just call you baby behind closed doors. Buy you flowers. Secretly spend nights with you. Anything a boyfriend would do, just without the emotional attachment.

And Pansy. His girlfriend he actually prances around with. His girlfriend who thinks she means the world to him. This slippery slope with Theodore down to where you were now started approximately four months ago. He had gotten into a really bad fight with her and at a party he started flirting with you. He lied about having broken up with her.

The worst part— you didn’t even find out up until two months later. In those two months he had obviously made up with her and didn’t end it, but he was sneaky. You had to give him credit for having juggled the two of you for that long without either noticing. You guess it helped that you were in Gryffindor. But after two months Theo got tired of being on edge all the time, so he decided to make his relationship with Pansy public again.

Why didn't you end it with him back then? Good question. All you remember is a bunch of unconvincing bullshit from him. But as unconvincing as it was, he gave you a sense of comfort. And although he didn’t make you feel fully cared for, he was still better than your supposed friends. Those two months you lived in the unknown were special, you had to admit. You felt special. But even the brightest spark eventually dies out.

“I know you’re not forcing me, but I'm getting fucking exhausted of this. And I feel terrible about Pansy”

“Why do you even care about her?”

“WHY DON’T YOU?!”, you suddenly burst out. Yes, he chose her over you because he had been together with her before you got together with him. Admittedly, he’s treating her better than you. But you don’t hate her. She actually didn't do anything. And unlike you, she isn't actively hurting you. It was so frustrating to know that you were choosing some guy over the “girls protect girls” vow. All because you couldn’t handle being alone again. Pathetic.

“Do you realize how ridiculous you sound Theo? Saying you like both of us, but in reality you treat both of us like shit.”

“Well what do you want me to do?”, he angrily asked.

“I'm giving you an ultimatum. Either you break up with me and stay with her. Or you tell her and deal with her breaking up with you. If she doesn’t, and if you also don’t, then I will anyway”

Perhaps it sounded a bit too extreme at the moment. You were definitely the last person to talk about morals, but it wasn’t too late yet. In the long run, it would benefit Theo too. A huge weight was finally going to be lifted off of your shoulders.

“Please, you’re not thinking straight”, he pitifully pleads in a last attempt to escape his responsibility and ultimately reality.

“I mean this works just fine. Pansy is happy, I can make you happy, and i promise you won’t feel like a dirty mistress”

A scoff is all you’re able to respond with. “You got until the end of the week, otherwise I will immediately cut off any ties with you”

Are you as important to Theo as he says you are? It’s wrong, but innerly you wish that he would break up with Pansy without telling her. That would be ideal for you. Freaking Theodore Nott, who showed you what kind of person you really were.

The next day, you caught Theo and Pansy making out in the hallways. “Ugh get a room”, you think to yourself. The day after, still no change. And on the day after that, everything was still the same. And as one could imagine, on the fourth day, still nothing.

With Friday approaching, Theo would only have two more days to make his decision according to your ultimatum. Perhaps he thought that you didn’t mean it seriously, but you did. You swore to yourself that if after two days still nothing happened, you’d break up with him. “Break up”, as in quit being fuck buddies, it wasn’t like you were in a real relationship.

Consumed by your own thoughts, you apparently missed McGonagall's announcement. Suddenly half the class was packing their stuff and getting up.

“Hey what’s going on”, you ask a guy sitting in front of you.

“Did you seriously not pay attention?”, he hisses.

“What do you think, smart-ass, since I’m asking you right now?” This was not the time to be lecturing you.

“We got a new seating arrangement, she just read out all the pairs who are going to be sitting next to each other. I think you’re with Pansy”

Shit. You swallow hard at the mention of her name.

“You sure?”, you ask dumbfounded.

“I mean she’s walking up to you right now”, he says shrugging his shoulders, “anyway gotta go”

You hope to fuck that he was wrong. But after turning around frantically, you observe that Pansy was in fact walking up to you. Out of all forty students, of course you would be next to her.

“Heyyy, looks like we’re going to be stuck with each other for a semester. Cute bracelet by the way, where’d you get it?”, she greets you in quite a chipper tone.

“You’re boyfriend actually got it for me after our first time”, is what you would say if you didn’t lie. Instead you reply “thanks, a friend got it for me but I don’t know from where”

“Y’know I actually have a really similar one”, she says as she’s sitting down next to you and pulls up her sleeve, “Theo gave it to me”. It was basically the same bracelet, just in gold instead of silver. So, what were the chances that Theo bought several bracelets in the same shop and just gave them out to whoever he fancied at the moment. Not even the slightest effort.

“How sweet”, you force yourself to say in the happiest tone you can manage.

