#so who's still a LITTLE obsessed with the two falses huh.

[theminecraftbee]

So you don't talk about it.

In a lot of ways, it's a little dumb. It's not like it didn't happen. It's not like you've really forgotten. Memory potions wear off, wear thin; if you've learned anything, you've learned that. You can stare at pictures and say 'that's odd' or 'I don't remember that' or 'I don't talk about her' all you want, but it's not like it didn't happen, it did, it did, and everyone saw it.

But no one else knew what it meant.

So you don't talk about it.

Because you haven't heard from her again, is the thing. (Whichever her it is doesn't really matter, now does it; whichever her you are doesn't either.) The Rift is closed, and the way there is empty, and Joel builds statues you don't talk about, either, because if you talked about the statues you'd have to talk about there, and if you talked about there you'd have to explain how you know, and if you explain how you know you'd have to explain why you don't, and anyway. You haven't heard from her. Not one word. Not one little bit.

(It keeps you up at night, though. Memory potions wear thin, sure, but the mind's even better at forgetting what it doesn't want to know. Some days, you're on opposite sides of the glass. It's not like you don't know, you think, and you turn over in bed, and you look at your reflection, and the thing is--would you know the difference?)

You ask around. You aren't the only one who hasn't heard anything; some Hermits are good at family, but Grian just looks sick when you ask him about it, so it's not strange. It's not strange to throw yourself into rivers and avoid Tango's base. The blimp is nice; it's pretty. You never want to step in an airship again, though, and you aren't building one yourself, and when was the last time you talked to Joe. (It's a good question. Memory potions are at least supposed to wear off.)

You're going to run vaults with Iskall again soon. He asks if Create's still alright. Apparently, you've been looking at it funny. You don't know why you would be.

(You wouldn't be able to tell the difference.)

You don't talk about it, anyway.

No one asks. You think maybe they assume you've heard. You think maybe they assume you haven't. You ask Xisuma about it, and he gets a strange look on his face, and he says he'd rather not talk about it. His fingers twitch like he's shocked. You nod once. It makes sense, really. It's not like it matters anymore, for anyone involved. It's not like the word 'sister' means much, for anyone involved.

(It's not like you remember what side of the glass you're supposed to be on.)

Beef shows you a card he calls your alter ego.

"What an odd thing to make," you say. "What an odd thing to call it."

He asks you to elaborate, and you don't. After all, you don't talk about it.

[w2sology]

DOING THE PRANK WHERE U PRETEND TO GET SOMETHING FROM THE BACK OF THE CAR BUT INTENTIONALLY SMACK YOUR S/O WITH HARRY PLEASE!!!!! would love if u included the comments at the end

cut it out, harry lewis.

summary: harry's been a bit sick of you hopping on tiktok trends, but this one leaves him a little more than baffled.

warnings: none

notes: this trend had me giggling so bad omg 😭😭😭 guys it's been ages (like a month but still) since i last wrote something writer's block was KILLING ME 😀 feel free to send in some prompts or reqs <3

harry had told you to get ready in the next half an hour, that you'd be going on a little date in central london. well, he didn't tell you, rather he sprung the idea up on you after you complained about being bored for the last two days.

it took a lot more than he thought it would've to convince you to leave the house, with harry going as far as telling you that he'd drive. that's how you knew he was being serious.

so as he was getting ready after you, you scrolled through the obsession of your life that was tiktok, laughing every so often and sending some to your friends who had yet to respond to the others that you sent.

stopping on one video that you couldn't stop giggling at, a thought formed in your mind. the tiktok was of a girl who wouldn't stop "accidentally" hotting her boyfriend whilst trying to get things out of the backseat of the car.

it had been ages since you last pulled a joke on harry, yet only the other day he pulled one on you with the help of the boys.

"are you ready yet or are you still laughing at your phone?" harry came back into the bedroom, pulling his navy blue nike hoodie over his shirt.

"i am ready, in fact," you got up, tiptoeing to gently grab a hold of his face, pressing your lips to his. "and the things on my phone will always be funnier than you."

"good joke," he smiled a false smile at you, squeezing your waist before grabbing the keys off of the dresser.

"i still can't believe you're driving. wait, pose with the keys, let me get a photo for your mum."

"don't get too used to this..."

harry walked out before you to put his shoes on, but seeing as you already had yours on, you asked him to unlock the car for you. to him, it seemed you were just eager to leave but really, you had to make sure that there were items in the backseat.

placing one of your tote bags in there, you evenly spread out one of the jellycats that you left in your car and another bag full of spare things. putting the camera at an angle that was able to capture both you and harry, you smiled giddily. soon enough, harry joined you in the driver's side, about to start the car.

"wait!" you called out. "i think i forgot something in the back."

"can't you get it whilst i drive? it's not me you forgot, right?"

"ha ha ha," you rolled your eyes. "no, i might rip it apart by accident."

harry shook his head, nonetheless not starting the car before he looked dead into your camera. he did wonder why you were recording, yet he never actually brought it up.

messing about in the back, deciding which item to use first, you decided on the jellycat.

it was an octopus, one that faith had got you from a trip in florida that she and ethan went to.

"here she is!" you smiled, pulling the jellycat back and purposely hitting it into harry. you did it gently, but not too gentle to the point where he didn't get irritated.

jumping as it made contact with his arm, harry frowned. "ow?" he said, looking at you, but you were too busy dusting off the jellycat.

"hm, actually no." you turned back around to put the stuffed animal back, this time reaching for the tote bag.

luckily, it didn't have anything too sharp in it, so you wouldn't actually hurt harry.

again, you pulled it back with enough force this time slightly jolt harry out of his relaxed position. "are you alright?" he asked, blinking at you.

"huh? what d'you mean?"

"you've just... full on wacked that into me?" he said, more so asked, in shock.

"did i?

"yes?!" you could've sworn you saw his eye twitch, having to restrain your laugh.

"oh," was all you mustered out, looking into the bag as if you actually needed something from it.

harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he waited for you to finish. "can we go now?"

"un, not yet actually," and you turned again to the backseat, this time grabbing the last bag.

pulling it back again, it hit harry in his arm, but this time he grabbed the bag from you, tossing it back in the backseat.

"harry! i needed that," you gasped, again to hide your laugh.

"no you didn't, y/n, unless you were using it to target me again" he mimicked your whiny voice.

you didn't know what had you more speechless, the mimicking or his reaction to your silly little prank.

"i wasn't targeting you..."

harry turned to you, giving you the most dead straight look ever. "cut it out, you hit me in the arm three times."

"maybe you were just too close to me."

"i— what?!"

you both stared at each other; harry with a look of shock and slight irritation and you with a serious look that you couldn't quite hold, bursting out in laughter soon after.

"oh my god!" you managed to say in between laughs. "you should see your face!"

"right, let it out. it's not that funny," harry shook his head at your state.

you leaned forward to grab your phone from where you left it, rewinding the last part where harry three the bag in the back. "oh, this is gold."

"you're a right wind up, you know that?" harry said, refusing to give you the satisfaction of know your trick worked on him.

"oh, i know," you smiled at him. "but you live me regardless."

"unfortunately."

"hey," you pushed a hand in his face, instantly groaning when you felt his tongue poke the same hand. "god, just drive."

[taloumina]

Unfulfilled Dream

Barry/Female Reader

Angst, breakup

Spoilers: set after season 3, episode 5

Summary: You’ve had enough of Barry’s obsession with money.

In an angst mood this time for Outer Banks! I wanna write a Rafe one too!

= = = = =

“Baby!” Barry yelled. “Where you going?”

You whirled around to face him and his—not yours anymore—house behind him, and yelled back, “What did you think, Barry? That I’d stay here with you?”

But you knew that was exactly what he’d expected: for everything to be right as rain between you and him. But that couldn’t be any more false than it was now.

You couldn’t stand living here any longer with him. You wanted to leave immediately, and yet, a part of you knew you couldn’t without saying anything to him.

“You told me you were done with Rafe Cameron,” you said, piercing him with your eyes, “but you just couldn’t resist, could you? When he dangles money right in front of you, you’ll do anything.”

“Don’t act like you never knew that,” Barry said, a tiny dangerous glint in his eyes, but it disappeared a second later. All you could see was the same love he always had for you. “All this money’s for us, baby! So we never gotta worry about a thing. Hell, we could move outta here if we wanted!”

He laughed, but you saw no humor in what he said or what he’d done. “Bullshit! With your business—and by that, I mean your legitimate business,” you clarified, “you were doing just fine. Money was never a problem for you, Barry.”

“It was when them Pogues stole 25k from me,” he reminded you, recalling the incident with disdain. “But what we have now... we’re set for life! You and me.”

He made it sound like he and you were fulfilling a shared dream together, but that dream wasn’t yours. Yours was simply to have a little more than enough to live a comfortable life, splurge here and there, and maybe even start a family one day. His was to live like a king in the way he wanted, not like Kooks with their enormous houses and boats and extravagant lifestyles.

You and Barry had joked about it before: having so much money that you turned into Kooks. But you never truly wanted to be one. Being with Barry, you’d thought, would always make you happier than being with people who were used to spending money like they were drinking water. You didn’t even want to be like those Pogue kids, running around and chasing treasure like it was their job.

“It’s all yours,” you told Barry, your voice falling to a whisper. “I was never gonna be more important to you than money, huh? At least now you don’t have to worry about sharing it with anyone.”

“(Name), don’t,” he said pleadingly. “I can stop. Starting right now, I’ll never work with Rafe Cameron again.”

“Yes, you will. You always do.” You turned and started walking away again, determined to leave while you still had the resolve to.

“Wait.”

You couldn’t force your legs to keep going. You looked over your shoulder at Barry. “What?”

His eyes were hard. “The cross... It’s better if—”

“No one knows?” You laughed bitterly. “I won’t tell anyone, even if you two deserve to be caught for doing something so fucking stupid. Goodbye, Barry.”

“Goodbye ... (Name),” Barry whispered, but you never heard him as you walked out of his life forever.

[inkomingasks]

hey does this work? can I actually post now? geez it felt like forever trying to get this software to work on 'nami's phone. even got speech to text to work, dope

now i gotta actually show her how to use it all... shit

you about done? it's been an hour, that's how long you said it'd take

yeah yeah yeah, i'm done, where'd you find this stuff anyway? looks like some sort of human version of [TRANSLATION ERROR]

huh, guess the translation doesn't have a word for [TRANSLATION ERROR]

heheh, 's kinda fun [TRANSLATION ERROR]

anyway, Ika found an old device in Alterna. mostly wanted to see what you could do with it, or even what it was

that's what i figured. kid's good at diggin' stuff up, almost too good

that all you wanted? it should work on your phone, and the translators should be able to let you read anything you find

got it, thanks dude

sooooo....... how long should we go without seeing you before we should worry?

what do you mean?

they mean your obsession with human relics and culture love. I'll check on her occasionally, Four, don't worry, I won't let her go without food for multiple days again

ONE TIME, I get caught up in my work ONE TIME, and you two are convinced i need supervision all of a sudden

you didn't eat or sleep for a week. also hey Eight

i was on a roll! you can't get in the way of art

starvation can and will. just put it down every now and again and no one will have an issue

but like it's so interesting and cool how much their culture looks like ours and the ruins and their tech and stuff. don't you want to know more?

no I think I know enough thanks

there you are, kid. here's the thing i got the software from, weird little gadget, looks eerily like a phone

but that's what I mean! why do our phones look so much like theirs!?

i don't think you need the answer, watching you wonder is funny. also Four i think i broke my headset again

seriously? would you stop using your mantle as a landing pad? give it here, I'll see what I can do. remake it with something sturdier maybe

not my fault it hits the ground first. i just have such big brains that i'm top-heavy

false. it's probably the opposite because you got brain damage every time. let me know if anything goes weird with the real time speech to text translation stuff, 'nami

wait has that been running this whole time? shit it has

it looks like it works well though. it can even understand my [TRANSLATION ERROR] well, mostly i suppose

nothing but the best from me, heheh. there are some things that appear to not have a human language equivalent and it gets confused. not much avoiding that 'specially with incomplete records

do you think we could talk to them with this?

if they were still around. I'm surprised that the servers seem to still be functional in the first place

i'll bet it's time travel, i'll bet we can, i’ll bet Four opened some kind of spacetime rift with captain’s phone

that's stupid

would explain a thing or two though

the fuck are you? wait a second what are you doing in my house?!

unimportant. also i have no idea

you don't know who you are?

no ma’am, i just don't know how i'm here. but while I am might as well take part in the conversation, y’know?

okaaay? I guess we'll worry about that another time

well if you are from whenever this place is relevant and seeing it somehow, say something i guess

I want to prove Four wrong about the whole time travel thing too so you’d better y’hear?

how do you turn this thing off?

should be able to just push this button a-

[boredomstrides]

Ok, so here’s some more Takemi Moore, because they are spinning in my brain at a thousand rotations per second.

Security Cam #521-3, 2070, Midday

 Person Identified. Mid 20s, Overweight, Black Hair, Traits indicate three possible SINs. Takemi Moore, Milly Tae, Laineey Ngo. Result: 92% probability Milly Tae. Individual begins using spray paint on wall of apartment complex C-142. Man identified as Lenny Henson, owner of apartment complex C-142, approaches Mx. Tae. Transcription below.

 Henson: So, what’s it supposed to mean?

Tae: Huh?

Henson: The graffiti? Lotsa eyes an’ everything. Let me guess, a critique on the surveillance state?

