#sick of being mocked behind my back

[fortheloveofexy]

stepping away for a while. fics are on indefinite hiatus until i come back. queue will run for a while til it's out.

bye.

[lilacgaby]

title: i've changed, won't you see?

pairing: prohero!katsuki x reader

summary: katsuki ruined your life when you were small, giving you a life altering injury, though getting nothing more than a pat on the back. throughout his successes he can't get you out of his mind, so he sets out to make amends with you.

tags: silent voice inspired!! childhood bully katsuki :(, disabled reader, mentions of violence, angst to fluff, su1cide attempt, comfort, implied nsfw, no proofread

(a/n: i wanted to give my hand at really long works while doing drabbles in between but i have so many drafts now jajsjsj)

wc: ~4k

your eyes were always blurry around him it seemed. your hands shaking as your voice cracked, just begging him. "please leave me alone!" with all the might a five year old could muster.

they scoffed at you, they always did. "crybaby. blame your parents for not giving you a quirk. you should've moved when i told you to anyways, it's my park dont you know?" katsuki mocked, moving closer to you, noticing the card behind your back.

"stop being so mean! quirkless people don't do anything wrong!"

"quirkless don't do anything."

your chest was heaving with pain, your little heart couldn't take it. "you-- you'll never be a hero, you're too mean!"

in an act of rage, he set off an explosion. it was only meant to intimidate you but..

once the smoke settled your screams of terror filled the playground.

blood dripped on the floor, pooling in your hand as your grasped your ear. a ringing was all you could hear, it was driving you crazy.

were you crying? you couldn't tell, you couldn't hear. your eyes were shut as you were filled with panic, the smell of iron flooding your senses.

but katsuki remembered so much more.

the smell of the burned cartilage of your ear, the sight of it, or rather the lack of. the blood that wouldn't stop coming, why wasn't it stopping?

his group that usually rallied behind him was now gone, leaving him and a wailing you alone. he tried to talk to you, but you weren't responding.

he grew the courage to touch you, tapping on your shoulder slowly, but that didn't comfort you. in fact he thought it made it worse, making you bow your head in a defensive position.

he stared at you, unable to move, he was supposed to be a hero like allmight, were you right?

finally, a teacher came running to get you, an ambulance already on the way. they didn't look at katsuki, only at the pitiful state you were in.

you didn't respond to them either.

katsuki felt sick as he stood where you and the teacher had left them. he felt sick as he looked down to the remains of what he'd done to you.

he couldn't process it yet, but he felt a sickening despair and guilt be placed upon his shoulders.

one that wouldn't disappear.

he wasn't blamed for anything, only getting a quirk consolation. they thought he lost control? his parents eyed him as he tried to explain what had truely happened, he didn't know why he was trying, did he want to get punished?

but even after, nothing was done. with a lecture and a couple promises he was sent back to class with nothing done to him.

your life was changed forever though, it was apparent in the way that you seemed even more quiet and closed off. you sat in the back, never spoke to anyone, and got teary eyed when he even stood close to you.

your hair covered your ears constantly, a hearing aid peeking through the strands occasionally. the teacher never forced you to participate, none of them ever made an effort.

the teacher had explained to the class how you were completely deaf in one ear, and extremely hard of hearing in the other. how you'd use sign language from now on, and that the class would learn some in support. they never did though, the conversation going ignored as soon as it was uttered.

you were pulled out of class often, the teacher having to tap you on the shoulder to get your attention. your eyes dejected and your presence small as the person who came to get you made gestures with their hands to you.

you'd been cruelly placed in matching classes 'til your last years of junior high. you'd stayed the same way for forever, it was like a weight placed over his chest.

yet he felt he deserved it. he knew he was messed up. he watched you, a lot. he saw you in the back corners, usually forgotten and ignored. when you were acknowledged you were mocked, people making random hand signs to make fun of the way he forced you to communicate, mocking your unconfident speech right after.

he saw the way you sunk into yourself afterwards, making his heart hurt as you grew impossibly smaller. your hands held your own as you prayed for it to be over.

everytime you'd catch him in the halls, you'd still freeze up. your breath shaky as you bowed and left quickly, making his friends laugh but make him queasy.

that interaction was witnessed by your teacher who, after a day of you not showing up, assigned him to give you your work for the day.

with sweaty palms and a racing heart, he dropped by your house. he knew where it was, of course he did, your mom and his were close industry friends even after the incident.

because you'd never told anyone about what he'd do to you.

he knocked on the door, attempting to seem nonchalant. when you answered though, he felt his heart lurch in his chest.

"[name], uh-- this is your work."

you didn't respond, you looked almost nauseous at the sight of him, it was deserved though.

he placed your work on the floor and walked off, that was the only time he'd spoken to you since the incident,

and he couldn't even apologize.

- - -

U-A wouldn't only be a dream for him, but a release for you both. was it selfish to want to run away from his problems? sure, but it'd help you too.

as everyone in the class exclaimed the names of the schools they picked, unsurprised at katsuki's choice, he pondered on where you'd go.

nobody asked you, so you didn't speak. staying quiet as you looked out the window.

katsuki got accepted into U-A easily, but he couldn't help but feel he lacked the main criteria. he'd hurt people poorly, and couldn't apologize because of his ego.

he felt sick to accept these accomplishments of his, knowing it'd be built up on the foundation of hurting you.

but he did anyway, selfishly. he kept up his harsh demeanor in U-A anyways, working hard and scoring high. he graduated top of his class, job offers to agencies left and right.

he accepted one, working for his old internship officially now. he climbed the ranks quickly, saving lives and catching the attention of the media.

a couple years later, he was a steady number five hero when he took a patrol route over for deku. as he strolled through the city, stores littering the buildings, he saw someone he never thought he'd see again.

you, only now working for your mothers seamstress company. you were embroidering something on the station, hands precise and focused, not noticing him.

he had to keep moving, but.. he made a mental note to come back later.

he finished his patrol anxious, he went to sleep thinking of what he'd even say to you. 'hey sorry for ruining your life, can you forgive me?' he slapped his forehead in frustration.

he searched up basic sign language for beginners, learning a bit. he laughed at the stupid thoughts of your forgiveness that he dreamt of.

"as if i deserve it." he muttered, looking deeply at the ceiling of his room before falling asleep.

as soon as he awoke, he got dressed and prepared. he tried to look causal, as if he wasn't planning this.

he walked in, immediately greeted by your mother who congratulated him on his heroics. "well isn't that dynamite? saving the world i see."

he laughed politely. "i'll be number one soon enough."

"of course! well, what're you looking for? i'll give you a family discount, you grew up so close to [name] didn't you?"

his heart jumped into his throat.

"uh.. we did."

"you two were so adorable! she was so nervous around you, she must've had a crush on you or something!"

"i definitely don't think so."

"oh, you're just being modest." she said, hitting his arm lightly. "there she is now, go and speak to her."

"uh-- i--"

"go!" she shoved him in your direction, making you look up to see him. your lips parted in an unrecognizable expression as you saw him, the line you were working on now crooked as you were left alone together.

it's been about ten years hadn't it? ten years since he last saw you, but a lifetime he needed to apologize for.

he'd learned so much in U-A, outwardly changing his demeanor to what he always aspired to be. but all that meant nothing to you, who only experienced him at his worst.

he awkwardly raised his hand up to you, he did his best to sign while speaking, his hands shaky and unconfident. "hi [name], i'm really sorry about what happened back then."

your eyes followed the movements, your hands absentmindedly wrapping around yourself loosely, defensively.

"i know this is a lot but,

can we be friends?"

he waited anxiously for you to answer, you looking as if you were processing it.

in a grown up, yet timid voice, one that he hadn't heard since you were young, you almost whispered, signing as you did so out of reflex. "thank you, bakugo." your eyes grew watery. great, he just couldn't seem to stop making you cry.

he sat near you after getting wordless permission to, hanging onto every word you spoke, and being mindful to speak in a calm tone himself.

"i.. i'd like a friend, honestly. a new one anyways."

he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when you said that, but still, it wasn't enough.

he wanted to, no needed to make you happy. the years of torment he subjected you to couldn't be made up by anything less than years of happiness.

after a bit of small talk, him asking you questions about what you'd been up to, how your life was treating you. he zoned out a couple times, thinking of how beautiful you've become.

"what would make you happy, [name]?" he finally said, his head supported on his hand as he gazed at you, making sure to enunciate his words so you could read his lips.

"what makes you ask?"

"i-- i want to make you happy. no matter the cost, it's what you deserve."

she laughed softly at that, her eyes flickering with an indistinguishable expression. "...i always wanted to travel. around the world, to see mountains and landscapes."

"then i'll take you."

"you don't have t--"

"i do. and ill do more [name], what i did to you was-- is horrible. you know that."

"i..

okay, okay bakugo."

"katsuki."

you smiled, "katsuki."

going from having very limited contact with your only friend from high school, to having a prohero come to your shop everyday was jarring. but not unwelcomed.

he brought gifts with him everytime, learning what you'd like and not. it ranged from food to stuffed animals, flowers to accessories, all of which you really appreciated.

you grew closer, eventually starting to meet outside of your mother's shop. at the park or walking around the mall, he'd take you anywhere you wanted to go. he'd pay for everything too, despite your reluctance.

he kept his word to you, and at the end of the month he asked you to come up to his apartment.

a penthouse.

as you walked in, greeted by the shimmering atmosphere of the expensive furniture and decor all around, abstract paintings and trophies littering shelves on the walls.

you stood by the front entrance, taking off your shoes as you walked in. "katsuki?" you asked, looking around.

he came out, a tiny smile on his face. "ya made it." he had something behind his back, "come in [name]."

the apartment was huge to say the least, it becoming even bigger than it looked from the entrance. he guided you to his plush couch, sitting next to you.

"so, i know you said you dreamt of traveling, right?"

at your nod, he pulled out the tickets from behind his back. "i.. got this tickets for you. i didn't want to push it in case you didn't want me to go with you but--"

you cut him off with a hug, tackling him into the couch.

"of course i want you to come,

katsuki."

you signed his name differently than other times,

you'd finally made a name for him.

he hugged back mindfully, so excited to finally have a huge first step in the right direction.

but he still needed to make you happy. "we'll leave in two days if that's okay, i just wanted to give you time to pack."

"okay, that's good."

"do you.. want to stay?" he asked nervously, the thought had popped into his mind and out his mouth in a millisecond.

you blinked, sitting up on his legs, pondering it over.

"sure, okay."

he put on some movies for the two of you, his heart was racing at the proximity of your body to his.

the night ended with you laid on top of him, fast asleep as he was comforted by the beating of your heart against his. your chest against his, his hand in your hair as your head laid in his neck.

he woke up first, to the sight of the gold light making you look heavenly, your hair messy from how he was playing with it throughout the night. your face was almost against his, he could kiss you right now.

but he shouldn't. he would move but he didn't want to couldn't, so he looked you over. you woke up to the feeling of his fingers caressing your face, your eyes half lidded from sleep.

"'suki. g'morning."

his heart was getting used to irregularly pounding around you at this point. "[name], uh-- hi."

after a couple moments, you got off of him, much to his discontent. his hands sliding down your legs as you got up.

"i'll be going now, i gotta pack and stuff." you said, looking in one of the many mirrors scattered around as you fixed your appearance as much as you could.

he nodded. "let me walk you home at least."

and he did walk you home, hand in hand.

those two nights he spent pondering over you. he didn't know why, but hero work felt much lighter after talking it out with you. becoming your friend was one of the best things he'd achieved in years, and that was including his recent rankings.

he thought back to how he treated you as a kid, had he really just been searching for your validation all along?

is that why it hurt when you told him he'd never amount to his dreams, because he only valued your opinion?

he let himself sleep, he'd see you tomorrow. and he'd make it all right.

he woke up and picked you up at your place, his expensive sports car standing out against the comfort of the neighborhood. you walked out, dressed simply but cute, a bag of your own in hand.

he grabbed it from you and placed it in the back, opening the passenger door for you as he drove to the airport. his hand on your thigh as he did so, letting you play the music you'd like with loud bass.

it was a half hour ride in comfortable silence, he gazed at you occasionally, a thoughtful expression on your face.

on the plane, you sat by the window. it was first class so you'd get to sleep in a physical bed, in a closed room. you were treated to whatever food and drinks you wanted, hugging katsuki when you found out you where you were heading.

the flight was a long eighteen hours, but it was spent hanging out with katsuki. on his lap asking him questions about the shows you two had watched, power scaling arguments about past heroes, fights he'd recently been in.

also what you two planned to do as you were there, you wanted to go to the beaches and mountains, he just wanted to follow you.

you fell asleep together again, your face laid directly in his chest as he held you.

you woke up to katsuki tapping you on the shoulder. as you raised the volume on your aids, you heard the beeping on the intercoms that meant you'd have to go back to your seats for the landing, groggily being helped up by katsuki as he moved you to to your seats.

you sat by the windows, looking at the tropical region as you two landed, your hand still in his. the moments after we're a blur, before you knew it you were in a car being buckled up by katsuki as you were being driven to your hotel.

what you didn't know was that it was a villa, built on top of the waters of the ocean, your very own private beach right outside your doors with the mountains you'd dreamt of treking right behind you.

you'd never been so happy.

the days you'd spent started and ended all the same, you waking up and going to sleep in katsuki's arms. pretending like you didn't notice how your bed hair got worsened after he played with it all night.

the first days you'd spent at the beach, attempting and failing at surfing. your jet lag was killed off by your utter excitement.

you being thankful your aids were water resistant because of how much you loved the waters of the river and the seas.

you'd had a sandcastle competition, sunbathed, and soaked off in the hot tub of your villa together.

the trek's were fun too, katsuki was annoyingly good at everything so you'd have to fight to keep up.

your polaroid in hand as you snapped candid shots of him, turning it to yourself as you got a selfie of you two with the gorgeous rivers as background.

you jumped into those too, making katsuki freak out as you dived in to the deep waters.

you even got to the top one day, jokingly saying that you should've brought a flag to the top to celebrate. the golden hours of the sunset making you glimmer.

a moment of silence passed over you as he slowly approached you, wordlessly asking for permission as you once again put your hands in his.

you leaned in first, kissing him with the sun as witness.

"i really like you [name]." he sighed and spoke after you pulled away.

"i like you too." you replied, hugging him tightly.

the rest of your trip was filled with your firsts with katsuki.

your first official date was in the burrows of the forest, a picnic where you two painted portraits of eachother. albeit, unique portraits... but painting nonetheless.

your first moment truly loving someone, the feeling you recognized as you laid him in your lap for the first time.

your first talk about what happened all those years ago. a deep one.

"[name], before we become something um.. official. we need to talk about how i hurt you." katsuki said one day, laying faced to you but taking your hands into his.

"kats--"

"let me speak. please." after you nodded, he took a breath and began.

"i was egotistical and really insecure all those years. you were the only one who really read me, that's why i think i got so upset.

i didn't mean to hurt you, i never wanted to hurt anyone i swear-- i just hated that you were right.

that weighed over me all these years, the fact that my hero work meant nothing if i was doing it while acting so.. unheroic.

i never fully felt like a hero, not until i met you again.

not until you graced me with your friendship, your undeserved affection towards me. i just-- i really care about you. and im really sorry, ill spend the rest of my life apologizing to you, and you don't have to accept it because i don't deserve it.

i guess what i'm trying to say is..

sorry, and.. i love you [name].

you don't have to--"

he was cut off by a kiss on his lips.

it felt different somehow, he couldn't place it. almost sad in a way as you pulled back.

"i don't think you were trying to hurt me. but, you did.

and you're working to change it, i appreciate that.

i really care for you too katsuki."

the rest of your trip was comfortingly domestic, learning things about each other you'd never know.

your last week was bittersweet, having to leave your jointed paradise was a reality that saddened the both of you. but your dream was fulfilled, and so was his.

seeing that he was the cause of your smiles and not your horror, making you happy was the light of his day. no, his life.

he thinks he was born to make you happy.

the flight back was a blur, you spent it clinging to him. you started to gift him your own things over the hours, a scrunchie of yours, a bracelet for him to keep.

a locket with a photo of you two, and the polaroid you'd taken on the mountains.

"why are you giving this all to me? not that i'm complaining."

"well, you'll get more use out of it. that's all."

he scrunched his face up in confusion, but with a smile you waved off his concerns.

he wished he pushed you more.

he wished that you'd forgive him for failing you once again, as he fought to take the razor blade out of your grip, slicing your hand in the process.

you were in your bathtub, surrounded by water yet fully clothed, tears and wails wracking your body as you just wanted it to be over.

you finally relented, your blood staining his clothes and the water as he picked you up. you couldn't hear him, you'd taken out your aid.

but you could feel his sobs, his tears hitting you as you shut your eyes, embarrassed of what you'd just done.

you were rushed to the hospital and given stitches, you were to be closely watched from your mom now on, you were told by an interpreter.

katsuki's eyes were red, matching his pupils as he looked at you.

he was frustrated, you could see it in the trembling of his fists and the scowl in his mouth. if he hadn't been there.. you would be dead.

why, he asked you. and to be honest, you really couldn't explain it yourself.

when you got home to your apartment, empty and reminding of your reality away from katsuki, you just felt so..

scared. what would happen when he finally got the validation he needed and left you? your whole life was quiet and tranquil, you'd gotten used to it. but he flipped it upside down again, showed you what your life really could be.

it was too much for you. you had to escape, so after sitting on it, tapping your leg anxiously as you pondered your decision, you went on your phone.

you went online and saw his life outside of you, how he had everything going for him yet what did you really have? a mom and a job at her company?

you grew impulsive, grabbing it absentmindedly and filling up the tub with the water you grown to love over the past month.

after you started bleeding, you panicked. what had you just done? but it was too late..

until he saved you from yourself.

you were zoning out. when you didn't answer him, he repeated himself, grabbing the interpreter so you could sign.

but still you said nothing, except a small sorry.

he left afterwards, leaving you alone in the bed to think.

you were back in your childhood room now, your mom having sobbed as she looked over your hands, as she asked you, "what the hell were you thinking?"

you looked at those glow in the dark stars and tried to find an answer, but there was none.

you held yourself to sleep for the first time in months, already missing him deeply.

little did you know, he was thinking about you too.

the next morning you awoke to a knock on your bedroom door. assuming it was your mom, you got up and opened it.

it was katsuki instead, holding a bouquet of flowers and the locket you'd given him.