“So what’s going on in your life?”, she continues the conversation, “I just realized that I barely know anything about you, even though we’ve known each other since year one”

You almost want to say “trust me, you don’t want to know what’s going on in my life”. Instead you say “nothing much, I’ve been thinking about maybe trying out for the quidditch team”

“Oh how cool, I’ve seen you fly in class, you totally should try out. You know during the last game between Slytherin and Gryffindor Blaise did this really funny thing where…”

What Blaise did, you’ll never know because you tuned out. But what you do know now is that Pansy is actually an incredibly nice person. In just five minutes she has shown you support, complimented you and began talking to you like you were her new friend. Perhaps she thought you could be friends. After the lesson ended, you felt almost carefree. You guys barely got any work done, but instead gossiped about anything that came to mind. Time practically passed away in seconds, and you were just hugging Pansy goodbye before going separate ways. Nothing felt weird at all until…

As you’re about to pull away from the hug, you catch Theo staring intensely from the corner of your eye. Was he suspecting something? Truth be told, you could’ve inquired more about his and Pansy’s relationship, but you decided to not be nosy. The less you knew, the better.

Later on, after you spent hours feeling like an empty shell of a human being, you slouch to your dinner table. During the day your thoughts felt like a huge, untieable knot, so you decided to ignore everything. When all classes ended, you immediately hopped into bed, rolling around, slowly rotting. Feeling nothing was better than thinking too much. There was simply too much. There was the question of whether you were a terrible human being, wondering if you should completely rebrand yourself, thinking about what Theo would do and about how it would affect Pansy, and so much more. In the end, nothing would be answered by just thinking about it.

Even while eating dinner, you have to restrain yourself from letting your most inner thoughts wander. Though, Pansy sure added fuel to the fire by smiling at you. Genuinely flashing you the purest, brightest smile. For no reason at all. Just to be nice probably. Instead of smiling back like a normal human being, you almost choke on your water.

This was it. You couldn’t pretend to be unbothered. You had to end it. You hated that option because it meant that Theo could escape from his responsibility, but it also meant that you could redeem yourself. Right? After all, you also carried some of that responsibility.

To contact Theo, you wrote “meet me at astronomy tower, important!” on a small piece of paper and slipped it into his hand after dinner was over. Hopefully no one saw that transaction. Since everyone always pushed another, it was only natural to bump into someone and touch their hand or arm.

Halfway on your way to the tower, you question if all this had been a huge mistake. Would you even have the guts to do what you had set out to do ? Theo could be so goddamn persuasive sometimes.

On your last few steps you lose a bit of balance and barely make it to the balcony, feeling like you would collapse any time soon. It even takes you a second to realize that Theo was already there. Before he turned around you just thought that it was some random guy.

“How were you faster than me”, you huff completely out of breath.

“I have my ways”, he says. “So why’d you want to meet me here”, he asks, seeming disturbingly nonchalant. As if he couldn’t guess the possible reasons.

“I want this to be as quick and painless as possible”, you begin. You gain an eyebrow raise from the otherwise collected looking guy.

“Let’s just officially end this. You and me. We are officially over.”

You were pretty sure that you didn’t sound as confident as you wish you had, but nonetheless you had done it. Officially calling the breaks would be your ticket to a normal life again. Whew did that feel freeing. But this wasn’t fully over yet.

“I thought it was up to me”, Theo sounded agitated now.

“Well i changed my mind”

“That’s not fai-“

“Seriously, Theo, you want to talk about fair ?”

“So what if i told you that I would’ve chosen you over Pansy”, he tells you while throwing his arms around. “You just want to give up like a coward?”, he spits at you, blowing up in anger and disbelief. His widening eyes and clenching jaw told you were enough to convince you that he was full on serious.

Is that what you were doing? Giving up on something genuine? You never thought about it in that way. Sure, your connection to Theo was undeniably strong, but were you ready for actual commitment?

“You don’t get to say that”, you defensively say as you take a step back. He immediately gets in your face again.

With tears forming in your eyes, threatening to spill out, and quivering lips, you try your best to curve your mouth upward and take your last stand.

“I am not giving up. We never had anything to begin with because you were a coward.”

He steps even closer, his nose touching yours. His dead brown eyes looked hauntingly beautiful in the moment. “But don’t you see, I want to give us a try”

“I CAN’T DO THIS THEO”, you yell in his face, not caring that your tears streamed down your face. All that bottled up anger came down to this. “WHAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND, THERE IS NO US.” Just as you say that, you frantically tear off his gifted silver bracelet and throw it in his face. “We’re done Theodore” are your last words before storming off.