Tae: Uhhh… yeah, let’s go with that!

Henson: Y’know, you could just tag your streetname everywhere instead of taking all the effort to make this. It’ll be gone by next week.

Tae: I mean, I guess, but that’s boring. Besides, only nicknames I’ve got have bad memories attached or are some username from some game I was obsessed with back in the arcology.

Henson: Yeah, yeah, so when are you paying rent?

Tae: Depends. When are you giving me some work to do? And don’t you dare give me another job about some dipshit office drone going to the most suspicious parts of the Matrix for some porn and catching a million viruses.

Henson: What, you think this old man still knows anyone with skin in the game?

Tae: I don’t know, Old Man, do you?

Silence for approximately 10 seconds. Both identified individuals begin laughing.

Henson: Believe it or not, you little shit, I do know someone who could use a hacker on their crew!

Tae: Alright. And this is a proper Run this time, right?

Henson: Yeah, yeah, and don’t worry, I ain’t giving you a suicide mission. Yet. Just remember to keep your head down, yeah? I’m not helping you if the cops come marching in.

Tae: Old Man, I’m not stupid! In and out, easy! Nothing I… can’t……

Tae begins staring off into space, looking off as though someone else is talking to them. Henson snaps their fingers until Tae returns to form.

Henson: Hey! Are you listening to me?! Hey, kid!

Tae: …Huh?

Henson: You can’t be doing that either! Drift off like that, and it’ll cost a Runner their life!

Tae: Yeah, sorry. Just, send me the address, alright? I’ll get my shit sorted out before I go in.

 *******///////////////****/??????>>>>>>>{{{{}{}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} ERROR{}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} ERROR/////////////////////*********************************

 A trap waiting to be sprung, my Courier finds the recording.

“Thank you, Courier. Hang on a moment, you have one more task to complete.” The bird of inky black watches curiously, as I take the strand of recording into my hands. My fingers are knives, made to cut the finest of data into nothing, and so I splice the recording, and rip away any audio. I’ll need to add some idiosyncrasies to my SIN, make it look false enough that any recording software automatically goes to a false SIN. For now, though…

“Put this back in, exactly where you cut the original file from. You can decompile from there. Thank you.” The beast stares at me for a moment, malforming itself around the new recording and nodding, before flying back to that little node of reasoning in this miasma of missed calls and worthless data. It… what was the term one of those folks on the forum used? I can only assume that this is resonance, but it feels wrong. Building up like a cancer does. To perceive it as anything more than an endless bog of tar would drive me insane… More insane than I am.

Don’t have time to worry about any of this. A few hours until I meet up with this crew. And I need to figure out a street name. And if I should gray out this hoodie or put a design on it. And goddamn if this fucking headache would stop buzzing in my ears!

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

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

Security Cam #521-3, 2070, Midday

 Person Identified. Mid 20s, Overweight, Black Hair. Traits indicate two possible SINs. Milly Tae, Laineey Ngo. Result: 98% probability Milly Tae. Individual begins using spray paint on wall of apartment complex C-142.

Person Identified. Owner of apartment complex C-142, Lenny Henson, passes by. Uncharacteristic lack of investigation noted.

END LOG.

[inkykeiji]

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

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

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

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needy little bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Three months earlier

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

You aren’t supposed to be here.

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

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

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

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

“Whadda we have here?”

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

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

Dabi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,”

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

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

“Okay,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

“Something funny, princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.  

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.  

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

[kung-laos-hat]

Infatuation

Liu Kang x Fem!Reader

This is my first fic on here :) not proof read yet‼️

Summary: Reader was an orphan Raiden found and raised in the temple. Despite being close in ages, Kung Lao and Liu were forbidden from really interacting with her because Raiden feared they’d become a distraction to each other. One night Liu Kang catches her sneaking around the temple, and doesn’t hesitate to seize the opportunity to talk to her

It was no secret that out of all the students Master Raiden took on, (Y/n) was by far one of his favorites. Although he would never dare to outright say it, the proof of this matter became pretty evident in their day to day life. (Y/n) was always the pupil standing behind him or to the side whenever another god payed the temple a visit, she was always given the most formidable missions and tasks, and to top it all off, she trained one-on-one with the Master himself and forbid most of the monks from interacting with her.

Now, Raiden could have placed this rule down for several reasons, but the most prominent one seemed to be because (Y/n) was the only female amongst his students, and so he mandated this in order to protect her well being. After all, who knew what evil might lurk in the hearts of these young men, Raiden thought. As one of his best pupils, (Y/n) couldn’t afford any distractions, nor could the others such as Liu Kang or Kung Lao.

Aside from that, Raiden had raised (Y/n) since she was a child, and as much as he hated to admit, he’d grown rather fond of her as not only a student, but as a daughter. So why wouldn’t he want to ensure no monk came to mettle in her business?

___

Raiden’s rule came with strict precautions and schedules to ensure (Y/n) would never really have to interact with the young men. I say young, because at the end of the day, (Y/n) needed someone to spar with, and Raiden couldn’t always be the one to fight her, so he permitted one of the trustworthy older monks to train with her under supervision every once and a while. Other than that, (Y/n)’s social interactions were limited to the household workers, such as the nurses.

This didn’t mean (Y/n) was oblivious to the existence of the monks around her age or younger. As the years carried on, and (Y/n) blossomed into a young woman, Raiden thought it was suitable to have her assist the children in their training. Her presence, he found, had a calming effect on the children and they quickly took a liking to her. However, this new position allowed her to see the monks around her age in passing or on the other side of the training grounds.

Still, none of them ever spoke to her outside of the casual greetings, thank you’s, and goodbyes.

___

“Do you want spar again later on today?” Liu Kang asked as he took a seat on the ground next to Kung Lao and grabbing his water.

Kung Lao ushered for him to pass the water to him. “Mmm,” He hummed thoughtfully, “We could try, but I think Master Raiden is having the younger monks use the training grounds while he’s out.”

Liu handed him the water and ran a sweaty hand through his hair. “If he’s out, then who’s leading them?”

Kung Lao took a generous sip from the bottle and placed it on the ground. “(Y/n)(L/n) is.” He answered, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“(Y/n)?” Liu furrowed his brows together in confusion. “She’s been here just as long as I have, yet I don’t believe I’ve ever held an actual conversation with her.”

Kung Lao huffed, “Good. Master would have your head if you did.”

Liu gave him a puzzled look.

“Elder god’s rule!” Kung Lao cheered with false enthusiasm, “None of us are allowed to bother her. But as you can see, she’s been placed in charge of the children, so who knows? It doesn’t seem reasonable to me, really.”

“Huh.” Liu mused. I suppose he’d gotten so accustomed to his schedule that he didn’t even notice how little he interacted with the girl. Hell, he’d completely forgotten about that dumb rule.

“She’s an interesting girl, that’s for sure,” Kung Lao continued.

Just as he said that, the door in the hallway connected to their training court opened and the girl in question emerged, making her way down the hallway.

“Speak of the devil, there she is,” Kung Lao laughed.

(Y/n) turned her head at the sound of his voice and offered them both a smile and a wave as she passed by.

Kung Lao waved back enthusiastically. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” He whispered to Liu, but Liu was too captivated to respond.

His jaw loosened and all he could do was stare at her and only her, as if he was a camera in portrait mode. The wold around her seemed to blur and the light of the sun reflecting off of her skin and clothes made it seem like she was glowing. Liu Kang took in as much detail as he could; the tilt of her head, how her hair framed her face, the curve of her smile, everything. It all seemed magnificent and surreal.

He’d seen her before, surely, but somehow in that very moment something clicked in his mind. Something deep inside him had begun to build up and bubbled it’s way around his entire body. Liu felt like he was sick, but there was no nausea and his body didn’t ache. Instead his throat felt as it had closed and his chest tingled and burned. He brought a hand up and clenched the fabric in between his pectorals. As (Y/n)’s figure disappeared into the other side of the temple, Liu exhaled sharply.

“Liu?”

Perhaps this was the first time he’d taken the time to truly look at her, and that’s why he was feeling this way.

“Liu Kang?”

Maybe he’d been too concentrated on training and improving himself.

Liu was pulled out of his thoughts by Kung Lao flicking his forehead as hard as he could.

“OW— Lao—,” He whined.

Kung Lao chuckled, “I said your name twice.”

Liu’s frown dropped, “Oh, I apologize.” His gaze fell down to his feet in embarrassment.

A sly smile tugged at the ends of Kung Lao’s mouth as he realized what was going through Liu’s head.

“As I was saying,” He cleared his throat, “She’s beautiful. Truly something special, huh?” He teased.

Liu let out a sarcastic laugh and shoved the other male playfully.

The next couple of days Liu’s infatuation with (Y/n) would only grow stronger and more visible to Kung Lao and the others around them. It was interesting to see Liu become passionate about something other than being the “chosen one” for a change. Now the question was how long would it take before he couldn’t help but approach her?

___

Another tedious lesson was over and the two friends could not have been more eager to burst out of the room down roam the halls of the temple to their rooms, but Liu and Kung Lao knew better than to display such uncultivated behavior in front of their master. Once they and the other boys had been dismissed and were out of view from Raiden, Liu began his usual tangent.

“I saw her twice after morning practice, did I tell you?” He began stretching his arms above his head, “I waved and she—,”

“I know, Liu.” Kung Lao chuckled, “You told me all of this during our lunch. I’m beginning to think you’re becoming a little... obsessed with poor (Y/n).”

Liu slapped Kung Lao’s shoulder playfully, “I’m not obsessed, I assure you. I’m just curious as to why Master Raiden won’t let us talk to her.”

Kung Lao opened the pathway to their rooms and shook his head and they continued to walk. “I’m sure he has his reasons. And besides, it’s not good to be so fixated on this when you should be focused on training, Liu.”

Liu cocked and eyebrow at his friend. “What do you mean?”

Kung Lao stopped walking and gave him and knowing look, the corners of his mouth pulling up in amusement as if he was refraining a smile. “Don’t pretend like that little slip up during sparing a day ago while (Y/n) entered happened by sheer coincidence.”

Liu huffed and turned his face away stubbornly. “I didn’t expect her to be watching. I’m not used to fighting with an audience quite yet, that’s all.”

Now that was definitely a lie. Kung Lao knew Liu Kang saw himself as the golden boy amongst their peers, and who could blame him. He was a magnificent fighter.

“If that’s what you want me to believe, then so be it.” Kung Lao flicked the other boy’s forehead, then went off to tidy himself up before bed.

It wasn’t terribly late into the evening yet, but late enough that the sun has completely gone down and most of the temple residents were already asleep. Liu followed in his cousin’s footsteps and heading towards the showers. Afterwards the two boys spent another hour or so talking and playing games together until Kang Lao finally bid Liu goodnight.

Liu stayed behind to put away their things and was about to head out for the night, but when he stepped out into the open grand hall he noticed a figure quickly hide themselves behind one of the columns in the distance. His first reaction would of been to pounce and attack the being right then and there, but he knew he’d have to deal with a lot of angry side eyed glances tomorrow if it turned out to be a false alarm. A stealthy approach was better.

The boy casually pretended as if he was entering another section of the temple and hid behind the wall until he heard feint footsteps going the opposite direction. He took this opportunity to create some distance between him and the figure, just enough that it’d be difficult for them to sense them, but still allowed Liu to follow them.

Down the grand hall, towards the back of the temple, out into the training courts, and...

Into the greenhouse?

If this was a thief, they obviously weren’t a very smart one, for nothing of value would be found in the garden, Liu thought to himself. The garden itself was nothing impressive. Just a small room that was barely the size of a large shed. It contained a collection of flowers, potted trees and herbs that the nurses kept to replenish their stock every once and a while. Liu Kang peered in from the distance behind one of the trees outlining the entrance way, and finally identified the being as the girl he’d been thinking about nearly all week.

It was (Y/n). She placed a lantern that she’d been carrying with her onto the ground and look out a match from her pocket, then crouched down beside it. Seeing as the temple was in no danger, Liu Kang turned around to leave, but the shuffle of the branches startled (Y/n). She quickly summoned her (weapon/power) and darted out of the greenhouse. In her panic, the girl executed one swift blow to the tree, which Liu ducked and narrowly dodged.

“Calm yourself! It’s just me!” Liu whisper-yelled as he revealed himself, holding his hands in front of his chest defensively.

(Y/n) unclenched her fists and allowed her arms to fall to her side. She exhaled in relief, “You— what are you...? I apologize, I shouldn’t have assumed you were an attacker.” Her gaze fell to the floor in embarrassment.

Liu shook his head, “No, no, it was my mistake! I followed you out here on false pretenses that you were a burglar.”

The girl smiled and stifled a laugh. She tilted her head slightly upward to get a better look at the young man in front of her. He was in his normal attire, with his dark hair falling just about his shoulders and framing his face and neck quite nicely. (Y/n) would’ve been tempted to stare at him a little longer if not for the predicament she was in now.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Liu Kang. You see, I’m so busy during the day— and although I know Master wouldn’t approve of it, I come out here when everyone’s alseep just to have time to myself.” She explained frantically, “I don’t— please don’t misinterpret my intentions, I was just—,”

“It’s alright, (Y/n).” Liu smiled, slightly flustered, placing a hand on her shoulder, “No need to explain yourself further. I won’t tell anyone. In fact this entire conversation is technically forbidden, mind you.”

(Y/n) was looking directly at Liu Kang now, and something about his presence was extremely calming to her.