"can i come in?"

you opened the door wider, leading him to sit on your bed.

"katsuki i--"

"[name]. i don't know why you did what you did.. but i know it probably has something to do with me. so what did i do wrong?" he looked defeated, as if he thought it was his fault you tried to end your life.

"no! no that wasn't it at all. well, it was about you but not like that.

it's just.. i've been alone. for so long? having you around felt.. too good to be true. i didn't want to go back to how i was before. in a way, you were too good for me."

"you're.. an idiot. but i guess i understand."

"i just.. i really love how you treat me. i didn't want it to go away."

a moment of silence passes, a small anxious laugh leaving katsuki's lips.

"fuck, i thought you hated me. could barely sleep without you."

he pulled you into him, staring deeply into your eyes as he pulled you impossibly closer. he kissed you deeply. his worries, passions, and frustrations all poured out into it.

he pulled away, eyes half lidded as he asked gruffly.

"wanna take this back to my place?"

he took your last first away, gentle and loving as he guided you through it. reassuring you that he'd never leave you.

you moved in with him soon after, finding it hard to sleep without eachother, no matter how late he got back to your shared home.

he'd be welcomed back by the sight of you, who always tried and failed to stay up waiting for him. he'd pick you up, like always, and hug you to sleep.

he'd know he woke you up by the feeling of your smile in his chest, the way you tightened you arms around him.

he loved spending every waking moment he could with you. you were right though, he did break up with you after he got your validation.

...

but that's just an odd way to say he proposed to you, vowing to spend the rest of his life making you happy and fufiling your wishes one by one.

he changed not only himself, but the way you see yourself. he changed your relationships with yourselves and eachother for the better,

and as you walked down the aisle, your wedding planned by your two designer parents, being lavish and gorgeous. the silk on the floor being runway to your expensive shoes specially designed for you, the guests in awe of how gorgeous you are.

you both knew, you'd better eachother for better or for worse, for as long as you'd be together.

he signed 'i do', sealing the rest of your lives together,

with a kiss.

[jaythes1mp]

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

2048 words, 11528 characters, 130 sentences, 69 paragraphs, 8.4 pages.

With the absence of light and the sudden onslaught of heavy rain, you realise you've stayed out here for a dangerously long time.

You turn around to meet Dick’s gaze, the man standing tall, holding you up an umbrella, wearing a soft grin. His bag, stuffed with clothing and trinkets that miraculously fit your size perfectly that were conveniently "free" from the fair, slung over his shoulder.

"Tired already, little one?" Dick queries, a hint of amusement in his deep voice as he extends his hand out towards you.

"You're going to catch a cold, you know," he noted with a tone of care in his voice. "We should go back before you get sick."

You let out a sigh, taking hold of his hand with a begrudging smile. "I am not tired, thank you very much," you retort, feigning irritation despite the exhaustion evident in your eyes.

With the grip of your hand, he gently pulls you close to him, sheltering you from the relentless rain. His eyes softened at your display of weariness, though he had a feeling you were just being stubborn.

"You don't have to deny it, you know. You look beat."

He chuckled lightly, wrapping his free arm around your waist, his hand resting comfortably on your hip as he guided you along.

“You really should take better care of yourself,” he added, his tone slightly concerned. “Can't have my little bird falling sick on me.”

You raise an eyebrow at the nickname but opt not to mention it, well aware that his concern is the driving force behind the choice of words.

The soft pattering of rain filled the silence as you walked. The rain and chill caused you to press closer to him. He found himself drawing you further into him almost subconsciously — seeking to protect you from the elements and the cold, as though the closer you were, the more shielded you’d be from harm.

"You’re freezing," he noted, feeling the coolness of your skin against his, frowning upon the slight tremble he felt.

“It’s raining.” You reply blankly, snickering softly.

He chuckled at your blasé response. "Ever the master of observation," he retorted, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance.

"You're also wearing a thin sweater in an icy downpour," he added, glancing down at your attire. "You're practically asking to get sick with that combination."

You raised a brow, nudging against his side. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who chose this sweater.”

He let out a low hum of acknowledgment. "And I stand by my choice," he said, his voice dripping with teasing confidence.

"It looked cute," he explained with a slight shrug, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "The cute factor outweighs the obvious risk of hypothermia."

You shoot him an unimpressed glare. “Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, prick. I’m dying.”

He feigned surprise, hand resting over his heart in mock offence.

"Flattery? Who said anything about flattery?" he retorted, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I merely stated a fact. That sweater is adorable."

He chuckled but his tone took a more serious turn, a hint of concern seeping in. "And you're hardly dying.. You're just a bit cold. You'll be fine."

Despite his casual tone, you could tell he was worried. He tugged you a little closer, as though his silent way of reassuring you.

"And if you do get sick, trust me, I'll nurse you back to health in no time," he added, his soft smirk returning.

You rolled your eyes, a smirk of your own forming. “Oh, how romantic.” You sarcastically comment.

He chuckled. "Hey, I have many talents," he shrugged, feigning offence. "One of which is being a damn good nurse."

You raised a brow at the comment, leaning back as you felt the rain splatter against your calves. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professor?”

"Assistant." He corrected, his smirk widened into a full-fledged grin. "And what makes you think I can't be both an assisting professor and a damn good nurse, hm?"

He shook his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he glanced down at you, the rain dampening your hair. "You look like a wet dog."

You shot him a glare, smacking him half-heartedly. “Well, whose fault is that? If you didn’t drag me out here, we wouldn’t be in the middle of an icy downpour!” you retorted with a scoff.

"Oh, so now it's my fault that the sky decided to piss down today?" he teased, raising a brow.

You were just about to retort, but a loud crash draws your attention away. Both of you turn to see a woman stumble out of the bar, clearly intoxicated. She loses her footing and crashes into the nearby trash can, the loud clamour cutting through the pitter-patter of rain.

You snort, then step out from the umbrella and towards her, moving to check on the woman, but freeze mid-step as you catch a glimpse of her face. The moment you do, your shoulders inadvertently tense, muscles constricting tight instinctively.

Your heart rate spikes as recognition kicks in, and before your brain can fully register what’s happening, your body automatically reacts. You quickly take a step back, only to collide into the solid, unmoving form of the eldest Wayne brother — who you realise, with a hint of surprise, had moved to shield you.

You whirl around, eyes widening in a mixture of panic and disbelief as you grasp the older man’s sleeve. The words spill out of your mouth in a rushed, urgent plea.

“Dick–" you start, voice breaking on the name, "get me out of here, please." Your knuckles turn white from how hard you're gripping his jacket. "Now- now."

He looks from you to the woman then back at you, his jaw tightening. As you grip his jacket tighter, an almost desperate look in your eyes, he nods silently and tugs you closer under the umbrella.

"Alright," he responds, his voice steady and comforting. "Alright. We're going."

You feel like you're drowning, lungs burning as they fail to take in air. The world blurs around you, nothing making sense. Your fingers involuntarily dig into his arm, hanging on desperately as if he’s the only lifeline you have, the panic swelling inside you like a storm. You don't know what’s happening to you.

You're vaguely aware of him saying something, his voice a faint buzz in a sea of noise. But it’s distant, too distant. A rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and every instinct is screaming to run, run, run.

Your entire body is tense, muscles coiled as if ready to pounce at any moment, the animalistic need for survival kicking in. But the world blurs around you — colours bleeding into each other, sounds and shapes melding together, the only thing you are distinctly aware of is him. His presence, his solid figure, his anchoring grip on your body. It’s the only thing grounding you, stopping you from falling into the panic.

He says something again, his voice louder this time, but you can't make out the words. Your heart is thundering in your ears, the roar of the blood rushing through your veins drowning out everything else. He tries to pull you along, gently tugging you away from the woman, and your body follows obediently, feet moving without conscious thought.

As you let him guide you away, a part of you is distantly aware of the look the woman gives you. It’s a look that sends chills through your body — a look that holds no recognition, only a cold, unnerving blankness in her eyes.

Your legs mechanically move one in front of the other, blindly following where he leads. Every step feels like a mile, the adrenaline still pumping, your heart still racing. The rain, previously a monotonous backdrop, now feels like a violent spray of needles against your skin.

“W-whats.. What’s happening? Dick– Dick I can’t- I can’t breathe.”

His jaw tightens further as he feels you stumbling against him, your words breaking out as panicked gasps. He glances down, seeing the sheer terror etched on your face.

"Hey," he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Hey, hey, look at me, look at me. It's okay. It's okay.”

His hand goes to your cheek, gently cupping it, his thumb tracing over your skin in an attempt to soothe you.

“I’m here, I’m here. Listen to me, just breathe, alright? Just breathe.” His hand drops down to his pants pockets, shimmying out his phone.

He keeps his other hand on you, fingers gently rubbing at your cheek, grounding you as he taps the screen of his phone.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, eyes never leaving your face. “Just breathe for me. In and out, nice and slow.”

You try to focus on his words, but it’s difficult. Your mind is still racing, your breath coming in short, sharp pants. You’re fighting against your own body, trying fruitlessly to force it to calm down and listen to him.

But your lungs burn as they struggle to draw in a full breath.

Time seems to move in a blur. Everything is a mass of sensations that you can barely register — the cold rain that seeps through your clothing, the cold touch of Dick’s hand against your skin.

You find yourself being ushered into a long, black vehicle, Dick gently guiding you into the back seat before sliding in beside you, shutting the door with a soft click.

He's never seen you like this before. He's seen you cry, seen you angry, seen you determined, but never, *never* has he seen you so terrified, like this. You're pale, your hands shaking, breath coming out in sharp gasps.

His heart aches as he sees you struggle for breath, fighting against your own body. As he sits beside you in the backseat of the car, he gently grabs your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing it gently. His other hand pulling you close and tucking you into his side.

He murmurs in a low soothing tone, “Just- just breathe. Just focus on my voice. You're safe. If I'd known she'd be there I never would've brought you here, I'm sorry, baby bird.. I'm so sorry.." He presses a kiss against your temple, his hold tightening around you.

Your body is trembling uncontrollably, the panic attack refusing to subside. His hand finds purchase on the back of your neck, fingers massaging the tense muscles there in an attempt to calm you down.

"You're safe. I've got you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're safe.."

Outside, the rain continues to fall, the sound of raindrops hitting the windowpane providing a strange background track to the situation. He keeps you tucked in against his side, his grip firm but gentle.

Dick's mind was on overdrive. His focus was solely fixated on you, comforting you and trying to bring you back from the brink of your panic attack. But underneath that, there was a simmering rage that threatened to boil over.

His mind went back to the woman — your mother. She wasn't supposed to be here. Tim had promised to keep an eye on her. You were supposed to be safe here.

All that went out of the window the moment he saw you step out from under the umbrella, your body tense and eyes narrowed. He could see you were trying to hold it together, but the moment you realised who it was, everything in you shattered.

A flash of anger ignited in him knowing that the woman caused you so much pain, so much terror.

You were supposed to be safe. That was the whole point. He had given Tim the sole responsibility of keeping your mother at bay, to ensure you never saw her or heard from her again. And yet, here he was, watching you fight a panic attack brought upon by her unannounced presence.

He clenched his jaw, the anger towards her, towards himself, burning bright. You were his little sibling. His baby bird. He was supposed to protect you.

He clenched his jaw, eyes meeting the soft grey ones of Alfred’s through the rearview mirror. His gaze murderous.

Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae @wpdarlingpan @dhanyasri @tojislvrr @phoenixgurl030 @mel-star636 @lilyalone @lavender-moony @nickey-diano @sociallyakwardpanda @obsessedwithromance @thickerthanthievescomic @nckcn @xxrougefangxx @th0rn118 @gaozorous-rex-blog @lyl-3 @wtf-am-i-doing-with-my-life-help @snowy-violets @atsukogikoshi @eyeless-kun @soriansick @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @preciouslittlething

Masterlist

[koanxel]

Sylus, who you’ve finally caught. <NSFW>

“ 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘦. ”

Dom/Sub themes. Sylus is enough of a warning? Degradation, edging, porn without plot, spit, teasing, pet names (sweetie, doll), unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), slapping, mean Sylus (when is he not?), reader does NOT get to finish.

****************************************************

“I’m warning you.” Sylus hissed, wrist bound together by the cuffs he had gotten for you. More times then you’d like to admit, Sylus has dominated you in every aspect. Not only was his ego thriving, but you were the one paying for it. So of course with your sweet smile and an innocent bat of your lashes, you were somehow able to trick him into this position.

On his knees, hands behind his back, hair a complete mess, and that beautiful leather choker he kept around his sensitive neck. How could you resist doing a little teasing? A tiny whip in your hand that you used to trace all his most prominent features, a tiny whip that he used on you. Frustrated was an understatement, as he continued to warn you over and over only to get slick retorts.

“You? Warning me?” You repeated, tone laced with confidence that felt like daggers wounding Sylus’ pride. “I’m not the one on my knees right now, am I?” You said with a dry laugh, used specifically to mock Sylus in all the wrong (right) ways that got his blood pumping in every section of his toned out body.

He rolled his dark red eyes, just itching to rip these cuffs off and- Oh. A playful kitten never knows when to stop. His eyes dipped down to see your shoe pressed firmly against his aching cock, rubbing small tantalizing circles around his tip. Sylus was embarrassed by the groan that was dragged from his throat, eyes meeting yours in defiance. “This how you treat me, after I saved-”

“Kidnapped.” You corrected, pressing down harder. You used to leather whip to trace his jawline, then using it to lightly tap his face over and over again and god was it hurting his pride. “Does it matter if you’re well fed, clothed, and sheltered?” Sylus bit back, tilting his head to the side a bit as his eyes refused to me your own. “I’d watch your tone if I were you.” You whisper, your breath ghosting over his ear just enough to send a shiver down his spine. If he knew any better, he’d say you were out for blood.

Sylus couldn’t help but roll his eyes though, you were terrible at being the dominant one. “You’re holding it wrong, and it’s better to used the heel of your boot. Not the tip, silly girl.” He commented, even though he wasn’t in a place to talk right now. He couldn’t help but correct your every move, even when he was bound he was still mean. “I’ll- Shut up!” You ordered, already getting frustrated with his commentary. Sylus let out a cold chuckle, a smirk pn his face that was quickly wiped off the moment you kicked him onto his back.

“I’m so sick of you- your attitude, your voice, your eyes.” You ranted, on and on, all while findinf your way onto his lap. You sat prettily on his pelvis, your hand finding its way to the bulge in his pants. God. Not only was he an asshole, but he was gifted. He was massive, with veins you had practically memorized at this point. He let out a almost heavenly moan, and you could’ve sworn you saw a halo right above his head. You blinked, only to be reminded that he was actually the reincarnation of Satan himself. “Mmh, yeah.. just like that, sweetie..”

And for some reason, you actually listened to that soft and seductive voice that did wonders for you. You let out a small breath, continuing to rub him through his black slacks. Pace quickening, breathing getting heavier, if this was hell then you wouldn’t mind staying for another hundred years. Too lost in his deep red eyes to even notice the evol he used to unlock those pesky cuffs. Only when you felt his hand on your lower back did you become aware of the situation you were in. “Sy-”

“Calm down, sweetie. Might give yourself a heart attack.” He chuckled.

“When did you- wait!” You gasped, feeling his other hand slip under your skirt without a single care. It was almost like this was an everyday occurrence for him. When you tried to put up a fight, he simply switched positions, using his free hand to pin yoir wrist against the hard floor. “Let me go!” You shouted, only to be met by a scoff. “Girl, please.” He hissed, using his evol to bring the cuffs to your wrist and lock them shut. Biggest mistake? Not begging for mercy sooner. If God wouldn’t strike you down; Sylus definitely would.

Now on the nth round of getting pounded, you can barely even focus on the man putting you to work. It was painful, getting pushed so close to the edge only to be stopped over and over. Your cunt was practically throbbing at every shallow thrust he gave to you. He pushed your head into the ground with one hand, and used his other hand to rub quick circles on your poor clit. “So- Sorry! ‘m sorry, Sylu-us!” You whined, atching your back to try and get away from his fingers on your clit.

“Yeah? So sorry.. baby’s so sorry..” Sylus mocked, taking his hand off your head and using it to bring your hips back to his. “Where’s this pussy goin’, huh? Don’t run from it sweetie. You can- haa.. take it. Take. It.” For the most part, you would’ve believed him if your knees weren’t shaking from the pleasure. Before you could even blink properly you were thrown onto the bed, pillow slipped under your lower back, and kegs thrown over his broad shoulders. He used his evol in such filthy ways, holding your legs over his shoulders as he aligned his cock with your abused cunt, not even taking his time as he slammed into you.