When you notice him following, you run even faster, yelling “STOP FOLLOWING ME FOR FUCKS SAKE”. Eventually you stop hearing his footsteps, and you allow yourself to break down in an empty corridor. You keep muttering “it’s for the best” as a way of reassurance, but you don’t even know if that’s true anymore.

That night you went to sleep, wanting nothing but to drown out everything. Instead you got a fucking nightmare about the entire events at the astronomy tower. Only, you were watching from the third person point of view this time.

Luckily, as you wake up, you realize that it was a Saturday, so you could be in peace a little longer. Apparently you also woke up pretty late because you were alone in the dorm. Great, your “friends” didn’t even bother pretending to include you. It was always like that. They were nice to your face, but actively excluded you. What was it about you that alienated you from everyone?

*BANG*

HOLY FUCK.

You suddenly jolt up and watch Pansy come through the door. She looked furious and extremely messy. You notice her heavy eye bags and smeared mascara.

“YOU WANT TO TELL ME WHY THE FUCK YOUR BRACELET WAS ON THEOS NIGHTSTAND?!?”, she shouts, probably loud enough for everyone in Gryffindor to hear.

“What are you talking ab-” It was mid sentence when you realize that you in fact threw your bracelet in Theo’s face yesterday and that Pansy recognised it from McGonagall's class.

There was no point in lying. “Pansy please I can explain”, you desperately choke out, feeling a knot in your throat.

“Fuck you. I actually liked you, but i guess you are just another snake”

Before you can actually explain yourself, she already left. All by yourself, you begin to sob. Perhaps your “friends” were right in excluding you. You wouldn’t even want to be friends with yourself.

This mess you were in— what if you never went to that party where you met Theo? But that wasn’t even the most important part. You had to find a way to make it up to Pansy.

Argh this is it…for now ? So if you read the deleted original fic “Baby”, you will recognise the first part, but not the rest. I asked if you wanted a pt.2, but then i realised i could just make all of it into one, longer part. I really really hope you found this if you read “Baby”. And who knows maybe this storyline will continue.

Also thank you for the people who commented, i tagged y’all (except for two i couldn’t find), so you could find this more easily. @onyxwingsandcrowblackdreams @princessofsilverandserpents @pumpkinchee @laur20a23 @ladyblablabla @the-mrs-malik-styles @boomdolle @mmeskywalker

#slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys #harry potter oneshot #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fic #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #lorenzo zurzolo #slytherin boys react #slytherin boys fanfiction #theodore nott fanfiction

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entomologize · 2 years ago

Text

Fun fact: Green forester moths (Adscita statices) aren't always green— on cool nights they become a rusty orange, then change back to blue-green in the morning.

This color change is possible due to the unique structure of some specialized wing scales:

The layers of tiny air pockets in these scales absorb water vapor from dewy night air, changing the way the light refracts:

Their color change reverses as the wing scales dry out in the sun:

Top photos: Joachim Wimmer and Linda Kjær-Thomsen. Everything else from Wilts BD, Mothander K, Kelber A. 2019 Humidity-dependent colour change in the green forester moth, Adscita statices. (Photos cropped/relabeled for clarity)

#random facts #bug facts #moths #insects #entomology #structural color #bugblr #Adscita statices #Zygaenidae

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syoddeye · 7 days ago

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consequence / needling

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory | ao3 tags: tattoos, feelings, social media, shitty exes a/n: good news and bad news. ☕

you’ve never been much of a dancer, but you find a rhythm all the same.

john divides time between work and leave. grouses about tying up loose ends and mountains of menial paperwork about said ends, but he’s with you more often than not. you think you’re handling his comings and goings well until he sits you down for a talk after informing you he’ll be gone for two and a half weeks.

at first, it feels like critique all over again, the kind that makes you shrink into yourself. your instinct is to freeze up, say little, agree with him, and promise to do better next time he’s away. but john doesn’t let you fold into yourself, and he doesn’t take easy answers either. he’s calm and direct and speaks with disarming clarity. for someone who can’t discuss what his job involves, he’s honest about its realities. there’s no judgment in his tone, just a measured precision that leaves you feeling exposed, then immediately comforted. for the first time, you’re not left twisting in the wind.

he wants you to make informed decisions. to minimize the surprises you’ll inevitably experience. no more gut reactions, no more panic.

i need to know you’ll be alright. with or without me.

and he isn’t simply referring to his deployments. he speaks about a future without him, should you choose to walk away.

this isn’t for everyone.

john’s right, of course. you know in your bones but don’t want it to be true. instead, you let yourself believe in the possibility of things working out, following the moments that feel good and easy, however fleeting. winter helps—the light snow smoothing over the ugly edges of everything outside, making it easier to laze about with him. he spends more time at your flat than his own, though he won’t even hear of you merging households yet. you don’t press him. rushing things is what got you here. a deep bruise always prepared to remind you of its ache.