“That’s right...” She mumbled, “You should go then, I don’t want to cause you any more inconvenience, Liu Kang.”

“Just Liu is fine.” He could feel the giddy feeling in his chest growing stronger each time she said his name. In truth, he didn’t want to leave her just yet. He glanced back at the greenhouse and spotted the perfect excuse. “But before I go,” His hand trailed down from her shoulder to her hand, and she accepted it. Liu tugged her back towards the greenhouse.

“I see that in your hurry to kill me, you’ve lost your match.” He smiled playfully at her and picked up the lantern on the floor. Letting go of her hand, he summoned a small flame and lit the wick of the candle inside. Then Liu took (Y/n)’s hands and wrapped it around the side of the glass boy firmly.

“There.” He nodded in satisfaction. “Please accept this as my apology for interrupting your evening.”

(Y/n) let out a small laugh and nodded back. “Thank you, Liu, but,” Her eyes flickered down to the lantern, then back up at him with a hint of mischief, “now that you know my secret, how will I know if you’ll actually keep it?”

“What?” Liu frowned, pretending to take offense, “Is my word not good enough? In that sense, how do I know you’re not actually a burglar?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to keep an eye of each other from now on.” (Y/n) shrugged.

The two stared at each other for a moment, then bursted into a fit of giggles. (Y/n) sighed and placed the lantern on the ground.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow then? It works for both of us. Your secret stays a secret, and I get to talk to you.”

(Y/n)’s face heated up at his words, although I doubt Liu Kang could see it with just a lantern for light. “I look forward to it then. Goodnight Liu.”

Liu placed a small kiss on the back of (Y/n)’s hand, impressed with his own boldness.

“Goodnight.”

___

Bonus:

The next morning, (Y/n) rounded up the younger monks to observe the elder ones practice. She subtly waved to both Liu Kang and Kung Lao before taking her seat behind the children. Just as a match was about to commence, Master Raiden appeared in the entrance and made his way to the center of the court. The monks exchanged confused glances until Raiden spoke.

“Alright, which of you imbeciles destroyed one of my trees?”

[qyuoza]

Bloodlust (KTH)

“Isn’t it sweet? Seeing you and Y/n acting all lovey dovey. It’s disgusting”

Genre: Angst, semi-thriller

AU: Yandere!au, Highschool!au

Warnings: Nothing really anything except for Taehyun stabbing Soobin? No blood or depictions of gore so you’re alright if you’re sensitive to that. (Also please don’t like romanticize or glamorize yandere themes it’s not cute at all)

Summary: She was always Taehyun’s, not anyone else’s, and he will make sure of it. Even if it means to kill anyone that gets in the way.

Yang Y/n, the school’s angel. She was almost like a saint, people worshipping her every move. “Thank you! It’s really nothing, I just hope I helped somehow. I know you can ace that exam” she giggles.

It was almost like a chore, helping students who struggled and lending a hand to teachers, yet she never got tired. With perfect grades and an innocent façade, who would’ve known that she would be the face of Kang Taehyun’s personal hell within himself. Well, it wasn’t necessarily her fault, but the boy simply couldn’t catch a break around her.

On the other hand, Taehyun was more of an introvert who preferred to shy away from the crowd. Having his own little group of friends consisting of Choi Yeonjun, Choi Soobin, Choi Beomgyu and Hueningkai. The other three were his seniors, while Hueningkai was a fellow classmate of his.

Taehyun didn’t know when his obsession and fascination started, but what he does know is that he won’t stop until he has Y/n all to himself. It started off small, almost like a crush. He’d simply look out for the girl and would make advances towards her.

“Good morning Y/n, take this. You’ll need it” Taehyun says, handing her a carton of milk and her favorite bread from the convenience store at school.

“Ah thank you Taehyun! You didn’t have to” she smiled at him. The boy simply shook his head sheepishly before excusing himself.

This continued on for quite awhile, until news came around that Y/n had a crush. That’s when she started to turn down Taehyun’s advances because she didn’t want to lead him on. How kind of her right?

“Hi Y/n, could I talk to you for a moment?” He asked politely, but she only shook her head.

“Listen Taehyun, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea but can we stop here? I don’t want you to feel used and this routine we have is becoming exhausting, I’m sorry I can’t reciprocate how you feel and if I gave you false hope” but before he could utter out another word, Y/n was off. This flipped something inside Taehyun as a scowl was set on his face.

The day after, he saw Y/n with one of his best friends Soobin. Jealousy clouded his mind as he stared at them.

“Taehyun? Hello? Are you alright?” Beomgyu had just walked into school and noticed Taehyun stand still, before following his eyes and seeing Y/n with Soobin.

Something obviously seemed to be going on between the two, with Y/n leaning against the lockers and the older boy looming over her with an arm by her head affectionately.

“Huh? Oh I’m fine, I didn’t know Soobin hyung and Y/n were dating” Taehyun said, unbelievably calm.

“I didn’t know either, but we can’t jump straight into conclusions can we?” Beomgyu jumped as Yeonjun had appeared seemingly out of nowhere from behind him.

“Don’t you have a thing for her though? I didn’t take you as the type to give up so easily” Yeonjun thought out loud.

Taehyun smirked at this, of course he wasn’t going to give up that easily, it was just unfortunate enough that Soobin was going to be another one of his victims.

See the truth was, Taehyun loved Y/n so much he would kill for her by all means, just for her attention. It also meant less competition right? At least that’s what he thought.

“Should I walk you home Y/n? It’s getting dark and you shouldn’t be out on your own” Soobin says worriedly. Y/n visibly blushes and nods at the taller boy, handing him her bag.

“Thank you Soobin, really. If I was more honest, it’s a relief to have you with me. Lately I feel like someone’s been following me home and I always felt unsafe, I can’t thank you enough for being with me” she smiles.

Soobin softens at this. It hasn’t been long since him and Y/n have made it official, so when Y/n made it clear she felt the same, he immediately jumped at the chance to date her.

“It’s my job as your boyfriend now Y/n, and I don’t intend on leaving my duty as dramatic as it sounds” he chuckles softly. Y/n suddenly grabs his hand, and Soobin’s face heats up, feeling her smaller hand in his.

“Yah don’t be like that, we need to get used to this” she giggles. Soobin ruffles her hair with the hand she held and goes back to holding her close.

As soon as Y/n and Soobin reach the corner by Y/n’s apartment building, Soobin suddenly catches a glimpse of a suspicious figure standing from afar. He then brings Y/n behind him, cutting her off from what they were talking about momentarily.

“Soobin? What’s wrong?” Y/n asks, panicked. He only shushes her and walks quietly up to the building entrance, only to be stopped by the figure.

Before the two could even react, Soobin felt a sharp pain in his stomach and looked up at the person who stabbed him. His eyes widened, it was Kang Taehyun, one of his best friends, or so he thought.

“Soobin! No! Kang Taehyun are you sick?!” Y/n screams and runs over to aid Soobin, but he only holds his arm out in an attempt to stop her.

“Y/n! Don’t come any closer! Who knows what he could do, just call for help! Quick!” Soobin shouts, still in pain, but staying calm for Y/n’s sake.

“Wait for me! Fuck I can’t lose you like this!” Y/n cries and runs into the apartment building.

“Isn’t it sweet? Seeing you and Y/n acting all lovey dovey. It’s disgusting” Taehyun says with a playful smile on his face, only twisting the knife into Soobin’s abdomen.

“You’re the one that’s disgusting, you can’t control who Y/n has feelings for! Not only that, this only proves why Y/n shouldn’t be with you” Soobin rasps out.

He’d hoped Y/n found help because he was losing consciousness fast, and he didn’t know how long he would be able to hold Taehyun off. Taehyun could only laugh, scoffing at Soobin’s words only a moment after.

“She’s always been mine, and nothing will ever change that—“ but before Taehyun could do anything else, the two heard sirens and Y/n screaming in the distance.

“Soobin! Soobin! Stay with me damn it! Over here! He’s here” Y/n took Soobin in her arms and he collapsed onto the ground. The cops immediately putting Taehyun into handcuffs.

“This won’t be the last time you see me Choi! And to you Y/n, this is a reminder that I’d do anything for you!” He laughs as he is escorted into the cop car.

© qyuoza 2022 -. please refrain from plagiarizing any of my works and do not repost/copy onto any other sites.

[strawbabysimp]

Sous-Chef || Jealous!Zoro x Reader

Genre: Light Angst

Category: Jealous!Zoro x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Misunderstandings, Obsessive Working Out, Relationship Insecurities

Request(s): "Hello!!! I found your blog a few days ago and I felt like I absolutely had to make a HC request! Your writing is amazing!! Do you think you can do a HC on Zoro having a partner who likes to cook and shares the kitchen with sanji? maybe a little jealousy?"

A/N: I started this as headcanons but I got a bit carried away and it became a fic~ I hope you don't mind💕

"Those two are getting along pretty well, huh?"

Zoro looked up from his lap, his drift into slumber interrupted by the long-nosed sniper's words. His brow furrowed in confusion before following Usopp's gaze, catching sight of you and Sanji laughing amongst yourselves about something he wasn't privy to by the kitchen door. He wasn't surprised to see you there, often spotting you alongside the chef cooking up some new recipe he didn't understand the specifics of but would end up eating nonetheless. At his Nakama's lack of response, Usopp hurried to calm down the already cool-headed man. "Not that anything's, ya know, happening, or anything like that! I didn't mean that- I mean... You know what I meant." Zoro shrugged off his concerns inturn for returning to his attempt at sleep, this time without interruption from his crewmate.

He fell asleep to the sound of laughter.

~~~

The next day was interesting, having woken up to the shuffling of clothes and hushed voices. His senses were keen and he picked up on the ones responsible for the disturbance immediately. What were you and Sanji doing?

"Hurry up before you wake up the Marimo. I have something to show you!" The cook's voice was raspy in his attempt at quietness and Zoro was tempted to steal a peek at whatever was so interesting you had to get up before sunrise to see. "Shhhh!" You scolded the other man's insistent words.

Right after the initial shock of this wore off, a much more cynical thought made its way into his head.

He wasn't welcome. That's why you hadn't woken him up. That's why he couldn't come along with you, clinging close to your side in the morning air as you laughed off the curly-brow's stare of discontent at the sight of him. Whatever this thing between you and Sanji was, Zoro had no place in it and that notion was supported by the both of you. Zoro wasn't welcome in this part of your life, even as a spectator, and you had made sure of that.

You stepped out the door and his heart ached. He wasn't mad - not at you at least. He was confused. He hated being confused. Anger at least meant he understood the situation, but right now, he was left alone in the bed you and he were meant to share, feeling far too lonely for a man whose partner was just outside.

You came back in after some time, getting back into bed with a content sigh, the heat of his body warming you up from the cold dawn air. He was stiff beside you and you called his name in a low voice. He didn't respond to your questioning tone and you gave a soft smile to his relaxed face.

Zoro could only sense your stare, not your feelings, and turned over with a small, well-placed groan.

~~~

The light shined through under the door and it was Zoro's turn to wake up before you. It had to have been a few hours since your mysterious departure and return to the room and while he was still plagued by the many questions your actions left in his mind, no good could be done laying around.

He quickly got ready for the day, fixing his clothes in the mirror for a split second before heading out to the deck. The smell of food hit him and he knew that whatever the cook was making was going to be good. Not a surprise. Despite the pleasant aroma, his calm mood shifted and he wanted nothing more than to get away from the tell-tale signs of breakfast.

"Zoro!"

Your voice rang across the deck and his chest tightened. He turned around to face you, the soft smile on your face a welcome sight no matter any internal struggles he was facing. He knew trust was a difficult and sometimes fatal thing but he truly did have faith in the fact you wouldn't do anything to hurt him. This was his own issue. He trusted you(and Sanji but he wasn't about to say that).

He put off his training for a later time, the cook calling out that food was ready soon after you had approached him. Everyone quickly gathered and as the food was placed down, forks at ready to fend off their Captain's gluttonous hands, the Strawhats dug in. Your thigh was pressed against Zoro's and in the approaching winter island weather - and truly any instance at all - the contact was most welcome. Zoro poked at your plate playfully, expecting a laugh as he half-heartedly went for your food, but was surprised to see it garnered no reaction. His eyes traveled up your neck and he spotted your upturned lips which had a small smile of his own gracing his face, but as he looked at your eyes he realized you weren't paying attention to him in the slightest. You were looking at Sanji. And he was smiling back.

The pleasant expression on the swordman's face dropped away and he went back to eating, catching Robin's eye whilst doing so. The two shared a blank look and Zoro nodded at her before continuing his meal.

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder as he chewed around his fork, the warmth that filled him at the action burning in a masochistic sort of way. He knew he should talk to you but some part of him was scared of the answer and avoiding feelings was something Zoro did best. Be logical and win. That's all he had to do. But was there even something to win? And if so, hadn't Sanji already won?