You let out a pitiful squeal, toes curling as his evol disappeared, giving you a moment to rest your legs before he pulled them up again. He placed small kisses on your toes, feet, ankles, then your calfs. All with that sinful smile on his face and god- he used his evol in such filthy ways. “No.. ple.. please..” You begged, but all fell on deaf ears as he used his evol to lift your hips off the bed, keeping your helpless and unable to run away.

“Sweetie, you wanna cum? Yeah.. I know you do.. Look at me.. yeah, that’s it, baby..” He praised, only for a moment beofre he leaned closer to your face- only to spit on you like a whore. You let out a small whine, but your protest quickly turned to lewd moans. Sylus could be so sweet at times, especially when rearranging your guts. Other times, he could look you in your eyes and call you a filthy sellout slut. Seeing that cut pout on your face, he couldn’t help but tease you. Quickening his thrust, pushing deeper into you until you were screaming, just to tell you to shut up.

“Take it, hey, look at me.” He ordered, and when you didn’t listen, his palm found your face in a few quick slaps. “I said look at me, slut. I’m talking to you.” He scowls, tiltinf his head to the side to get a better look at your fucked out expression. When he gets no response again, he lets out a small huff, that soon turns into a demeaning chuckle. He can see your orgasam on the tip of your tongue. Back lifted off the bed, legs held tightly together and slung over his shoulder, and that beautiful look you had on your face. He almost felt bad. Almost.

Just as you started letting out higher pitched moans, nails started digging into the satin sheets- only then did he feel his ego restoring to what it once was. “Sy- mmh! Sto-op- oh god.. oh god!” You whimpered, broken moans escaping your sweet mouth that spat such vile venom. “There is no god, sweetie. Not.. mhp- with me a-around.” Sylus stuttered. He was ashamed to admit that your beautiful pussy was forcing groans and gasps out his body, ones he could not control.

Just when you reached your limit- he pulled out. Jacking himself off for a few seconds before releasing all over your stomach. You let out an unsatisfied groan of frustration, brows furrowing as you looked at him. “I was- I was so close, Sylus..” You muttered, and you swore you saw a pair of horns when you looked up at him.

“I never said you could cum yet. Only good girls get filled.” Sylus said, casually getting off the bed and wrapping a towel around his waist. “Where are you going?!” You reached out, pulling your hand back at the last second as he turned his head to glance at you. He looked almost confused for a moment, wondering why you were even talking to him. “To my room..?” He said before just walking out.

What an asshole.

[wttcsms]

baby, oh baby ; satoru gojo

pairing satoru gojo x f!reader word count 1.2k synopsis gojo is surprisingly good at caring. (or: he comforts you while you get morning sickness and start spiraling). content contains thr*wing up (morning sickness), pregnancy, pregnant!reader, domestic fluff, soft!gojo, reassurance

Satoru Gojo knows he’s a dead man from the minute he swings open the bathroom door and finds you curled up by the toilet. 

Even in his shirt and a pair of sweatpants that have clearly seen better days, with your hair all messed up and your lips chapped, Gojo thinks you are absolutely adorable. Beautiful, even. 

He tells you this, thinking it’ll cheer you up, but all you do is narrow your pretty little eyes at him.

“You,” you practically snarl at him. “You did this to me!”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Now, honey, I know it’s been a while since you took a biology class, but it takes two of us to, you know—” He gestures to your stomach, which still isn’t showing much of a bump since it’s only the first trimester, but you get the message. He decides he should have just shut up whenever you send him an absolutely scathing glare.

“It’s all my fault.” He immediately changes his tune. “You’re right, honey, I am an awful person for getting you pregnant. You should kill me for my transgressions.” 

“You want to make me a single mother now?” You snap at him.

“Okay, I see that that was the wrong thing to say.” Gojo tries to give you a soothing smile to calm you down, but it comes off as more of a nervous grimace. “I would never die early and let you raise our wonderful child alone. As a matter of fact, I refuse to die only until you tell me it’s okay to do so!” 

“Satoru.” You close your eyes, opening the toilet lid, anticipating another bout of morning sickness to come spilling out your mouth. “Get out.” 

“Nah. That’s the one thing I can’t do.” He dares to take another step into the bathroom, frowning at how cold the marble tiles are. It can’t possibly be comfortable for you to be kneeling on the floor like this, especially since you’re throwing up last night’s dinner. 

“Satoru, I’m not being funny right now. I’m seriously about to vomit, and you won’t want to be here.”

He kneels down by your side, gathering your hair in his hand and pulling it all behind your shoulders. “I’m not being funny, either. I’ll stay by your side no matter what.” 

You don’t reply to his sweet comment, even though you really want to. Instead, you actually do make good on your word, and only after you flush the toilet does he bother saying anything else.

“Do you feel a bit better now?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know!” You shut your eyes, leaning against him, your back pressed against the warmth of his chest. Being pregnant sounded hot during the heat of the moment when the baby was being made, but now reality is hitting, and you’re already crying about how ugly maternity clothes are. You look like a wreck right now, and you’re barely nine weeks in with the pregnancy. Meanwhile, Satoru looks fan-fucking-tastic, as he always does. 

His hand finds yours easily, and he intertwines your fingers together. He starts to absentmindedly fiddle with your wedding ring as he talks. 

“What’s bothering you?” 

You know that while Satoru was pursuing you, there was a long line of women all excited and ready to be the one by his side. You know that Satoru sometimes is a certified flight risk, running away from intimacy when the feeling gets too overwhelming for him. You know that Satoru is the only man capable of breaking your heart, and he’s subsequently the only man who would be able to piece it back together. Even with a ring and a legal certificate binding you two together, there are still annoying little doubts running in the back of your mind that has only worsened through your anxiety of life literally being grown inside of you and unbalanced hormones. 

“Everything.” You tell him, and it’s not even a joke or an exaggeration. 

“Well, tell me something that’s bothering you now. Something I can solve.” He adds on this last sentence, already knowing that you would most likely ask him for the impossible just to be funny. As conceited as he acts to the outside world, Satoru is surprisingly caring and observant towards others. 

“What if our baby is ugly?” You look up at him, gauging his reaction.

At first, his eyes widen, and then he laughs. You can tell it’s genuine because you can feel the way it comes from his chest. 

“It has us as its parents. With both our genes combined, it won’t have much to worry about.”

“No! I’m serious! Haven’t you heard the saying that two pretty people make an ugly baby?” 

“Well, we’ll be the exception.”

“I’m being serious, Satoru! Your eyes are kinda scary to look at sometimes. Our baby will need brown contacts if it inherits your eyes.” 

Oh, so because you’re emotionally fragile, you’re allowed to make comments about his eyes? Satoru snorts. You better be lucky he loves you so much. 

“Why does it matter if our baby is ugly? Why is our baby being ugly even a thought in your mind?”

“This world sucks. Looking good is key to having an enjoyable experience on earth. You should start worrying about our child’s future, too, you know!” 

“I would fight the entire world if it mistreated our baby.” Satoru presses a reassuring kiss to the top of your head. “And I know you would, too. So who cares if our baby is ugly?”

“That’s not the point, Satoru!” You frown, knowing that you’re being ridiculous right now, but who else could handle you in this state if not him? There’s a reason why he’s the one you call your husband, and he’s the one who put the aforementioned potentially-ugly baby inside of you. 

“Fine. If our baby is ugly, let’s leave it on Kento’s doorsteps and let it be his problem for the next eighteen years. Then, we can get started on the next and hope the second time’s the charm. Sounds like a solid plan?” He doesn’t mean it, but he knows it’s best to just try and nip these hypotheticals in the bud. 

You’re silent for a moment. Then, “You’re awful! I would love our baby, even if it had your eyes and crazy ass hair.” 

“I would love our baby, too. Ugly or not. You know why?”

“You’re going to say something corny.” 

“I was going to say that I would love our baby because it came from you. Nothing ugly is coming out of your body, babe. And anyway, I love you so much, how could I hate anything that’s literally half you?” 

Even if you’re in the mood to be annoying and insecure, and your brain is telling you to argue some more with your husband, you can’t help but relax after hearing this. 

(Nine months later, all your worries seem to be all for naught; your son is the cutest thing to be born.)

[luveline]

jade i am begging on my knees ….. any time you are up for it …… it would make me very greatly happy to see something with a bombshell!reader x hotch <33333

The office is hot today in the midst of a ninety degree summer, and your coworkers have been forced to strip down to their lightest layers, the women in linen blouses, men with their shirt sleeves rolled up high. Spencer has ditched his sweater vest reluctantly, cooling himself with a makeshift fan fashioned from printer paper, and Emily huffs next to you at her desk, overwhelmed. 

“How aren't you hot?” she demands to know. 

You lean back in your chair with a demure smile. “Mind over matter.”  

She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked.” 

Hotch's office door opens. You turn in your chair to watch him appear —even Unit Chief's get hot, apparently. He looks flustered in the heat, pink-cheeked and hair skewed ever so slightly, the most unmade you've ever seen him at work. 

You could get used to it. 

He feels you looking, narrowing his eyes. You'd like to think it was playful. For Hotch, it is. 

“Hot, handsome,” you say. 

“I'm fine.” 

“I wasn't asking.” You beam at him. 

“Enough. You know the rules.” 

He doesn't seem too mad, but he's right; you know the office rules. Don't flirt, don't start, and don't text him inside of work hours unless that text pertains to work itself. You'd started calling him instead —what are you wearing right now?— and he'd decided that text now meant any communication lest you find another loophole. You're pushing it. 

“Ah, the rules,” you say, throwing your arm across your eyes in mock distress, before peeking under it to see if he's watching. He always is. “You know rules aren't made for people like me, handsome.” 

“Stop it, final warning. Or I'll have you moved.” 

He makes being his girlfriend very difficult. You roll your shoulders and drop the act. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.” 

“Afterwards.” 

“No, right now. Please? It's important, I swear.” 

He gestures for you to come up. You take the stairs and cross the landing to his office, where he's already stepped back inside to open the window even further on its hinge. There isn't much wind to breeze, but there is a palpable difference between his office and the bullpen. You join him at the window and let the barely cooler air fan your face. 

“What's wrong?” he asks. 

“Can you give me a quick kiss? It would really lift my spirits.” 

He laughs somewhere deep in his chest. “No, honey. Now tell me what you wanted to tell me.” 

“I have a doctor's appointment next week, on the 13th. It's a Wednesday. I was hoping for PTO, but I can take a sick day if that's not agreeable.” 

Hotch gives you the side eye, brows gently furrowed. “Everything okay?” 

“Wouldn't you like to know.” 

“I would, actually.” 

“Yeah, well, you'll have to beg for it. Not everything in life is free, Hotchner–” You break into laughter as he grabs your waist, not expecting it, your hips tender as he squeezes. “Ouch, you're kinda handsy, you know that?” 

You sound beautiful like this, laughing as you talk, so happy it lines every word. Hotch pulls your front to his, arms crossing casually behind your back, his eyes expectant. “Tell me,” he commands smoothly. 

“Because you asked so nicely, I'm just fine, but I've been feeling a little under the weather. I think I'm anaemic.” 

“And this is the first time I'm hearing about this because…” 

“Because I'm not allowed to talk to you at work!” 

He rolls his eyes as you drop a considerable amount of your weight against his arms. Usually, Hotch would meet your eyes and say, You're punishing me for a rule created out of necessity, or something to that effect, but, despite everything that might say otherwise, he really likes you. Loves you.

“I know, honey, I'm sorry. Maybe we can… allot you a few texts a day.” He analyses your expression. “One a day.” 

You squeeze his naked forearm and lift up to kiss his cheek. He stays completely still while you do it, beside the small stroke of his thumb where it rests on your back. “Thank you. I'll leave you alone now, or we might get caught fraternising with one another and lose our jobs. Oh, wait, that's not actually going to happen–” 

You burst out laughing as Hotch once again squeezes your waist in warning, the hint of a smile on his lips. 

[alastor-simp]

Returning The Favor - Alastor x Sick Female Reader

❥Summary: Alastor was finally rid of his sickness, however, you contracted it due to taking care of him when he was ill. Now you lay in your bed, hoping to recover soon, until someone teleported inside your room.

❥Tags: Sick reader, alastor takes care of sick reader, sequel, female reader, fluff, fluff and romance, taking care of someone sick

❥Notes: This is a sequel to my other story Sickly Deer. Hope you guys enjoy it.

✦Your Bedroom✦

"Achoo! Ugh this sucks." Your hand reached for a tissue on your bed counter, wiping your runny nose. It had been a few days since you took care of Alastor when he was bedridden with his sickness. He was stubborn in the beginning, but after his fainting spell in the hallway and you bringing him in his room, he allowed you to do so. It was nice that he was opening himself a bit to you, letting you take care of him, since he barely allowed anyone to see that part of him. He recovered quickly and he was back to his radio demon self. However, the next day from his recovery, you had felt feverish and woozy the minute you woke up in bed. "Great, now I'm sick" were your first thoughts, as you slowly grabbed your phone, making sure to shoot Charlie a text, letting her know you were sick. The response you got back was emoji crying faces and a bunch of kind messages saying "FEEL BETTER SOON!" and "GET LOTS OF REST!!". Heh, she was so sweet.

You were glad you had some stuff in your room to prepare you for your cold, as you put on a face mask to prevent spreading it to others if they came into your room. Sneezing again, you reached for another tissue and blew your nose, throwing the gross tissue in the bin next to you. The gross sick feeling was bothersome, it felt like your body was being held down by a bunch of weights while changing your temperature from scorching hot to bitter cold. Adjusting your body, you leaned on your side, face smushed into the pillow, hoping your body was tired enough to allow you to fall asleep. Shutting your eyes, you tried to relax. Sounds of static penetrated in the air, making you open your eyes slowly, seeing a certain red-headed demon in your room.

"Ohh Y/N! You look an absolute mess." Alastor spoke in a mocking tone, as he bent down to peer at you. "Haha, very funny Al." you returned a mocking tone back to him, as you raised your middle finger up at him. "Now now, my dear, it was a mere joke, no need for unpleasantries." Alastors smile turned apologetic as he walked closer to your bed. Setting his microphone down, he turned to sit on the bed, angling his body to look at yours. The both of you continued to stare at each other, as small sounds of static continued to emit from him. Slowly raising his hand, he removed his glove, allowing you to see his darken skin and nails. He moved to place it on your forehead, appearing to check for a fever. "How are you feeling?" His voice contained no static, speaking in his true voice. You smiled behind the mask, saying you were okay and not to worry. His crimson eyes were kind as he stared at you, continuing to rub your head with his hand. "Your hand is cold. Feels nice" He let out a small chuckle, smiling wider at you.

He soon removed his hand from your head, making you feel a bit sad, but you knew he was a busy man, so it was nice that he dropped by to see you. It turns out you were wrong when you heard the loud snap of his fingers. A small cart had appeared in front of the bed, with a tray on it. Along with the tray, there appeared to be some small bottles of medication and an ice bag. Wait, was he gonna take care of you? The tray had floated over to Alastor as he removed the cover, revealing a bowl of some sort. "It seems you haven't eaten, so I took it upon myself to prepare you something that will satisfy you and help with your ailment!" Alastor continued to smile down at you, as he moved closer towards you. Lifting your body up a bit on the bed, you waved your hands at Alastor, telling him to stop. Alastor tilted his head at your actions, confused as to why you were reacting this way.

"Al, you don't have to take care of me. Its fine, plus you just recovered from being sick. Taking care of me will just make you sick again." Alastor listened to your explanation and let out a hearty laugh, "HAHAHA! I am as fit as fiddle, my dear. I have already recovered from my previous condition. My immune system is not that poor." He inched closer, placing his hand on your cheek, giving it a soft rub. "Plus, I do remember saying that I would return the favor if you were ever to become ill. I am not a man that fails to go back on his promises." His lips drew into a soft smile, making your heart skip a beat. Seeing he wasn't going to take no for answer, you nodded your head. He moved the bowl to his lap, which contained a yellow mixture. "I had made some porridge with honey for you, my dear. I much rather have given you gumbo or jambalaya, but it seems spicy foods are not a wise choice to consume when sick." Alastor took a spoon in his hand, mixing the porridge in the bowl.

"When I feel better, we can make some together." You said to Alastor. Alastor grew giddy at that, feeling happy that you wanted to cook with him. He moved the spoon towards you, holding it in front of your mouth. He raised an eyebrow at you, "Are you planning to eat through your mask?" He jokingly teased. Oh! You forgot you still had the face mask on. You took it off, mumbling a sorry. Alastor giggled as he moved the spoon closer, telling you to say "Ahh". You did what he told you, accepting the spoon. Your mouth bursted with flavors of honey and sugar, making you feel all cozy inside. "It's delicious. My compliments to the chef" you said, smiling back at Alastor. Alastor smile grew soft again, uttering a "thank you", as he got more porridge from the bowl and fed it to you.

After feeding you all of the porridge, he had gotten some pills from the medicine bottle and handed it to you with a glass of water to follow after. After taking the medicine, he told you to lay back down. He had gotten the ice bag and slowly placed it on your head, allowing the cool sensation to help with your fever. You looked for the face mask you had taken off, and grabbed it, only to be stopped by Alastors hand. "Oh no you don't, my dear. This measly mouth guard is going to hide your beautiful smile! We can't have that can we?" Alastor said as he took the mask and threw it away. Rolling your eyes at his silly antics, you told him that it was better to wear it so as not to accidentally spread your germs to him, but Alastor said again, it wasn't needed.