99+. terrifying. absurd.

the espresso machine hisses as you wipe spilled milk off the counter with the edge of your apron. the rectangular shape in your pocket taunts you. you haven’t looked at your phone since you clocked in, and the impulse grows harder to ignore with every flat white.

it’s stupid. it’s not like you drew anything groundbreaking—just a sheet of cats with coffee mugs modeled after old-school greeting cards. a cute warm-up, nothing serious. you wrote a corny caption, meowcchiato or catpuccino, posted it, and went to sleep. you considered it a modest success when you woke to a dozen comments and new followers. then, some big-name tattoo page shared it, and it ballooned.

your fingertips dip into the canvas only for a group order to pop up on the screen, signaling the start of the mid-day rush.

on break, you step out back. the cold air hits like a reset button, your breath visible in cloudy puffs. shivering, you stare at the tower of notifications on your lock screen and swipe.

your eyes saucer at four figures. a thousand and some change likes. hundreds of comments and shares. two hundred more followers. you scroll through the new names, quickly following a few artists and legit-looking shops back before you feel weird.

one account catches your eye despite a sea of requests in your messages. a local studio you’re familiar with.

>> hey, looks like we are neighbors. i like the cats. i don’t think i recognize your work. are you an apprentice somewhere?

rechecking the post, you flinch. you neglected to remove the geotag. shit. so much for total anonymity. you respond before you think too hard about it. embarrassment rolls off of you like the vapor from your breath.

> hi, no i’m not. this is just a hobby.

another chance to check your phone doesn’t arrive until you’re off, due to meet john.

>> really? if you’re at all interested, i’ve got a friend opening apps in a month or two. >> happy to chat if you want to drop by the shop.

it feels like a trap. something oddly shaped like hope makes you walk into it anyway with a reply.

~~~~

she’s in a rush, already glancing at the clock before she’s even out the door. her scarf is half-tied, her coat slipping off a shoulder as she reaches for her bag, but john can’t help himself. he leans in and kisses her cheek, then the line of her jaw, quick and light like a thief. she huffs a laugh but doesn’t pull away.

“you’re going to make me late.”

he kisses the corner of her mouth, the scar on her wrist when she tries to push him off, the warm skin beneath her ear. his hands crawl under her open coat and up her sides to reel in for another. he fixes her coat, fastens the buttons, and ties her scarf, all without letting her up for air. when she finally pulls the door open, winter funneling through the crack, he lets her go with a goodbye. she steps out mid-laugh, and he’s left standing, smiling to himself like a fool.

with nothing but time to kill, he makes himself useful.

cece follows as he tidies. he knows exactly what his girl buys at the shop now, what brands, what alternatives. he parks outside her building and catches himself smiling, almost laughing, at how far this has come. how it started with that dent in the car he now leaves at her curb, the little heart she’d drawn on the note that came with it, an act to placate an angry stranger. now, she draws them on the back of his hand when they lie in.

later, he fixes supper, the cat weaving between his feet. greets her when she gets in with a thin slice of parmesan with honey balanced on his fingers. before she bites the morsel off its perch, she holds up her phone with a frown.

“what am i looking at?”

“he fucking painted it.”

~~~~

you find out through an old classmate, an acquaintance utterly ignorant of everything.

of course, ben painted the breakup, the prelude, and the aftermath, repurposing it all for artistic expression. you picture him pretending to suffer, draping his self-inflicted misery over their history like he’s the victim. the sheer audacity of it—painting your pain as if it’s a fucking concept—makes you want to scream. you don’t even know what’s worse: the paintings themselves, his self-congratulatory smugness in the captions, or the fact that you feel anything when you see them. the nerve to twist everything into his own narrative. it’s infuriating, his reduction of everything into a palette of pity. you know that temporarily unblocking him to spy helps nothing, but you can’t help yourself.

ben reinterpreted everything, made it about his genius and his torment the way he always did. and what bothers you most is that you’re still trying to find yourself in his work, even now.

at least hannah stays out of the literal picture for once. bad enough ben depicts her as some sort of savior. a heavy-handed and garish fucking pieta-like feature. 'ben wanted to paint it, you know…had it all mapped out. i convinced him not to.' the rat.

you stare at the hard line of john’s jaw as he scrolls, barely able to appreciate his culinary efforts because his predecessor ruined your appetite.

“my offer stands.”

“what?”

