#the outside is inside which means i cannot hang anything on the walls

[weirdcharacter]

I'm so happy, my house is coming together nicely and I'm also working on the dino-park, hopefully I'll be done with the first step by next week or in two weeks time 🤗

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Nameless, Faceless: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Not even four hours after the case in Canada, you're thrown into another one. This time, without Hotch. You have a sinking feeling he's not just blowing you off to get some sleep. There's something wrong.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: welcome to the first episode of season 5! i hope you enjoy this series just as much as i loved writing it! <3

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

x

You arrive at his apartment building in ten minutes and immediately head to the floor his apartment is on. The second you step foot onto the floor, you know something is wrong. The feeling in your stomach hasn't gone away, it gets stronger. You knock on his door but he doesn't come to it.

"Hotch? It's me, Y/N. Are you in there?" you ask and knock again.

You take out your phone and call him but when you hear his phone ring from inside, you know something is wrong. You take out your gun and try the door knob which is unlocked. You push open the door and get hit with a wave of familiar energy--George Foyet's. You walk in slowly and notice a few things off the bat. Hotch's keys and briefcase are still by the front door, his phone is on the kitchen table, and there is a large bloodstain on the floor behind the couch. Upon further examination, there is a gunshot in the wall, tables and chairs are turned over, and Hotch is nowhere to be found.

If Hotch is dead, you would have seen his spirit here. Though, he has been stabbed multiple times by George Foyet. How he got in, you're not sure but the entire attack is played over and over to see exactly what went down between the two men. If you're going to have hope in finding Hotch alive or dead, you need help from someone you know who can track him.

"Overtime shift. Penelope speaking," Pen says when you call her.

"Pen, it's Y/N. I need you to listen really carefully. Something's happened to Hotch."

"What do you mean, something?"

"He's been stabbed. There's blood on the floor but he's not dead. I would have felt him otherwise."

"Oh, my God," she gasps.

"I need you to send police and FBI techs here right away. Everyone available."

"Do we need an APB?"

"Only on Hotch. I saw his car outside."

"Someone took him?"

"Yes, I believe so. There's a lot of blood here and a gunshot in the wall. Just get people here."

"Okay, I'm sending an army."

"Pen, I'm gonna have to tell Spencer because he and Em are expecting me back but you can't tell the others. They cannot be distracted. I'm only telling you and Spencer."

"Okay. I'm calling everyone."

You hang up on her and immediately call Spencer.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Listen, don't tell Emily this but something bad happened to Hotch. He's been stabbed."

"What?"

"He's not here but there is a lot of blood here and I felt Foyet's energy here."

"Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Is that Y/N?" you hear Emily in the background.

"I can't come back but just tell Emily and Dr. Barton that I'm away on an emergency. Don't tell the others. They can't be distracted right now."

"What's going on? Is this about Jeffrey?" Dr. Barton asks.

"No, it's unrelated."

"We only have a few hours left here."

"I'm really sorry, I have to take this phone call, okay?"

"What could be more important than my son right now?"

"I assure you, this will take one second. Please, I promise." Dr. Barton walks away and joins Emily's side to go over the files that Penelope has sent over. "What happened?"

"There's a gunshot hole in the wall. I'm guessing it's a .44 but there isn't any blood or tissue spray around it. Hotch wasn't shot."

"Any idea how he got out?"

"Foyet carried him. Hotch was stabbed but there aren't any blood drops anywhere. His body might have been wrapped in something.

"Is he...?"

"Dead? No. I would have felt him."

"Are bureau techs on the way?"

"Yeah, Penelope called everyone. She's the only one who knows."

"Alright, write down everything you see. We'll profile from your notes when you get back."

"How's Dr. Barton?"

"It's a huge list of cases to go through with him."

"Okay, I've got this here. You have Emily with you. Just stay focused."

"Alright, you too."

"What's wrong?" Emily asks when Spencer hangs up with you.

"Nothing. Y/N's been called away on an emergency not related to the case, but it's fine."

That answer seems to satisfy Emily but not Dr. Barton.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm confident that the three of us can do this together. We know he's been killing Hispanic males as surrogates. Did you separate the case files?"

"Yeah."

"How many of the surgeries fit the criteria?"

"Eight-two."

"Let me ask you this. On how many of those dates did you operate on somebody else as well?" Emily wonders.

"Seventy-five."

"Did any of those patients die on the table?"

"Eleven."

"That's where we start. This whole thing is about choice. He's forcing you to play God with your son because the last time you had a choice, your decision devastated him."

"I'm a doctor. I save people."

"It doesn't matter to him," Emily says. "All that matters to him is that you had an alternative and you didn't take it. Now, how many of those surgeries involve patients under twenty?"

"Six. I get a lot of gunshot wounds, mostly gang-related."

"Has a gang or family member ever threatened you?"

"No. At first, when you lose someone it's mostly confusion and devastation. The anger comes later."

Emily and Spencer go through the case files that fit the criteria and come up with six dates that could have been the trigger for the unsub.

"Alright, we have six dates where you operated on a Hispanic male on the same night a patient under twenty died. What we're gonna do is read the names and dates off to you, and you tell me anything you can remember, okay?"

"Okay," Dr. Barton sighs.

"Let's start with January 22nd. I have Tyler Hayes with multiple gunshot wounds. The next day, Brian Douglas was a hit-and-run victim with a lacerated aorta."

"No, not that one."

"March 15th, Devon Marks who was a heroin overdose, and Angela Harris who is another car accident victim in a single vehicle, bleeding into her brain."

"No, this is no use. I would remember if I was threatened."

"Did any of them ask you about your family?" Dr. Barton looks at the clock that is ticking down. "We have time."

"Okay," he sighs.

He tries not to think about his son and the danger he's in as he recalls the patients he's dealt with. The entire school day has gone by without a hitch but there are still a few hours before school ends. Derek, Rossi, and JJ have been very diligent in making sure Jeffrey and the other students are safe from the unsub.

"I talked to Detective Walker," JJ says, "The final bell is at 3:10. He's gonna have a SWAT unit in place at exactly 3:00 to escort kids out. We'll need you to gather the students at 2:45."

"This could all be happening now," the principal argues.

"If the unsub sees us evacuate early, we feel certain he'll kill another random citizen, and this also buys us a day to try and discover his identity. So, we'll have school buses for evacuation, and teachers can brief parents who are here to pick up their kids."

"The key is to keep Jeffrey isolated and avoid panic with the other students. If we can do that, everybody gets out of here safe," Rossi explains.

"Have you cross-checked all the records of employees in the building against Dr. Barton?"

"Garcia's on it."

Derek calls Penelope who answers eagerly.

"Y/N?"

"No. Sorry, baby girl, just little old me. You're out of luck."

"Right. Sorry."

"Did you finish the background check on everyone in the building?"

"Yeah. There's no red flags, no felonies, and no connection to Barton."

"That's god. Alright, I gotta go. There's about to be a bell."

"Alright. Be safe," she sighs.

"Hey, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I hear you. Let's just get this kid home safe and we can all sleep."

"Right."

As soon as Penelope hung up with Derek, she called multiple hospitals in Virginia in hopes Hotch was in one of them. No one has seen or heard of a man named Aaron Hotchner, though one of the hospitals did have someone named Derek Morgan show up recently. With this news, she immediately calls you.

The FBI techs and police did come quickly while you stayed off to the side and replay what happened over and over again. You're not sure how Foyet got into Hotch's apartment but he waited for him and threatened him with a gun only to shoot the wall. They both got into it and knocked some shit over only for Foyet to stab Hotch multiple times. Every time you replay the scene, it leads to more questions than answers.

How did he get in? Why didn't he kill Hotch? Why stab him and take him to a hospital? Your phone rings and you pick it up when you see it's Penelope calling.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I called hospitals to see if Hotch had gotten himself admitted to an emergency room. He's not listed as a patient but someone dropped a John Doe off at St. Sebastian Hospital, and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."

"Foyet took Derek's credentials."

"Why would he drop him off at the ER?"

"I don't know. I'm headed over there right now. I'll call with an update as soon as I get one."

You quickly send a text to Spencer to let him know what's going on so he doesn't freak out about the state of his boss.

Hotch is in St. Sebastian Hospital. I'm headed over there right now. I'll call when I have an update.

Spencer reads the message as soon as it comes in. He knows Hotch is in good hands if you're the one looking after him.

"Are you sure she's okay?" Emily asks when she notices his worried look.

"Yeah, she's fine. She's just giving me some updates."

"I don't understand. These surgeries are all hours apart. I didn't have to choose between patients. If he's punishing me for my choices, none of these fit," Dr. Barton groans in frustration.

"Alright, look at the note again and compare it against the wording on the charts. A lot of times an unsub will unconsciously mirror the wording of situations." Something suddenly comes to Dr. Barton which is evident in his facial features. "Do you remember something?"

"I don't know. It was right after New Year's. There was a car accident. One of the victims was Hispanic."

"New Year? I have it right here," Emily says. "On January 3rd, there was a two-car collision. You operated on someone named Hector Ledezma. That was your only surgery that night."

"I remember that case. Someone else came in, but I didn't operate on him. His name was Jason Meyers."

Spencer calls Penelope to gather more information on Jason.

"Garcia, I need you to find a patient in the system named Jason Meyers."

"He was admitted on January 3rd on life support. Oh, no. He was taken off the ventilator and declared legally dead three days ago."

"Who is his father?"

"Patrick Meyers, age forty-five."

"Get a photo into the school immediately. I think he's our unsub."

"Okay, it's on its way."

Spencer texts you an update on the current case since you're doing everything you can to take care of Hotch, which you appreciate. You can't do anything about Dr. Barton and his son, but you can find Hotch and figure out what's going to happen to him. As soon as you checked into the hospital, one of the doctors met with you and took you to the room Hotch was in. The second you see him, tears form in your eyes.

"He was stabbed nine times, but no major arteries were hit. It's a miracle he's alive."

"When will he wake up?"

"The anesthesia should wear off within the hour, but he's bound to be out of it."

"May I stay here?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

The doctor checks a few things before giving you some privacy. You pull up a chair next to his bed and stare at his unconscious body.

"You better not die," you say to him. "This entire BAU is my family and that includes you. Do you hear me, Aaron? Don't die."

You hate lying to your team and hope they're doing okay without you. Hotch's medical chart is hanging off the edge of his bed. Your curiosity makes you read over it as if you're going to understand what most of it means. You're very smart but you're not medically smart. However, the initial L.C. in the top right-hand corner grabs your attention. It's the same initial the unsub left on the note for Dr. Barton. You grab the chart and find the doctor at the nurse's station.