Relaxing your body, your eyes began to feel droopy from exhaustion. You continued to stare at Alastor, as he conjured up some shadows to fix your room a bit, and throw away the tissues that had littered the bin and the floor. He turned back to you with a smile, leaning down to become face to face with you. "Anything else you need, my dear?" His eyes were soft when they looked at you. It was honestly so surprising how much he can go from scary overlord to humble gentleman. Hesitant, you moved your hand slowly to grab a part of his coat. "Could you stay with me a little longer, please?" Alastor stilled for a minute, a bit surprised by your answer. A soft chuckle escaped him, as he snapped a chair to appear behind him, allowing him to take a seat. You smiled at him, "Thank you." Alastor's lips drew into a soft smile, as he conjured up a book. You observed him as he continued to seat next to you. Eyes scanning the book in his hand, while moving up to check on you, before going back. Soft jazz began to emanate from his microphone, creating a calming atmosphere in the room. It felt like he was playing a lullaby for you, as your eyes slowly began to close, falling into a deep sleep.

Alastor had paused his reading to look back at you. Your eyes were shut and you were breathing softly. He got up from his chair, moving closer to look at you. Placing a hand on your cheek, he softly stroked it, as gazed at you lovingly. "Sweet dreams, darling." was what was whispered from his mouth, as he leaned closer, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, before he disappeared into the shadows.

-END-

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[rr311]

katsuki bakugo , izuku midoriya & shoto todoroki

¡summary you’re sick and you want their presence.

↳ a.n ; next story i’ll add a few more characters to the mix ☝🏽, there gonna be short little drabbles but it’ll be worth it! enjoy the story :).

katsuki ;

not even a minute in a loud knock was heard on your door, chuckling as you got up. you stumbled a little due to dizziness but you made it to your door pulling down the handle to open it revealing your hot headed boyfriend with a hoodie and your favorite snack in his hand, “awwww kat, you really do care about me.” you teased but he only groaned pushing past you, closing the door behind you. “of course I do idiot. why wouldn’t I?.” he asked giving you his hoodie, shrugging placing the blanket you had covering you on the bed to change into the hoodie, mumbling “ask mina or something.” you mocked hearing him scoff, “so funny.” he was going to come anyways despite how he responded. he liked being an ass, it was funny getting the many reactions from you but you knew it was just him being an asshole. either way he was still going to come because he loves you. even though your like a stick up his ass he still does stuff for you. when you both got settled in the bed, you were quick to wrap your arms around him as he did the same around your waist. “if you cough on me i’ll kill you.” he joked, you groaned heavily rolling your eyes cuddling more into his chest, “whatever you say kat.” you muttered , starting to falling asleep. he knew by the way your breathes were slowing down, soon enough you had fallin asleep. he caressed along your back to give you the comfort you needed, softly smiling. though he hates admitting stuff, he loves being in your arms.

Izuku ;

It was so fucking hot in your room. the ac and the fan you had blasting in your face wasn’t helping your case the slightest bit, you tried using your wings to fan yourself but despite that nothing wasn’t really helping. you hated summer. you groaned loudly letting your wings spread out as you lazily laid in your bed sniffling, being sick while also suffering from heat was going to make you go crazy. after you sent that text to Izuku, 20 minutes had passed hearing a light knock at your door, not bothering to get up you used a feather from your wing to open the door. Izuku stood there with a bag of your favorite snacks and ice packs, his face softened but chuckled a little. you were spread out like a star fish, when you heard him walk in placing the bags down you looked up, “took you long enough.” you grumbled hearing him hum, bending the ice pack in half letting it get cold. “endevour made us patrol a little longer for our last day, but i’m here now right?.” you groaned rolling over to lay on your back, “I guess so.” you huffed but sighed in relief feeling the cold pack on your forehead, “that feels nice..” he smiled, continuing to hold it to your head as he sat down next to you, “how have you been holding up?.” — “I almost died from suffocation. It’s too damn hot.” you complained, Izuku nodding his head in agreement caressing your hand with his, “I do agree, we had to get new suits by how high the temperature rised.” humming you turned on your side using the hand he held with yours playing with his fingertips, “at least you don’t have to suffer every damn year, but you just being here makes me feel better..so thank you.” he felt you give his hand a squeeze, smiling down at you. he lifted your hand close enough to his lips pecking the back of it, “of course my love, just rest for the day. I’ll be with you the entire time.” and he did what he said. when you fell asleep he stayed with you the entire time, he placed your head on his lap as he kept the ice pack on your forehead making sure you don’t overheat. the whole time he made sure you were comfortable and relieved.

shoto ;

It took some time but once shoto was done with his dad and the others, you heard a knock at your door. you coughed a little into your sleeve, walking to open the door revealing your boyfriend with a bag of snacks and a hoodie, “you don’t look good.” you rolled your eyes playfully stepping aside to let him in, “gee, thanks shoto totally didn’t know that already.” you sniffled, closing the door, walking back to your bed to sit on it watching as shoto set down the bag on your desk, “are you feeling ok?.” he questioned as he walked up placing his hand on your forehead, it was hot. “now that you’re here yeah..but keep your hand right there..it feels nice.” you leaned more into his hand feeling the coldness radiate off his palm, softly smiling. shoto gave a small grin also, “i’m going to need my hand if you want your snacks.” you pouted slightly but by the sound of your stomach grumbling you nodded your head, feeling his hand leave your head. as the night slowly went by, you both were cuddled up on your bed both watching a movie eating the snacks he had gotten you. his hand wrapped around your waist as you laid comfortably on his chest, the comfort of his warmth mixed with his cold was putting you to sleep. he caressed along your waist intrigued into the movie not even realizing you were dozing off. but when he heard soft snores and breaths hit his collar bone he looked down to see you fell asleep, he softly smiled. you look so cute, despite the sick look, you still look cute. he leaned down to give your forehead a soft kiss before turning off the tv to get you both more into a comfortable position, he laid you on your side as he also laid on his side holding you close to his body. soon, sleep started to take over as well.

[missberrycake]

Absolutely outraged to learn that the little headcanon I dreamt up in bed this morning doesn’t work timeline-wise but screw it, I’m doing it anyway.

When Eddie was small, his mom always used to sing him Rainbow Connection from The Muppet Movie. They’d watched it together over at Uncle Wayne’s trailer when it first came out on VHS and Eddie had been entranced. He’d parked himself right up in front of the small TV, his eyes glued to this little frog playing the banjo.

His mom noticed, of course, and made it theirs. Their song for when his dad was away and they could dance in the kitchen without being yelled at. For when Eddie was sick in bed, or couldn’t sleep, or had woken up with a nightmare. For when he came home from school with grazed palms and tears in his eyes.

“Who said that every wish, would be heard and answered?” his mom sang to him, brushing away Eddie’s tears the day she told him that she was very poorly. That she had to go into hospital, just for a little while, for the doctors to fix her up.

Eddie had asked for the song to be played at her funeral, in his small voice, tugging at his dad’s shirt sleeve. He’d said no, of course. He’d never understood either of them.

But later that night, when everyone had left and his dad was asleep, Uncle Wayne led Eddie out into the backyard and picked up his old guitar. He’d smiled at Eddie as the familiar chords rang out in the night sky and Eddie’s voice trembled when he started to sing, “Why are there so many, songs about rainbows?”

Uncle Wayne’s voice soon joined his, strong and sure. “And what’s on the other side?”

Eddie smiled. Maybe it could be their song, too.

So, years later, when Eddie was shuffling around Steve’s vast kitchen, trying to find where the hell the Harringtons kept their mugs, he found himself humming along to the familiar tune with a happy heart.

“Oho, I see we’ve got another Tammy Thompson fan on our hands here,” came Steve’s voice as he and Robin sidled in and leant against the countertop.

Robin snorted. “Someday we’ll find it,” she sang, her words taking on a pitchy, mocking quality.

Steve joined in, squeaky and off-tune, “The rainbow connection.”

They were grinning at each other as they carried on. “The lovers, the dreamers -”

“Stop,” Eddie yelled, red-faced, his heart beating wildly as he clutched the empty mug in his hand. “Stop it.”

They did, with matching looks of confusion. Clearing spotting the way Eddie was breathing too hard, eyes too glassy, Steve shifted. “Shit, sorry Eddie. We didn’t mean anything.”

And it was bullshit because Eddie knew that. How could they know about that song, about his mom and Uncle Wayne and everything it meant? They couldn’t, but now Eddie had made it weird. Made it awkward. But he was still too worked up, he couldn’t explain.

“S'okay,” he said. “I guess I just don’t feel well. Might go home.”

He didn’t let either of them get another word in before he fled the house.

The next day, Eddie was disturbed from his still-embarrased wallowing by a gentle knock on his bedroom door. It was Uncle Wayne, with a soft look on his face.

“The Harrington boy’s here,” he said. “Came to apologise. Called last night, you know. We talked for a bit.”

He disappeared and moments later a contrite-looking Steve shuffled in.

Eddie pushed himself up against his headboard.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just a joke Robin and I have. I would never -” He cut himself off and sat down on the end of the bed, a little sheepishly. “I got you this.”

Steve pulled his hand out from behind his back to reveal a tiny Kermit the Frog toy, complete with a small, squishy banjo.

Eddie’s chest clenched. He reached out for the toy and smiled wide at Steve.

When the other man dragged him into a hug, Eddie let himself fall into it.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be a song for him and Steve, but it could definitely be the start of something sweet.

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[literaila]

hey v ! what about peter and reader getting ready to go somewhere and after reader puts on some red lipstick peter can't stop kissing her ?

lipstick

warnings: ugh, peter

*

“how many times have you done that?”

peter is standing behind you, leaning against the wall, probably ruining your focus, or your makeup, or your sanity. he’s probably staring just to mess with you.

you refrain from smiling in the mirror. wipe a smudge with your nail. “i don’t know, peter,” you meet his eyes, and his nefarious smirk. “how many times have you watched me do it?”

“i got lost somewhere around the first time.”

you laugh at him, crumbling the napkin you’ve been using, now filled with kiss marks, and turning it around so you can throw it at peter. “are you sick?” you ask him.

instead of answering, he licks his lip and unfolds the napkin, staring at the red marks, creases and tireless efforts arranged in a messy pattern. “this is like art.”

“why are you acting like you’ve never seen anyone wear lipstick before?”

“what?” he asks, hand to his chest. “i cant watch you get ready? i’m banned from being in the bathroom when you are?”

“yes, and yes.”

it does not escape your notice when peter tucks the napkin into his pocket for safekeeping.

he shrugs. “i don’t mind breaking the rules.”

you scoff at him and pat his shoulder as you walk past him through the doorway. “i would’ve locked you out if i knew you were going to be weird about it.”

“weird? how am i being weird?”

“you were lurking. you’re still lurking.”

“i’m talking to my girlfriend. that’s part of our contract.”

“you’re following me.”

peter smiles. “well, i like you.”

you roll your eyes, almost—almost—smiling when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. “please don’t make me argue about your stalker like tendencies.”

“we don’t have to argue,” peter says, kissing the space beneath your ear. his breath is hot.

“i need to put my shoes on, peter.”

he smiles, his teeth clashing against your skin like a dreadful reminder. some type of jumpscare—minus the fact that you merely lean into him, sans jumping. “we can spare fifteen minutes.”

“how can you be thinking about anything besides the fact that we’re already late to meet may?”

he nibbles on the skin by your collarbone, then licks it, as reprieve. “it must be the lipstick.”

“you’ve literally seen me with lipstick before. i wore some on our first date.”

“‘s probably why i like it so much.”

his lips are needy as they crawl around your skin. his hands are stationary, but they pose their own threat as they lurk.

“peter, we have to go.”

“i’m not known for my punctuality,” he spins you around, his lips curled in mischief, “you know.”

“i’m aware.”

you refuse to indulge him. your brows furrow, your hands held in the air—just so you can avoid accidentally touching him. purposefully.

“then why are you so worried?” peter asks, kissing your cheek.

“i’m not kissing you,” you say, instead of answering.

“you’re not?” peter pouts like a child. he is far too grown.

“no.”

“how come?”

you try to pull away from him, but, shockingly, peter is stronger than you are. your will is weak. “you’re going to smudge my lipstick. i just finished.”

“you have more, don’t you?”

“not the point.”

“what?” he asks, his voice so serious and teasing. “you don’t want to kiss me?”

“no, i do not.”

you look away from him, admiring a wall that has always been there.

“are you sure?” peter asks, ducking so he can catch your eyes again, because he is nothing if not cruel.

you break, pouting. “peter,” you whine, “we’re not going to be late again.”

“i think we are.”

“you can kiss me when we get home later,” you promise, trying again to wiggle out of his grasp.

“that is a terrible compromise.”

“you won’t compromise,” you snap back. “what else am i supposed to do?”

peter grins, tilting his head. “okay. i have an idea. how about i kiss you, and then we leave? you don’t even have to kiss back, even though we’d both prefer it that way.”

“i’ll kiss you,” you mock him. “you’re the worst negotiator i’ve ever met.”

“then how come we haven’t left yet?”

you scowl at him, and he scowls back, but his eyes are alight.

your skin is ravenous with an ache to touch him, he’s so close that kissing him would be nothing—merely breathing, really—but you don’t want to lose this game to peter. and you dont want him to stop looking at you.

he pretends to check a watch. “hmm, it’s getting awfully late.”

“are you british all of the sudden?”

peter grins, biting his lip before he tries to bite you. you lean away. “if you like my accent, all you have to do is say so.”

“i like it when you get out of my way, and stop trying to sabotage me. i like that a lot.”

“no clue what you mean, dear.”

you roll your eyes and manage to cross your arms in his hold.

“i wonder how we could solve this,” peter muses, tapping his finger on your waist. “it’s a big problem.”

“i could leave you behind and have lunch with may myself.”

“that’s one option.”

you roll your eyes again.

“i was thinking something else, though,” peter says, and he’s closer now, but you’re sure that you never saw him move. “something more… proactive.”

“shove it, peter.”

“you don’t even want to hear it?”

you sigh, leaning your chest into him, out of pure delusion. “fine. what?”

peter smiles at you, eyes catching eyes.

the look on his face is soft, delirious. he’s got that look in his eyes, and that smile on his face, and he’s still staring at you like he’s mesmerized by whatever you’re doing.

“what?” you repeat, but softly, like you can’t find your voice in the chest cavity peters taken hold of.

“kiss me,” he says, softly, and it’s really not your fault that his lips are already brushing yours.

and it’s not your fault when you lean in, sighing in relief at the mere feel of him.

you’re almost breathless, from the tiniest of kisses.

but then you kiss peter again, and again, and your hands finally wrap around him—keeping hold of something real in this fake reality—and your voice isn’t your own when you groan at peter for making you do this.

you have evacuated your body. you have lost common sense.

but it doesn’t matter, because kissing peter has always made you forget all of that.

and it still does, when he pulls back, grinning like he’s won. “see?” he says, voice ragged. “it was simple.”

“we’re going to be late and it’s your fault.”

peter laughs, kissing you again, staring at your red lips. “gladly. i’ll take all the blame.”

“and you’re making it up to me later.”

“whatever you say,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

he releases you and watches as you finally put on your shoes.

you don’t think it necessary to mention the red marks on his lips. it’s not like it’s your fault they’re there.

*

[lilacgaby]

˗ˏˋmy first, my last, my everything ୭ৎ ིྀ

pairing: exmafia!bakugo x reader

summary: katsuki left that life behind for you. but when the life you two built from scratch together was threatened, what else could he do but go back?

tags: fem!reader, wife!reader, mafia mentions, violence, angst to comfort, cursing, blood, pet names, no quirk au!, threats, guns, mention of death, clingy katsuki

status: complete.

wc:~2.5k

katsuki had been around blood for most of his life.

whether it was his own, or a bastard who he had to handle for his own, he'd grew comfortable to it. almost intolerant to it.

but seeing you, freaking out with a bullet in your shoulder, your blood spilled over the floors he'd taken you to pick out?

it was something he never prepared for.

glass was shattered, he ran to your side immediately. the hot flash of pain in your arm unbearable, even more so as he pressed down on it, his shirt now ripped as he had to keep the blood from pouring.

your wails echoed throughout the shop, the one you decorated and planned for months together.

he needed to call someone, anyone. you were bleeding and he needed the kit-- but it was too far.

he was failing you. you were crying and he was failing you.

he was shaking, "babe? fuck. stay awake." everything around him was mocking him. his phone being too far, everything was just out of his grasp. out of his control.

he couldn't get up and leave you, if he let up the pressure you could die in the minute it'd take for him to set up.

he always failed you in the end. this was all his fault.

until, kaminari and kirishima walked in, about to yell out and bug katsuki for some food like usual. "yo bro! what's--"

the sight in front of them was one they never expected to see. katsuki almost crushing your arm with pressure, your blood all over the place. the front of house ruined.

it was enough for them to jump into action. katsuki holding you still as kirishima worked to get the bullet out of your arm. kaminari throwing the medkit over from where katsuki had it stored in a shelf. it had barely missed an artery, you were a milimeter away from death.

honestly, they hadn't liked you for a while. before meeting you they only saw you as the woman who was taking one of their best friends away from them. from their own.

but they learned that you only wanted the best for him, so you'd all become close. they learned how katsuki made this choice because he wanted better life for the two of you.

how he was growing sick of the repeated bloodshed that never amounted to anything. how his heart ached at the sight of you crying over his wounds, his black eyes and knife cuts embedded in his skin.

how he vowed to himself that before he'd ever propose to you, that he'd tie up all loose ends with his group, before he knew he could fully dedicate himself to you.

and he did.

nobody couldve ever imagined that they'd be here, kaminari working to keep you calm, helping regulate your breaths. you were freaking out, and that wasn't good for the extreme amount of blood you were losing.

katsuki would be forever grateful for them. he didn't know what he'd do if they weren't here, if you had died in his arms.

your screams were haunting, but at least you were alive. they finally died down into groans of pain when the bullet was out and the fabric was tied tightly around your shoulder.

your shirt was bloodied, his hands were too. he picked you up and mindlessly followed the two into a car that they must of called when he wasn't listening.

back to his old life he went. his eyes were sharp and angry, his hand gripping yours tightly, his finger over your pulse.

he had frozen up. and that could've costed you your life.

your eyes were half-lidded, but open.

only the noise of the road was heard throughout the car. he was the only one in the back, holding you in his arms as he faced straight ahead. he didn't think he could handle looking at you right now.