“i’m inclined to sort him out for you. i know a man or two who owe me.”

~~~~

she makes him promise he won’t sic someone on the ex, and he obliges. he makes her feel better, and she draws another lazy heart on his skin.

cheek pressed to his chest, she sighs.

“you gonna to say anything to him?”

“what’s there to say?”

“i can think of some words to make a sailor blush.”

she flicks his nipple. “i already cursed him out and threw wine at him.”

“think he’s doin’ this because you told hannah to fuck off?”

rolling to her side, she toys with the hair creeping down his chest. “i think hannah and i are irrelevant. swap us out with anyone else, and he’d come to the same, self-centered conclusion.”

“for what it’s worth, i think his work is…trite.”

a tired laugh rattles out of her, and she pats his stomach. “oh, wow, someone check on the sailor. must be blushing.”

cheeky.

he sweeps over her in one fluid roll, pushing her to her back and sticking his mouth to her neck. he ignores her squeals and her half-hearted battering. she protests, something about him leaving a mark, and he lifts.

“put one on me?”

“a hickey?” her chest heaves from their game.

“no. a tattoo.”

the meticulousness john admires translates into everything, that much is clear, given his girl’s stringent cleaning and the amount of ppe. he didn’t think he’d be treated to some gutter punk special, but it feels as professional as an amateur can get. considering the other places he’s spent time with open wounds, her flat feels like a spa.

the amount of shit he’ll catch from the boys, however? that worries him.

they discuss the design again. it already took the better part of an hour to select one from her burgeoning collection—she refuses to call it a portfolio, despite all evidence—and placement took another fifteen. shaving, regrettably, took only a few minutes. odd and intimate. when she brushed the shorn hair off his left pec and swept it into a dust pan, he forced himself to breathe.

“are you sure about this? i’m not a professional. this is permanent.”

he readjusts and pats the naked patch of skin. “i’m aware.”

the bite of a needle is nothing. compared to the puckered scar from a knife wound in his right thigh—it’s a pleasant burn. helps that the hand guiding it is light, the pressure deliberate and contained. plus, her tongue wets the corner of her lips so often, and that, paired with the pinch of her brow? he’d endure worse. cute.

he will not embarrass her and say it out loud. he doesn’t say a word. she’s finally distracted from ben’s paintings.

but she speaks when she switches to color, dabbing excess ink onto a paper towel.

“alright?”

“never better.”

“because i’m not a mind reader. if you’re regretting this now, say the word.”

“i’m not regretting a thing. are you?”

she doesn’t immediately look up from the needle, fiddling with it. when she does, she shakes her head. “not a thing. moving onto color now.”

she carefully drags red into the design, then gold. the firm, short strokes spark a brief flare of discomfort but let nothing slip. he can take it. the silence lingers, shorter this time, and again, she breaks it.

“remember that silly cats and coffee sheet?”

“yeah?”

“i’ve been, uh, chatting with a local artist about it. he wants to meet. talk shop, i guess.”

his attention snaps from his chest to her. sly thing, biting her cheek to keep her expression as flat as possible. “go on.”

she meets his eye for a second, pulling her hand back to swap to green. “he wants me to bring my collection, if you can believe it.”

that ugly, possessive monster in his head cocks an ear. focuses on the wrong detail. he wrestles it into the thick mud of his thoughts and resurfaces with—”sounds like he thinks you have a knack for it. we have that in common.” good show.

“he thinks i might be good enough to try for an apprenticeship.”

this time, she holds his gaze. uncertainty writ large on her face. seeking.

“is that something you want?”

“yeah,” her lip twitches. a flash of something crosses her face. a wince? “yeah, it is.”

#do not let someone without formal training or licensing tattoo you. just in case that needs to be said.#loser barista #price x reader #price x f!reader #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #captain price x reader #captain price x f!reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x f!reader

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dudethatsmyundeaduncle · 9 months ago

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DP X DC AU Danny & The Little Dead Girl

(title pending lol, Danny and Curare adventures pt 2!) Pt 1 here My AU art

__________________________________________

Monday comes, as it is won't to do, and Danny has to go to school which means the baby halfa has to come to school too.

" ok, so, one rule for today, big rule, you gotta be quiet in class. Uh-"

Danny pulls his phone out of his pocket as their bus hits a pot hole. Sitting right at the front means they catch the momentum first and he has to hold Curaré against his side lest she go flying into the aisle.

A couple voices grumble behind them at the jostling as Danny gets his text to speech open.

" Necessitas ser quieto en clase. ¿Entiendes?" The Google robot lady voice translates for him.

Curaré blinks at him from behind her little paper face mask and looks from the phone to him curiously.

This is the game they've been playing since last night, Danny says something in English robo lady repeats it in Spanish.