"Excuse me, what does L.C. stand for?"

"Living Children."

"Thank you." You walk back into Hotch's room and call Spencer. "I know what L.C. stands for. Living Children."

"Are you sure?"

"Hotch has it on his medical chart. It's administrative. It's when they're afraid a patient's gonna go on life support and they don't have a DNR order."

"What if the unsub was trying to tell Dr. Barton that he is actually the target and that he's gonna leave his son without a father?" The sound of a door opening catches Spencer's attention. "Barton!"

"What's going on?" There is commotion coming from his end and you hear something that chills you to the bone. A gunshot. "Spencer?" No answer. "Spencer, answer me. Please." Still, no answer and you get tears. "Spencer? I can't lose two people I love. Please answer me." Instead of trying to get him to answer, you hang up and call 911 to report the gunshot. "This is Special Agent Y/N from the FBI. I need police and an ambulance to 120 Kensington Road, Mclean, Virginia. Shots were fired and a federal agent is possibly down."

Spencer lays in front of Dr. Barton with a gunshot wound in his knee from the unsub. The unsub was targeting Dr. Barton but got Spencer instead.

"Are you hit?"

"No."

"Get my gun. Get my gun!" Spencer urges.

Dr. Barton scrambles for the gun before the unsub can fire off another shot. Spencer grabs his gun and points it at the unsub.

"Get away from him!"

"Whatever you do, stay down," Spencer says to Dr. Barton before facing the unsub. "Drop the gun!"

"Don't protect him. He killed my son!" Patrick says emotionally.

"He did not kill your son. Your son was killed in a car accident."

"Stand up!" he yells at your boyfriend.

"I'm gonna ask you again, please drop the gun. I do not want to shoot you."

"Stand up, you coward!"

"Mr. Meyers, listen to me. Dr. Barton did not kill your son. Your son was killed by a car, and this is not what he would want. Okay? So, drop the gun. Please."

His words seem to get through to Patrick because he lowers the gun. Tears are streaming out of his eyes, he looks like he's in so much pain, and he doesn't know who or what to trust. Sirens can be heard from down the street no doubt from the call you made to 911. The unsub raises his gun toward Spencer and Dr. Barton.

"Don't do it."

"I'm sorry."

Before Patrick can fire, Spencer shoots him in a spot that's not fatal. Dr. Barton turns to Spencer to help him but the young doctor waves him off.

"I'm fine. Go to him. Kick his gun away. Make sure his gun is not near him."

Dr. Barton kicks the gun away before assessing the wound on Patrick.

"No, don't touch me. Oh, I want to die. Oh, don't touch me," Patrick weeps.

"I need to stop the bleeding."

"Let me die."

"The medics are almost here. Can you keep him stabilized?" Spencer asks.

"Yes, I think so." Seconds later, the ambulance and police arrive. "Hold on, they're right here. Help is coming, alright?" They get out of their car and rush over with equipment. "We need a backboard and a C-collar. Put pressure on this right here. Call ahead to the ER and tell them they got a GSW to the thoracic cavity, and have him redlined to the OR stat."

"You got it."

"Don't touch me," Patrick cries.

Dr. Barton approaches Spencer and inspects the wound on his knee.

"It looks like it went clean through."

"You might have just saved his life."

"Keep pressure on this, okay?"

The team arrives with Jeffrey, and Spencer nods to the doctor's son.

"I'm good, I'm fine. Go to your son."

Jeffrey and his son embrace in a tight hug while the team joins Spencer's side with worry on their faces.

"Are you okay?" JJ asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"We'll get you to a hospital."

"No, you need to call Y/N. She's at the hospital with Hotch. He's been stabbed by Foyet."

x

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[lananakay]

I Call Shenanigans!

**Warning: Graphic Descriptions of...Graphicness**

I am aware that vampires aren't real. I know that I have to suspend my disbelief to an extent when watching fictional shows about fictional things. HOWEVER! Its fun to pick at stuff. So that's what I'm gonna do!

I may be showing my age here, but I grew up when the internet was the wild west. When tweens and teens were regularly exposed to the raw unfiltered sex and gore. So...um...have any of you seen what happens to a body that falls from a great height? It's enough to make you wonder just how immortal vampires are.

Broken and shattered bones? No problem. Internal bleeding? Fine. Where I start asking questions is with...let's call them "separational" injuries.

According to Santiago during the trial in s2 e6, Lestat dropped Louis "Approximately 2 Kilometers." Which is about 6,561.68ft. For perspective, the worlds tallest building is 2,717ft tall. In the many times I've accidentally (and intentionally) scared myself by watching videos I shouldn't, I can tell you that a fall from a a quarter of that height is enough to splatter a person. And by splatter, I mean splatter! Like a popped water balloon! Organs? Outside. Skull? Crushed. Limbs? Hanging on by a thread if not detached completely. and this is assuming they didn't hit anything on the way down. Actually, hitting things can soften or worsen the impact. It's a 50/50 really. So Louis would've looked a little something like this

Which makes me think of questions like:

If a vampires skull is crushed will they heal?

If a vampires brain matter is splattered, will they heal?

Can vampires suffer a TBI?

Will a removed organ "grow" back?

Can they survive with missing organs?

Will a torn limb grow back together?

Can a detached limb be reattached?

I dunno, I kinda feel like that fall should have killed him. If decapitation can kill a vampire, then I think a skull crushing impact should as well. BUUUUT then again, maybe not, because if there is still immortal blood flowing through the body to the head then I think its at least plausible that the head could heal so long as it's still attached...right?

I think that could be said for partially severed limbs, so long as they aren't completely severed they should eventually heal. Then it makes me wonder, if a vampire goes "splat" but then the organs are put back in place before the the body closes back up...would they heal? Or because they were fully detached would they be considered "dead". And if you couldn't put them back, would the body be okay without them? Also, if you could put an organ back inside the vampire and it's able to heal over time. Then it begs the question...if a limb is detached but then quickly put back in place, would it eventually heal and be able to be reattached?

Now, from my understanding vampires don't actually "need" their organs. But...I mean...they do...kinda. It's odd because most vampire lore dictates that vampire hearts either don't beat at all or beat very slowly. Vampires are essentially living corpses. Pale, cold to the touch, etc, etc. I don't actually remember if vampire hearts beat or not in the VC universe, however, one would think that of all human organs, Vampires would need the heart the most considering it circulates blood, ya know...the thing that both causes and sustains vampirism. When they drink blood, it would go into the stomach and be absorbed through the walls of the small intestine into the bloodstream which makes sense, BUT a non beating heart means no circulation of that blood. Non circulating blood means coagulation, stagnation, and putrefaction. and back to the head thing, no flowing blood means the immortal blood cannot get to the places it needs to heal...so I'm gonna go with vampire hearts either beat regularly, slowly, or at an undetectable rate.

Okay, NOW I'm overthinking it.

I don't think I call shenanigans anymore after all of this...I mean shenanigans on a bloodless fall 100%. Have ya'll seen a body that's fallen out of a plane? Yeh, there's gonna be some blood. However I guess it's not too far fetched that a vampire survived the fall.

Defiantly more than just a "hard fall" tho Santiago!

[troglobite]

aldkjfalsd

paying more than mortgage costs for an airbnb house that

was not even remotely cleaned upon arrival (MULTIPLE sticky handprints on every surface in the kitchen, dirt IN THE REFRIGERATOR, muddy footprints, carpets & rugs so filthy that we HAVE to wear our slippers & give up on mopping the floors because they get dirty IMMEDIATELY, hair [human and pet, head and pube] on all the sheets and in every corner that has never seen a broom or vacuum, unidentifiable liquids and stains on every door [bedroom and bathroom] and the sheets & comforters)

was clearly not built to code bc it's worse than a 40s house but was built in the 70s (the stairs are definitely not to code and walking through the house quickly is like walking on the deck of a boat out at sea)

was advertised w central air but that was a lie and it only has tiny wall heaters in most rooms and 1 space air conditioner in 1 room

has a window that is so poorly fitted that the worlds largest creatures can come through it and give me a panic attack and nightmares for a week or more, and we had to physically tape it up ourselves

has a fridge that needs a water filter

has multiple smoke & CO alarms that are malfunctioning and/or need batteries

advertised lots of closet space but upon hanging 7 shirts on the ramshackle, not to code, pathetically cobbled together "hanger" in the only closet that won't leave the clothes dragging on the floor, collapsed completely and was unusable (unsurprisingly given the WOOD ITSELF WAS WARPED FROM THE WEIGHT OF *PILLOWS*)

has an UNBEARABLE mold and mildew stench IN THE MAIN BEDROOM ON THE FIRST FLOOR and what looks like a MOLD STAIN ON THE CEILING which is BENEATH THE UPSTAIRS SHOWER

has no batteries, lightbulbs, screwdrivers, garbage bags, or anything else remotely useful in the house for us to use (the vacuum is old as fuck, dusty, busted, and has hair EVERYWHERE, and the broom is literally duct taped together)

the upstairs bathroom toilet is like an escape room or physical/gymnastics challenge to get in and out of

one of the single-room wall heaters is literally BROKEN--turning it all the way down means it cranks and stays on forever, turning it all the way up temporarily turns it off, and it only stays off consistently if set at some middle temperature, but even then it'll still turn on unbidden--and there is no on/off switch

the furniture is nigh unsittable bc it is so cobbled together and uncomfortable

the chairs are basically unusable from how small and uncomfortable they are

the mattress are MISERABLE bc they have the world's FIRMEST MEMORY FOAM on ALL of them

THERE ARE NO CURTAINS ON ANY OF THE FUCKING WINDOWS AND ONLY THREE OF THE WINDOWS HAVE BLINDS. ONLY THREE!!!! THERE ARE ELEVEN OTHER WINDOWS IN THE HOUSE!!!!!!

everything outside is overgrown and in need of maintenance and care and is therefore unusable (there are just random dogtoys in places--inside AND outside)

there's just a used candle. sitting behind the tv.

the tv is TRASH and the volume is the WORST i've ever heard. we've trying fixing it REPEATEDLY. it ALSO is impossible to consistently get HDMI to connect to it/my laptop. i have to unplug and replug it multiple times.

the laundry room REEKS OF MOLD/MILDEW. it's also more of a closet. we have to have the fan on 24/7.

you cannot open the blinds on the 3 windows that have them. they removed the pulleys that allowed you to do that because "it was a pain/difficult to lower them back down" so they just REMOVED THAT OPTION.

the "guide book" for the home is CLEARLY outdated because it HAS THE WRONG INFORMATION FOR HOW TO GET IN THE HOUSE AND UNLOCK/LOCK THE FUCKING DOOR.

and we've only been here since last weds.

i'm wearing an n95 mask sitting in this bedroom because with my HEPA filter going, the room's wall heater turned off (bc that shit looks rank), and febreze odor eliminator sprayed REPEATEDLY in here after dousing the room in lysol upon arrival, the smell of mold is hurting my fucking lungs.

i literally want to strangle the ppl who think this home is in ANY WAY remotely fucking livable--and also, REMOTELY WORTH THE HELLISH AMOUNT OF MONEY WE HAD TO SPEND ON IT.