"'suki?" you said, so quietly the thumping of the road almost completely blocked it out.

but he heard you, he always did. "don't waste your energy. we're almost there."

you nodded, squeezing tighter. your eyes stuck on his bloodied shirt.

you were immediately rushed to the medical wing, the old woman dubbed 'recovery girl' taking you into her care. "she'll be fine, young man. she was lucky. they missed." she scurried off behind the operation team, who had immediately taken her into surgery.

those words carried only a bit of comfort for him. he was guided back to the meeting room, the one he'd been in several times before. the one he took brutal beat downs just to get out of.

but he was back, and it was for you. the same reason why he left.

he stared back at his old blood. deku had taken over for all might a couple years back, so he stood at the head of the table waiting for the rest of them settled in.

he wore a soft face of sympathy. "go change." deku finally said, handing him a pair of spare clothes. "we'll wait for you. you look like.. crap."

"to say the least." katsuki muttered, before accepting the clothes and going to where he knew the old bathroom was.

he washed his hands of your blood, but he knew it'd never really leave. he had stained your life, put you in danger for something as fragile as love. you could've died today, for the only reason of you being connected to him.

he changed, emptying the tattered shirt and slacks into the garbage. he didn't want anything to do with them anymore.

after splashing his face with some water, he headed back to the room.

every old face was there waiting for him, some with understanding small smiles.

he sat next to kirishima, arms crossed as he looked to the head.

"kacchan." deku started. "you, you aren't seriously thinking of coming back, are you?"

all eyes were on him, his body tense. "of course i am. i'm going to find the dumbfuck who did this and bury them."

"but you're not one of us anymore." todoroki cut in. "you left, if you come back it's like you did all that for nothing."

"you can never truly leave though, if you think about it." iida replied before katsuki had a chance. "this is just proof of it. even though he worked so hard to get rid of the connections to us, she still ended up targeted."

"and by an ally no less."

"a what?" katsuki said, his hand slamming on the table. "repeat that shit to me scarface?"

"it's not confirmed yet--"

"don't lie midoriya, it's obvious from the bullet. even the color is mocking us." todoroki said, sliding a bag across the table, over to katsuki.

a bright purple bullet was in it. it was bigger than he remembered, a 12.7 mmx99. it took up almost the entirety of his hand. whoever shot this really had wanted to kill you.

but it couldn't be...

"..shinsou?"

"that's who it points to."

"but. it doesn't make sense. your wife was close friends with him, and we haven't had bad relations with '2 Block' for decades!" midoriya reasoned.

"that doesn't change the fact there was a bullet in her arm." katsuki grumbled, moving it around in his hand. he slammed it back down onto the table.

"wow bakugo, if you couldn't pick up on that, i don't think you should be working this operation." kaminari said, a hand behind his head.

"shinsou wouldn't have missed. she'd be dead the second he aimed for her. you should know that."

silence enveloped the room. kaminari was right, if he didn't pick up on that, he was rusty.

his eye twitched. "i fuckin' knew that dumbass."

"you have personal stake in this, we get it. but you'll end up dead if you keep thinking with your shit attitude." kaminari responded.

"he has a point kacchan. why don't you let us handle it, and you can--"

"no."

he silenced them all with that single word. a face of sincerity and vulnerability he barely wore present in that moment. "i have to do this. i can't sleep at night if i don't. you guys of all people should understand."

a collective silence came over the room. they didn't say anything, but they knew if this had happened to them they'd want back in too.

they knew midoriya had the final say though, so they wished for his opinion.

"fine. but youre not doing this alone. we'll all get in on this. you were one of our best before, im sure all might would agree."

everyone nodded in agreement, saying some variation of 'if you say so'.

kirishima patted katsuki on the back. "hey man, our duos back again!"

"only for this mission though."

"aw man."

"we start tomorrow, so fix yourselves up. i have a feeling we'll be traveling around some tomorrow." midoriya ordered. "dismissed."

everyone poured out, katsuki walking directly to the medicine ward. he passed by the hallways, the pictures representing the allyship between them and the several surrounding gangs mocking as he walked by.

it all felt so familiar, it had only been a year. not much had changed, except for the atmosphere that he brought along with him.

he finally made it to the ward, looking past all the rooms. 'lets see, torture room.. cell.. no she'd be here.' he thought before walking into a hallway.

there he found only one room with a light on. he was right, he looked in to see you, fast asleep with bandages wrapped around your arm.

'at least you were safe', he sighed. jumping slightly when 'recovery girl' started speaking to him. "you did well, a moment later and she'd be dead. don't beat yourself up young man."

a moment passed between them, her words resonating in his mind. he'd done all that he could doz

"you can go wait inside, just don't wake her. there should be a spare bed you can pull out."

and with that, she left.

he walked inside, pulled out the bed and held your hand as he slept. the guilt never dissipated, it was all his fault. and so he'd have to fix it.

he woke up to the feeling of you moving. he'd been on edge the whole night, so the feeling of your hand jerking out of his woke him up immediately.

"katsuki." you said, sounding so tired and confused it broke his heart a bit.

" 'm here." he hugged you quickly, being mindful of the wound in your arm. a desperate, tearful kiss shared between you.

you took his face into your hands, making him stare into your eyes.

"i was so scared, you don't even know." you said nervously. "i thought i was gonna die."

katsuki held you tighter, still so disappointed with himself for even letting you get to that point. he felt like he should've taken the shot. that he should be the one injured right now, but instead he leaned in closer to you. "i was too, but you're here now. safe. with me."

"mhm."

you held him for a bit longer, looking at the room surrounding you.

while he was thinking of the possibilities that could've happened, his one wrong step from you could've left him all alone, you examined the room.

it wasn't a regular hospital, probably not a hospital at all. you knew that from the guns laying on the counters. the stitches all around ready for work, the empty body bags that were bloodied. mocking as they hung from the ceiling.

the windows, all reinforced heavily. the door that had a bolt lock on it.

you didn't get to feel relieved for long. "katsuki. be honest with me."

he tensed up, he knew you'd find out eventually. but he wanted to finish this mess before you ever knew about it. "always am."

"are you.. back in this?" you asked, looking into his eyes with an anxious expression. your hands clinging to his sides.

he sighed heavily. "y'know i have to. i'll never relax if i know that fucker is still out there. he could come back and.. and hurt you again."

"and i can't change your mind about this?"

"...no. it's for.. for us. i wouldn't have left if i didn't care for you, you know that."

"i do."

"then.. just-- wait for me okay? i won't leave 'til later today."

you nodded, laying your head in his chest. "if you get hurt too i think ill die."

"i won't get hurt."

"you promise?"

"i swear."

you leaned in and pecked another kiss on his lips. though you were interrupted by kirishima walking in.

"oops, i really should've knocke-"

"yeah you should've dumbass."

"hi kiri!" you waved, shoving katsuki off of you. "hey [name]!"

katsuki had one arm around you, squinting seemingly annoyed at his partner annoying his wife.

the topic would randomly change from shows you were watching, to fun things that have happened recently, but it took a deep turn into what had just happened to you.

"so, [name]. you heard bakugo's hanging with us for a while, right?"

"yeah, i did." you said, holding him just a bit closer subconsciously.

"so, did he tell you who we think did it?"

"shut the fuck up kir--"

"you already know?" your attention was on him fully. the look in your eyes revealing just how much you wanted answers. "well, it's just a guess for no--"

"shut up kirishima."

"but we think it's shinsou."

your face twisted in confusion. "shinsou?...

no, you're wrong."

"babe, please stay out of this."

"shinsou wouldn't do this-"

"they found his bullet in your arm. nobody else who isn't retired or dead uses that shit."

you physically recoiled at that. "no way." you looked to kirishima, who only confirmed it.

"this has to be a set up or something? he wouldn't do that!"

kirishima made a face, which made katsuki squint his eyes in confusion. "what?"

"i mean.. she could be right y'know. we talked a bit before you came bro." kirishima said, walking in and closing the door behind him.

"right about what? shinsou is associated even if he wasn't the one who shot the bullet." katsuki asserted, standing up to meet kirishima, even if he was taller. this made kiri shoot his arms up in defense.

"i'm saying you're both right. we think it's someone closely associated to shinsou, someone who either taught him or was close to his teacher."

"eraserhead? the guy with a thousand hits under his belt?"katsuki glared, shoving a pointed finger in kirishima's chest.

"hey man, i'm just the messenger. but, no. someone else who learned from him too. but, midoriya called 'you know who' for information."

katsuki sighed, knowing the asshole who went by 'hawks' was about to be here any moment. "fine, i'll be ready soon. just.. let me take her home."

kirishima nodded, leaving the room with a "be back soon man!"

"i'm taking you home baby."

"fine."

"and you have to take all the medicine and stuff when i call you. we'll have to use burners again."

you rolled your eyes. "..fine."

"and, i want you to text me every hour and before you go to sleep."

"fucking fine. let's go already, this place creeps me out."

"good."

he grabbed your hand, helping you up. he let you change into some sweatpants and a tshirt so you didn't have to be the hospital gown for much longer.

you drove home, taking the long route so you wouldn't have to the see the remnants of your , almost, death in your own shop. he had to leave you in front and he wasn't happy about it. opening your door and hugging you tightly, you knew he wasn't going to see you for a couple days.

"babe, text me whenever you can. send me photos or voice messages i don't give a fuck."

"it's only a couple of days kat' you'll be fine, but i'll do it. you text me too, tell me when you sleep and stuff."

"don't let anyone in the house and don't tell anyone what's happenin-"

"i know, babe. i'll be okay."

he shared one last kiss with you. with a determined face he turned away, he would not sacrifice your life together like this. he wouldn't not let you get hurt again.

he would not fail.

next part

[hotxcheeto]

im begging for a fic with ellie about tribbing i don't even care about the plot at this point i just an ellie fic with scissoring

━ 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ?

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, ex gf!ellie, angst here and there, SMUT, tribbing, kissing/make out session, lowkey toxic behavior, mentions and situations with alcohol, both ellie and reader are tipsy, party environment in the first 1/2, top!ellie, bottom!reader

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - ehhehehehehe i love olivia rodrigo so i had to bruh REQUESTS ARE OPEN NOW!

REBLOG MY WORK! I WORK HARD & IT'S APPRECIATED!!

Music bumped in the room on the other side of the wall that supported the upper cabinet that held your head. The smell of sweat, alcohol and cigarettes filled up the small kitchen to the brim while a few people laughed and chugged the concoction in the punch bowl that sat on the corner countertop.

Other than the patrons drinking themselves into a very horrible morning that was soon to come, there was a couple making out against the fridge. Bothering anyone that wanted to drink something other than what the party host called, 'the ultimate punch to the gut' that the college boys were frothing over.

You decided on something else that you'd scavenged from the liquor cabinet that had been broken into earlier in the night. The liquid a pink color, bubbling from the continued sloshing in your red solo cup that was lazily hanging from your hand.

Your head felt dizzy at all the uproar in the room, the only thing keeping your two feet flat on the ground was the girl in front of you. Chasing your gaze with her head that way with each direction you looked, her eyes weren't far behind to follow.

"I told you I'm done, Ellie. I'm sick of your shit." You slurred slightly, having swayed your hips on far too many people and had too many drinks to care about how you currently sounded.

Or looked for that matter, lipstick smudged across your lips and even had made its way off your mouth. Eye makeup mirroring the appearance of the lower half of your face and all the while your dress was halfway up your thighs from her prying and your continuous attempts to stop yourself from making a decision you'd regret.

"You're a fakeass bitch, y'know that?" You pointed at her, the manicure that she had in fact paid for practically mocking her as she grabbed your hand and pushed it down, holding it in her own.

"Don't be like that, babe." You rolled your eyes at just the sound of her voice, suddenly hearing it and comparing it to the biggest annoyance in the world. "You were like that first, or did you already discard the lap warmer you were entertaining when I walked in?"

Right, the bottle blonde with the bad roots.

"Y/n..." She dragged out your name with that excruciating tone that made you feel like you'd done something bad. "Answer me Ellie."

She opened and closed her mouth for a second, not meeting your eyes before shrugging her shoulders. The black fabric of her long sleeve button up going with, pissing you off even more as the realization set in that she'd worn your favorite of her nice shirts and even undone the top few buttons you always undid for her.

"She's one of Abby's friends, fuck Y/n, I don't even know her name I promise." You scoffed, leaning your head back on the cupboard, looking over at the drunk guys challenging each other to drink a full cup of the punch once again.

"You piss me off." You rubbed your eyes, not caring of the slight burn that your lashes caused on your irises. "I know. C'mon, I said sorry." She said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You sent me fifty-eight text messages, I don't remember there being a 'sorry' in there though." "Babe-" Ellie stopped when she realized you were in fact not paying any attention to her now, looking out the kitchen window, but it was too dark to actually see anything past the glass.

"C'mon... let's just go home, I'll give you the best apology fucking ever." The alcohol really boosted her confidence as she said this, Ellie moving to kiss up your neck as you thought, her thumb coming to wipe the smeared lipstick away.

"I promise, babe." You wanted to fall against her and give in, just how you wanted when you seen her earlier eye-fucking you from across the room. Fucking hell you were such a gullible mess.

"Ellie..." "Can't tell me you don't miss my fingers..." "Shh!"

You tried covering her mouth but it was no use as she just laughed, looking down at your pretty eyes while you tried to shut her up.

"I don't, mine work just fine, actually." Such fakeness followed those syllables, even you cringed slightly on the inside as you spoke them.

"Huh, so you're lying to me now too?"

"No..." Yes.

"You're a bad liar." She then whispered, impossible to hear her if you had not been so close to her mouth. "You're a dickhead." You then replied, giving her a smile while pulling back.

That was nothing to her, leaning forward despite your unwillingness just earlier, but something about the way you met her lips wondered if you changed your mind.

She tasted like the shitty alcohol mix those dudes were chugging along with soaked in Chapstick and the two combined creating a rush of memories that came trickling back. Those pictures soon invading your mind all the same, fingers wrapping around her belt loops before you got a chance to stop them.

And in the haze of the smoky kitchen you broke your promise to each of your friends promising you wouldn't go back. Tugging her closer and allowing her to rest her hands beneath your ass, holding the backs of your thighs to get impossibly closer.

She was your everything and nothing, the mess stuck between your floorboards that you could never fully get rid of. Ellie knew she wasn't going anywhere, she couldn't and wouldn't be replaced and it was comforting, smirking as she began pushing herself against you and hitting your hips against the counter.

"M'not-" A kiss. "-gonna fuck you-" Another kiss. "-here." You finished, her tongue invading your mouth as soon as the final breath passed your lips. "Why not?" "Seriously?" Ellie rested her forehead against your own, huffing like a child until you tapped her phone that was in her back pocket.

"You can start your apology by buying the ride home, 'kay?"

God, the things she did to see you as you were now, laid back on the bed with your dress pulled up and your head resting against her pillows. Thighs spread all for her while you stared up and watched her unbuckle her belt and unzip her jeans. Wanting nothing more than to have her between your thighs

You just looked so gorgeous in the lamplight, the yellow glow kissing your skin and she moved to kiss it as well. Wanting just as much as the inanimate object had gotten in the past few moments.

"M'gonna be so mad at myself in the morning." You grumbled playfully, Ellie watching you grin at your own prediction, returning the smile while throwing her shirt away and exposing her torso for you to run your eyes over. "But I don't even care." You concluded.

Your nail ran along the light bulge her muscles created on her arms, eyes fluttering shut while her lips made their home on your neck. Jaw becoming her favorite place to hover, smirking against your flesh when you giggled that it had tickled. Looking at the way her boxers met her lower back, little dimples just barely shadowed.

"Ellie?" She pulled back to look at you, cradling your face in her hands.

"Yeah?"

"Unzip me, I wanna feel you."

She didn't have to be told twice, helping you from your dress before tossing it to find the next morning. Your undergarments going with, swept away like they were stolen by the ocean. Your body running against hers as if you were the waves and she were the rocks, though less jagged then you'd like to admit out loud.

Her curves were softer than you remembered despite feeling them just days ago, along with her freckled skin.