The affectionate gesture received no reaction just as his had before and you removed yourself from his warmth.

~~~

Breakfast ended and with a quick press to your forehead Zoro was off, no doubt going to train up until lunch. The smile you received was tender yet rushed and you tried to trust in the fact that Zoro would come to you if something was wrong. Confronting him made him uncomfortable and you tried to avoid that when possible, giving him a place to express himself freely without forcing it out of him.

You made your way back into the kitchen, asking Sanji if he needed help with anything. He turned down your offer politely, content with the process of making the crew drinks on his own, but at the look on your face, he changed his mood. Directing you off into the food storage to get him some supplies, what he had originally planned to be a simple hot chocolate was now turning into an assortment of treats. He could tell you needed something to distract you and what better than cooking alongside the ship's gifted chef to soothe your need for occupation.

The snacks practically made themselves, you and Sanji working in sync as you gave the occasional comment or request. By the time it was done, there laid mugs of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream and an assortment of cookies for everyone to choose from that would hopefully satisfy them until lunch was ready.

Sanji took the liberty of handing out the food to the ladies, stopping by Chopper as well because who could resist the cuteness of the blue-nosed creature. It was hard to believe anyone could consider him anything other than adorable perfection. You were of course stuck with the boys, balancing the dishes as you handed them off with a word of thanks from the recipients - or the occasional attempt at grabbing another serving.

The only person left was Zoro and when you didn't find him in his usual napping spot you crossed the deck with a sigh. That man truly was too predictable.

"Hey Y/N! Looking for Zoro?" Usopp questioned, the chocolatey drink coating his upper lip as he smiled. You nodded. "He said he wanted to be left alone to train. I'll graciously take his food though!" The sniper reached out for the goods, taking them from your frozen hands as you frowned. You always delivered Zoro's food to him when he trained, even if it went cold he ate it just so you would stop by to bring it to him. Maybe something really was wrong with your boyfriend.

~~~

Zoro's muscles ached under the strain of the weights, he had lost count of the reps by now and had no intention of stopping any time soon. His arms begged him to put them down, already far surpassing his goal for the workout session, but he couldn't. He found peace in the rhythmic movements and the pain only seemed to calm his mind. The endorphins in his brain fueled him on and he could easily see himself becoming addicted to the act; if he wasn't already that is.

All the anger and confusion faded into the background as his body screamed at him to stop. The sweat dripped down his face and the plain white shirt he adorned was soaked through with the moisture. He would have taken it off but that would require a break and that wasn't something his mind allowed at the moment. He let the fabric cling to his body as he focused on the movements.

A knock at the entrance had him dropping the heavy equipment without a second thought, looking over to where he had set his swords. He worked to catch his breath, the pain in his chest yet to subside due to the lengths he had pushed himself when the smell of tobacco flooded his senses.

"What are you doing, Marimo?" Sanji said without his usual instigating tone, the cigarette balanced against his lip as he spoke. The declared "Marimo" huffed, not happy to be interrupted by the main cause of his grief.

"Get out."

"I'll leave when you get your grassy head out of your ass and stop doing whatever it is you're doing."

"And what exactly am I doing, Cook?"

Sanji shot him a look, annoyed by his Nakama's false ignorance. His next words weren't a suggestion. "Fix this."