[folklorelise]

Squad Leader Mom is pregnant!

MASTERLIST

Since all the baby incidents that had happened with you, Levi or the cadets, Levi and you had been thinking about having one of your own, but you never actually talked about it. Then one night, as you were reading before going to bed, Levi sat next to you on the couch ready to have that talk with you.

“Y/N.” Levi called your name seeing that you were not paying any attention to him.

“Hm?”

“I want to have–.” Levi started but then stopped.

“What’s wrong?” you asked worried, putting down your book.

“Remember when the kids were turned into children? We said that we would talk about having a kid. I want to talk about it now.” he told you staring at you. “If you want.” Levi quickly added.

“Oh right.” you said mumbled.

To be honest, since you joined the survey corps – having a baby never was an option for you. For Levi, having a child at all was never an option, but since he met you, he felt like anything could be possible.

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine too.” Levi said.

“I don’t know.” you admitted. “I loved having the cadets around. It was a lot of fun and I loved them as kids. But a new-born is different.” you paused. “I remember my neighbour; they had one and it was constantly crying and screaming. It looked exhausting. Also, what about my job here? I cannot– I… I can’t go on expeditions knowing that our child could become an orphan.”

“I would never let that happen.” Levi assured you, taking your hands. “I know our situation is not ideal, but can you imagine how great it would be to have a tiny version of us running around. I like that thought. That maybe one day, we could finally retire with our own little family.”

“It does sound nice.” you smiled fondly at Levi. “If that makes you happy, then ok.”

“Really? Because I don’t want to pressure you.”

“I’m sure. We’ll figure it out.”

The more you thought about it, the more you were sure about your decision. You had the possibility to give Levi another chance at having his own family and that was what made you certain of your choice. The next few months were spent in bed with Levi. It was intense – Levi was intense which resulted in making the both of you exhausted for trainings and expeditions.

Eight months into trying to get pregnant, yet there was still no baby in sight. Your doctor reassured you and said that getting pregnant is not an easy task.

You get easily sick during winter, so when a week before the expedition you started to feel nauseous, you just shrug it off. Which you instantly regretted the second you felt like passing out in front of a titan outside.

Eren from far away saw you falling from the sky and did not hesitate a second before transforming and running toward you. He caught you in time from hitting the ground and Mikasa from behind killed the titan that was ready to eat you.

“Mom?” Eren tried to wake you up once Mikasa got him out. “Mom, wake up please.” Eren cried.

Every squad were running toward where Eren transformed, not knowing why he did it. Levi and his squad were the first one who arrived.

“Eren!” Levi yelled at the boy but stopped when he saw you in his arms. A million questions were running through Levi’s mind. He could not move – he wanted to see if you were fine, yet his feet would not move toward you. What if he saw a wound, what if you were already dead?

“Captain,” Eren cried, “I– I saw her falling and I came. She’s not waking up!”

“What’s happening here?” Erwin finally arrived. “Levi wha–.” he asked the captain but stopped when he saw you. “Is she d–?”

“NO!” Eren yelled. “She can’t be, I– I caught her.”

“What happened then?” Erwin asked a member of you squad.

“We don’t know. We spotted a few titans, and we were all going to take care of them. Then – squad leader Y/N was just behind us!”

“She is still breathing.” Erwin checked your pulse. “Levi’s going to take her back, and the rest of us will continue the expedition. You can go too.” Erwin told the cadets.

Every other squads were leaving the scene. Erwin slowly approached Levi.

“She’s ok, you can go and take her back.”

“Ok.” Levi breathed.

Levi slowly approached where the cadets where and took you in his arms. Once you were back, Levi rushed you to the infirmary. The cadets were all patiently waiting outside the room. Every one of them was worried, but Eren was even more.

“What if it’s my fault?” Eren said.

“You saved her!” Mikasa protested.

“When I caught her, maybe I squeezed her without noticing?”

“She is fine.” Jean shouted.

Levi was sitting with them, silently. After just a few minutes of waiting, a doctor came out of the room. Everyone stood up hoping for good news.

“Y/N is doing great. She just needs to rest now.”

“Thank you!” Sasha shouted hugging the doctor.

“Is she waking up soon?” Jean asked.

“She should be up in a few hours top. But from now on she should stay here as the pregnancy is already three months in or something.” the doctor said before leaving for his office.

“The pregnancy?” Levi repeated confused.

“Mom’s pregnant?” Jean asked Levi.

“Mom’s pregnant!” they all shouted excited.

“We’re going to have a little brother or sister!” Connie burst excited.

While the cadets were shouting, Levi was still trying to process the news.

“D– Captain!” Jean quickly corrected himself. “Can we go in and see her?”

“She’s still sleeping, I’ll go and find you once she woke up.” Levi said entering the room alone.

Levi was sitting next to you, waiting patiently for you to wake up. An hour or two later, the cadets could not wait any longer and came into your room.

“Please, can we stay?” Sasha begged the captain.

“Fine, but shup your months.”

A few minutes after the kids came in, you finally woke up. Levi was the first to notice it. He quickly stood up and came near you.

“Y/N, are you feeling ok?” Levi asked.

“Water.” you grunted.

“I’ll get you a glass of water!” Armin volunteered.

After drinking the whole glass, you instantly felt better. You asked Levi what happened and when he explained to you that you fainted due to the pregnancy, you started to cry.

“Don’t cry. It is good right? We’re happy about this.” Levi asked.

“It’s happy tears.” You confirmed laughing slightly.

Levi then left to bring some food. The second Levi left, Eren came and hugged you. Then very quickly everyone else joined the hug.

“You scared us to death earlier.” Eren told you.

“I’m sorry I made you worried.”

When Erwin came back, Levi and you were waiting for him in his office.

“Y/N’s pregnant.” Levi announced it to the commander. “Obviously, she won’t be going to the next expeditions, right?”

“What? Congratulation!” Erwin shouted happily. “That’s really great news.”

“Erwin – the expeditions.”

“Right, of course. Y/N, you have to rest from now on.”

“But I can’t do nothing.” you protested. “I’ll get bored.”

“You’re pregnant.” Levi argued. “You just have to take care of you by staying here. Erwin agrees with me.”

“I–. Y/N if you want to go home and rest, you can.” Erwin agreed.

“I don’t. I’ll stay here and work with you on paperwork, I’ll do everything as usual except going on expedition.” you stated firmly.

Levi knew how stubborn you were, so he did not continue to argue. What mattered to him was that you were not going on expedition. After announcing the news to Erwin, Levi and you went to see Hange to tell them the news. The scream Hange uttered was so loud that Moblit came in running.

“What happened?” Moblit asked worried.

“Y/N is pregnant!” Hange shouted.

“Oh! Congratulation!” Moblit hugged you.

The next person to know about it was Mike, then soon enough the entire survey corps knew about it. After a few days, you decided it was time to go and tell your family about it. You proposed to Levi to come with you since he never met them.

“I’m busy.” Levi told you.

“It’ll just be a day.”

Your parents used to live inside of wall rose, but as your father’s business became more and more successful, they moved inside of wall Sina. You had a brother in the military too. You joined at the same time – he was a year older than you – he ended up being first and chose the military police brigade.

The next morning, you and Levi took a carriage to your home. Your parents made you and your brother promise to visit at least once a month, and you both decided to visit the first Sunday of every month – which was today. You knocked on the door and it was your mother who opened the door.

“It has been so long. Ah, and you must be Levi, right?” your mother welcomed you in.

“Yes.” Levi answered.

“Come in.”

“Your brother is not there yet.” your mom told you. “Do you want to drink something?”

“Tea please, black tea. For the both of us.” you told her.

“I feel uncomfortable here.” Levi whispered once your mother was gone.

“Let’s just tell them the news and then we can go.” you reassured him.

Your mother brought back the tea and she sat on the couch in front of where you were. Your father was nowhere to be seen – he was buying groceries at the market – and your brother was probably still sleeping.

“I heard a lot about you Levi.” you mother finally said.

“Levi’s very popular.” you answered seeing that Levi did not know what to say. “He is humanity’s strongest after all.”

“Good, then I know my daughter is safe beside you.”

“Y/N is strong, and she doesn’t need me to protect her.” Levi insisted, “But that does not mean I won’t do anything in my power to protect her of course.”

“That’s good to hear.” your mother smiled gently.

Just when you wanted to continue to talk, the front door opened, and your brother and father came in. You brother hugged you, then went to hug your mother.

“Captain Levi!” your brother burst out. “You have been going out with captain Levi this whole time?” he asked you.

“Yeah, don’t be jealous.”

“It’s an honour to meet you.” (Y/B/N) told the captain, ignoring you.

Levi quickly started to relax around your family, and you were all chatting together, talking about the military and what your day looked like. After a few hours of discussion, you still did not find the right moment to tell them about your pregnancy.

“When are you going to tell them?” Levi whispered to you.

“I don’t know how to, it feels weird.”

“Do you want me to tell them?”

“No, I’ll do it. I can do this.” you cleared your throat loudly to bring their attention to you and stood up. “I came with Levi today because we had something to tell you.”

“Yes?” your mother smiled.

“I am pregnant.” you announced with a big smile.

“Oh, my dear, that is wonderful!” your mother cried happily.

Your family congratulated the two of you and asked a ton of questions about when it happened, and what you planned to do once the baby arrived. After telling them that you were planning on staying at the survey corps after the baby came. You would probably be less involved, but you could not leave your second family. At night, after taking the extra food your mother had prepared, you left.

“Why aren’t you guys sleeping?” you said seeing the cadets at the entrance.

“We were waiting for you.” Armin said.

“Is that food for us?” Sasha asked excited.

“No.” Levi answered. “Y/N is tired, so leave.”