"I want you." She whispered, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear.

Your friends were so gonna put you in time out.

Her boxers fell down her legs and yours wrapped around her hips, waiting for the agonizing thumping of your arousal to be put at ease. The discomfort growing while her fingers ran along your nipple, warm breath fanning your face as you both watched her hand run along your boob.

It was like the air paused along with your movements, sucking in a gasp as she played with your breast. Hand trickling down between your legs just to barely tease you.

"You wanna feel me?" You nodded at her question, moving your head up and down again and again while she lined herself up with you. Fingers lightly, just barely, brushing against your little, yet swollen, clit.

"Need to hear you say it again, Y/n."

"I wanna feel you, Ellie."

And before you knew it she was humping herself against you, not even attempting to muffle your sounds which you'd given up caring about. Grabbing at her back and holding her as close to you as possible while her clit bumped and rubbed against your own.

It felt like fireworks, despite having done this just over a million times. Burying your face in her neck while she fucked into you over and over, promising her love silently while whispering things that would make a catholic mother weep.

"Missed you so much..." You turned your head, meeting her eyes as your lips did the same. "Me or this?" You asked, a choked whimper following when she became rougher at the sound of your falsely innocent question. Her hand trapping your leg on the bed as she spread you apart.

"Both, but mainly you." She played off, her other hand softly wrapping around your neck. "I would hope." You giggled, mouth dropping agape as her pace picked up. The whole bed rocking back and forth while simultaneous creaks that were sure to piss off her neighbors for the next however long she spent on top of you.

"Oh fuck, El... fuck please..." You squeezed and clawed at her, sure to leave red marks on her pale skin for her to be teased about when she went to the gym. Cunts grinding back and forth creating a heavenly feeling you just couldn't describe, choking out noise after noise.

"El... m'gonna- fuck I- fuck..." She kissed along the column of your throat, squeezing just the slightest. "I know." From your hole to your bundle of nerves, in your slightly inebriated state it felt like too much.

Sounds you weren't aware you could make falling from your mouth, and you were sure you heard her lightly grunt. Hips stuttering as you'd begun to jerk against her pussy, letting out a yelp while you trickled into your orgasm.

A mix of both you and her dripping down your ass, but it didn't stop you from trying to meet her thrusts. Crying a bit when she slammed you back down, kissing you and then down your chest.

"Leah's gonna be so pissed at me." You huffed, staring up at the ceiling as she peeled herself off of you and fell to the side. Giving you the option of moving to lay with her or finding your way the hell out of here.

"Who cares? Come ride me." She said, sitting up against her pillows that laid against her headboard. "Seriously?' You tilted your head up to glance at her, giving her your best unimpressed expression.

"What? Can't take it back anyway."

This was a bad idea, right?

"Will you eat me out after?" You asked, tilting your head and then rolling over to make your way up to her. "If you do a good job." She said, setting her hands on your hips.

Fuck it, it's fine.

a/n: YES I KNOW THAT SHE'S MY EX BUT CAN'T TWO PEOPLE RECONNECT I ONLY SEE HER AS A FRIEND! BIGGEST LIE I EVER SAID.

REQUESTS OPEN

[ajortga]

competition

pairing: slytherin!toxic!jenna ortega x ravenclaw!fem reader

summary: jenna loves to joke around, you both know it. as she gets braver and braver with her jokes, it comes with a price, eventually hurting you and taking away something you loved most.

warnings: slight angst, teasing remarks, heavy makeout scene, rushed ending, enemies to lovers

word count: 5.2k+

based off request!

-

Jenna criticizes literally everything about R's performance (J's an ass here 😓), while R is actually starting to get really pressured, J would always have something to say, thennn R gets tired of J's bs and begins focusing on themselves more, which would lead to R ignoring J for atleast a month or two, obviously J's pride is awfully. THEN J CONFESSES TO HER FRIEND, (how inlove she is w R and how she misses R sm) WITHOUT KNOWING THAT R IS NEARBY, OVERHEARING EVERYTHING. 😍😍 A DAY AFTER... R JUST TAKES J IN A PRIVATE ROOM AND KISSING TF OUTTA HER.

Slytherin Jenna! x Ravenclaw R!

-

Your test paper gets put on your desk, your teacher murmuring a small, “I expected better, Y/N.”

There was a 65% circled in red and it made you sick to your stomach, you had never gotten a low score before, especially in potions. You knew your concoctions and effects, you swear you had mixed everything perfectly. You groan in frustration, cursing to yourself.

Your hand scrunches, breathing in deeply as you ruffle your hair, now hearing the voice of the person you would rather befriend a frog with and use them first as a sacrifice for a blood sucking demon. 

“How can someone fail a potions exam? You managed to get first place for being the biggest dweeb, messing up the easiest class.” Jenna slightly smirks, teasingly as she approaches you and whispers sharply in your ear, your eyes glaring at her. “It’s impressive you didn’t notice a small switch of potions. All I did was switch the labels of the potions which had the same color and you didn’t even notice.”

Of course she switched up the potions to set you up for failing, “You know how important this is to me.”

“Aw.. I’m so sorry Y/N,” she mocks, “What a pity.” She pouts, “I don’t care.”

You want to smack her in the face, maybe throw that explosive potion you made to melt off her face, but you don’t. At this point you’re thinking of something to get her back, packing your spell books.

“I swear she won’t get off my shoulders, I haven’t done a single damn thing to Ortega.”

Emma laughs, nudging you, “Maybe she just likes teasing someone sweet like you.”

An annoyed exhale leaves your lips, not knowing what she meant by that, “Well she better stop it,” you grab your broom stick. 

Your friend thinks a little, “Just put a small spell on her broomstick! Nothing, you know, to make her hurt, just maybe throw her off balance.”

That interests you, you're trying to think of a sparkle you could just add onto hers. You notice she hasn’t gone to class yet and clearly you can see the large stick hidden between her name. As you approach, your fingers touch the stick, feeling the way your body immediately focuses, then you pull your finger away to go back to Emma. You feel like you shouldn’t, but you don’t feel a single ounce of guilt as a smirk forms when you reach her.

“Come on,” you urge, taking Emma’s hand as you make your way outside with your broom sticks. 

You use your right hand, grabbing it forward as Mrs. Hooch stays on the side, watching. You’ve all gotten the hang of it either way, it’s rare for some people to fall.

“Up!” Emma and you say in unison, seeing your sticks fly up as you smile at each other and hop on, ready for a flight.

You giggle, feeling yourself ascend. 

“Y/L/N,” You hear Jenna’s voice behind you, making your figure turn to face her. You see her stiffen. 

Emma gives you a look, cunning. 

“Ortega,” you greet, not so politely, but not rude nonetheless. 

“I’d challenge you to a racing match, but I do know that your ass is scared that I’ll beat and outrun you in seconds.”

You give out a snarky laugh, “I highly doubt you could even reach me by the time I ascend. I’m better at you than flying, we both know that.”

Jenna does know that, sort of. And she doesn’t want you to prove it, not during flight class while everyone is watching.

“Unless you’ve changed your mind and don’t want to challenge me, niñita,” you respond again, seeing the way Jenna was thinking.

“Then I challenge you,”

“And I accept.”

Emma nudges you, you hear her whisper in your ear, “Well, she’d probably complain, you did sort of spell her broom and she’d notice as soon as she’d get on.”

A grin forms on your lips, tearing your eyes from the tiny Jenna, “Well, I spelled it so that if Jenna were to try anything, cause that’s the bitch she is, the spell would take effect. I’m not entirely making myself win at all. I know for a fact she’d try to make me loose, she doesn’t want to lose at all, well at least to me. I know her long enough to know she’d put a spell to make me lose balance, Em.”

You see Hooch in the corner of your eye, “Plus, Hooch is watching everything, and because I spelled her broom before hand, nothing will happen until she aims some spell at me. Hooch will see that, or at least a little sparkle and chant of words. But she won’t see mine, since I spelled it before, and she’ll just think Jenna lost her balance trying to spell me.”

Emma looks at you, not knowing if you should go on.

“Em! Seriously, Jenna has been making me miserable this year, and I haven’t done anything. This is just a playful harmless thing. It’s the least I can do. I could’ve spawned a rat in her dorm that follows her everywhere!”

“Go, I sort of want to see her fall.”

The grin that disappeared forms again, winking at her as you hop back on your broom.

Then you two are off.

-

You rush through the field, feeling the wind blow through your hair. You loved feeling that cool breeze, it’s unreal, flying is your favorite thing to do.

Jennas not far behind, but far enough to know that you’ll win. 

She groans to herself, watching your pretty, she meant nasty figure speed ahead.

The brunette’s eyes narrow, she wasn’t going to let you win without a fight, she focuses on your broom, she’s close enough to do something. 

The wind is making your hair go crazy, but in a good way. Everyone is waiting their turn from below, watching you race through the course. Fast enough to feel their hair blow from your swiftness.

An exhale pasts her lips, you can see her trying to come closer, or almost urging you to slow down. But you don’t, of course you won’t. You speed faster, dodging an incoming tree and turning a corner.

Jenna feels blood rushing through her ears, murmuring something under her breath as she gets ready to swish through you and laugh.

She begins the spell, feeling her fingertips slightly tingle. But as soon as she’s about to shoot a spark, her hands let go and she sees the blue flying spark stumble towards you. Instead of it hitting your broom and making it shake, your hair flies through the wind and it shoots back at her. 

Jenna yelps, feeling the way her broom starts to shake.

Emma giggles from the sidelines, as soon as you pass the blonde’s figure, you send her a thumbs up and a knowing wink.

God finally.

The brunette loses her balance, feeling the broom shake left and right, she’s clinging onto it tightly, smacks her head on loose branches. She feels herself slow down to regain a steady pace, but as she speeds up again, you’re already gone, swerving a corner.

-

The tiny brunette grumbles from the benches, watching you smile and jump up and down. 

“Impressive play out there, Y/N. You just might be our best flier out there, keep your swift performance and you’ll be on for Quidditch.”

You already knew you’d win, even if Jenna hit your broom with her spell. You’ve won every time racing against the class.

You approach her, giving her a half-hearted smile, you’d take it as a smirk.

“Well, someone tried to cheat.”

You hear her huff, and it makes you giggle, you brush off the stick that is stuck in her hair.

-

“I regret doing that, Em, that tiny tiny 3 foot 1 foot cockroach is making me fall into her traps,” you murmur, stomping your foot.

“At least you got a taste of revenge, Y/N.” 

“I guess so,” you say, sinking into your seat, you feel yourself begin to find her playful and harmless banters to be stressful by every joke and scandal that girl plays.

-

As Quidditch season approaches, Jenna swipes her hair to the side, tying it up as you watch her with narrow eyes. It’s just a regular racing match this time. No ball. Just two talented people against each other.

Well, one more talented than the other, you think to yourself

Hooch brings you two together, in which you stare each other down, your gaze not faltering on each other.

“Goodluck, I wish you two a fair match.”

You two shake hands, though you both won’t admit it was a genuine one. You give Jenna a final glare before gazing back at the field, focusing. 

“Ready?” Hooch says, you don’t respond, just a subtle nod.

“And.. Up!”

You and Jenna shout at your brooms.

“Up!” you command, seeing your favorite item fly up, you jump on it.

Then you both swing off.

Again, not long after, does Hooch see the way your practicing and after school matches with friends are working well. You’re much farther than Jenna is, and again, it’s like no other match. But this time Jenna isn’t going to let you win again.

She growls, casting spells onto your broom and immediately, you feel your broom slow down.

“What the hell.” You mutter to yourself, you dive down. But it seems like your broom isn’t listening.

It’s swishing up and down, left to right, and you steady yourself, but you’re shaking.

You're swinging back and forth and you're losing control, you can’t make your broom stop. It’s not like just a shake of your broom and you lose balance before catching yourself, this time it’s worse. Your broom isn’t listening.

You scream to yourself, not too loud. But Mrs. Hooch can see the way Jenna is catching up, she knows Jenna did something, but it’s not looking good. Sure playful banters were okay. 

But instead of dodging a tree, you smack your head straight into the leafiness, feeling the thorns of the leaves sink and cut beneath your eye. Jenna swishes through you, not looking back. The pain immediately comes through, harsh stings roaring through your skin. You cry out, completely losing balance on your broom, crashing into the tree harshly and feeling your head bang into the wood. 

Jenna still hasn’t noticed the damage she’s caused.

You feel yourself fall.

Farther and farther.

Till your body crashes down on the grassy field, your bones from the fall aren’t helping. You hear the way they crack. And then you feel warm blood trickling down your forehead and down from the cut on your eye. You whimper.

Black spots invade your vision and you feel carsick. But you know you’re not in a car.

Your eyes flutter, making a soft groan as Emma approaches you. You can barely see her worried face but you know she’s scared.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” She says, it’s muffled. You don’t respond, her figure is blurry, you can barely see her blue eyes.

Before you can even think of a response, your eyes shut.

And as Jenna reaches the finish line, she just turns around, to notice you at least tens of feet below from her, collapsed on the ground and curled up. She can’t help but feel a gasp fall from her lips, diving down and getting off her broom stick.

She didn’t mean for it to get this chaotic, she was just hoping you’d crash into a branch and get all angry and fussy. Not get hurt. As she approaches closer, she sees blood trickling down your face as your chest heaves up and down. Emma looks at you, worriedly as everyone surrounds you two.

Jenna feels something that she doesn’t want to admit, she feels guilty for hurting you. You had barely done anything to her, but she’s messed with you countless times, you’ve gotten in trouble for it.

And you never ratted her out. The one time you decide to get her back, she’s taken things too far.

“God,” she murmurs, her voice betraying her as she pushes through the crowds of people, “Is she okay?”

The way her friend turns to her, your best friend looks like she’s about to explode, “Does she look okay? DOES SHE LOOK OKAY JENNA? What the hell were you thinking?” the blonde says the last part half aloud, where only Ortega can hear.

“I didn’t think she’d get hurt!” Jenna retorts, kneeling down and putting her hesitant hand over your chest, feeling the way it was beating quickly, chest going up and down, up down.

Immediately nurses come and drag you out, Emma following you as they take you to the infirmary. 

Jenna feels herself following too, until Hooch catches up with her.

“Ortega!” Her voice is loud, screeching as she pulls Jenna off to the side, “what on earth do you think you were doing? You’ve gotten Y/N seriously hurt because of a stupid practice match! Don’t think I didn’t catch the lame spell you’ve cast.” her eyes are wild, angry, “You know we don’t allow spells on the battlefield, I know some of Hogwarts students have broken it, but it’s never been so severe, you’ve hurt her tremendously. She’s bleeding, and I think she’ll suffer some sprains.”

Jenna nods, she understands. Sort of. She wants to understand, she knows what she did was bad. Hooch takes a deep breath, “I’m disappointed with you.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t know if Y/N will heal in three months, she’s been our best and fastest player, with quick decisions and speedy moves. She might have to sit out on Quidditch, I was looking forward to taking the trophy this season. And I would disqualify you, send you to detention after school everyday till she properly heals,” Hooch takes a deep breath, “But you have to be one of our players because you have the ability to. That doesn’t mean that you won’t get detention. I’ll even ask Dumbledore to exclude you from house games.

God, Jenna didn’t mean to make you be kicked out this season. She knew how much you wanted it. She can’t help but feel guilty.

Hooch’s voice once again speaks up, “And I expect you to apologize and pay her a visit. You two have never gotten along, but I know you both care about each other. Even if it’s slight.”

A soft nod leaves her, her eyes lingering on your small figure that is now being taken to surgery. Maybe she’ll slow down with the pranks.

-

As soon as visitors are allowed in, Jenna begins to stand up and approach your door.

“Ortega, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t open that door,” it’s Emma's voice, but this time she sounds much more angry. Unlike the voice the brunette is used to hearing.

The way Jenna stands there, Emma narrows her eyes, “You’ve already hurt her, what more can you need? Unplug the oxygen tank and start laughing your stubborn ass up? I don’t think so.” 

She was taken by surprise, the fact that both you and Emma have gotten used to her tricks, she feels herself biting her lip.

“N-no.. No, not anything like that. I just wanted to apologize. I know my tricks have gone a bit farther than expected.”

Emma approaches her, pressing her finger to Jenna’s chest, “You’ve hurt her more than enough, and I can see it. She’s done nothing to you! Nothing!” your best friend growls, and Jenna backs up.

“You just don’t understand how much you’ve pressured her! Because you’re too busy standing there like the spoiled person you are on your banters.”

Jenna smacks her hands off, raising both of her hands to show she’s ‘surrendering,’ “I know, I know Em! Just let me apologize.”

“Not when she’s just about to wake up, you wouldn’t want the least expected person who hurt you to show up as soon as you wake up. Give her time,” the blonde grumbles, shushing her back to her seat as she enters your room. Jenna stands up again, noticing you're still unconscious.

Emma can feel her presence, and decides not to turn back as she sits on the chair next to you. Your face lost its color. None of the pink shade that tinted your cheeks when Jenna teased you. The pink shade that she wanted to see was gone, replaced by a pale, tired face, sound asleep. 

There were cuts all over you, she saw some bruises and there was a big bandage wrapped around your right cheek. She also saw a deep cut that was gauzed up in your arm. She winced. A few broken bones maybe.

She didn’t know it was this bad. The only noise was Emma’s sniffles, and the small beep of your heartbeat’s monitor. Jenna sighs, scooting closer and hesitantly bringing her hand close to your face. She felt like if she were to touch you, you would turn into dust. 