He turned around without another word, leaving Zoro alone once again, his only company being the cigarette smoke lingering in the air as a cruel reminder of the other's words.

~~~

Zoro didn't have the will to leave the space, the workout equipment surrounding his now near-sleeping form. He knew avoiding the issue would only make it worse but the comfort of being alone to dwell in his ill feelings was too tempting to resist. Just as he was about to lay down for a quick nap a knock broke him out of his wallowing state. Could he not get an ounce of peace on this damn ship?

His eyes widened at the person approaching.

"Y/N?"

"The one and only," you said in a somber voice, approaching the man. You weren't used to the lack of alcohol flooding your senses as you got close. He always smelled a bit of the drink and the small difference had you shifting on your feet, only adding to the uncomfortable mess of the situation.

You sighed, tugging Zoro up and along behind you as he simply gazed at you in confusion. He wanted to rip his arm away from your grasp, not a fan of being grabbed so harshly, but the lack of physical contact between you two left him a little more lenient if it meant he could touch you.

The trek to the food storage was silent, the tension between you two lessening slightly despite no words being exchanged. You caught a few looks from the others, some sending concerned frowns or even a stern glare from Sanji directed at your boyfriend. He didn't come in here often unless it was to steal alcohol - he came in here pretty often - and the way his eyes shifted around the room made it obvious he was uncomfortable with the situation yet decided to stay to see whatever this was through.

You let go of his arm to make your way over to the corner, pulling a box into view that had Zoro walking over himself to see. The top came off with a crack and you moved over slightly so he could get a better look from beside you. The container was filled with what looked to be little balls of algae but couldn't possibly be from how they sat on top of one another.

"Sanji found these on the last island. He said they reminded him of you, well, he said they looked like some sort of moss ball which is basically the same thing-"

Your words faded off into the background as Zoro peered down at the box, the contents staring back at him mockingly. He picked one of the fruits up, surprised at the hard exterior, and turned to face you.

"Is this why you snuck off yesterday?"

God, he felt stupid.

"Snuck off?" Your eyes widened in realization.

"It was supposed to a surprise! I thought maybe I could make you something with them. I would never... What did you think was happening?"

Zoro met your gaze with a shrunken expression. His words sounding pitiful to his own ears. "I didn't know what to think Y/N," his hand came up to card through his hair as his eyes shut, "I didn't want to think anything."

You gave a soft smile, knowing the conversation could get far too grim at a time that was supposed to be pleasant. "Sanji wanted to show these to me. I think he wanted to do something nice for us. He can be a bit of a dick," Zoro laughed at your words, "but he's sweet." There was a million different things he could say in that moment to counteract your words but decided against it. The weight that had been crushing his ribs finally dispersed and with a smirk he asked, "So, what can you make with these?"

You grinned, going off on a tangent about all the things you and Sanji had tried, the swordsman watching with bright eyes at the enthusiastic verbal reenactment of your cooking trials.

[genezpen]

wishful thinking

episode 0

scope

541 words

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

yang jungwon. how come you’re still single for almost three years?

i paced back and forth biting my newly manicured nails, thinking deeply about this controversial idol’s love life.

he’s seen with so many different girls but all rumors turned out to be false. i know because i was the one who wrote all of them! as in ALL. OF. IT. PIECE. BY. PIECE. i was tasked to do it by the company.

some of his company's staff almost threaten me last week to stop being obsessed with his lovelife but i was only doing my job! i don’t care about his lovelife—

really? how come you’re so eager to know the reason why he’s still single after you? for what? hopes? that he’s still not over you? i almost hear a voice inside my head laughing mockingly at me.

my eyelids tightly closed. even my own mind is contradicting me! wow, i’m going insane.

suddenly, the sound of the door creaking made all my thoughts pop like bubbles into thin air. i heard a voice entered.

“seoji? are you not going out yet? i saw your boss went out.” kyungmin entered the room.

“ah, kyungmin, why? i was about to...”

he raised a brow.

“i was just going to ask you to join me for lunch,” kyungmin’s cheeks flushed, “uh, what were you thinking about...”

i shake my head then smiled to assure him. after that we walked together to the coffee shop infront of the building.

hwang kyungmin is one of my co-workers, an acquaintance. he once confessed his feelings for me and i feel sorry for him 'cause i never see him anything more than friends. i’m glad he still choose to befriend me even after i turned him down, though his advances sometimes are too bold that our co-workers, even my boss thought there is something going on between us. i guess some feelings won’t fade away easily, huh?

“seoji, why are so distracted these days? are you having a hard time at work? did mr. park assigned you to a hard scope again?”

i blinked in confusion. “no? i just... need a little more sleep, i guess?” i chuckled.

he seems serious though. i assured him i’m fine before we ended our lunch break.

now, now. i can’t seem to get jungwon out of my head, i feel the need to see him? no, that’ll be soo awkward. and it’s not like i can just call him and ask us to meet like, we ain't friends nor anything. just ex-lovers.

yeah. maybe a little bit of connection, i can possibly meet him? and thank heaven for probably reading what’s on my mind, when manager park entered our office, a good news was immediately delivered to me.

“miss go, remember the scope i gave to you last night? switch it up with miss hyo. you need to visit the JBS today, make sure to get a statement from yeona lee of hyde company about their boygroup’s recent rumors.”

this is it. my only chance!

yang jungwon, watch your back and don’t let you guard down because i’ll be sneaking into your life before you even know it. mark my word.

•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~•~~~~~•~~~~~~•

cas notes: hello, bffs<3 hehe this is the first episode of wishful thinking, how was it? it’s kinda boring for me but i hope you still want to look forward to episode two hihi if you are wondering where is the introduction/master list of this ff, here it is! likes and reblogs are very appreciated! if you want to ask me things or rant or chat w me pls don’t hesitate to do so ^^ love y’all~

(message me right away if i made something wrong !!! thx ><)

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 14

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“It was so good to see you, Will,” Valerie says in a muffled voice against his chest as he has her wrapped up tightly in a bear hug.

“I know, I’m so glad I ran into you,” Mulder replies, brushing his hands over her back. He pulls away and kisses her softly on the cheek.

“It makes me really happy to see you so happy,” she says with a smile, her long brunette hair lifting softly in the breeze, brown eyes holding affection that can only be held between two people who have the type of bond that can withstand a breakup and then a transition from lovers to friends.

“Likewise,” he says, nodding towards the small swell of her growing belly.

“I’d love to meet your girlfriend someday, if you think she’d be okay with that,” she says, collecting her purse.

“Yes, I’d really like that. I think you two would get along really well, actually,” he says, and she smirks at him.

“You’re not afraid we’ll bond over having to sit through your shitty movie collection?” she teases, and he laughs good-naturedly.

“Hey, Scully likes my shitty movies, that’s why we’re a perfect match,” he retorts.

She squeezes his arm.

“Call me sometime, okay?”

He nods and watches her walk away, feeling like he’s on cloud nine. A great friendship with his ex-girlfriend, a promising new love with the woman of his dreams; he can only imagine what lies in store next. He practically skips on the walk back to his car, wondering if Scully might let him come by tonight, hoping that he won’t have to wait until the weekend to see her again. He decides to call her as soon as he gets home.

The first few times he gets her machine, he assumes she must be at her mother’s. When she still hasn’t answered or called back by 9:00 pm, he’s confused. When he emails her the next morning and still hasn’t gotten a response at 10:00am, he’s officially worried.

Something is wrong.

———

She had eventually turned off the ringer on her phone and put the volume all the way down on her answering machine so she wouldn’t have to hear his increasingly obsessive attempts to get ahold of her, then slept fitfully all night.

She knows that she needs to give him some kind of response or he’ll show up on her doorstep, but she can’t bring herself to face him, even in voice. Every time the image of him with that woman pops back into her head, she feels a lump form in her throat immediately, a sick sadness welling in her belly. She’s pored over every memory in her mind, every interaction they’ve had, searching for signs. Signs that he was seeing someone else, that he wasn’t interested in anything other than getting in her pants, that he was lying to her. Her thorough inventory brings up next to nothing, which almost makes it worse; how adept he must have been at creating a false reality for her to exist in. Perhaps he’s garnered some tips from the sociopaths he studies, or maybe his background in psychology allowed him to manipulate her.

When she arrives at work, she is unsurprised though still dismayed to see an email waiting for her.

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: May 5, 1997 7:57 am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: Where are you?

Scully, you’re freaking me out. Are you okay? Please respond.

She deletes it immediately and tries to focus on work. She performs an autopsy and teaches a class, both welcome distractions from her emotional torment. Just before 11:00 am, the phone rings.

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy…yep, she’s here, one second.”

Trudy turns and opens her mouth to speak, but sees Dana waving her arms and shaking her head. She makes a confused face and puts the phone back to her ear.

“Oh, actually she just stepped out, sorry. Can I take a message?”

She watches as Trudy scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“Uh huh…yes. Okay, I’ll tell her…you have my word.”

She replaces the phone on the receiver and hands Dana the paper with a sympathetic frown.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asks rhetorically.

Dana looks down and deciphers Trudy’s messy scrawl.

Call Mulder immediately. Send a sign of life.

She crumples it up and tosses it into the trash can.

“You wanna talk about it?” Trudy asks.

“Nope,” Dana replies, turning back to the computer.

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: May 5th, 1997 11:03am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: PLEASE RESPOND

Scully, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if you don’t reply to this within an hour I’m driving down there.

Please respond

She feels fresh tears well in her eyes. Why is he trying so hard if he’s seeing someone else anyway? Why is he doing this to her? With a surge of anger, she hits reply.

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: May 5th, 1997 11:05am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:PLEASE RESPOND

I’m fine, Mulder. Please just give me some space.

With that she closes her email, begs someone to take her second class of the day, and goes home.

———

He feels like he’s stepped into an alternate universe. He’d left her happy and satisfied, and out of nowhere she’s shutting him out. What does she need space for? Space from him? Why? Did he come on too strong and freak her out? He thought they’d moved past that. He picks up the phone again.

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy.”

“Trudy, it’s Agent Mulder again. Look, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but is Dana there?”

She pauses. “No, she went home for the day. She seemed pretty upset.”

“Do you have any idea why?” he implores.

“No, other than the fact that it seems to be directed at you.”

“Yeah, that much I gathered. Thanks, Trudy, sorry to bother you.”

“No worries, good luck.”

He slams the phone down, grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and leaves.

———

She is half expecting his knock, but it still makes her jump, nearly causing her to spill her wine. She wants to just ignore him until he goes away, but she knows his proclivity towards persistence won’t let him do that. Better to just get it over with, she thinks as she slumps towards the door.

The second she lays eyes on him in his slacks and dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie discarded, she feels her chin pucker and tears threaten her eyes. As angry as she is, she immediately wants to go to him, to curl up within his embrace so he can comfort her. The problem is, what she needs comforting from is him.

“What is going on?” he says with a mix of frustration and fear.

She stands in the open doorway, not making space for him to enter.

“I saw you,” she says, her voice strained with emotion.

“You saw me...what?” he asks, his face a mask of confusion.

She lifts her chin, clenching her jaw and summoning strength.

“I saw you with her. Yesterday, at the Bluebird Cafe. After I had lunch with my family.” her voice holds steady, anger carrying her through.

His face falls and her gut twists. She wishes she didn’t have to watch this.

“THAT is what this is about?” he asks, but there’s no shame or regret in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little mad.

She nods curtly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spits out, and she recoils a little at his vitriol. “Let me in, Scully. Right now,” he demands, and against her better judgement she moves aside.

He pushes past her into the apartment and she closes the door softly, leaving it unlocked in case either of them decides to make a hasty exit.

“Did you consider,” he begins, his back to her, “maybe, I don’t know, asking me about what you saw?” He turns to face her, one hand on his hip and his face contorted with anger. “Or were you just planning to avoid me until I gave up and went away again?”

She doesn’t know what to say. She’s confused about why he’s yelling at her when he’s the one who did something wrong. She just looks at him, expressionless.

He juts his chin out expectantly, waiting for an answer, but gets none. She averts her eyes.

“Is that all this is worth to you, Scully?” he continues, “you’re ready to throw this away over a simple misunderstanding, without even talking to me?”

She lifts her head and looks at him with a pained expression. “Okay then, talk,” she gets out.

He drops his head in frustration. “The woman you saw me with,” he says flatly, lifting his head to meet her eye, “was my ex-girlfriend, Valerie. I ran into her while I was running errands yesterday, and we had lunch. She has a boyfriend and is three months pregnant. We spent the majority of our meal together talking about you.”

She shakes her head gently, her throat closing as a tear rolls down her cheek. “I saw you kiss her,” she whispers, her jaw quivering.

“You saw me kiss her on the cheek? I also kiss my mother on the cheek, Scully, it’s hardly an intimate gesture.”

She feels a new wave of sickness pass over her, but this time it’s entirely different. This time it’s the sick feeling of realizing that she was very, very, wrong, and that she has, yet again, hurt the man who loves her. She opens her mouth to speak but she can’t find the right words.

He steps forward but doesn’t touch her. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more defeated than anything else.

“I’m sorry that you saw something that upset you. But if you actually thought for a single second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I meant what I said the day you left my apartment last year. I felt it then, and I feel it now. I want this to work more than anything, Scully, but for that to be possible you have to trust me. I can’t live with the knowledge that you might just shut me out at a moment’s notice when you get scared.”

She keeps her head down, overwhelmed by a combination of shame, embarrassment, and gratitude that he wouldn’t let her walk away. She does not deserve this man, but she wants to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, still unable to meet his eye.

“I know you are,” he replies, moving towards the door. “Take the space you need, and let me know when you’re ready to trust me.”

When she hears the click of the door closing behind him, she collapses to the floor, sobbing for so many reasons she couldn’t possibly name them all. When it’s faded to snivels and hiccups, she stands and goes to the hallway, picking up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Missy,” she chokes out, “Can you come over?”

———

He’s not sure if leaving was the right thing to do. The risk that she might not come back around is one that sends his stomach into knots, but at the same time he finds it hard to accept that she wasn’t even going to give him the opportunity to explain. He’s been actively working to temper expressing his feelings so he doesn’t overwhelm her, but then she gets it in her head that he’s not invested. It feels like he can’t win.

He goes back to work and stops by Kirkbride’s office to apologize for disappearing. Kirkbride just gives him a quizzical look, clearly not having noticed he had left. The rest of the day he buckles down on his caseload, distracting himself from the catastrophic thoughts that dance through his head, and gets more work done than he has in quite a while. When he leaves the office just after 5:00 pm, he feels melancholy and grouchy, and annoyed that he left the ball in her court.

The elevator dings to announce his arrival on the fourth floor and he steps out with a takeout bag in his hand, eyes downcast. Halfway down the hall, he readies his key and looks up, startling when he sees Scully sitting on the floor against his door, knees tucked up against her chest and her forehead resting on her kneecaps. She’s very still, and as he gets closer he realizes that she’s asleep. His heart aches knowing that she’s been waiting that long, that she didn’t want to leave without talking to him.

He crouches down beside her, setting his dinner on the floor, and gently touches her shoulder. She jerks, her head snapping up and her eyes wild for a moment while she tries to orient herself. When she focuses on him, she immediately starts crying, reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck. He’s surprised by her uncharacteristically emotional response, but says nothing and just holds her until his knees start to ache, at which point he sits down on the floor and pulls her into his lap. They stay this way for several minutes, long enough for one of his neighbors to walk by and politely avert their eyes, entering their apartment as though there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in the hallway. When the crying seems to have subsided a bit, he gives her a little squeeze.

“Wanna go inside?” he asks, and she nods against his chest, his shirt damp from her tears.