Danny doesn't know if Curaré understands how the phone speaks or even that it does but she's giving him her favorite little blank expression so he assumes she gets it. At least, she hasn't really disagreed or disobeyed anything he's asked of her yet so...not gonna look that gift horse in the mouth Danny boy!

School goes well, mostly.

They get through the metal detectors and bag checks at the front entrance just fine. The security guards barely glance at Curaré once they confirm she isn't hiding a Glock or something under her shirt. Which it's kinda sad to know gun control is a cross-dimensional American problem but it's on brand if nothing else Danny thinks.

They get to first period without stopping at Danny's locker and settle down in two desks by the back door. This is Danny's usual spot, well usual as of a month ago, it's mostly empty back here now but Danny used to have a seat partner.

(A seat partner who had a kind of shady tweaker vibe that Danny would have been worried about but that kid went home early one day and never came back so....it's Curaré's seat now.)

The little dead girl looks even littler sat in the desk-chair combo, she can barely see over the top. Danny stacks three dictionaries under her for a boost then he gets her set up with some pencils and paper and the single highlighter he found on the floor his first day here.

Curaré seems vaguely interested in his offerings ,after Danny shows her how to use them to mark the page, and starts creating cautious marks of her own.

She keeps glancing back up at Danny as if to confirm that this is still fine? And he nods his head every time trying to be encouraging as it becomes obvious that nobody taught this kid to write inside Fosters Home for Real life Assassins. Which Danny thinks is poor planning on there part because really? If your Assassin can't write how the fuck were they supposed to leave ominous threatening warnings? Or fake suicide notes? Or any number of written props to flesh out a cover story.

Whatever, obviously the assassins raising Curaré sucked ass all around so he can't say he's surprised but he is majorly disappointed.

As the bell rings for first period a whole slew of teens rush in ahead of the teacher Mr. Berk. Simple guy, grey beard, coke bottle glasses, smells like Vics vapor rub, the works.

He's like the most chilled out version of Mr. Lancer ever so he's alright in Danny's books. Plus he only has one "rule", as long as your butt is in your seat by the time he calls your name for attendance he won't mark you late. In Gotham, where everyone and their brother has enough late marks from shitty public transportion to get detention, it's a pretty sweet rule.

So Mr. Berk takes attendance like usual and only pauses on Danny and Curaré in the back for a brief moment.

Curaré stops drawing and stares down Mr. Berk like he's the T rex from Jurassic park. Frozen in place and without breaking eye contact. He stares back at her completely unphased.

" A small visitor then?" He says.

Danny nods. " My sister"

" Mhm" Mr. Berk says already moving on to the next student on his roster.

Danny breathes out huge sigh of relief, that was so much easier then he expected.

They more or less repeat this exchange the whole day. Mondays suck ass because it's one of the only days Danny actually has all 6 periods, but they make it through 1st, 2nd, and nutrition unscathed.

By lunch time Danny thinks they might actually be home free, if no one is gonna bring up the whole freaking child tagging along with him then he can probably just bring her with him everyday.

Maybe he can find her some work books and she can learn the alphabet? And addition? That's like on track for 4 year olds right? Danny can't remember being 4 but that feels right to him. He will educate the child in his care like the responsible almost adult he is. She will go to college!

At lunch Danny sits them at the back of the school right next to the teachers lounge because it's mostly deserted.

In Danny's exprience the best place to hide is in plain sight. He's been sitting here everyday since he enrolled himself and the teachers have never noticed him. Their way too busy trying to get any kind of break from teaching high schoolers to be concerned.Which Danny is greatful for because he has broken the rule about using his cell phone at lunch 50 times at this point.

Listen he has to do universe research when he has access to wifi! Which he only does at school. The administration should be glad he's using his lunch period to educate himself really.

So they eat by the lounge. Danny has Curaré face away from the door so she can take off her face mask and eat unencumbered.The cut on her face is still gnarly, it looks an almost enflamed purple as it tries it's best to heal.

Danny had given Curaré a little immuno-boost with his own ecto the night before to try to speed up her healing factor. But like any Halfa, basically just Danny's personal experience, you have to nourish the ghost half and the human half in equal parts to heal all the way.

It's not until home room, period 6/7, that the metaphorical straw breaks the metaphorical camels back. or the real straw to the metaphorical camel? Did camels even carry straw? where would it go? Between there humps? Not important Fenton!

Home room was a grade A disaster.