Her hand gently traces your fast, your nose slightly twitches, but she knows you’re too weak to move or wake up. Then she brushes through your hair, it’s weird beginning to see all the times she’s treated you wrongly as something she shouldn’t have done. Each trick got worse than the other, more risky of being harmed. And now look at you, all broken and bruised.

I didn’t mean it, Jenna thinks, looking down at your tiny figure.

I really didn’t mean it.

-

Your eyes flutter closed, and immediately you close them again, groaning from the whitest most lightest light you’ve ever encountered, covering yourself with a blanket. As soon as you move, you moan softly in pain, feeling pain roar through your body.

“Stay still,” you hear a familiar voice say, you can’t lend your finger on it. It sounds pretty, and before you can process it your brain switches that thought off. It’s your annoying rival that casted a spell that got you here in the first place. Jenna stupid Ortega.

You grunt, looking up at her, you feel bandages around you, avoiding contact with the brunette.

“Emma should be back soon, she was getting some flowers for you.”

“Good, then you can leave.”

Harsh.

You hear the way Jenna sighs, and you shake it off, turning slightly so you can face the entertaining wall instead of her.

“Look Y/N, I’m sorry.”

..

“Please, can’t you see I’m apologizing?”

“No, Jenna. You knew I didn’t like these things you did to me before. And you decide to apologize now? Do you think it’s going to make me forgive you just like that?” You say, turning back at her, a storm brews behind your eyes.

“I can’t participate in the one thing I was looking forward to this season! Just because you put this spell that you knew could harm me badly! You knew I wanted to be in Quidditch!” Jenna winces at your increasing voice.

“You could’ve been on the team too! It’s not just one of us! But you got your actions in the way before you could even think! And now you want to apologize?” It's loud, your voice begins to falter a little. Your shoulders untense, and Jenna can hear the monitor of your heart increase by four times, she shushes you, pulling you onto your back.

“Stop,” she says, her voice is too soft for your liking, you can’t think. Too much is going on in your mind, “Please.”

“Get out Jenna.”

“W-what? You don’t understand.. I’m trying to-”

“Jenna, get the hell out!” You snap, your eyes filled to the max with unshed tears.

You stay silent, before cracking out a tiny, “Please.”

And like that, Jenna walks out of the room, murmuring an “I’m sorry.”

Just this time, she really wanted you to know that she meant it.

-

It’s been a month, and by now your arm was barely healing, and there was a stupid ugly mark of a cut on your face. The pain was harsh, if your arm didn’t heal by the time Quidditch began, all your practice and effort would flush down the drain. It scared you.

As bad as the pain got, your mark would probably never fade, there would always be a purple cut marked under your eye. Even once it’s completely healed, ones that meet you will notice your cut, in a lighter shade than your actual skin tone. It made you cry every night, silently. 

It was stupid to cry over, your deep bruises weren’t even close to healing. Every time you would accidentally press into it, you’d shriek in pain. You felt insecure of yourself. It didn’t feel good, every time you’d look at yourself in the mirror there would be your healing cuts scarred over your body. 

“It looks s-so ugly..” You hiccup, looking at yourself in the mirror, Emma by your side as she shakes her head, “Nonsense, it’s okay.”

“It might never go away.” 

“And that’s okay, when you're older, you’ll find it silly, I promise. It’s a reminder of being here, and to remind you that competition is less superior when it comes to safety.”

You can’t help but feel yourself shrink, watching the scar on your face haunt you.

-

Jenna sees you in the hallways, you're in half her classes. But every single time she looks at you, you’re never looking her way. Not like before. Not when exam scores are passed out during Snape or McGonagall when you usually turn around and she waves her high score in the air, but you always wave yours back, grinning happily when you got one percent higher than her. She found you annoying, but now she feels like she’s taken you for granted. You were the one who taught her how to properly care for her plant in Herbology, although most of the time she’s retained information from the random songs and joking nerdy remarks. 

Jenna hated sitting next to you in that class, she loved teasing you and making you explode from frustration. She hated the way you looked at her and had the ability to somehow use some Hogwarts nonsense to make her think back at your smile. 

It was something you did to her, it couldn’t have been herself, she’d never be thinking of your smile or you in general. You must’ve casted a spell on her.

Yet she remembers that she’s thinking about you right now. 

Anyways, she hated the way you smirked at her and kept kicking your feet to hers, then growing some mushroom on her damn shoe.

“What the fuck Y/N? Why is there a green toadstool on my fucking foot?” She says, angrily as you laugh and fall out of your seat. She tries shaking off the small mushroom with her foot, but then it makes it grow even bigger.

And by the end of the day there is a 20 foot mushroom on her shoe, shading her as she walks home, heading straight for the knife to cut it off. 

The thought made her smile a bit. She didn’t want to admit it, she didn’t know how you did it. Or maybe when she kept tapping her pen to purposely annoy you, then when you snapped, light blue sparkles flew out of your mouth and made your voice sound wonky.

Now, you barely looked at her. For the entirety of when you were gone, you had to catch up. She felt a little relieved, you could finally talk to her by asking for notes. Didn’t want to admit the pit in her chest when you asked the person behind you.

I’m sorry, Jenna thinks, she wants to scream at you and apologize until you forgive her.

You ignored her, and she knew she deserved it. She treated you so wrongly. Sure she knew you never mind those moments she looked back to, but she knew that she grew more and more brave with her pranks, growing less and less cautious of even thinking of your safety and feelings.

She hates seeing that look in your eyes as everyone in Hooch’s class shouts, “Up!” with excitement, and you sit there, alone on the bleachers as you watch. 

As you watch your whole class fly off, Emma giving you a small, concerned look, and a tight-lipped, forceful smile forms on your lips, assuring you were fine.

She hates the way she can remember the smile leaving your lips as Emma leaves off for the race, then looking down with melancholy traced in your features.

I’m sorry.

The shorter brunette can’t stand the way you look at everyone fly off, knowing that someone that you know won’t be you will probably take your place in Quidditch. She can see it in your eyes, kicking the dirt, hoping that somehow you can kick the pain and broken limbs away.

This time, she can’t tear your eyes away from your tiny figure.

Yet she knows that you won’t even look at her, never noticing the sympathetic stares she gives you, replaced with the ones once filled with competition.

-

Emma’s voice is dull, almost like she doesn’t want to talk to Jenna after the incident.

“You’re seriously asking me to have Y/N talk to you?” she questions, looking at her with suspicion.

“Please, Em! It’s been a month, and I’ve been trying to apologize.”

The blonde crosses her arms, trying to defend you, “Well what if she doesn’t want to talk to you or apologize?”

“I don’t care!” Jenna throws her arms in the air, “I know what I did was wrong and if I’m being honest, class is getting boring without having her competition and silly remarks behind my back.”

Jenna freezes, what she says kind of sounds weird.

Emma hums, then she turns to Jenna, “So, what are you saying Jenna?”

“I care about her!” She groans, rubbing her cheeks, “I’m starting to think that I’ve cared about her since I met her but didn’t know till my actions got her hurt. I was going to apologize but now I’m shitting desperate. She won’t get out of my mind and.. I don’t know!”

Jenna groans, trying to think of what this was, “I just keep thinking about the things she doesn’t do anymore, and it’s sad not having her by my side. I feel guilty. And I need to apologize even more so she can get out of my head! Em, please, I can’t get that stupid silly cute smile out of my head. And I can’t damn focus knowing that the girl that sits next to me in McGonagall is full on avoiding me!”

She doesn’t realize the way she’s been rambling, she looks at Emma, whose face expression has changed. In some way, she’s slightly having a grin on her face, “You’re in love with her.”

“What? I don’t know! Maybe, I just-I feel bad, and I want to apologize and make it okay again. It’s just so dull and I’ll.. I don’t even fucking know. I just miss her and the way it used to be.”

“You should’ve told me that,” your soft voice sing-songs from behind her, making her tense up and turn around.

“Y/N,” Jenna stutters.

“Jenna,” you mumble, voice slightly breathy.

“I didn’t think you were-” she squeals in surprise as you drag her by the arm, panting softly as you drag her into a room, god who knows what Hogwarts classroom this is.

“Look Y/N, I’m sorry, but why are we in someones-mmph.” You seal her lips with a random spell under your lips and you place your finger to her mouth. 

You slightly smirk, god she missed it, she looks down at your lips, she rolls her eyes, “Apologize to me and I’ll let you do what you’ve wanted to do.” You undo your spell, taking off your finger from her mouth as she begins to speak.

“Wha?-”

“Go on.”

You were teasing her, and she breathed, “Okay, I’m sorry. For hurting you, I know I went too far,” she was rambling as she speaks a little faster, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just felt more brave as much as I teased you and I know I went too far this time. And I promise I didn’t try to hurt you, I know how much Quidditch meant to you..” she gulps again, taking a breath. “What I did led to a lot of things, and I’ve noticed the way I grew upset when I knew you began to avoid me, and I’ll admit I miss you.” Jenna says the last part hesitantly.

The brunette looked up at you and you were looking at her, hesitant eyes, but almost filled with need? She now noticed the more visible cut on your eye, and you look away, seeing her gaze on the mark you were most insecure on, you cover your face.

“Stop that,” Jenna smacks your hands away and it feels like her hesitation swept away, she slowly reached up to cup your cheeks, in which your uncertainty melted. She looks at the mark, it was better than when she saw you unconscious on the floor. That’s all that matters. She wants to roll her eyes but now she feels weird when she does that.

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head, “Just a little.”

"I'm sorry about Quidditch."

"I'm still angry about that, my arm should heal soon though, before it starts."

.. An awkward silence passes, then you look down at her pink lips.

Jenna hums, then you tug her closer, making a small whine.

“Please kiss me.”

Jenna’s eyes widen, taking her hands away from your cheeks.

“What?”

“Please,” you plead, your eyes filled with want.

Her eyes flicker from your lips as she cups your cheeks again and brings you to her mouth. As they meet, you’re all small and soft moans, kissing her with need. Hunger. It’s different. Teasing you doesn’t come with words, she’s teasing you with her mouth, feeling the way you grip onto her. 

More more more, don’t stop.

You taste exactly how Jenna thought you would, but just so much better. So addicting, it makes her mind spin with you. Coca cola and addictive vanilla. It mixes well with the taste of hers, you let her capture your tongue. It’s feverish, tongue and want combined. She indulges in the way you make a tiny moan as she nibbles your tongue. Your wanting lips push harder to hers, your body pressing against her as you slightly find something to grind against.

It’s heated and different. She tugs you closer, finding it adorable as you pull away for a tiny breath, then continue, like you don’t want to stop feeling her lips on yours. Her hands. Your fingers tugging against her hair.

Long moments after you pull away, you both are panting, your head buried deep into her chest. She rubs your hair.

“I didn’t think you were that experienced,” you whisper.

She rolls her eyes, pressing her lips to your forehead, “I didn’t think you’d pull me into a room and start begging me to kiss you and make out with you.”

“Mm..”

“Well, did my kisses grant your forgiveness for me?

“Maybe.”

“What if I give you another round?”

She smirks, seeing the way you lean back into her.

“Deal.”

She presses her lips that just left yours once again, feeling your hands tangle back into her hair.

[crimsoncandy04]

how do you like the idea Sex in a small space with Kabukimono, Wanderer, Scaramouche

I've never done it before but if it's just sex in a tight space I think I have something that might suit your tastes.

So get it while it's hot! 🔥💕🫦

(POV: You were exploring an old domain with The Wanderer before accidentally falling through the floor and also the fabric of reality apparently?

Now there you were, stuck in a VERY uncomfortable closet sized stone hole in the ground deep within a dark underground labyrinth located somewhere in the middle of the Sumeru desert.

Along with Wanderer and two of his previous selves that he once believed were wiped from existence.

Scaramouche and Kabukimono.

Scaramouche sat down on the ground cross-legged just beneath you. You were stuck on your knees just above him as Wanderer glared down at you both while being uncomfortably squished against your left side. Poor kabukimono was practically on top of you and stuck between you and the wall on your left.

And it was getting unbearably hot in here with everyone so close now.

"Bitch get your ass out of my face." Scaramouche barked suddenly as he tried to push you away. Only to make you thrust against the wall in front of you and yelp at the sensation of him grabbing your hips and shoving you.

Normally you'd be mad but something was terribly wrong here.

It was so hot. It felt like the air in this place was doing something to your head... and body. Instead of retorting back, you just went quiet and tried not to think about how Wanderer's crotch was so perfectly level with your face in here.

So hot.

You feel Kabukimono suddenly reach out and touch your cheek.

"Are you sick? You're burning up." You looked up at the kind version of Wanderer. His eyes held nothing but concern for you as you lied and shook your head.

Archons please don't touch...

"No no. I'm okay I p-promise." You felt your heart race suddenly as you realized that the air around you all was full of some strange magenta colored mist. It smelled so sweet so...hot.

Wanderer noticed too though he seemed as unaffected as the others.

"There's something in the air. Y/N seriously are you okay? Don't lie. You look like you're about to pass out." Wanderer tried to adjust himself in the tight space only to cause his clothed member to brush your face.

You mess up then and feel a small moan escape your lips.

"What the hell!?" Scaramouche snaps up at you. His indigo eyes burning a hole through your forehead practically as you tried to lie and despite how your words were slurring together now.

So hot...so... hungry.

"Please don't move Wanderer. I don't know what's happening right now...!"

Kabukimono tries to shift in his standing position instead.

"Here maybe I can help then. Do you need me to try and move instead?"

"No!" You practically scream. Not wanting to accidentally cause your body to feel any more friction than it already had.

Suddenly you feel a hand cupping your pussy.

"oh for crying out loud. Here. Is this what you wanted you stupid slut?" Scaramouche hissed as his fingers brushed your lips through your panties. You gasped and felt your hips move a little as your cheeks flushed an even more apparent shade of pink.

Scaramouche then slid two fingers inside your already wet canal. You moaned softly as he scissored your walls and mocked you for being such a pathetic and disgusting whore. You didn't care. It just felt so good ~

You feel Wanderer turn your head a little then. Using his hand to push your face against his erection. You kissed the hardened shape delicately and licked the outline through his shorts trying to get him to pull it out. Finally he did.

And it was just as Scaramouche grabbed your hips from below again and thrusted his own cock up into your soaking depths. You didn't want to leave kabukimono out and reached with your free hand to tease him as well until he followed behind the other two and removed his length for you to enjoy as well.

You all were squished in this crawlspace and had no way out. However as Scaramouche fucked into your oversensitive sex from below, and you alternated between sucking off Kabukimono and Wanderer on either side of you, you felt like you were exactly where you needed to be.

Wanderer kept a firm hand on the back of your head as he fucked your throat, Kabukimono sounded like he was losing his mind as you stroked him slowly, Scaramouche grunted as he forced you to take his manhood while he pinched your nipples.

You had no idea how it all happened or why, but as the trio spent the next few hours covering your sweaty body in hot cum, you found yourself no longer caring if you ever left or not.

[comfortless]

i have been thinking about this for a while and i love how you write, so what do you think of biker!könig with a gf that studies in uni? how did they meet? does he get jealous easily of her classmates? what is the aftermath of his jealousy (😏)?

thank you so much 🩷

-🌵

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. fem (afab) reader, suggestive, but mostly just two sillies attempting to flirt.

They first cross paths at a gas station. Sundown and desolate apart from the woman who approaches the tiny shop on foot whilst he straddles his bike at the pump.

She doesn’t notice him, and that’s just fine. More often than not, people do but for the wrong reasons. It’s always the height or the face only his mother could love. This is a good thing, shows she’s not hasty with her judgment, shows she’s just unaware enough to let something like him in.

It’s stupid, completely ridiculous at how he feels his heart thump to life, ribcage squeezing and stomach a whirl with butterflies at the mere sight. The furthest thing from love comes to mind at the sight: plush thighs peeking out against the hem of shorts that cut off just below her bum, the tight tanktop that displays her cleavage in a way so enticing. But that’s what he immediately thinks of, that word that seems foreign to him even in his mother tongue.

Love.

König could be a gentleman, lie her down in his bed instead of fucking her over the bike, if she were kind enough to follow him home. That offer feels heavy as lead on his tongue, lost someplace in his throat when he really gets a good view of her.

He’s never been good with talking to women, anyway. Especially not an angel so far out of his league she would surely only scoff with her sweet drink in hand, turn away from him with her nose held high and dark circles under her eyes as she suffers through another paper back at her dorm or wherever she came from.

So, he leaves her be as much as he can and should, only watches her with his helmet in place and that dark visor masking where his eyes wander from her face down to the retreating view of her legs as she walks.

The next time time is during the rain.

König is good at refraining from acting on base instinct. There’s a lot to consider before stealing away some miserable dove on the sidewalk, the light drizzle from above soaking into her dress and battering her lashes as she sits and waits for a ride that just doesn’t seem to be coming. He’s got his military background, keeps his house tidy and rarely muddles in the affairs of other people.

It’s just that she’s cold.

He tells himself that the only reason he stops his bike some meters away is because she will get sick if he doesn’t offer her a ride. He’s just being a gentleman. There’s nothing more to it.

So he does. Keeps his helmet on and masks his face as well as the weird excitement and nervousness in his voice when the muffled offer taints the wet air.