She stands unsteadily and he follows her, grabbing the takeout bag off the floor. They enter the apartment and Priscilla plods up to them with an excited meow. Scully leans down and picks her up, tucking the cat against her neck as they nuzzle each other. Mulder smiles at them with a bemused expression.

“She was talking to me through the door,” Scully says with a small smile, “she heard me knocking and was meowing from the other side. We had a conversation.”

Affection swells in his chest and he steps forward to kiss her. Her shoulders drop and she lets Priscilla down so she can get closer, threading her arms around his waist and kissing him back in earnest. Desperate, thought I’d lost you again kisses that are as arousing as they are a relief, because he knows that they will be okay.

He pulls back a little and she makes a whimpering sound in protest.

“I’m gonna go change really quick, okay? Then can we talk?” he asks, and she sighs and nods. “You can have half my Chinese,” he adds, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile.

When he sits on the couch beside her five minutes later, she scoots closer so they are pressed against each other, and he gathers that she needs physical closeness right now. He loops an arm around her shoulder and she crawls right back into his lap, curled against him as though trying to fuse her body to his own. Her head tucked beneath his chin, she holds one of his hands in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, and begins to speak.

“After you left, Missy came over and we talked for a long time. I’ve come to realize how much I’m still affected by...what happened last year. I harbor a lot of guilt for being unfaithful to Ethan, and that’s actually largely why I married him even though I knew my heart wasn’t in it.” She pulls in a deep breath, pressing their joined hands tight against her belly, trying to get even closer. “When you and I reconnected, in a way it felt like a chance to validate it. As though things working out with us would mean that what I did wasn’t as bad, because there was something real between us. But at the same time, a big part of me doesn’t believe that I deserve to be happy.” Her voice remains steady, but he feels the wet drop of a tear on the back of his hand.

He tightens his arm around her waist. “I’ve always been a person who values doing the right thing, and integrity was something that was very important to my father. It was his measure of a person’s character, and that’s something he instilled in me as well.” She sits up a bit so she can look at him, and his heart breaks at her red-rimmed eyes, her icy irises so mournful. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mulder. You haven’t given me any reason not to. It’s just that I don’t feel like I deserve this, especially with you, and I’m waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down. So when I saw you with that woman, it was almost like I’d been waiting for it, expecting it. Getting what I deserved.”

He brings his palms to her cheeks, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he says softly. “I wish I could change how you feel, but I know that I can’t. I do know how it feels to spend your life harboring guilt over something you could have done differently, and I can tell you that punishing yourself won’t make it any easier. It makes me really sad that you’ll always regret how we met.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head gently. When she opens them, her expression is more tender than it is mournful.

“I don’t regret it, Mulder. I do feel guilt, and shame, for not ending it with Ethan so we could have done things the right way, but I could never regret meeting you.”

He pulls her back into an embrace, her arms wrapping around his ribcage, and plants a kiss to the top of her head.

“Are we okay?” he asks softly.

“I hope so,” she says hoarsely.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that Valerie wants to meet you sometime?” he asks, and she laughs.

“I don’t know, did you tell her that I freaked out on you because you had lunch with her?” she replies, and he can already hear her tone shifting back to their typical lighthearted banter.

“No, of course not. That’ll be our little secret. Well, plus Trudy. I think Trudy knows too much honestly.”

She laughs again, and god he could spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh. In fact, that’s exactly what he hopes to do.

“Speaking of meeting people,” she continues, “Missy mentioned you to my mother yesterday and she wants to meet you.”

A grin stretches across his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. She pulls back to look at his face, to gauge his reaction, and smiles softly in response.

“You want me to meet your mom?” he asks, the delight on his face carrying over to his voice.

Her mouth screws up shyly. “My little brother will probably be there too, and Missy. Is that too much?”

He shakes his head. “Sounds perfect. But, there are some friends I’d like you to meet too, if we’re meeting people.”

“The Lone Gunmen?” she asks with a skeptical lilt.

“Those are the ones. They’re my only friends, actually. Aside from Val.” Just then, Priscilla hops up onto the couch beside them. “Oh, and you Priscilla, sorry,” he adds.

Scully smiles at the cat, and then at him. “Can I bring Missy as a human buffer?” she asks hopefully.

“Of course. You may set a record for the highest number of female visitors to their lair in a day.”

“Lair?” she asks with wide eyes.

He chuckles. “They’ll grow on you, I promise.”

[cheonjeolmi]

Look At Me, Not Him

Request Status: Open

Pairing: Hange x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1657

A/N: i just wanted some jealous hange so enjoy

It was yet another bright and sunny day with you and Levi sparring with one another, a common practice between you both since the two of you rivaled each other in strength.

“Haha, I won again!” you spoke, helping Levi up to his feet

“You’re getting much better” Levi spoke as he dusted his clothes with a sour expression.

“Praise from shorty?!” you gasped “Wow, you’re definitely a softie on the inside” you chuckled as his expression turned dark and you told him that you were just joking.

He clicked his tongue and you both walked over to the mess hall to get water in comfortable silence. Once you arrived at the mess hall, you noticed many people looking at Levi with hearts in their eyes. Though you knew Levi was popular among the new recruits and had many adoring fans, you could never really see why they’d fallen for him since there were many more interesting people to fall for, an example of which was your very own crush, Hange Zoe.

“Aww, shorty’s popular. You should say hi to your fans,” you chirped and snickered lightly when he glared at you, eyeing you to shut up which made you laugh even more. “You’re fun to tease y’know?” you said, now calm from your fit of laughter and when you saw Hange, your heart fluttered as you began to get panicky because you didn’t know what to do whenever they were in front of you or just near you.

You looked back to Hange’s direction and some part of you immediately knew they’d been dragged to the hall by Moblit, their assistant because otherwise, they wouldn’t willingly go by themselves seeing as they were always too focused on experiments. You gulped quietly and felt heat slowly creep on your face.

Hange was resting their head on the table while Moblit scolded them for neglecting themselves and you heard them groan, now getting up to face Moblit and tell him everything was fine and that they had better things to do with their time. They stopped and looked around before meeting your gaze which seemed to brighten their mood as they waved frantically in your direction.

“Y/N!!” Hange smiled, and you thought they looked so precious, but then the panic set in and you realized your crush was waving at you and calling your name ‘Shit, aahh what am I gonna do’ you internally panicked and turned to Levi who noticed your panic but chose to be silent.

“Levi, help me..” you whispered silently as you looked to see Hange who’s smile dimmed before they slightly glared at Levi, which was something he noticed.

“Handle it yourself. I’m going somewhere,” he continued “I think they like you too” was all he spoke and you looked at him in shock and disbelief.

“I know you’re just going to Erwin, now shut up and don’t give me false hope, shorty” you glared and he chuckled slightly which also surprised you at that moment since Levi wasn’t the most expressive person. “Wow, I got you to laugh” you genuinely felt oddly proud but you were going to take it.

“Your stupidity makes me laugh” he chided and you felt a comical arrow stab you as the insult truly hurt you and you pouted.

“You’re mean, shorty. If your fans knew how you really were I think the number would dwindle” you said, still pouting and he scoffed in return.

“It’s much better than a four-eyed scientist who has an obsession with titans, doesn’t eat or sleep because of experiments, and doesn’t shower at all” he deadpanned and you glared at him, how dare he insult Hange, the most amazing being in this world.

“Hey! Don’t insult them like that, and for the record, they’re way better than you!” you stuck your tongue out and Levi was simply not fazed as he walked out saying something about how he had better things to do than deal with your ‘silly crush’

‘Yeah right. By things to do you mean Erwin..’ you grumbled softly as you knew Levi and Erwin were keeping their relationship a secret. You looked to where Hange’s direction was and saw they weren’t there anymore, so you decided to leave the hall since there was no more reason to stay any longer.

——————

You and Levi were back in the training grounds going about your daily sparring, however, you noticed something was off about Levi and ended your sparring session.

“Shorty, you okay? Your movements are a bit slow and you seem unfocused..” you pointed out and he looked at you as he slightly froze in place.

“..Let’s go one more round” he said, changing the subject which failed miserably as you began to approach him, and when you did you immediately blew over in laughter.

“You and Erwin..! Man, I can’t believe it-! You guys actually fu—“ before you could finish, Levi covered your mouth and growled for you to shut up but you laughed and sighed, letting him win. “So you two really did it, huh?” you spoke, really glad your best friend found someone he liked and you smiled when you saw him nod with a very slight blush on his face.

“Good for you, getting laid and all” you patted his back

“So, now it’s your turn” he said and you froze over. “Wh-what..? That’s..that’s such a good joke, Levi” you stammered as you immediately knew what he was talking about. You being laid by Hange which isn't something you’d complain about, but the chances of that ever happening were little to none, and it was always going to be that way.

“How could one person be so smart yet so stupid at the same time. We’re done, let’s continue where we left off tomorrow.” Levi walked off and you now had nothing else to do so you decided to casually walk around until you had something you could do.

As you walked the halls, you saw a group of people run in the direction of the training grounds, and before you could ask them what was going on, one of the cadets had announced a fight was happening which piqued your interest and you really had nothing else to do so you joined them in going to the training grounds.

Once you got there, you noticed many people crowding around in a circle and so you moved forward to get a clearer picture, wondering who could be initiating a fight and when you saw who it was, your eyes widened. It was Hange--

Their button-up shirt was riddled with dirt and their hair was much more of a mess than it usually was as they panted heavily, trying to land an attack on Levi who was able to dodge it just by a slight margin.

“Why? Why’re they always staring at you?! Why can’t it be me that they stare at!” Hange grunted as they swung their fist at Levi who took the hit and groaned in pain “Just what is it that you have and I don’t?! You already have all your adoring fans and Erwin, and I- I just want to have them..!” they yelled proceeding to land yet another blow on Levi, and you decided you had to stop it now.

“Hange, stop! That’s enough he’s already hurt as it is-!” you spoke, running and opening your arms wide to stop them from further approaching Levi.

“Y/N I- why can’t I be the one you choose..?” they spoke underneath their breath and if you weren’t in your spot you wouldn’t have heard them but you did and your eyes slightly widened in surprise.

“Hange, what are you talking abou-“

“I love you, Y/N..! I always have-! Seeing you joking and laughing around with Levi hurts and I just- I wanna be the one that’s making you laugh, I want you to look at me, not him! Please, Y/N..what can I do to get your attention? What can I do to make me the only one you look at..?” Hange confessed, looking into your eyes with their now glassy light brown eyes before facing down the ground, their confidence now faltered as you stood in shock.

“..I was right. You don’t like me the way I like you..” they muttered softly as they walked a few steps away from you.

“..It’s always been you, Hange, I’ll always choose you. So please..don’t leave.” you said as you caught up to them and grabbed their wrist, keeping them in place.

Hange’s eyes widened in shock as they immediately turned to face you and move closer. “You- you really mean that?” they said in disbelief and you nodded.

“I love you, Hange.” you looked into their still glassy eyes, seeing a tear fall from the corner of their eyes, you moved your thumb to wipe at the tear.

“Are you sure? Do you really love me, or am I just dreaming this moment?” they breathed out, and you chuckled softly before grabbing at the collar of their shirt, clashing your lips with theirs in a sweet kiss which made their eyes briefly widen before returning the kiss.

And just for a few seconds, everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving you to see Hange, and only Hange. Once you pulled away for air, both your foreheads touched as you were still close to each other, feeling one another smile against your lips.

The two of stayed closer to each other as you whispered sweet nothings into their ear and the occasional ‘I love you’ which made them smile wide in the feeling of their love being reciprocated, something they thought would never happen in a million years.

“Now let’s go get you cleaned up” you said while Hange nodded and you two walked away from the training grounds leaving everyone to either be in shock or in utter confusion.

[water-dance]

In case anyone's missed it, here's the Metamoro reunion during Ermal's showcase at Radio Subasio. Translation under the cut.

I: We have your [Ermal’s] fans at home. There’s one more, we are moving to Rome where there’s Fabrizio. Fabrizio? Are you there?

F: Here I am

I: Fabrizio? I can’t see him and I can’t hear him. Will he be there or not? This listener, fan of Ermal Meta.

F: Just a moment…

I: [laughs]

E: Who’s that? I’ve already recognized his voice.

I: You can’t let yourself get caught like that!

E: BIZIO! Let us see you!

I: There he is, hi Fabrizio! We wanted to surprise him but he recognized you just with one word! Welcome Fabrizio.

E: As soon as I heard- He doesn’t even have to talk, I heard a “huh” and I understood.

I: You understood immediately.

E: Yeah, sure.

F: I’ve just entered the call and as soon as you said “There’s a fan from Rome”-

I: You didn’t expect it to be you?

F: I thought “what is she doing? Is she just putting it out there like that?”

I: You’re not only a friend of Ermal Meta, you’re also a fan of his, right?

F: Don’t exaggerate now. Can I ask him a question?

I: Sure you can, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Ask Ermal Meta a question.

E: Careful or I’ll beat you up.

F: A question for Ermal Meta…

I: Yes, let’s hear it.

F: But let me see him though, or I can’t do it, I see my face. Here he is. So, first of all, who does your hair?

E: First of all…?

F: Who does your hair?

E: Who does my hair? I do it myself! I pray for my hair. I pray and they do their thing.

I: Well but he’s lucky, he’s curly, no?

F: [randomly can be heard saying “my love” to Ermal for no reason]

E: He is obsessed with my hair, it’s something terrible, since the day we met [he’d say] “what about this hair?”. Just mind your own fucking business! Right?

I: Listen, is it true that at first you didn’t really like each other?

E: No, that’s not true.

I: No? I had read this, you didn’t like each other at first and then thing was born…

E: No, always [liked each other]

I: Right from the start?

E: I don’t know about him [Fabrizio], cause he’s a bit of a little shit, but I’ve always liked him.

I: Fabrizio, do you confirm that or…? Is it true for you too? Or at the start-

F: You know what, jokes aside, I think that there are, especially in this world of ours, let’s call it like that, in the entartainment, music world, there’s a lot of mistrust, especially when you don’t know each other, and also a lot of jealousies. But there are cases, like with me and Ermal, in which people smell each other and immediately recognize each other. I remember I already heard talks about Ermal, before he arrived in Sanremo with “Vietato Morire”, I already heard people talk about him because I indirectly followed him through some people we have in common. When I saw him, for the first time, appear on that stage with that song, I immediately recognized a soul similar to mine and so I wanted to get to know him in person, that year, because I was also competing with “Portami Via”, and I was the one who walked up to Ermal to compliment him, hug him and tell him “I want to be friends with you, I want to be friends because you are a person I like” and Ermal can confirm it.

E: I confirm.

F: I’m a really introverted person so I rarely make friends with people…

I: So it was something immediate, you liked each other

E: Yes, absolutely

I: There’s something more I want to ask you, I don’t know if it’s fake news, there’s many to be read, but there’s a 12th song that you did not put in your album because rumors say it should have to do with Fabrizio Moro and his movie project, is it false?

E: No, look, not his movie project. I mean, he didn’t ask me for anything so…

I: See, Fabrizio? It’s your fault. There was a chance and you didn’t ask him.

E: No, no, I mean…

I: Look, he [Fabrizio] is hiding!

F: It’s not true! It’s been 6 months of me asking him to come and watch the movie!

E: Shut up! Let me speak! He is an amazing singer-songwriter, so when an amazing singer-songwriter works on a movie, you don’t walk up to him and tell him “let’s do something together for your movie”

I: Obviously

E: He doesn’t need me, he’d do it himself. Why do I hear my echo? I’m getting confused, if I hear my own voice it’s going to be a mess.

I: You seem like the Pope.

E: But there is a song we were supposed to do together! But he does not hurry up and write his part of the lyrics! So, I mean, Fabrì! I’m getting white hair while waiting for you! I’m starting to look like you! Just some tattoos [more]…

I: So, Fabri, when are we doing this thing?

F: But if you do remember, you sent this thing to me while I was on the set…

E: [hand gesturing] I sent it during the prehistoric era.

I: You sent it when he wouldn’t answer your calls? I read on Instagram that you wrote “You don’t answer my calls!”

E: He has a problem with his phone, even when we were in Lisbon, we were there for Eurovision, if you called him, he would not answer and I’d wonder “what’s wrong with him? Why doesn’t he pick up the phone?”

I: And how do you two communicate?

E: When he feels like it, he’ll answer the phone.

I: Fine, Fabrizio, how is the movie doing?

F: We started the mixing…

E: Mixing? Is it an album?

F: Movies get mixed too…

E: The editing, you mean?

F: No, the mixing, the editing is done already.