Mr. Perez, Danny's kind of ancient home room teacher, who was for almost all intents and purposes blind, had a freaking nose for trouble. It's like he could sniff out vapes and cell phones as soon as they hit the stale class air. Danny thought this would be the easiest class by far, Mr. Perez wouldn't even see Curaré let alone smell her.

And at first it seems like he doesnt, Mr. Perez takes attendance and skips right over Danny and Curaré with no fanfare.

Danny thinks that's the end of it and starts to breathe easy until 15 minutes before the final bell when Mr. Perez' TA asks him to step into the hallway with her for a second.

Danny generally liked Mr. Perez's TA, her name was Sabrina Kahn and she was the kind of girl Jazz would have hung out with.Straight laced, wore argyle cardigans, read books, the smart sort. She looked Jazz's age too, maybe 21ish and she always rolled her eyes when people gave dumb answers in class.

She looks a little embarrassed to be speaking to Danny which immediately sets him on edge.

" It's okay that you brought your little sister today but, I'm sorry, you won't be able to do that again. A bunch of your teachers made complaints with the front office and Mr. Perez got a call about it ..."

Sabrina had always been nice to him and now she was about to ruin his whole week.

" But Ms. Kahn-" Danny started.

She gave him a sympathetic look " Lemme guess, your parents can't take her to work so this was the next best option?"

Danny closed his mouth and nodded, that was actually a much better lie then he was gonna tell, thank you Ms. Kahn. ( But also Boooooo curse you Ms. Kahn!)

" Here, I know it can be hard to find childcare for metas, especially ones as ah-vibrant as your sister. My brother had the same trouble with my nephew."

Sabrina hands Danny a flyer, it's still warm from the printer, it looks like it's just a screenshot of an email.

"Thanks?"

The TA rolls her eyes, wow a lot like Jazz then.

" It's the address to that daycare and a referral. They only take kids by word of mouth, they're kind of... off the books. But their good people! I hope they can help you Danny."

The paper is on off yellow, as Ms.Kahn heads back into homeroom Danny feels all his hope go with her. Shit, what was he gonna do now? He looks through the little glass window in the door to the back where Curaré sits, she's already watching him. He tries to smile at her, be reassuring, he's not sure it works.

......

When the bell finally rings Danny picks Curaré up and puts her on his hip to avoid her being crushed by the rush of high schoolers who stampede out the door in front of them.

The flyer from Ms. Kahn feels like it's burning a hole through his pocket as they ride the bus towards the Narrows.

Danny cased the house from the flyer with maps street view as well as he could. It showed a skinny sublet house across from a small strip mall and laundrymat.

Inconspicuous sure, maybe even innocent looking but well...you could never tell in Gotham, all the buildings looked sort of evil by default. It was probably because of the gargoyles and the general low level stink fog that seemed to always be out.

The big city™ really made Danny miss the suburbs of Amity Park more then just the regular gut wrenching home sickness. Oh what'd he'd give to take a deep breath of air and not inhale the smell of piss when he walked down the street.

They get off the bus at the corner a block from the daycare.

Danny holds Curaré's hand which makes for slow going but seems like the right thing to do. She's never wandered off but Danny didn't want to give her the opportunity to either.

As he helped her climb the three short stairs up to the house Danny was suddenly hit with a wave of panic.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really gonna take care of this freaking Halfa ghost baby for the next 18 years? Im not even an adult! I work weekends at BatBurger for minimum wage WTF?

Danny's hands began to sweat and his stomach cramped. Oh fuck, here was the existential crisis he'd been waiting for since he first decided to take Curaré from the leagues super secret baby basement.

Oh shit he couldn't breathe, what was he gonna do! OH fuck think!

What would jazz do? Call child services and offer psychological support. Not Uber helpful in this case Danny didn't know the first thing about psychology and Gotham CPS was actual prison.

What would Sam do? Assassin babies are hella counter culture but maybe find a cool rich eccentric family to adopt them? Nope, not gonna work Danny only knew one eccentric rich girl and she was a whole dimension away. FUCK THINK FENTON!

What would Tucker do? In this situation ask Google, homeschooling is big these days so maybe if you leave her in the apartment while your gone with an iPad-

" Hey you alright there dude, can I help you?"

Danny choked on the end of his anxiety panic badbadbad spiral and looked up.

The front door to the house was open and just inside the threshold stood a younger teen, maybe 16? With the kind of fade haircut Tucker always whined he couldn't pull off and a bright yellow hoodie.

Danny held his breathe for a moment making sure he felt it burn up his lungs and throat before letting out a big sigh.

" Yeah, yeah sorry kinda zoned out there I'm just uh kinda nervous I was told to come here for Daycare help for my little sister?"