It doesn’t matter that he wouldn’t have never considered any of this if she weren’t so cute. If she didn’t look so fragile and sweet. She smiles and nods immediately, fusses with her dress a bit when she climbs onto the bike behind him when she tells him that she’s only just been on a date. It just hadn’t turned out well and whoever the bastard had been had dipped before even the entree was served.

It sends his mind spiraling when it shouldn’t.

It’s deranged to think of her misfortune as fate when it isn’t.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know where to put my hands,” she laughs someplace against his shoulder, chin just slightly tilted up to bump his damp t-shirt. It’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard, not mocking at all, only shy.

“Around me.”

He sounds like an old pervert, feels just like one when he takes her hands into his own and guides them around his middle. Presses in a bit too tight, because it’s been a long time since he’s had a woman so close and it feels good to be held like this.

She makes some quiet noise, a soft gasp, then presses her face into the darkness of his shirt to hide away from the rain or maybe…

“You can come home with me. It’s close.”

She laughs again, and he’s reminded of just how little tact that he has with the fairer sex. She must think him an idiot, some hopeful vigilante that scoops women up from the street after nightmare dates with bad food or bad dick. It sounds so stupid to his own ears, he knows he’s burning crimson beneath the black helmet.

Until she squeezes him a bit, gives what must be her best attempt at a hug from their positioning. Again, too, maybe out of surprise that there’s muscle there. Something a woman like her might like.

“I’ve got nothing to lose, huh?” and then “You seem a lot nicer than he was, anyway.”

The air gets stolen from his lungs and his jaw grows loose. She had only told him yes to maybe sitting on his couch, watching some miserable war film until he brought her back to her academic wasteland, but not a part of him had expected that.

It takes a moment for him to realize he hasn’t said a word, that he’s sat panting like some stay being offered a meaty bone. He takes a moment to reposition her grip around him, too ashamed of the way his cock springs to life at her closeness and the ridiculous fantasy playing out in his head.

“Right… you can dry off there.”

He doesn’t immediately remove the helmet when she steps into his abode, just guides her over to the washroom when she asks if he would mind if she used his shower and lets her be. That room has never known a woman’s touch, and the shirt he gives her to change into isn’t comparable to the cute, floral thing she was wearing.

He takes her dress to the dryer to distract himself from the fact that she’s naked in there, just a flimsy door away. Changes out of his own sopping wet clothes after considering that maybe she would want to touch him again. Maybe it felt nice for her too, just to hold someone. He could hold her too, if she wanted that, bring her right to his bed and keep her safe and warm.

“You’re out of conditioner,” she peeps as she steps back out of the bathroom. “Just thought you would want to…”

Her eyes trail over him for a time as her words taper off to nothing. Then, they’re locked to his face and any hope goes up in an inferno. The scars are probably scary, the dark circles from weeks of minimal sleep are probably even worse. She probably thinks him some sort of monster or a demon, something no girl should be left alone with.

Then, she smiles.

“Wow…”

“What…?”

He expects the worst and instinctively casts a sideways glance toward the helmet sat by the door. The perfect covering to avoid situations like this. It’s not that he’s dependent on it, but… maybe he would have had some sort of chance had he not taken it off.

“I’m sorry for staring, you’re just really…”

Ugly. Scary. Whatever words she’s considering, he doesn’t care to hear them. She could just ask to go home, save herself some fear and save him from another rejection.

“… cute.”

“Okay.”

Scheisse.

That wasn’t a “thank you” or anything of substance, but this is more mortifying than anything prior. Even the women who had pitied him with a date before had never called him something so endearing, never likened him to some adorable little thing or stared up at him like she does now. She only seems giddy, a fire burning behind her eyes like she’s just discovered some secret treasure.

“… cuter than your date?,” he hazards, rolls his shoulders and tilts his head at her. His attempt at sounding confident only comes across bitter and jealous. Maybe he is, but that fucker blew his chance, and she’s blessing König with far too many.

“Definitely.”

The tension feels tangible, despite the absurdity of all of this. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, where to look, what to say or how long to take between breaths.

She’s stood there in his shirt, looking as if she’s already his and he’s the one left feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

“I think you’re pretty.”

“Yeah?”

“Ever since I first saw you, I…” He’s babbling too much, losing any composure because she just keeps her eyes trained on him, that adorable smile curling at her lips. If he sounded creepy, like he’s been following her, she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Maybe you could take me on a date sometime,” she suggests, her voice coming as a breathy little whisper. Maybe she is shy, but she’s giving him the OK to push and prod and see just how far he can go, to expend all of his luck on this very night.

The rain outside only grows louder, threatening to cut the power and leave this docile angel in some dark pit with a mad king. He wishes it would, it grows harder to keep the prominent excitement in his crotch concealed the more that she talks and bats her eyelashes at him.

Being over-eager was a turn-off, right? He weighs his next words the best he can, considers playing it safe for just half a moment before they escape him anyway.

“Come here.”

There’s a darker storm brewing in his eyes when she takes those first, fragile steps toward him. But she graces him with the light of a spark when her hand finds his chest and presses there, feels his heart beating like it’s a normal thing to search for, like she’s just as mesmerized and surprised as she is now.

She’s snared in an instant with a face buried into her damp hair, lifted up with her legs guided to wrap around his waist. A decade worth of luck spent just like that, but he’s always been greedy.

The demand for more comes with a callused hand guiding her chin up. Her lips part immediately, eyelashes fluttering until they rest atop her cheeks, already warmed with the anticipation of what’s to come. His kissing begins gentle, soft for a second as he tries to memorize the plushness and curvature of her lips with his mouth alone.

Then, it’s only punishing.

He tries to hold himself back, but knowing he could have had this weeks ago while she was wandering about barely dressed drives him insane. The moment she gasps against his mouth, his tongue slips inside to find hers, rolls over it with such a ferocity that the corner of her mouth begins to glisten with their shared drool. She whines, then moans as her hands curl over his neck, petting at the short hair at the base of his skull.

His hands fall to her ass to keep her in place, gives her a pinch and then a grope when he realizes she’s not wearing underwear at all.

And that’s where the well must have run dry, because she tilts her face away with a series of soft pants, squeezes her trembling thighs around him as if to make a silent demand to stop, or maybe not. Everything she does makes him feel both hot and crazy; she doesn’t even attempt to wind out of his grip here, only looks up at him sultry and helpless. She must be wet, he can smell it, practically taste her already, but he doesn’t persist when she halts this dance.

“Wait… waitwait. I don��t even know your name.”

“König.”

She laughs breathlessly, then dips her head to press against his shoulder. His hand immediately rises to pet at her hair, twirling a few strands between his fingers as she tells him her name in turn.

“I don’t really want this to just be… one night, you know?,” she says, and that intrigues him.

“That so..?”

“Mhm…”

He slowly lowers her back down until her feet meet the carpeted floor, then takes her face into both hands while she gives him a cute pout. He could be sympathetic, could make her love him even… she’s left the door open for him already, after all.

“I could just hold you,” he mutters, tracing a circle into her cheek, savoring in the way her eyes seem to light up at that.

“I would like that.”

[luveline]

𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have to find new ways to communicate when a cold leaves you voiceless. miguel is less than happy —featuring grumpy miguel and his cheerful spider-girl. requested here. fem!reader, 2.3k.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel's hackles hike as you appear. You have an obsession with toying with him and he's in the middle of something more important than your whims and wants.

"Don't start," he warns, barely looking at you. 

You point at yourself as if to say, Who, me? Grinning, you pull your arms behind your torso tightly, your shoulders harsh slopes where they'd usually be lax with calm. Your spider suit strains against the movement, shining with a subtle shimmer as you twirl your way into his side. You blink up at him, mock-innocent. 

"What did I just say?" he asks. 

He's expecting a charming rebuttal he doesn't get. You're awfully charismatic; Miguel often thinks you've manufactured a devilish siren call that yanks him in like a fish on a line no matter how hard he tries to split his lip and flee.

You're pretty, sure, but it isn't your looks that endear you to him. You have this way of speaking that's effortlessly carefree, despite the frankly ridiculous depth of the well that is your fondness for the world. It shouldn't make sense, and it does: you're happy because you love the world. When you speak to him, annoy him, praise him and degrade him in the same breath, Miguel thinks you might love him, too. 

You're silent. Miguel takes it as a blessing and finishes analysing the footage playing in front of him. He finishes as quickly as he can, and he's not a dick, he says, "Thank you." Then, with an unimpressed eyebrow raise, "Where have you been?" 

You come to see him so often he kind of forgot you didn't have to. He's taken you for granted, he knows, and after three days of not seeing you he should be happier. He should've asked you about it as soon as you appeared. 

You shrug and point at his screen. He can practically see the question mark in your eyes. 

"That's nothing. What, you're not speaking to me now?" he asks. 

Paper creaks in your hand as you pull a sketchbook from your pocket. Small, lilac, you flip to the first page and show him the scrawled message there with a rueful smile. 

Miguel's expecting a cartoon version of himself, but instead you've written three words. 

I have laryngitis. 

Miguel's gaze flickers between you and your book, assessing the claim with scepticism. "Why would you have that? You're practically impervious to disease." 

You flip to the next page. 

Superbug from Earth-87222 defeated my enhanced healing.

One of your Peter Parker friends lives there. He isn't jealous (because he knows that particular Peter doesn't like girls). "And you can't talk?" he asks. 

The next page. I can't talk.

You tuck the book to your chest. Lips parted, you attempt to speak, but all that comes out is hot air and a cruel croaking scratch that makes his chest ache. 

"Don't hurt yourself," he says, softer than he'd been speaking beforehand. He can't decide whether to glare at you or pull you in for a hug. If he hugs you, you might attach yourself to him like that thing from Alien. He glares. "You could've told me." 

You gesture to your throat. I can't speak. 

"That you were sick, you know how to type. You bother me every day for weeks and then one day you stop showing up, and you don't answer your watch, what am I supposed to think?" 

You stare up at him dreamily. He swears you get off on being scolded half the time. 

Miguel takes your wrist into his hand and turns your wristband forward to showcase the screen. "You see this? You see when my prompt comes up? You could take ten seconds and hit me back." 

Again, you open your small sketchbook, turning to a fourth page. You've predicted him well.

I didn't want to worry you. Don't be mad, handsome, you'll get more wrinkles. 

"Tu sabes todo," he fumes. You know everything. "If you're so smart, you can help me recalibrate the pocket dimension storage." 

You flip a page. It's finally a drawing rather than a knowing line, your familiar artistry obvious in your weighted linework and rushed shading. It's Miguel, his expression one he isn't sure you would've actually seen to reference as well as you have, lovingly concerned with a speech bubble coming from beside his softly rendered hair. Get well soon, cariño. 

He scoffs. "You seem fine to me." 

In truth, you don't seem fine. Now he knows, he can see evidence of your days away. Your lips are chapped under the balm you've applied, your hair dishevelled (though it's often unruly, in line with your personality). You wince when you breathe too hard. Miguel lowers the platform and sets you up next to him on a workbench in the back of the laboratory beside him for purely professional purposes. He has to make sure you're doing the calibration correctly, that's all. 

He can't quite explain away the tea he gets for you from the cafeteria, nor the research he does on the way back to you, Lyla at his shoulder saying, "You're such a softie." 

You find you don't need the sketchbook to communicate. Miguel places your tea down and your smile alone is thanks enough. It's pure reverential delight. He doesn't really deserve it, so he pretends he doesn't see. 

When you need help with a recalibration, you take his wrist gently. You don't even need to point at the screen, the subtle uptilt of your brows enough clue.

"Here, you're almost there," he murmurs under his breath, distracted by the complicated code you've been editing in the corner of the screen. "Oh, is this what you do when I'm not looking?" 

You tug his elbow. 

"No? You're not messing around?" he asks, rolling his eyes. "You think I'm stupid." 

Your fingers tighten. Miguel clicks a couple of things to finish the calibration. He looks at you from over his shoulder. Your face is near. It radiates heat. He bites the tip of his gloved finger and yanks it off clean to press the back of his naked hand to your forehead. 

"You're warm," he says, patting carefully downward. Your skin is as hot as he'd worried. 

Miguel drops his hand without rush, the side of his pinky tracing down your cheek. "Maybe you shouldn't be here." 

You shake your head vehemently. There's something in it he doesn't understand, an uncharacteristic shyness. He supposes he'd feel the same if he were sick like this, but you have no reason to be ashamed of a bad cold.

"Enough calibration, then. Take it easy." 

You do not take it easy. Your first port of call is to request to share his screen. He grants you permission and rescinds it soon after, irked when the majority of his monitor becomes wallpapered by digital post it note drawings of him looking cranky and of you in a crown, a ship's captain's hat, standing on the moon. He sets them each back to the perimeter of his window and tries to work. Trust you to find ways to bother him without teasing aloud. 

He thinks that… but then, his hands falter over the keyboard. You aren't a bother. You irritate him but he kind of likes it, most of the time. He turns his head just enough to see your face, blue and white light kissing your skin. You glow. 

Miguel thinks about how he used to do this alone. Lyla on his shoulder when she felt like it but usually tinkering in the quiet, trying to stop the end of the world, the pressure akin to how Atlas himself must have felt, knees locked and arms braced above his head to stop the Earth falling into the black abyss. Miguel doesn't always know what he's being punished for (or, he didn't). He doesn't know why this ended up on his plate, but the panic of doing it alone ebbs every day. With you by his side, unshakeable if not unfailing, it feels less like a death sentence and more like a problem that needs solving. He can't save everyone, but he can try. He can't stomach the agony of his life if he thinks about the past; you make it easy to stay present. 

Who would he rather have here than you? Out of everyone living that he knows, you're the only person he could stand to sit with for this long. 

It's not the same without your voice. Your murmurings, your kind doting, your put upon and less-so confusion. He misses it more than he can say in that moment, worse when you feel his eyes and turn to face him with a soft smile. 

Everything okay? you ask without asking. 

You don't need to speak. He can see it on your face. 

Miguel gets up from his bench to tower over you. Without giving it too much thought, he bends down, wrapping his right arm behind your shoulders, the left loose over your front, and kisses your forehead with the barest of pressures. It's hardly a kiss at all, and it makes no noise. More like he's resting his lips there, his nose at your hairline, breathing in. His hand rubs an up and down of its own accord into your upper arm, the soft fat of it melding under his touch. 

Your head dips back invitingly. You're like butter in the sun at his touch, a slow melting. 

"If you tell anyone about this, I'll deny it," he says quietly. 

You snort. You give his arm a pat and reach over it to grab your sketchbook. Miguel straightens but doesn't remove his arms, watching as you flick to the right page. 

I can't talk, the page says. You beam at him.

"I see," Miguel says. "You think it's funny because you couldn't tell if you wanted to." 

Your answering hum comes with the feeling of your fingers latching onto his elbow. Exactly. 

Well, fuck it. If you can't tell anyone, Miguel might as well send it. He leans down to grab you up into his hold, a squeezing hug that says everything he wanted to tell you while you were gone, his worry for you and his annoyance at your lack of communication. You don't need audible words to tell him things, and Miguel doesn't need words either. Hopefully his arms around you and his nose digging too rough into your temple says how he feels plainly. 

"I figured you got sick of taking orders," he confesses. You got sick of me. "When you didn't come back." 

You refuse to act small —Miguel doesn't want you to—, standing despite the weight he'd been resting on you, turning in the circle of his arms to look up into his eyes. It's too much, Miguel doesn't want your face this close to his, not with the rawness of his feelings aching a trail up between each of his rib bones, one by one. He clenches his jaw. 

Your hand climbs to his ear. He stays very still. As the initiator he should be forgiving, but your fingers touch his ear and he contemplates sinking his teeth into your hand. You stroke hair away from his face with a dramatised expression that says it's in the way, pesky stuff, though the final fond tuck of it behind the shell of his ear is impossible to deny.

Your thumb rubs his earlobe. 

"Are you having fun?" he asks dryly.

Your nod is sincere. Enthusiastic, you start to ease your fingertips into the thick tresses of his hair. 

Miguel grabs your wrist in an iron grip. 

"Enough." 

He guesses more than knows what your pout means —that isn't fair. 

"Life isn't fair," he says, pressing your forearm to your chest, an action fraught with apology. It's ridiculous how much can be said without words. He'd like for you to get your voice back solely to end this confusing misery. Well, not solely… Miguel misses the sound of it, distinct as your lopsided smiles and unconventional hand movements. "You can file a complaint just as soon as you get your voice back, how's that?" 

You roll your eyes and sit back down on your bench. Miguel takes a lap around the laboratory to calm down, returning to a new program blinking on computer his taskbar to be opened. 

He doesn't give you the satisfaction of looking your way as he opens it. 

"Miguel!" The program chirps, in a voice jarringly close to yours but not nearly as sophisticated as the majority of language intelligence he uses in his own coding. "I was waiting for you, handsome! Where have you been? Now you're back, I have a very special song to sing for you. Sing along if you know this one! Alright… Ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety nine bottles of beer! You take one down, pass it around, ninety nine bottles of beer…"

Miguel realises he can't mute or close the program shortly thereafter. Vocaloid you counts down to sixty one bottles of beer by the time he resigns to turning off his computer altogether, a headache twinging angrily behind his eyes. 

Maybe he could use a break from your voice after all. 

You giggle breathlessly at him as he drops his face into his hands. 

"Drink your tea," he orders, words muffled by his palms.

He doesn't look up. There's the sound of a big sip. Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. He's kidding himself —the sooner you get your voice back, the better. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!