“I’m fine, I’ll take the food to the kitchen and we can eat this together tomorrow.” you told them. “You didn’t have to wait for me, you won’t be able to wake up tomorrow.” you warned them leaving with Levi.

—————

The first few weeks of the pregnancy were going well – you worked in the office with Levi mostly, but you would also help Hange with their paperwork. Being pregnant as a survey corps soldier meant being able to have extra food during meals, being able to skip cleaning duties. You could sleep in late in the morning and no one would say anything to you.

When your baby bump started to show and you could not fit into your pants anywhere, you would go around in either dresses or in Erwin’s pants that you cut so it would not be too long.

When you were seven months pregnant, Levi started to become more and more protective of you. He would not let you carry anything, not even your food tray. He forbad the cadets to come even near you knowing how reckless they were. Only Mikasa and Armin were allowed to come and help you. Which obviously upset the other cadets.

“But dad that’s so unfair! I want to help mom too!” Jean pleaded.

“Fine, Jean you can help.” Levi finally accepted only because Jean called him dad which was one of Levi’s weak spot.

“Me too then!” the others shouted which only made Levi walk away.

When you heard about it, you reassured them that it was ok for them to stay around you. Around that time, you also stopped wearing your shoes since you could not put them on, on your own. You walked around in your slippers all the time.  

Nine months into the pregnancy and Levi never let you out of his sight. He would rest in bed with you the whole time.

“What do you want to name our baby?” you asked him one night.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think about it much.”

“I was thinking about naming her after your mother if it was a girl.”

“What?” Levi asked.

“If you don’t want to it’s fine too!” you quickly shrug it off. “It’s just–.”

“I’d like that. It’s a great idea.” Levi cut you, “I just thought… I didn’t think you would like that name.”

“Of course, I do! What if it’s a boy?”

You both brainstormed all the ideas you had before falling asleep.

You were outside with Levi during his training sessions with the cadets with a book. They were all taking a break, so you decided to join them, but when you stood up you felt something weird between your legs.

“Captain! Mom just peed herself!” Eren yelled panicking.

“Her water broke you idiot!” Sasha yelled at Eren.

Levi was definitely panicking like Eren, but he would not show it. You took a carriage with Levi direction your doctor’s house. After a few hours of labour, the baby was still inside of you.

“I can’t do that anymore.” you breathed heavily. “Just take it out!” you yelled, taking Levi hand in yours.

“It’s here, just push one last time.”

You let out a last scream and pushed as hard as you could before you heard cries.

The doctor cleaned then wrapped the baby in a blanket before giving it to Levi.

“Hello.” Levi whispered to his child.

“Is it a girl?” you asked weakly.

“It is.” Levi said looking into your eyes lovingly.

“That’s good.” you smiled when you heard a knock on the door.

“Hello.” Erwin came in with Hange and the cadets behind him. “They insisted on coming with us.”

“We bought you some flowers.” Connie handed you the bouquet.

“My favourite, thank you so much.” you teared up.

“You idiot you made her cry.” Sasha hit Connie behind the head.

“Mikasa’s the one you picked the flowers.” Connie defended himself.

“I love the flowers you guys. I’m just very tired and extra emotional.”

“Do we have a baby brother or sister?” Armin asked.

“You have a sister now.” Levi answered. “This is Kuchel.”

“Can I hold her?” Erwin asked.

“Well,” you started, “you are the godfather, of course you can.”

“Me too.” Hange exclaimed.

“You, maybe later.” Levi stated. “In a year or two, so when you drop her, she would be fine.”

“It happened once when you taught us how to hold babies.” Hange mumbled.

They were all around the new-born while Levi was laying down next to you, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You have the best mother in the world Kuchel, you’re so lucky.” Armin whispered to the baby.

—————

One night, at the boys’ dorm, a few months after Kuchel was born–

“Do you think it’s weird for us to call squad leader Y/N ‘mom’?” Eren asked. “Now that she has her own, real kid, what does that make us?” Eren continued. “We’re just a bunch of cadets again to her.”

“Why are you always thinking so negatively?” Jean sighed.

“They’re not our parents.” Eren stated sadly.

“Can you stop being so pessimistic for a minute?” Armin shouted. “She is the closest mother figure I had since I was a child, so stop this. Plus, it’s not like ever corrects us when we do. So just stop, please.”

  You obviously noticed Eren’s attitude changing towards you – you tried to talk to him, but he kept avoiding you. You asked Armin and Mikasa about it and Armin just told you not to worry about it which was not possible.

One night, as Eren was taking a walk on the training grounds, you approached him silently.

“Are you ready to talk now?” you asked him. “And don’t even think about leaving before telling me.”

“I’m fine.” Eren said avoiding your gaze.

“Eren.”

“Squad leader Y/N.”

“Since when do you call me that?” you retorted.

“It is your name.”

“If there is something wrong, you can tell me. I’m always here if you want to talk.”

“You have a kid now; you can’t worry about me– about us.”

“What?” you asked confused. “Why not?”

“Because!” Eren yelled.

“Because what?” you kept your voice calm and low.

“Because you’re not my mother! And I’m not your kid. We’re just a bunch of soldiers.” Eren cried out. “You have a real kid now, there’s no need to play family anymore.”

“Is that what you think? Is that what you all think?” you asked but Eren did not answer, “Eren… I may not be your birth mother and I would never dare to replace yours, but you are family to me. You all are. Seeing you all calling me ‘mom’ is fine, if you see me as a mother figure – it’s fine. Because I see you all as my grown-up children.” you teared up. “And that’s not going to change with Kuchel around.”

“You haven’t been spending as much time with us as you used too.” Eren guessed hesitating.

“I haven’t been sleeping much to be honest. Kuchel is crying a lot at night. That does not mean I forgot about you. Or you guys.” you turned around finding the rest of the cadets hiding behind the pillars.

“We weren’t spying!” Jean said. “We just… happen to be there.”

“I’m sorry.” Eren apologise. “I’m a terr–.”

“You’re not. You’re amazing Eren.” you hugged him which resulted in all the other boys joining the hug.

From the window of Levi office, he could see you guys hugging.

“See Kuchel,” Levi pointed at you while holding his daughter, “They are weirdos.” he sighed. “Your mother loves them though. I find them tolerable. I guess you can see them as your older brothers and sisters. You’ll grow up with a big family which is great. I’m sure you’ll love them as much as your mother do.”

—————

RANDOM FACTS ABOUT YOUR PREGNANCY

Levi would talk to your baby bump when you were asleep.

You would be often seen with vegetables in your hand – always eating them as snacks.

You would cry for absolutely no reason too. The first time it happened, Levi was worried sick. You had dropped your apple on the ground and started to cry. From then on, Levi would just hold you tightly until you stopped crying.

The first time it happened in from of Erwin was when he offered you a new baby blanket. He thought you did not like it, but Levi quickly reassured him that it was fine. “I– I– I looove it!” you sobbed.

The first time it happened in front of the trio – Armin, Eren and Mikasa – it was because Armin kept talking about what he read about baby stuff.

“I will be the best brother ever!” Armin promised with a big smile. “No, why are you crying?”

“This is too much for my heart!” you sobbed. “You are too sweet Armin!” you hugged him.

“I’ll be a good big brother too!” Eren said hugging you.

Mikasa from behind pushed Eren and Armin aside before taking you in her arms.

“You both made her cry, I did not. Obviously, I’m the better sibling here.”

When it happened with Connie, Sasha, and Jean –

Sasha and Connie were walking in front of you and Jean.

“This Sunday is a day off; I’ll probably go and buy something at the market with Connie and Sasha.” Jean told you, “Do you need anything?”

You tried not to let tears fall but it was too adorable for you.

“Mom! Why are you crying? I’m sorry!” Jean panicked.

“What did you do you idiot!” Connie slapped Jean on his shoulder.

“Mom don’t cry, please. Dad’s going to kill me when he’s going to find out.” Jean realised.

At the same time, Levi walked in.

“What’s going on?” Levi asked.

“Nothing!” Jean said hiding your face on his chest.

“Y/N?” Levi said. “Are you ok?” to which you only responded with a thumb up. “Are you crying again?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Jean hesitated, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s fine.” Levi said, “she’s been crying a lot these days due to the pregnancy.”

—————

RANDOM FACTS ABOUT KUCHEL

Kuchel first word is ‘clean’ – Levi is always talking about it when he is around her.

Kuchel favourite cadet would be Sasha. Sasha is only sharing her food with Kuchel and she loves food too.

Kuchel loves playing ‘to fly’ with uncle Erwin and uncle Mike – the giants of the survey corps.

You bought matching outfits for Levi, Kuchel and you which Levi secretly found adorable.

————— ————— 

————— ————— 

Squad Leader Mom gets badly injured

[lovenona]

ON THE SACRED BONDS OF BROTHERHOOD.

synopsis; choso may be their beloved frat brother, but he’ll always be your brother first. (for the frat au collab.) 

pairing; frat boy! choso x f! reader

contains; stepcest, dubcon (reader is under the influence but having a good time), extensive descriptions of knife play and blood play, marking (choso carves his name into you), oral (f! receiving), borderline yandere/possessive choso (he loves you A Lot), choso goes from mean to Soft, consumption and romanticization of drugs and alcohol, (1) use of ‘angel’, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, this is essentially all foreplay and ends before the fucking because i got tired, minors do not interact or perish

word count; 6.5k

the yard outside is clean, well-kept. there’s talk that the house’s landlord is a retired gardener who receives great joy from keeping up the hydrangeas and peonies along the sidewalk. it’s certainly award-winning, that front yard, with its colorful blossoms and plush bees circling the mailbox. 

they’re so lucky, students bemoan on their way to and from class. i can’t believe the frat boys get to live there. i bet they don’t even know how lucky they are.

it’s a seemingly kind house from the outside – recently renovated with navy blue paint and white trimming, a large front porch and a few inviting windows. the place that omega lambda now calls home is, simply put, a dream. it sits just a few minutes from campus and it tells the street proudly, fondly, that there is no better place to be than here.

it’s true, in some respects, that omega lambda likes to see themselves as above the sweat and grime of their fellow frat brothers. they don’t spend their weekends “fucking and drinking” and tracking dirt across the carpet like animals. their fun is calm, refined: to be invited to a night with omega lambda means a night of smoke curling into the air, of gossip over olive-colored couches, of pills under tongues, of ease and relaxation.

it’s slower than the others, they say in the back of monday morning lectures, but no less extreme, no matter what those boys try and tell you.