Curaré looked at the stranger in the doorway with the same wide eyed blankness she stared at everything with. Funnily enough she was still holding Danny's hand, had held on through Danny's entire mental meltdown too despite the ecto sweat. Danny felt oddly touched by the gesture, even if it was more likely that the little girl wasn't bothered by his crisis then her being sympathetic.

The teen in the Yellow Hoodie raised an eyebrow at Danny as he fumbled the paper from Ms. Kahn out of his pocket to hand over.

Yellow Hoodie took it and looked between it, him, and Curaré.

" You're not a cop right? You have to tell us if you're a cop"

Danny made a face, " no, I'm not a cop! I would never be a cop, cops suck."

" Right." Yellow Hoodie said still suspicious " So you wouldn't mind if I called your referral up?"

" Be my guest dude."

The teen pulled out his phone and made sure to keep steady eye contact with Danny. Who could do nothing except not look away during this, the world's most impromptu staring contest, until Yellow Hoodie put his phone away.

" Just wanted to see if you were bluffing. Sabrina called earlier said she'd sent someone our way but you can never be too careful. Come on in. "

Danny felt the wind go out of his sails for the second time that day, what was with people and making him anticipate the worst.

.....

The inside of the house was old, homey, but old. It had very obviously been well lived in by a few generations of children, easy to see from the scuffed floors, chipped crown molding, and the sheer number of framed photos that hung on the walls.

There were signs of new life about too, some toys scattered on the floor, walls that were covered in butcher paper and crayon as high as little hands could reach, and oddly enough some scorch marks. Although, Danny's supposed that an unlicensed daycare for meta kids worth it's salt ought to have a least a few burn marks. For posterity if nothing else.

" I'm Duke, I volunteer here when I can but the place is run by the Mariscos, Mrs. Marisco specifically. She's been in the game for a long time" Duke nee yellow hoodie said as he stopped them in front of a closed door.

The hand made sign on the door said Office in nice scribbly lettering and it was hung on with a peg and twine. Real kitschy.

Danny could just make out the sounds of kids playing in another part of the house and was a little impressed that Duke had managed to keep Danny from seeing even one tiny tot during the impromptu house tour.

" I gotta go help Izzy with the kids, this is Mrs.Mariscos' office just knock before you go in, she might be on the phone."

Duke nodded to Danny, smiled down at Curaré and disappeared down the hallway.

Leaving Danny and Curaré alone in front of a closed door once again.

Danny looked down at Curaré and she looked up at him, she was characteristically silent.

" This feels like a job interview, did you bring your resume? "

Curaré blinked.

" Yeah, me neither. But I think if we both give her puppy eyes maybe our combined under aged-ness will activate her maternal instincts and she'll be forced to accept us?"

The nerves were back, they had never really left but now they had settled like a rock at the pit of Danny's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to knock on that office door just yet so he fussed over Curaré instead. Kneeling down he straightened the collar of Curaré's hooded jacket and moveed her little backpack strap back up her shoulder where it had slipped.

" We got this. It's you and me now remember, even if this blows and you have to come to school with me for the rest of year it's you and me." Danny rested his hands on little shoulders and hung his head. " Jeez, I sound like my mom"

"No need to be so nervous Mijo! My Chiqis never met a kid she could turn away."

Danny's neck had never snapped up so fast in his life.

Curaré hadn't been looking up at him at all. No, Curaré was staring up towards the elderly woman floating near the ceiling.

Which was not great, because Danny for all the time had spent in Gotham had never seen another ghost. Not a single one.

Which was unsettling on its own but not bad per se, he'd thought maybe this dimension was just different, not enough spectral energy to manifest a ghostly body.

But no, again nope, this was so much worse.

No ghosts was easy enough to reationalize but one ghost? One ghost meant there was enough spectral energy, one ghost meant something was really really wrong with Gotham.

Because if there was only one ghost in a crime ridden pissed off city like this where the shit were all the others?

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

Yo! Just wanted to say thank u for all the support on part 1, did not expect people to like or care about it lol. Anyway back on bullshit, I've had this written for a while but didn't have the insp to post it until now.

Might write more, might not, you get one bat cameo for reading this time ur welcome.

Forgot to add this to the first post, it's in the reblogs, but TLDR Curaré is an assassin from batman beyond.

Note: if you wanna see cool art for this AU check the Danny and the little dead girl tag on my blog!

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc au #dpxdc #dc x dp #DP x DC #batman #Curaré #batman beyond #duke thomas #danny and the little deadgirl au #i really gotta think of a name for this AU if its gonna be a thing #do i have a plan for this? no no i do not #i have a vague idea about what happens in this universe and no real motivation to write it #batfam

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