E: The audio mixing? Ah right, right.

F: Yes, the audio. We started this week and I think that by the end of May we’ll be done with this whole project and I’ll get a break because this has been quite stressing. It started in May, last year, and we’re finishing now, so I’d like to have some time for new songs, also with Ermal’s help, I’ve already asked him.

E: And in the meantime, he’ll move houses again. He did not tell me but I’m sure he’s going to do it again.

I: No, I can’t believe it, again? Fabrizio, stop it!

E: He moves every 5 months. What’s your problem with the houses you buy bro? What’s the matter? You buy and sell, buy and sell…

I: He’s soon going to get a Guinnes World Record

E: It’s always the same [house], he buys it and sells it, buys it and sells it…

I: For real, Fabrizio, thank you! Thank you for being with us!

E: No, wait, wait! Don’t hang up on him, look at him, he’s suffering.

I: Where are you? What position is that?

E: Otherwise he might feel lonely, he’s a panda cub.

F: I’m in the house that I’ve just sold.

E: [laughing] See? I knew it!

I: I can’t believe it!

E: He does it every year! It’s incredible! He does so every year, this kid can find no rest. But it’s better like this, bro.

F: I’ll be waiting for you!

I: We’ll wait here for you too, as soon as possible

E: Let’s do this: I’ll come to you and you’ll come here, and, still, we’ll end up not seeing each other.

I: Bye Fabrizio!

F: Bye, I’ll wait for you!

E: Bye brother, love you!

F: Bye Ermal!

E: Bye!

[ssajj]

Don't Panic

After half a year of dating Spencer, you're surprised to learn that you might be pregnant.

Cisgender female!reader

2.1k - warnings: vomiting, light concussion

You aren't one for baby fever. Really, you aren't. Kids were always more of an abstract idea, a someday rather than something you wanted now. You certainly haven't had the conversation with Spencer, even if seeing him with kids always ignites something warm and foreign in your belly. He's so soft with them, breaking out a smile you never see if a kid isn't present. Henry is obsessed with him, doing grabby hands anytime the two of you go over to JJ and Will's. Spencer complies every time, picking him up and spending most of the night playing with him. 

"He's going to be a wonderful dad," JJ said to you once, a little wine drunk. You had just nodded. 

None of that prepares you for the positive pregnancy test in front of you. 

You'd taken it on a whim. The past couple weeks, you've just felt off. Spencer’s been hovering around you, nervous hands always a second away. He'd only gotten more worried after you’d thrown up at a crime scene. It wasn't particularly graphic and you have a strong stomach. Throwing up at a crime scene wasn't something you did. 

"Oh god," you whisper to yourself, staring at the test in front of you. Some nonsensical part of your brain wonders if you're hallucinating, if an unsub broke into your house specifically to drug and trick you. "Calm down, girl." 

One pregnancy test wasn't definitive proof. False positives were a thing, but you'd been so confident that you weren't pregnant that you only bought one. You hadn’t bothered to tell your boyfriend about this, either. God. You two were always so safe. Unprotected sex was not something you took part in. 

You've been going out with Spencer for less than a year. It wasn't important that you've never been happier, wasn't important that everyone else on the BAU told you over and over again how much happier he is with you. Those things don't change the fact that it's been less than a year. 

And yet. 

As you place your hand on your stomach, there's a flutter of excitement. While you're a firm believer in women making the choices regarding their own bodies, you already know that if you're really pregnant, you're keeping it. 

You just hope you won't have to do it alone. 

…

Luck isn't on your side. You run out and grab another pregnancy test, but before you can take it, your phone starts ringing. 

"No no no no," you groan, picking up the phone. "Do we have a case?"

Penelope is far too chipper on the other end of the phone. "Yep! You guys are going to debrief on the plane, so your cute butt better hurry. Hotch wants everyone seated in twenty minutes."

You close your eyes. "Okay." Before she can say anything else, you hang up. 

The go bag is already in your car, so you can drive straight from the drugstore to work. Your phone buzzes again, but it's just a text from Spencer. 

Saved you a seat. -SR

Like anyone would ever snatch your seat. 

…

It's hard to focus on the case. It's hard to focus on anything that isn't the possible fucking baby in your stomach. You're a pretty good liar, though, so you manage to muscle your way through debriefing without most of the team noticing that you're off. You do get a concerned squint from Spencer, although that can just be a result of him thinking you're sick. 

Four mutilated women. You can feel the tension radiating off of her, so you grab her hand and squeeze it. She gives you a grateful smile. As the youngest female members of the BAU, it feels like you two always look like the victims you avenge. JJ's got the added bonus of being a mother, which means kid cases hit her hard, too. But if you're pregnant, you're about to join her in that club, too. The thought makes your breath catch. 

"You okay?" JJ asks. You feel Spencer's eyes focus on you. 

You nod, plastering a smile on. "Yeah. Just thinking about the case. Are you?"

JJ sighs, looking over at where Morgan and Hotch are quietly discussing the most recent crime scene. "Yeah," she says. "Just, y'know. The case. And Henry's got a cold. I feel bad for leaving him and Will right now."

That's enough for Spencer's attention to shift to JJ, thankfully. You relax into your seat, scrolling through your tablet to review the information Penelope sent over. You miss most of their chatter until they pull you back into the conversation. 

"Do you want to come with me, Y/N?" Spencer's asking, smiling hopefully at you. 

"Oh, I wasn't listening," you admit. 

Spencer's smile somehow only softens more. He knows you have a tendency to zone out, get lost in your head. When you two are alone, he likes playing with your hair to bring your mind back to him. "I'm going over to JJ and Will's house once the case is over to babysit Henry."

Your mind short circuits a little. Saying no is only going to make Spencer suspicious, since you love hanging out with Henry. But saying yes means that you won't be alone after the case and you'd have to watch Spencer be annoyingly perfect with Henry. "Sure," you say, clenching your hands together. 

…

There's already another victim by the time you land, prompting Hotch to send you and Emily to check it out. Your stomach is rolling, the unused pregnancy test haunting you from its place on the jet. 

"There was remorse for the other victims. They were wrapped up. Why is this woman different?" You ask, crouching next to the body. The smell hits you like a wave, but all you can do is deal with it. 

Emily comes to stand beside you. "Good point. Maybe the others were surrogates for her?"

You sigh. "If that's the case-"

"-our unsub would be done killing. Or would completely switch his MO."

Standing up, you brush some of the dirt off your knees. "But let's consider some other possibilities. Maybe she fought back too much for him to feel remorseful. Or maybe she wasn't the right fit, so he just dumped her."

"I'll call Hotch."

You nod. As Emily walks off, you swallow the vomit in the back of your throat. 

"Come on!" She calls a minute later, waving at you. "We're all meeting back at the station."

…

The case ends with you getting a concussion. You'd been the one to find the unsub and while you took him down, he managed to get one good hit in. 

"Spence, I'm fine!" You laugh, pressed up tight against his chest. He's got his head buried in your shoulder, arms wrapped around you. He always worries too much when you're hurt. "The EMT already checked me out."

"He hurt you," he mumbles. He pulls back just enough to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "Stay with me tonight?"

"What about Henry?"

Spencer shakes his head. "I just want to take care of you."

Your heart aches. 

On the jet, you're curled up on the couch with your head in Spencer's lap. You're really tense, and you know he's noticed. He doesn't ask you about it, though. Once you've landed, he just wordlessly follows you home. 

"Are you in more pain than you told the paramedic?" He asks, leading you over to your bed. 

"Just ready to get some sleep," you tell him, kissing the wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. 

…

Once he’s asleep, you sneak into the bathroom and take the other pregnancy test. Your head is pounding and once again, you're nauseous, but you're desperate. Spencer isn't a heavy sleeper, so you have to be quiet and fast. 

Peeing has never felt so high pressure. 

It's not that you're scared by the news, but when another positive symbol pops up, you vomit again. You groan, knowing the noise is going to wake him up. Before he can come in, you grab the test and shove it in your shorts. 

"Y/N?" He calls softly as he knocks on the door. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy!" You reply, laying across the toilet. "Never better. I'm thriving."

He pauses, your answer probably throwing him for a loop. It's only for a second though. He comes into the room, eyes scanning the situation. You know he hates germs. This is going to be nightmare fuel for him. Still, you aren't really expecting him to freak out. 

"We have to go to the hospital."

You squint at him. "Huh?"

He sputters. "You have a concussion! It must be worse than that paramedic thought."

Oh. Right. "Spence-"

Spencer comes closer to you, lightly wrapping his arms around your midsection, aka where the pregnancy test is resting. You flinch. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" He asks, shifting so that he's looking you in the eye. His face is contorted in concern, making a wave of guilt crash through you. "What hurts?"

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. He hoists you up. 

"What hurts?" He repeats. 

Taking a deep breath, you pull back. You feel wobbly, like one breath can knock you back to the ground. "I don't think it's from the concussion."

"I know you've been sick, but I'm not willing to risk-"

"Spencer."

He stops. "What?"

Wordlessly, you unveil the test and hand it to him, then shut the toilet seat so you can sit on top of it. 

You watch him as he processes. His eyes flicker from you to the test to back to you millions of times. "It's the second one I've taken."

His voice is barely above a whisper. "You're pregnant?"

You nod. "I'm pregnant."

Before you can blink, he grabs you and pulls you into a hug. He kisses your forehead. The smile on his face is wide enough to crack his lips. 

"You're happy?"

"Yeah," he says. "And if…" he trails off. You know he's trying to be careful with his word choice. "It's up to you, what you want to do. But if you want to keep it-"

"I do."

He relaxes against you, pressing kisses all over your face. You laugh, gently shoving at him as you laugh. 

"We should still go to the doctor," he says after a minute. 

…

Once you start showing, you tell the rest of the team. 

"Stop crushing her!" Spencer cries, pulling Penelope off of you. She's then replaced by JJ, who isn't trying to crush your ribcage. 

"Congrats!" JJ says. "Oh, this is so exciting. I'll give you all my old pregnancy books. Although I'm sure Spence memorized them. He does know how to deliver a baby."

You look over at your boyfriend, a question on the tip of your tongue. Spencer's grinning, though. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, so you forget to ask. 

…

"Do you ever worry?" Emily asks. 

It's girls night. You and Emily are sprawled on her couch, JJ’s drunk on the floor, and Penelope wandered off to find Sergio. 

You tilt your head to the side. "About what?"

She gestures to your stomach, which you've been rubbing without even noticing. "You and Reid haven't been together that long."

Her words leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth. "Well," you start. "I can't say that we'll be together forever. But I do know that no matter what, he's going to be a fantastic father." That seems to be enough to quiet her, although your nerves are still spiked. "Do you not think we're going to last?"

"I'm not saying that," she protests. "Just hard to imagine him in a long-term relationship."

"Get used to it," you snap. 

…

Spencer can tell the next afternoon that you're upset. "Love, just tell me what happened."

"Are you only staying with me because I'm pregnant?"

"What? No!" He comes closer to you, grabbing your hand. "I'm with you because we make each other happy."

You hum. Stupid pregnancy hormones are making your eyes water. 

"Y/N."

"I'm fine," you lie. 

His hand goes from your hand to your waist. "Tell me what I need to do to prove how much I love you. I'm not...I'm not good at this part. But anything you need, you have it. You have me."

He holds you as you cry. 

…

"I love you a lot. You know that, right?" Spencer's wrapped around you, legs tangled together. You're half asleep on his chest, but you still kiss his neck as an answer. 

"Love you too," you mumble. "We're going to be a family."

His hand goes to your stomach. "A family. Our family."

You love the sound of that.

[jinpanman]

Vampire’s Wine

pairing: vampire boyfriend!jungkook x fem human!reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: 18+, fluff, slightly nsfw, established relationship

warnings: this whole thing is a disgusting bloody mess and not in the way you think. menstruation talk - from the use of hygiene materials to the smell of period blood, jk loves period blood - oop., casual conversation about sex and genitals

summary: You decide to brave the mystery that is menstrual cups. Jungkook is intrigued to say the least.

a/n: i needed a break from all my long af fics. u can blame my brain. u can also blame Jess @shelive-shelove​​ for telling me to write this. and for helping me pick a member to write about - but then again, she always picks jk. also @joonie-mono​ kept judging me so now that it exists she has to read it. :-)

The simple matte black box sits on the bathroom counter and it’s incredibly intimidating despite it just sitting there. You pick it up and open the case to reveal an equally black menstrual cup sitting on top of a black pouch. A slip of paper falls out when you open it and you pick it up.

Greetings Y/N! We’re so glad you’ve decided to become the owner of a BLAKD cup. We understand some people don’t want color stained cups so we went ahead and…

You toss the card to the side and pick up the cup and turn it around in both awe and trepidation. There’s a knock on the open door but you don’t bother to look up.

“What’s that you go there?”

“JK honey, tell me. How am I supposed to stick this up my nether region?”

Jungkook snorts and plucks the cup from your hand.

“Well, my dick is bigger than this and you do such a good job taking it all in so I know my baby can handle this small thing.” He pats your cheek lovingly

You squeak and swat his arm away in disbelief. “Jungkook! I swear! You—that’s different! I’m not horny when I’m trying to stick this-this monster inside of me.”

He laughs and quickly covers the little distance between you, pulling you flush against him.

“First of all, that’s an insult to my dick because this,” he waves the cup in front of you and you roll your eyes at him “is no monster. Secondly, maybe we should get you horny first so it won’t be an issue.” He wiggles his eyebrows and licks his bottom lip in anticipation.

You scoff and push him away, taking the cup back from him.

“I need to figure out how to stick this up my very unaroused vagina, so please go and do your vampy things and leave me alone for a few minutes.”

He merely shrugs but of course your boyfriend who must know everything about everything asks, “But babe, what’s wrong with what you usually use?”

Ah, now that’s a good question. You’ve used pads and tampons for so long and frankly you are so utterly fed up with the mess that is Aunt Flo. 

“Jungkook, you won’t even understand even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

You raise a brow but proceed anyway. “Well they stink, for one.”

“False. I love the way you sme—okay, sorry. Go on.”

“Pads are so annoying especially when you’re sweaty and they stick to your butt and somehow you always end up bleeding everywhere except on the pad! And then tampons! Just the general scare that it’ll be stuck there for too long or it’ll poison you or that you’re actually not bleeding as much as you thought you were and you’re dry af and it gets so uncomfortable to take out!” you voice dies out, nearly out of breath because you failed to pause after each sentence. Jungkook watches you with amusement painted throughout his face and relaxed posture resting against the counter.

Your chest is heaving but you continue after taking a few short breaths, “Period panties are okay but I’d like some extra insurance y’know? Also everything is so fucking expensive! Tell me why we’re being paid to tend to something we absolutely cannot control? I fucking bet you if men had periods, they’d free bleed every month and expect everyone to be okay with it. But because we’re women we have to hide it because it makes—”

Jungkook breaks you off mid-tangent kisses you and grins. “Had to stop you before you start ranting for a whole 10 minutes and then forget why you were talking in the first place.”

You return the kiss and give him an appreciative smile. Most people aren’t into the “kiss someone to get them to shut up” but in your case, you appreciated the kisses because one, Jungkook gives the best kisses and two, you really would go off forever if he didn’t shut you up.

“Thanks, baby. Now please leave,” you say before shoving him out the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

After what felt like (and probably was) two hours you are finally out of the bathroom, feeling so utterly defeated and exhausted. You had gotten it in, but at what cost? Both your hands still reek of blood despite scrubbing thoroughly for several minutes with soap. Your thighs are aching from squatting for so long as well. You plop down on the couch beside your boyfriend who’s occupied playing some rando shooting game on the PlayStation. He inhales deeply and shoots you a quick glance. You give him a questioning look but he doesn’t say anything.

After his match, he leans in close to your stomach and takes another big whiff. You’ve long passed being surprised at how much Jungkook likes smelling you. You’d think he was a werewolf or something. Not that you’d tell him that because you were not in the mood to be dicked down just to “prove a point.”

“Hm? You don’t smell like you normally do?”

“Huh, I’m honestly shocked considering how much I bled all over my hands and thighs.”

“Careful, Y/N. You might make me horny,” he muses as he enters another match.

“You’re gross.”

“So, what does the blood just… sit there?”

“Mm, yeah. The cup keeps it all inside and when I take it out the blood will be there.”

“Tell me when you’re gonna take it out, okay?”

Without breaking eye contact with the television screen, he tilts his head to plop a quick kiss on your forehead. You pull a blanket over you and watch on as your endearing thousand year old boyfriend destroys the hundredth controller because he’s still very much a baby vampy and sometimes he forgets his own strength.

“Ohhh my goood this is so fucking weird,” you mutter in disgust.

Here you are, at the end of a full day of doing absolutely nothing, squatting in the tub once again. This time, instead of sticking a foreign object up your vagina, you’re trying to pull it out. You finally have a grip on the stem and your thighs are screaming at you but you fight through the burn because no way in hell are you gonna risk dropping your cup in the toilet bowl. The several guides you found on the internet said it helped to use your muscles to push it out.