i think i was tripping for days, the girl from psychology 101 boasted. whatever the fuck yuuji gets is strong. 

such stories amaze you: and even as you stand on the sidewalk outside the perfect blue house, petunias curling inward with the evening breeze, you cannot believe they are real. it’s hard to imagine the face of your beloved stepbrother tied to these antics. it’s hard to imagine that the boy who used to come home every winter and summer with bloodshot eyes and a beat-up skateboard also swore a loyal, unbreakable oath of brotherhood to a band of boys you’ve never met. 

it’s hard to imagine that your own stepbrother, choso, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to apply eyeliner and how to kiss without teeth, quite literally runs what has been dubbed the chillest fraternity on campus.

but yet, here you are, new to university, fresh-faced and eager, cowering outside the door of the omega lambda residence. your favorite skirt hovers around your thighs and you tug at the collar of your shirt, fiddle with the charm of the necklace choso gave you for your birthday a few years ago. 

he’d invited you here almost immediately after learning that you and your roommate had tried your hand at partying with beta pi epsilon. naoya is trash, choso’s fervent texts read the next morning. absolute dick – don’t trust him. come hang out with us instead. he’d attached the address of the blue house along with a reminder to have a snack and take some medicine for your godforsaken hangover. 

the message had taken you a little by surprise. choso’s always been sweet to you – doting, even, if you wanted a better word for it – but you hadn’t been sure how he’d handle attending the same university. your other friends all complain that they’d rather die than see their families; twins separate after orientation, brothers and sisters look the other way if they pass each other in the quad. you feared choso would be the same, that the omnipotent attention he gave you at home would completely dissipate the moment you moved into your dorm.

but his text reaffirms you, if anything. and although your roommate had opted to be wined and dined by the boy from calculus this evening, you don’t mind attending alone. her absence from your side only means you will be able to see your stepbrother without a distraction.

the music buzzes through the door as you knock and wring your fingers on the doorstep. should you just walk in? should you text choso and wait for him to fetch you? the ins-and-outs of frat etiquette cloud your mind until the door swings open and you’re met, face-to-face, with a young pink-haired man dangling a blunt from one hand and his phone, opened to his spotify playlist, from the other.

“hi,” you say, words foreign in your throat. “choso invited me?”

“oh, cool,” itadori yuuji says, shrugging his shoulders like he never would have questioned it. “come on in. you can put your shoes over there.” 

while omega lambda is not packed from wall to wall as your night at beta pi epsilon had been, the various couches propped against the walls and surrounding the living room coffee table are nearly packed to the brim with the frat brothers and their guests. the air, hazy with smoke and desire and drinking, shifts and swirls as it curls around purple LED lights before fogging up the windows and disappearing up the stairs. it is warm here, easy, like dropping into the depths of a pleasurable dream.

“there’s drinks in the kitchen,” yuuji is saying, voice thick with his high, “and we’ve got some other stuff on the table, although you’ll have to pay yuuta for those–” 

yuuji’s narration is cut off as a familiar figure crashes into yours, sweeping you into a hug so tight you fear your bones will snap from the pressure. choso smells like the cologne you bought him for his birthday, like fresh laundry and comfort; you breathe him in, deeply, and let yourself relax into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

“glad you could make it,” choso mumbles into your skin. he draws back slightly, drinks you in, your little skirt and your dainty socks that he’s always been partial to. he looks from you to yuuji, still vibing to the side with his playlist, and his eyes crinkle in what must be mirth.

“it’s good to see you,” you say. 

“you saw me at lunch with mom last week.” choso smiles, the black line across his nose crinkling when his eyes light up. 

“you get what i mean.” you tap his shoulder, lightly, as emphasis. the anxiety dissolves; it’s you, and him, like it’s always been. it’s your stepbrother choso who watches your shadow and wraps you up to keep the rest of the world at bay. 

but the tender moment is broken when someone, a tall blonde girl with the aura of a lioness, calls out to choso to ask him for assistance. he looks at you, a bit forlorn, before telling yuuji to help you get settled in and making his way to the other end of the living room.

“yes, this way!” yuuji grabs your arm and drags you across the floor like you’ve known each other forever. “i make some fucking good drinks if i do say so myself.” 

which, consequently enough, is how you find yourself losing your mind within the walls of omega lambda. 

it’s not that you’re a virgin to the world of cocktails and lime and pills: it’s that you’re too sweet to know when to stop. it’s hard to tell yuuji no more, thanks when his face is so bright, when he and the strange, blue-haired frat brother mahito are asking you to try this and try that and to let us know what you think. 

so you let yourself sway through the house, from couch to couch, listening to this mahito boy tell you about his latest philosophy courses as he dances cold fingers across your shoulders, listening to yuuji explain the very serious business of pulling an all-nighter without coffee, watching the LED lights shift from purple to blue and back again.

(you’re not sure where choso is. perhaps, in your altered state, he’s sitting just across from you and you don’t even know it. but you don’t mind, because his brothers get along with you just as well. you don’t mind, because you’re too drunk or too high to know any better.) 

“and how are you doing?” a dark-haired man slides into the empty couch space next to you. arms littered with various tattoos and dark hair pulled back into a casual half-bun, he could have been your beloved choso had he not exuded such finesse, such arrogance, which choso could never be capable of doing.

“i’m alright,” you say, but you’re more than alright. the room is so warm and your brain is so fuzzy that you might melt into the couch if someone looked away for even a minute. “i don’t think we’ve met before? i’m choso’s stepsister.” 

he simpers, a humid thing, one that coils around your eyelids and sets your insides alight. “ah! i’ve heard a lot about you. it’s nice to meet you.” he holds out a manicured hand; black nail polish glimmers in the dim light. “geto. i’m one of choso’s frat brothers.” 

his handshake might take your soul with it. his hands are smooth, refined. you swear he can feel your quickening pulse as you introduce yourself. he watches you like you might be the only person in the room, like you might be the sweetest thing to have ever crossed the threshold. and filled with rum and liqueur and confidence you take it, gladly, because you’re young and the thought of university still puts stars in your eyes. 

“so what are you studying?” geto is saying, prying you apart, picking through your history. he’s in his final year and you’re in your first and he knows all there is to know while you still have nothing. you latch onto him because he gets it, because he’s handsome, because you’re silly and desperate and drunk. somewhere along the way your thighs touch and his hand greets your shoulder and you think that you finally made it into his lap because mahito complained that the couch was too full. 

geto smells like expensive cologne. you smell vaguely of lemons and shampoo. yuuji jokes with you from across the table and you like it, the way these brothers’ eyes fall on you. 

so you spiral, further and further, into a daze you cannot escape from. you barely react to geto’s firm hand snaking up your bare thigh because you are too busy trying yuuji’s latest creation and asking mahito for more of whatever he gave you. it’s fun, it’s weightless; you feel beautiful, supreme, like the kind of college girl you’re supposed to be. you’re desirable, cute. you’re the girl to be in love with, the one who sets the scene.

those rumors were right. the party is certainly slower than the other frats you’ve visited, with more emphasis on sitting and vibing than on dancing and drinking games, but no less extreme. you’re so far out of your brain that you wonder briefly if it will ever be possible to come back down. maybe you’ll be her, on monday morning, the girl who’s still tripping.

“you know,” geto is saying, his breath eerily close to your pulse, a moment away from pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, “you should stop by more often.” 

“yeah?” you hope you sound sexier than you are. “i’d love to–”

“excuse me,” choso’s voice cuts through your lazy fantasy like the sharp fall of a guillotine. “i’d prefer if you didn’t hit on my sister, geto.” 

geto’s laugh reverberates against your back, your ears. his grip on you lightens immediately, and whatever words he’d saved for you die away. “i’m not,” he says, but his voice is too easy to be honest. “just keeping her company. right, sweetheart?”

you’re finding it hard to see straight. caught in this game of cat and mouse you find you can do nothing but sit lamely in geto’s lap and watch choso’s favorite necklace reflect the purple light. it’s only after a revolution around the sun you realize you haven’t spoken, that you’ve done nothing but hover, a lot of drunk and a little high and a little nervous, between one man and the other. you mumble a yes in affirmation but it’s clear from the tension that choso doesn’t believe it. 

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” choso sighs. “come on, then. you’ve had enough for one night.” familiar arms lift you off the couch and you stumble, much like a baby gazelle, into the safety of choso’s chest. the room spins with the sudden change; you cling to him like a lifeline as you abandon the party to head upstairs. 

of course, bedazzled out of your mind, you do not question when choso leads you to the end of the hallway and over the threshold of his bedroom. it feels expected in a way, safe, as if the party had always been meaning to end here. as if there was no other place you should be.

“so?” choso asks, casually, shutting the door behind him with a damning click. “did you enjoy being a little whore with my brothers?”

his words take a long moment to settle in your ears. you’re caught in the swirl of euphoria in your brain, the black t-shirts scattered across the floor, the small houseplant you once bought him seated on the windowsill. it warms your heart to see it there, after all this time.

“well?” choso demands your attention. he takes your jaw in his hand and lifts your eyes to meet his gaze. his silver rings, imposing and cool on slender fingers, burn into your heated flesh like embers. his eyes swim with distaste and you know it’s your fault, somehow, but when the walls tilt and your rationality fogs over, you can’t quite pinpoint why.

“i–” your words catch in your throat. it’s clear, from the darkness in his eyes, from the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of your jawline, that anything you say to defend yourself will be futile. it’s choso’s world, you’ve always known, and even now, you’re merely living in it. 

“i invite my sister to see me, because i miss her,” choso’s words nestle themselves deep into your bloodstream, settling amongst the brandy and wine, “and she chooses to spend the night bending over for my brothers. how do you think that makes me feel?” 

it’s a look you know: a look that has haunted you for hours and days, a look that you know better than any other. it’s the look that guides the hand between your legs at night and the look you recreate in your mind’s eye when your vibrator just isn’t enough. you’re crumbling already, like sand beneath his touch.

“i’m sorry,” you say to him, but the words are soft and whispered things, shy beneath the weight of your own guilt and disappointment. “i didn’t mean to–” 

“no,” choso admonishes. he steps closer, guiding you backwards until his bedsheets brush the backs of your knees. “of course you didn’t. you’re still too dumb to know what you’re doing.” his voice, evenly condescending, hardly matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he moves to cup your cheeks. you close your eyes against it, savoring the shivers he sends across you body with every heartbeat, every movement. “still need your big brother to keep you in check.” 

you do not respond: he does not intend for you too. instead choso presses you back until you fall onto his bed, crawling over you to cage your body beneath him like a predator and its prey. your brain falters with the sudden movement, with the lateness of the hour and the depravity of your position, but you can do nothing but look at him with your helpless doe-eyes while something saccharine pools in your belly. 

“look at you,” choso says. “high out of your damn mind. good thing i caught you when i did. who knows what would have happened.” 

you believe him, you do, especially when choso dips his head to kiss you and demands your subservience. his tongue licks the aftermath of your cocktails from your lips and claims the expanse of your mouth, your teeth, your sanity. you let him take you, body and soul, even when you’re clamoring for air and freedom. there is no safety but choso’s lips, flavored with his cinnamon chapstick, no sacred home but the warmth of his mouth. 

“there’s my girl,” choso breathes, nose brushing against yours as he pulls back for air. “going to be good for me now? going to make it up to your big brother?” 

he doesn’t wait for a response; fingers dance along the silk of your blouse as he undoes each button, one by one, letting his fingers dip slyly against the newly exposed expanse of your collarbone and your chest and your stomach. you make no move to stop him, caught somewhere between choso’s aura and reality and time. 

(and maybe in another life you would have stopped him. maybe in another life you would have been ashamed. but it’s choso, your sworn protector and god among men, and you would be a fool to try and stop the one who knows best. he is safety, protection. who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken you away when he did.) 

“is this new?” choso asks, studying the curve of your bra as he rests against your hips. “who are you trying to impress?” 

it’s thin lavender lace, choso’s favorite. your face warms at the observation and you turn your head away, nestling among the sheets, as if you could escape choso’s eyes: but his fingers still trace the material and you can still hear him breathing and you know he will never look away. 

“i just got it,” you answer, humbled and mildly humiliated and certainly a little fucked up. the words are slow and imprecise as you stumble over your own tongue. “i wanted to…treat myself.” 

choso’s exploratory hands move from your bra to the waistband of your skirt. “could’ve just asked me,” he says earnestly, intently. “i would’ve gotten it for you.” 

your affirmative hum is lost when choso mindfully pulls your skirt down your legs and discards it somewhere in the shadows of the room. he says nothing of it, of the thin fabric or the way it flattered you just right. perhaps he is jealous of it. perhaps he does not want to remember the way his brothers looked at you when you wore it, the way geto’s hands caressed the places no other man should go.

“they match, i see,” choso gestures towards your underwear. terrified and knowing and aware that you’re growing damper with each passing minute, you press your thighs together. “they’re cute.” 

“t-thank you,” you whisper. “i… i got them for you. your favorite color.” 

he smiles, a precious and glorious thing, a smile that causes flowers to grow and birds to sing. you electrify at the sight of it, blissful only when he is. 

“i’d hope so,” choso says, “because i don’t think i could take it if this was meant for someone else.” 

he reaches over to the nightstand while his words claw through you. choso smells like cinnamon and safety and pleasure; your heartbeat quickens as his t-shirt brushes against you, as your world collapses into nothing but choso’s profile, his butterfly hair-clips and his glowing skin and his power. 

when choso settles back over you, resting against your thighs until you think you might die of it, something silver and shiny rests in his palm. you’d recognize it even if your eyes were closed, if the room were so dark that you couldn’t see if you tried. a searing and insatiable sensation lodges itself in your veins; it is fear personified, it is anticipation of a behavior you cannot even name. 

choso twirls his beloved switchblade deftly between his well-manicured fingertips. it reflects the low-light of the room. it calls out to you, the beautiful and dangerous thing, a siren’s song that promises both your misery and your fortune. choso’s face is relaxed, serene, as the envy and the fury seemingly melts away from him and leaves only a disinterested vessel behind. 

he lets you study it, lets you study him, and you know he’s pleased when he can feel your thighs tense, when you try so damn hard not to let choso know just how affected you really are. he shifts, grinding gently against your pelvis as he moves, causing you to bite your lip in a desperate attempt to surpress the gentlest of moans. 

“well,” choso says, disregarding the state he’s slowly working you into. he shifts down your body and runs a lackluster hand across the lacy expanse of your underwear. shivers pierce your navel, silver rings poison your skin. it’s all you can do to watch him, his heartless eyes and his casual form, as his thumb prods at the place where you underwear crosses your hip. “let’s get these off. i’d hate to have anyone else see you in them.” 

you feel the blade before you see it. cold, unfriendly, it rests against the gentle skin of your hip, a killer ready to take a life. a humiliatingly choked whine is out of your mouth before you can swallow it; your gasp reverberates throughout the room, the sound of one who knows they’ve lost a fight. 

“choso–” you breathe, but you don’t know quite what it is you’re asking him for. 

he doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to tease you further with the blade as he presses it against you until goosebumps rise in chorus. your fingers curl in on themselves, desperate for purchase, while fear and longing hum everywhere in your being. 

“don’t worry,” choso says. “i’ll buy you more. now be good and stay still.” 

you want to writhe, to lash out and squirm beneath the intensity of the moment, but you fear choso’s disappointment more than you crave such release. your big brother choso has never been afraid to hurt you: to pierce the skin where it hurts, to draw blood where he means it. if you move, the blade will move with you. you know this as you know every scar choso has left behind. 

it’s agonizing, this pace. choso’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he works with the ease of a great master. it’s like watching paint dry, like waiting for grass to grow or continents to shift. he cuts away at the expensive lingerie you bought just last weekend like he has all the time in the world, like he does not care if the sun rises and you are still crying beneath him.

(and he does it, you know, because you’ve never been one to be patient.) 

“choso,” you whine, drawing his name out, long and frustrated, as if in song. “go faster.” your legs twitch in protest and the blade comes ever closer. 

“no.” choso does not even spare the kindness to look at you, his beloved little sister. “stop whining.” 

the rest of your complaints lodge in your throat. you fear disobeying him, so you grip the comforter like a lifeline, exasperated tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the blade cuts through your clothes and ghosts across the bare skin beneath. it’s embarrassing, really, the way you can feel yourself becoming more and more desperate the further choso drifts away from you, the more he refuses to indulge. 

you wonder if he can sense the arousal on you, feel it, smell it, even, like you’re nothing but his own little plaything in heat. 

after an eternity, the blade finally cuts through your panties with a satisfying rip. the torn fabric sits pitifully against your hips, a reminder of your own subservience, until choso peels it away from you with enough condescension to move you to tears. the cool air of the room hits your thighs, your cunt, like a ghost who’s taken up residence beside you. 

blissfully unaware of your feelings, choso studies the remains of your ruined underwear, the thin fabric and the obvious stain of your arousal. locking eyes with you, he bring it to his nose for a brief and pleasurable inhale before he discards it somewhere on the other side of the room.

“there we are,” he says, as if he hadn’t just smelled yourself in front of you. “now no one will ever know about it but me.”

“choso,” you whimper, hot. it’s a gift and a humiliation to be beneath him like this, to shake with need and yet to be denied it, to ask for something, for anything, in a voice so unabashedly loud that anyone who passes by the door might hear it.

he ignores you, again, and turns his attention to your bra as it flutters against your fervent chest. you watch with wide eyes as the blade comes closer, closer, dancing against your ribcage and sending ice into your lungs until it slices through the front of your bra, down the center of your chest, like the thin fabric was made of nothing but water. 

“get rid of this,” he says; you listen. with quick and quivering fingertips you shimmy your way out of the delicate material and toss it over the side of the bed faster than the speed of sound. choso, pleased with your obedience, intently traces the curve of your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you find yourself arching into his touch. 

(choso, you mumble, eyes falling shut at the feeling. still, as always, he does not listen. he draws his hands away.) 

it kills you, the way choso’s eyes possess you, own you, dictate the movement in your bloodstream. it’s akin to being pulled along on marionette strings, a puppet of choso’s own design, made to dance for him and him alone. 

it’s the prize he deserves, your big brother, to own you and protect you, body and soul.

it’s that very intensity which moves you to misty tears, which causes your hands to fly out to meet him against your better judgement. choso lets you pleasure yourself for a moment with the texture of his t-shirt and the outline of his shoulders before brushing your hands away like unnecessary flies. 

“did you whore yourself out like this when you went to naoya’s?” choso prods. the patronization lies beneath feigned and genuine curiosity. there are no inflections, no signs of anger. this is how your big brother gets you, every time: it’s the neglect, the disinterest, that breeds your guilt. “are you really so easy for every boy that comes your way?” 

you shake your head and wish you could bury yourself further into the bedsheets. no, never. try as you might the first-year college boys here just haven’t been enough, the older ones too preoccupied with better cunts to look your way. 

“just because those guys are my brothers,” choso continues, shifting further and further down your body, spreading your legs until he can fit himself comfortably between them, “doesn’t mean i have to share everything with them.” 

“i’m sorry, choso,” you try again, “i’m sorry. i don’t want anyone else–” 

“that’s right,” choso interrupts. “you don’t need anyone else. no one is ever going to love you the way i do.” 

the way your big brother does, his eyes say, but he doesn’t have to voice it. you already know. it’s true that no one knows you better than choso does. no one understands your limits and your desires the way your brother has for as long as you’ve known him. no one knows how to caress you when you cry, how to run their tongue across your lips to silence you when you’re too eager. it’s always choso. it’s always been choso; but sometimes you’re just too much of a fool to see it. 

the blade, cool and demanding, presses against the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hip. you twitch in surprise at the sensation and curl your toes to quell the ache in your cunt. it’s slick, weeping; you can feel it, the arousal, as it pools and pools and drips quietly onto the comforter. 

“choso, what are you–” you ask, breathily, pitifully, but choso’s quick glare reduces you into obedient silence. 

he licks the cinnamon chapstick on his lips. a stray hair falls across his eyes and kisses the dark line across his nose. he is love and danger, a cocktail of possession and surrender. “i think,” choso says, the words slow and thoughtful, “you need a reminder of who loves you the most.” 

a strangled cry escapes your lips when the blade pierces your skin just enough to draw blood. the sting travels up through your spine and fogs up your senses, causes your cunt to weep in horrible anticipation. it hurts, it does, the first cut, but still you find yourself waiting for more of it, more, in terror and lust and love. 

“choso–” you cry, a misty tear escaping out of the corner of your eye, but the call is met by another stroke, longer this time, drawn out, until your knuckles clutch the bedsheets so tensely they might as well turn to stone. 