“Okay, here goes nothing.”

You push and you eventually feel the suction giving way. A few drops of liquid spill out over your hand and you grimace at how warm it is. You finally pull it out from inside you and you lift it up to inspect the contents of the cup. God it was startling how warm the cup is. It was both disgusting and fascinating to see how much blood you can bleed within half a day. And the best thing—it doesn’t smell! You’re done being weirdly fascinated with your blood now. You’ve definitely been with Jungkook for too long. You hold the cup away from you and tilt it to pour down the—

“NNOOOO!!!! STOP Y/N!!!!”

Your boyfriend stumbles into the bathroom and you watch him with absolute befuddlement as he inches closer to you with crazed eyes.

“Baby,” he reaches out to you, “what were you just going to do?”

“Um, pour out my period blood?”

“Baby!!” he practically whines and kneels beside the tub.

“...Yes? Jungkook?” You’re at a complete loss for why he came bursting here in such a hurry.

“I thought I asked you to tell me when you were gonna take it out.”

“I’m sorry hun. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I’m just taking it out?”

“Babe.”

“Mhm?”

“I’m a vampire.”

“Mhm.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Jungkook, I don’t even know what you’re talking about so if you could just tell me, that’d be great.”

He groans into his hands and peeks at you through his fingers.

“I wanna drink it.”

Oh, for god’s sake. You restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at him. You weren’t ignorant to his obsession with blood, especially during that time of the month. He was a vampire, after all. This was a whole new experience though with nearly an ounce of your blood right in your hand. Before you can second guess yourself, you hand the cup to your very pouty boyfriend who takes it with a now huge smile gracing his face. 

He brings the cup directly under his nose and takes a quick whiff. You wrinkle your nose in distaste. And then he lets out a deep, guttural moan. He flicks his tongue in the pool of blood then promptly empties the blood into his mouth. A normal person would not shiver at the sight of their boyfriend drinking their blood, but you’ve long resigned the fact that you were not normal. Your eyes fixate on the trail of blood that missed his mouth and now fall down the side of his mouth to his chin. You swallow in sync with Jungkook who hands you back the empty cup.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Please never stop using this cup. It is the greatest creation of the modern times… Next to the internet. Also don’t ever drain your blood anymore. Give it to me. Save the ocean.”

“You absolute dork,” you laugh and continue your downward gaze of his body. That’s when you see it.

“Oh my god. Jungkook. Did you… baby are you horny?”

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

A god's key to victory | Fyodor x Reader |

I got this idea whilst talking with another Fyodor simp. May mercy be spared on me for this piece.

A god's key to victory | Fyodor x reality-warping reader |

Disclaimers/ Warnings: Definitely a ton of mental manipulation. Obsessive themes. Depictions of abuse, controlling actions, violence, dystopia.

The moon shone elegantly, glimmering through the glass pane of your room. Off in the distance, there was life. Outside the glimmering stone walls of this cell-like room. The golden ring on your finger brought nothing but torment. At one point this choice had been easy. He’d finally broken you into submission. Even as the world submitted to his views, there lay a single person who could undo everything. If he touched you with a single finger, all of this would be gone. Fyodor had no room for the human emotion of love. Even though he did love you in his twisted way. He gave you everything, from jewels to fine silks. He teaches you his language and lets you see his rare moments of compassion.

This world was perfect, yet here you were broken. When had it happened? When had he stripped you of your free will? Your joy? Your liveliness? The smile he had no explanation for loving? The fight that made him fall evermore for you? He was a god now, a true god who dictated the crime and the punishment of this city. That had been it, hadn't it? The moment you used your ability so widely. The day he stripped this world of its filth. The day you became the goddess by his side. He had strained you too far. You seemed so numb now. Yet, it didn’t stop him from holding you on his lap and leaving pecks around your neck. You were all he needed in this world. If somebody touched you, he'd simply kill them. There were moments where your light returned, moments where he saw that glimmer of fight and joy.

It had started years ago, when you were naive and worked alongside the scum of this world. He’d met you in a cafe. He found the meeting rather... cliche. You had to work multiple jobs to pay for your place and support your life. He’d watched the way you avoided eye-contact with others. The way you so easily switched between personalities dependent on whom you were serving. You read through people so easily it was interesting to him. Nobody else seemed to notice that it wasn’t the real you. When you get to his table your eyes fell cold and distant. He had given you a mere smirk. You only needed one look to know how to warp his view. Your ability allowed you to push what you wanted onto anybody else. It warped the very fabric of the space you were around. He understood that within moments. He was after all a highly intelligent man.

When you begin to act smug and cold just how he was, he could only chuckle. You amused him. That alone was a dangerous feat; Gaining the interest of a man who thought of himself as a god. From then on he became a regular. He memorized what days you worked and the time. He’d sit there until your shift ended. With each of those passing days, he would find a way to talk to you. He observed the way you acted. Your eyes were the giveaway to it all. To almost everybody, you could pass for anybody. Yet, when he looked into your eyes, he found the light of a scared and naive child. He found it a fun game to change what he wanted each day. The confusion that passed your face, even if it only lasted a tenth of a second, filled his pride. You stumbled over what facade to act on.

It took a month for him to completely figure you out. When that happened you were doomed. He would begin his manipulation. He wanted you on his side. The things your ability could do for him were too enticing to pass up. He whispered soft words filled with false emotions. At least, that was what he called them at first. He never admitted it to himself, and so that’s what it was. It was all just a facade to gain your trust and snatch you away. To him, you were not a sinner like the others. You were something pure and unaware of the world's terror.

When he found you worked with the very agency that continued to stunt his plans, he became agitated. It was a minor setback. The one person he knows rivals his intelligence sat among that agency. His name was Dazai and to his luck, the two of you seemed rather… close. He would joke around with you a lot. That pink tint he had grown accustomed to forcing onto your cheeks would pass at his words. It grew an emotion he hated. This emotion wanted you for himself.

So, the next time he saw you, he began to ask you about your views on this world. Just as he had predicted you were nothing but innocent. You never noticed how you showed the real version of yourself to him. Laughing after work hours. He had started as a stranger, but now you trusted him enough to go drinking. You held up a glass with a rather bright smile. Still, unaware of his complex. He’d watch you drink and memorize your reactions to every little movement he made. “What do you think about the world?” he would need this sliver of information before he began his little game of cat and mouse. How far would he have to change your views to align with his?

“My views? Huh, I guess I haven't thought about it before.” you would laugh looking over to him. It was the first time you made real eye-contact. It felt so warm despite how cold his eyes looked. It sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine. It shouted he was dangerous, yet you didn’t look away and continued to answer him. “I guess, I see the world as a scale. A world with evil and good? I think as the world is now. The scale is tipped in the darkness.” Fyodor would nod as if he were agreeing with you. Even if he didn’t, he wanted to make you feel safe and comfortable in his arms.

People are easier to control when they trust the person who is trying to gain control. If you opened up, he could sway and twist your own words to fit his own needs. “Then what is your ideal world?” he would often ask this question.

You would think for a moment before smiling with a hopeful glint in your eyes. “A world without suffering and pain! A world that’s just a bit less violent. It would be even on the scale. Enough evil to keep order but enough good to keep the peace. Things like the seven sins would be needed but, things like violence would be less frequent. People would feel safe walking in the night. Murders would be 1 in a million of chance. I want a peaceful world.” you would answer him honestly, and he’d hide his smirk. It would be so easy to twist your thoughts. The Armed Detective Agency stood in his way though. You believed being there would help the world; Even though that agency was filled with vile scum.

He’d begun to show you the truth, his truth. At first, he’d only suggest it. The suggestion that this violence was brought on by ability users. At first, you'd stick your tongue out and point out how you were one. When he made the assumption it was too early to begin that part of his mind game, he set his sights on bringing you closer. He wanted a step up from friends. He wanted to be able to touch you. So he slowly began to make his role in your life more prominent. “Your work, do you have a thing for anybody?” he would not be subtle with this.

When you told him you appreciate your friends there but, found you could never really love them because nobody else knew this you. He had thought you acted like this around your co-workers. Dazai could see through your ability, but it appeared that was not enough. You didn’t need an ability to pretend. That pulled his interest more. By now there was no going back. He had you in his grasp, and he would never let you go. “I don’t like anybody in that way.” when those words left your lips he would wrap his arms around you and lift your chin with a smug smirk. He’d let go immediately to watch your confusion. He would leave the bar to make sure that the moment kept its hold on you.

Just as he predicted you were distracted at work. And within the next two months, you began to trust him. Your co-workers knew nothing about this man. He had asked you to keep him from people he didn’t know. He lied about what he did for a living. He told you his work involved the government and telling anybody you knew him put himself and you in danger. So you were vague when your friends called you out on daydreaming or letting your attention drift. They asked, but you shrugged it off. When it got too much you simply came out with it. “I think I fell in love.” These words shocked even yourself. The faces of your coworkers were distant as you smiled to yourself.

He would only smirk, waiting for you that night at the bar, as if he knew nothing. He’d tease you. His body growing too close for comfort. He’d wrap strands of your hair in his fingers. Whisper little things that made you question yourself and your relationship with him. It took two months before he noticed even the smallest eye-contact would turn your face into that beautiful shade of rose. He’d lean down and finally give you what you had been wishing for. A soft peck on the lips. When you squealed in response he would snicker. “Something wrong, little mouse?” he would ask you the question waiting for your reaction. When you grew more embarrassed and attempted to hide your face, his dominance slipped from the facade he had been using around you. The glow of his eyes shaking you to your core. “It’s only natural to be so… adoring over a god.” That was the first time you had heard Fyodor call himself a god. If he did that in the start you'd have completely tossed him aside. Yet it was hypnotizing now that you had already fallen into his grasps. He always got what he wanted. Right now that was you and your ability.

The next step began in hints and murmurs. He would bring up your ideal world and put the question into your head. “What do you think makes that scale tip into evil?” when you respond with violence he’d nod and act like he was thinking. He was tricking you with terrifying ease. “This violence? Who causes it?” you would tilt your head before the answer peeked in. The one time he had mentioned abilities being at fault consuming your reason. You would argue in your mind until the answer you normally went for came to you.

“Violence is made from suffering.” you would smile and shift in your seat. You never initiated contact with him. You were too nervous too. He would hold back his agitation and nod understandingly. His hand cupping your chin to pull you to his lips. He was always rough with you; He knew how it affected you.

You kept it a secret from the agency for a while. Dazai eventually figured it out and asked if you were seeing somebody. You had only nodded and walked out to leave for the night.

It took a handful of weeks, but he did crack your mind eventually. It took some nudges, but he got you to start taking in his views. He would run a thumb over your hand and whisper things about the mafia. Like how if they didn’t have the powerful ability users they had, the crimes they committed would be punished. It would drive you to rethink your views. “So without abilities violence would be less? No, violence would be punished easier? That would lead to a decrease in crime from fear of being caught.” you would mumble your thoughts aloud unknowingly. He got pleasure from seeing you drift towards what he believed.

The next obstacle came ripping you from your current living style. You hadn’t noticed how your every free hour was spent by him. He did his work with you so sneakily, you didn’t see how you no longer had control of your life. He could get you to stay from work with a simple strand of words. He pulled you to his home one night. It was rather large compared to what you had thought. He began to show you sides of himself you haven't noticed. The sides that would have repulsed you now dragged you into him. Once you made a permanent residence in his home he began to talk about his views. You took them in and listened. Your chats were normally short. You took care of him. He smirked at how your dependence on him began to grow. You came home exhausted, and he’d plant you on his lap. His hand massaging your tired muscles.

He had to work rather hard to get you to leave the agency, but it happened. Now that you viewed ability users in the same light he did, all he had to do was show you the darker sides of your friends. Dazai’s past seemed to shatter you. You were betrayed and hurt. Fyodor did not waste a moment, he rebuilt your shattered heart around himself. He whispered how you only needed him and nobody else. You fell, trapped in that web.

At some point, you began to see him as your savior. He was the only person you trusted and didn't feel revolted by. You had stopped interacting with the outside world. There were times when you got annoyed with him and would scold him for forgetting to take meds, or stay warm. You found yourself smiling and laughing at his side. He showed you his co-workers eventually. When he had to go on trips he made sure they kept an eye on you. You could always call him if you felt down without him.

A year into this he made the move to make you permanently his. A ring on your finger. Something that made you smile with joy whenever you looked down at it. He began calling you his goddess from then on. You felt like you meant something to this world. For the first time, you were yourself without any insecurities.

He would never admit it, but that smile sent an unfamiliar flutter in his chest. He never laid a hand on you, but his words did enough. He so easily controlled you. If you displeased him he only needed to ignore you or give you a stern and cold glare. Those actions would have you on your knees, tears falling, and pleas for forgiveness leaving your lips. You never noticed how abusive this was. It may not be physically abusive, but this thing you had with your husband was most definitely mental abuse. Yet, you turned a blind eye. You never noticed. You were so starved for his love. You did anything for him.

So, when the fateful day came you pushed yourself just to achieve that perfect world. You were the key to his ascension. The key to a perfect world. The people who you once called friends came into your home threatening to take away the life that made you happy. They called you a traitor, yet Dazai took pity on how easily you had been manipulated. He could have prevented this had he seen through you. It was too late now and you’d need to be in rehab once they caught Fyodor. When those sounds reached your ears you could only panic.

Your heart raced as you ran to Fyodor. You clung onto him like a life-line. When they saw this everybody shook their heads in a clear disappointment. With riffles targeting you, Fyodor could only smirk. He looked down at you, leaning down, he kissed your cheek and whispered. “Warp this city to paradise. Can you do that for me, my little goddess?” he spoke with a false softness in his voice.

You looked to Dazai with fear, but when you blinked he saw no difference. The aim lights that had been on you and your husband shifted onto the agency. You had used your ability. Dazai knew he had to touch you to fix this. Fyodor also knew that so, he placed you behind him. Pulling a knife from his pocket, he merely smirked. “How do you plan to get over here Dazai?” he taunted before warning shots echoed and the agency members dropped to their knees. “We win.” he gave a final kick to dazai’s face. When they were cuffed and pulled away, Fyodor finally turned back to you.

You shook with fear and confusion, but the moment he wrapped you in his arms you were safe. You held onto him snuggling into his chest.

It took you two days to completely envelope Yokohama in your ability. Anybody who entered would fall victim. When you were done you fell, exhausted.

Even as the realization of what you had done enveloped you, there was no reaction. Fyodor found it upsetting at times. You were numb so often yet, in those fleeting moments where life poked in, he adored it.

This world looked perfect even though it was far from it. If anything this paradise you had made was a nightmare. There was peace and comfort; People were safe and pure. The only true evil that balanced the good of this scale were Fyodor, the demon, and his fallen angel; The god and goddess of this new paradise. He had most of the ability users wiped out, but the few who had held positions before your ability was used were kept alive.

“Look at our world, isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, whilst holding you on his lap. You merely nodded a soft, joyful glimmer appearing in your eyes before it left, just as suddenly as it appeared.

“I love you.” you would whisper the words, hoping to hear it back from his lips.

This once he thought, he’d say it just this once. “I love you too, my little mouse turned goddess.” that brought a smile to your lips. A real smile, one he hadn’t seen in ages.