“stay still,” choso admonishes amidst the burn of it. “you’ll hurt yourself.” 

as if you were the one in control. but you listen, obediently as always, and the alcohol from earlier combined with the need in your chest mixes together until your body is as taut as a desperate wire, until you no longer have control of yourself or your limbs. the knife cuts easily, choso’s hands as steady and precise as ever. you can feel the blood dripping onto his sheets like a series of hot tears.

it’s too much, all at once. it is a fire which destroys you, which renders every coherent thought into ash and causes you to sob nothing but drawn-out cries and pleads of choso’s name into the dark bedroom. he has you just where he wants you: pliant, dumb, obedient. if he asked you to fetch him a star, you would have asked him which one he needed.

choso’s tongue darts between his teeth as a steady hand continues its masterpiece. you sob unabashedly in reply with every stroke, with every flex of his fingers as he works his blade against your tender skin. and yet, as the pain grows, so does your need for something, for anything, for release; with every aching minute your cunt grows hotter and lonelier and emptier between your thighs. 

you crave something, anything, choso, perhaps even more than you wish for air.

“there you go,” choso says, just as you release another cry so piercing there’s no way even yuuji wouldn’t have heard it. “all done.” 

you sit up on your elbows to peer down at the masterpiece below your hip. smeared with blood, aching and raw from the blade, the word CHOSO spreads across your upper thigh in an uneven but heartfelt script. it makes you dizzy, this marking, this sign that no one owns you better than your sacred brother does. you wonder if it will leave a scar, if it will heal; and even more so, you wonder if choso will merely rewrite it, again and again, until every cell in your body knows that you are nothing without him.

you say nothing; a whine escapes your lips as your eyes flit from the mark to choso’s eyes, dark and possessive, as he looks back at you.

“you like it?” he asks, once again the sweet thing, the doting one.

“yes,” you whisper back, never one to lie to your perfect big brother. 

but you cannot hide the insatiability. choso notices the way your thighs twitch from the intensity, the way your cunt drools and your eyebrows furrow because you cannot relieve this ache on your own. you’re helpless, entirely at his mercy. choso tilts his head with a soft and unreadable simper at the sight.

“you’re really worked up, huh?” he pretends your distress is not blatantly obvious. he twirls the bloodstained knife between his fingertips for a moment before bringing the flat edge of the blade against his lips in a somber kiss. “this little thing’s got you down bad, i see.” he flashes the switchblade at you like a diamond. you watch, entranced, as choso slides his tongue across the metal until any traces of your blood disappear into his mouth. 

your belly’s on fire. the switchblade shines with choso’s spit and he smiles, your blood on his tongue, while he prods your legs apart, further, until you’re entirely open for him with nothing to hide. you whine lowly as choso’s eyes flicker between your eyes, dazed and helpless, and the slick on the bedsheets. 

“choso,” you repeat. “please, help me.” your eyes are wide and your voice is small and you crumble beneath the weight of your own needing, of your own body working of its own volition, of the high that collapses all over you. 

perhaps it’s the way you call for him, your big brother, in your time of need. perhaps it’s the way choso can never really deny you, even when he feigns disappointment or rage or neglect. he’s bound to you, your protector, and you can see in the way his eyes soften ever so slightly that choso will not deny you this request.

“sure thing, angel. let me clean this up for you.” choso’s voice is generous as he bows his face towards your hips with the reverence of one before the altar. he leaves no room for your answer. an eager tongue swipes across your thigh and laps at the blood which pools there. his movements are indulgent, refined, as he holds your legs open with intimidating palms and drinks you in like medicine.

“choso–” you gasp, unable to look away. his eyes flit back to meet yours in reply but he continues his ministrations, slow, teasing, as he ignores your cunt entirely and licks at the fresh wound until it’s finally, sacredly, clean. your newly beloved CHOSO glimmers with his spit when he pulls away. he smiles at you then, praying over your hips, lips stained red with your blood, with your being. 

“i may be their brother,” choso gestures towards the door, to the party which must still rage below, “but i’m your brother first, and now you’ll never forget it.”  

the words are followed by his tongue on your inner thigh, fervent this time, as he travels downwards, downwards from his name on your leg until his nose is a breath away from your clit. you thrust your hips towards him impatiently and he accepts it, gratefully, burying his face deep into your cunt like he’s searching for gold. choso lavishes your clit with plump lips and an eager tongue, drawing the bud into his mouth and kissing it until you cry, until your legs tremble as they ensnare him in your garden.

“choso–” you’re crying, voice transcendent throughout the frat house, his favorite song. there’s a tongue prodding against your hole and a silver ring on your clit and you lose yourself within it, within choso’s breath on your folds and the fire which erupts into chaos. 

when it comes to pleasing you, choso does not require air. he refuses to resurface as his tongue explores every inch, as he laps away at you with the passionate abandon only an older brother can provide. what you need, he needs, and what you desire most, choso is always willing to provide. he holds you steady as he works so you cannot escape him. he forces you into stillness as he abuses every sacred inch of your cunt, as he works you into a frenzy with his fingers and his tongue until you can think of nothing but wanting to cum. 

and then, then, at the precipice of pleasure, choso pulls away. you pause as you catch your breath, heartbeat like an earthquake, and recollect your shock. why has he stopped? where has he gone? you’re about to sit up, to feign sobriety, to demand what the matter is, when something cool and smooth presses against your clit.

choso’s cheek rests against your inner thigh as he presses the flat edge of the switchblade against your cunt. it’s cold and dangerous and sublime and you cannot help but think of the way it could ruin you, that if you shifted or choso wanted it everything could end here, now, forever. and it is this fear, coupled with the coolness of the blade suffocating your clit, with the alcohol in your bloodstream, that sends you into a place from which you may never return. 

the orgasm is as violent as a hurricane. the moment you tense and begin to quake with a strangled sob choso replaces the blade with his tongue and rides you through it, coating his lips with your cum and swallowing the vibrations and heightening the sensation until you are tortured by it, by the sting of pleasure and overstimulation and want. 

(“that’s it,” you think he says into your skin, but your ears ring too loudly to know. “cum for me, just like that.”) 

it takes some time for the waves to recede and for your body to become still again. with a head comprised of of jelly and limbs made of water you lie still, panting, as choso nonchalantly licks your slick from the switchblade with a hum and gingerly sets it back down on his dresser. you watch as he slides the belt out of his jeans and tosses it into the dark room, as he hovers above you like an angel and its lover. 

“better now?” he asks against your parted lips. you nod. he kisses you, deeply, a kiss made of iron and cum and blood, tongue swiping across your teeth before he draws the air from your lungs. your vision swims when he plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyebrows. he plants his love until there is nowhere left untouched, until you are buzzing with the security only your brother choso can give you. 

“yeah,” you mumble back to him, content, satisfied. even the sting of his name on your body is a pleasantry now. 

“good.” choso wipes the perspiration from your brow. his jeans scratch against your pelvis, and it is only then that you finally register his cock, hard and eager, waiting patiently for its turn. it is only then that you realize choso’s lesson is not yet over, that your brother’s desperate need has only begun. 

“now,” he purrs, gently, lovingly, “can you show me how much you love me?”

(as always, forever, you do. you show him your love, endlessly, even when the party ends and the house falls eerily silent. you show choso everything, all of it, loyally, just as he asks, with an only you, choso, and a no one else loves me like you.

because although choso offers his love to the brothers downstairs, he will always, forever, be your brother first, til death do you part.)

[prettyboykatsuki]

ღ what being loved by them feels like | bnha edition ღ

➳ incl. midoriya, bakugo, todoroki, and kirishima. 

➳ tags / warnings ;; food ment, alcohol ment. 

➳ wc ;; 1.9k

➳ a/n ;; should be gn i think but im tired asf so lmk

i. midoriya izuku

Slow. 

It’s an unspoken promise of forever tucked under his tongue when he speaks to you. The comfort of a strong hand on your shoulder, an arm around your waist as he whispers to you some drunken secret. It’s not meant to be romantic, not exactly - when your friends ask you about it you always respond the same way. 

“It’s just Midoriya,” with a passive glance somewhere else, a dismissive hand shaking away the disbelief that someone so extraordinary could love you. It is disbelief, effervescent in how it fills your stomach with that tingly feeling. Midoriya takes it slowly. 

Being loved by him feels like a Sunday. Not in how it’s the mark of something but a reminder of repition, how good it feels to do something over and over again. There is so much to love about a Sunday afternoon, the comfort of knowing there is always another Sunday that comes after. That the luxury of warmth that stretches so far it is no longer a commodity. 

You don’t have to worry about when the next time will be. Midoriya loves you in a such a way that next time is every time. That your happiness is not something to supplement but to nurture - with presence and patience and tender care. You wonder how someone with such reckless abandon can love so carefully, with nimble fingers that zip up the back of your dress when you ask. 

Midoriya loves you with his hands. Always with gnarled flesh and scars to the bone - that brush so eagerly against your own. Sometimes, he blushes. He never gets used to your comfortable intimacy - not at first. That slow love has a habit of being embarassing. It’s friendly, supposed to be anyways. But something about the way he’s encased your hand with his, the silence the blossoms and blooms. You wonder if he’s always been so warm - you tell him as much. 

He replies with a gentle voice, a wistful smile and reply - “Only for you,” 

You stare at him, wide-eyed - like somehow this is some kind of confession, and he laughs. He laughs deep from his chest and the sound is too much. Midoriya has loved you so slowly, you seem not to have realized that every word from his mouth is a confession. It’s sweet, sticky like honey how it drips onto your tongue. You find yourself drinking it without thinking, without realizing how it’s the only thing you can taste when he’s next to you. 

Being loved by him is a slow feeling - the kind of love that stretches comfortably over time like old jeans. He always seems to fit you just right, like he was made for you. He likes to think so, anyway. 

ii. bakugo katsuki

Sober.

It’s the kind of love you’d expect to intoxicate you. Rattle inside of your lungs as it pushes against your ribs, the kind that makes you drunk off of adrenaline. There’s something about him that is fast, like the flash of an explosion. You’d believe he would love you before you could catch him in your palms. It is a cold can of coffee pressed to your cheek, a clanking knee as you sit next to each other on the concrete. 

You are fallen trees, a reminder that even something with roots need someone to hold them sometimes - that is natures will to lean against each other when the world has stopped holding you up. That when you are to fall, someone will be there to listen to the sound of your melancholy. He is evidence of your sorrow, the one that keeps you steady when gravity has failed you not once, but many times.

He holds your face in his untrustworthy hands, the ones that carry the weight of his violence. Clicking his teeth as he leans your head back, wiping the corners of your mouth of crumbs with his thumb, wet with his saliva. Something off-handed leaves his lips, something like “eat carefully, dumbass,” right to the core of your humanity as you move forward. 

Being loved by him is like hangover food. It’s the sated warmth in your belly, settled in your chest. Your mouth enveloping a comforting thing - leaves your body so light, you don’t ask about when the next time you’ll have it. This is enough to feed you - hold you off until your body needs to feel full again. You are never hungry. Satisfaction without sedation. A love without any misery. It is fullness that keeps you steady.

It’s when he touches you. He uses a strong hand to push your knees down from where they’re tucked, drags you to him until your weight leans on his lap. He enraptures your body like you are something to be kept safe.  Keeps you and holds you there when you bristle in discomfort. His chin rests on your shoulder as he holds you to his chest. 

“Why do you love about me, anyway,” you ask, mumble quietly like you are afraid he will hear you. 

“Everything, dumbass,” 

He means it like he only does with you. When your heart doesn’t race, doesn’t run, doesn’t flee from his love but slows, steadies and waits. He won’t let you escape from his sincerity. He keeps you in the center of his love - in the palm of his hands because you are the everything. You must face it with sobriety. A mind free of any misgivings, a heart that beats in sync with his like a soft thump. A familiar, shared rhythm. 

Love that leaves you fixed in middle court, with the lights left to create halo around you. A temperate, sober love. 

iii. todoroki shouto. 

Heavy.

It’s not an unpleasant weight to bear. Love that is given carefully, like a mallet on hot iron - it strikes you before it becomes something. It’s love that is tangible, before it is anything else. It curves the wires around you, makes a frame of your body before it covers you with fur to keep your warmth. You are the muse for the sculptors hands. Once he has found you, his gaze is funneled towards the curve of your smile. There is nothing else for his sights to linger on, nothing else for him to see.

His stormy eyes speak languages that have been lost to the common tongue. They are the ones that whisper melodies of you - that squint and widen and shift to the sound of your beating your heart. Todoroki loves you like he is re-learning an ancient tongue - which is to say, he is trying to remember what love feels like as he has long forgotten it. With clumsiness tucked into his belt loops, anxiety looped around his shoulders - always reminded of the kind of lover he cannot be for you.

His love is heavy because he puts himself into it. It’s heavy like the spring downpour, showers you until your skin sticks to your clothes and hang and clings desperately to your frame. You give up warmth for invigoration - how your soaked bones feel so lively as love washes over them. Cleansing like a baptism and thrice as holy, Todoroki’s love is what’s like when he meshes all of himself. Not ice that freezes, nor fire that scorches but a heavy and forgiving rain.

It is an easy morning - the comfort of a chest and its lungs - soft, even breathing as world becomes quiet outside. Fingers that dance over your sides, trace little artworks down your side and on your hips - lips that kiss the crown of your head. It is the warm hello as your eyes flutter open, the way his gaze pins you to your bed and makes sure it’s the last place you want to be.

His love is heavy, so heavy that every word of love he’s ever told you, you carry. It brings you strength when he tells you

“Good morning, my love,”

“Shouto,” you will mumble, with drooping eyes. Todoroki will smile like a half-moon, taper into a full grin until you can see his joy on display. He knocks his forehead into yours with something needy on the corners of mouth. He finds himself overwhelmed, wraps his arms all around you and squeezes.

“Sho, baby - you’re heavy,” through a series of giggles. He sighs, buries his nose into your shoulder and hums some song he’s made just for you.

“Sorry,”

“Don’t be,”

iv. kirishima eijirou

Aching.

It aches like a bruise weeks after its arrivals, a dull and gentle kind of ache that doesn’t hurt as much as it used to. It’s not that Kirishima makes you ache, but that loving him is a reminder of your growing pains. To love so much it aches is to love hard enough to bruise, to crush your ribs in the pursuit of adoration. It is the way his large palms rest at the nape of your neck, smooth down your chest with a comfort of presence.

It’s the hand that holds onto yours a little too tight, the way he grips onto you like you are going to disappear. He loves like how an ache stays - refuses to go anywhere no matter how much medicine you take. Love sickness is a deadly disease that creeps up on your spine. A bruise on your tailbone that doesn’t let you rest until you remember it. There’s such thing as a pleasant - like the kind of pains that makes us grit our teeth with a smile.

It’s yearning. The kind that takes place in ritual - the kind that you see when he takes your shoes off your sore feet. It’s the kiss on your calves and the strong hands that massage the knots in your legs, the whisper of “’m sorry,” when you help from the pain. It is love that hurts until it doesn’t anymore, until you realize that it had been trying to make you feel better all along.

After all, it is a growing pain - and all growing pains must stop aching eventually. Kirishima loves you and it hurts - it is like how we fall in love, afraid of what will find us when our feet touch the ground. Love without soreness is love without relief. It is a bruising force, and unwilling strength that only someone unbreakable could harbor. A wall that will never fall, a love that will never stop pushing. We must break something before it’s to be repaired, must break it down to it’s bare essentials.

His love is commiserating. It’s the togetherness that only dawn can bring when you’ve lost sight of everything but each other. The shadows of your lashes on your cheek and how he kisses them like they are going somewhere. Sunshine that brings pleasant warmth to your skin. Love that stains your skin, makes it thrum underneath the surface and runs through all of you like blood. It’s love that bleeds just as much as it heals.

Kirisihimas love is nothing short of an aching - a longing deep in your shoulders, settled in your collarbones. The kind that can only be soothed by endurance, acceptance. How he loves the parts of you that you cannot find beautiful. He faces it all head on like a wall must.

“Eiji,” with a trembling lip, a tired hand against his chest as he cups your face. You don’t remember why you’re crying but it aches a little when he smiles, grins with sharp teeth.

“I love you, baby,” he says with a trembling lip, wet eyes “God, I love you so much,”

[archerdaryl]

NSFW Alphabet: Daryl Dixon Edition

Happy Valentine’s Day! I’ve been planning on doing the NSFW Alphabet for Daryl for a while, but I hope it makes up for my absence nonetheless. I’ve tried to keep it as in character as possible -- or at least true to my perceptions of his character. Please be warned that this has explicit sexual content. Other than that, enjoy!  ♡

A for Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

After catching his breath, Daryl will pull you in close and ask you if you’re alright in that thick Southern drawl of his. You can tell how much he cares about you by the slight smile on his lips and the way he traces faint circles on your hip with his thumb. He never wants to let you go, but eventually he’ll get you both a drink and ask if you want something to eat. Sometime he’ll even help you get dressed or pull you into the shower. Daryl may not be the type of man to verbalise his affection, but he certainly shows it. 

B for Body Part (of theirs and their partner)

Daryl doesn’t think particularly highly of himself when it comes to aesthetics, but he does like his arms. They’re toned. They’re strong. Not only can he keep you safe, make you feel like home is within his arms, but he can also hold you up effortlessly as he thrusts into you. Whether it’s against a wall or simply holding you up in the middle of a room with your thighs wrapped around his waist, there’s no chance he’ll drop you. 

If he can’t choose your smile, he would choose your thighs. He loves the way they look and feel against his hands, the smooth supple skin and the curve of your ass. He often naps on your inner thigh as you read on the couch, using it as a pillow as he takes in the smell of your vanilla and peach body wash. What he loves the most, however, is the strength of them clasped around his head as he eats you out. He’d happily suffocate within them if it meant getting you off. 

C is for Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

It takes a long time for him to feel comfortable coming undone inside of you. The fear of pregnancy aside, he thinks the world of you and nothing of himself. He doesn’t think you deserve filth like that, but little does he know -- you like his filth. The first time is an accident, but there’s no denying how good it feels and you soon join him in climax as if being filled with his cum is what pushed you over the edge. You kiss him over and over to let him know it’s okay, and from then on he finds it harder and harder to find the will to pull out. 

Your cum, however, he can’t get enough of. Nothing riles him up like slipping his fingers into your jeans and feeling how slick you are. Your cum is liquid gold as far as he’s concerned, nothing short of a drug for him from the smell to the taste. Knowing that he can make you feel like that is intoxicating. He only ever wants to make you feel good, to feel wanted and needed and for you to whimper his name while he worships you between your legs.

D is for Dirty Secret 

Daryl often fantasizes about fucking you on his motorcycle. He isn’t sure why, it may not even be particularly comfortable, he just knows it really gets him going. The only problem is that it’s so out in the open and anyone could catch you, but that’s not going to stop him if you’re willing to try. 

E  is for Experience (how experienced are they?)

Daryl is not particularly experienced. He hasn’t had sex since the world turned to shit and even prior to that it wasn’t something he obsessed over like his brother. When you first start sleeping together, he’s uncertain of himself and scared of hurting you but your gentle touch and sweet gaze are nothing short of loving. Thankfully, he is incredibly perceptive. His desire to please you drives him. He feels how your body reacts, listens to your whines and whimpers, and watches your face contort. You tell him what to do without even realising it and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t listen. 

F is for Favourite Position

Any position where he can get as close to you as possible. He wants to feel every inch of you, your breasts against his chest, your hot breath against his shoulder, the scrape of your nails down his back. The closeness he desires fills a void inside of him. He wants to overwhelm him, he wants to hold you close and let the world around you disappear. He wants to hear you moan into his ear -- no -- against his mouth as he desperately kisses you to try and keep you quiet. Whether it’s missionary or from behind, as long as he can hold you in some way he’s happy. 

G is for Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? or funny?)

Though he might laugh at your quips, Daryl generally takes sex quite seriously. He finds it incredibly vulnerable and to him it is ultimately a profession of love. Having said this, he can’t help but sometimes smirk to himself while getting you off. 

H is for Hair (how well groomed are they? do they like body hair?)

You might have preferences regarding your own body hair but Daryl doesn’t care about how well groomed you are. It’s the Goddamn apocalypse -- who has the time to deal with all of that? As for himself, he might trim here and there out of uncertainty (he isn’t sure what you prefer) but that’s likely the extent of his grooming habits. 

I is for Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Daryl is romantic without meaning to be -- he isn’t sure what romance is beyond a steak dinner and a bouquet of flowers and the world isn’t exactly built for that anymore. He loves to kiss you and hold you close and he often checks that you’re okay. Even during spontaneous or your more carnal fucks, he’s always conscious of your reactions and wants you to feel in control even if he’s the one taking the lead. 

J is for Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

It wasn’t often Daryl touched himself before you came along. Sometimes he did it just to release some tension rather than because he was horny. Prior to realising you reciprocate his feelings, he often lost himself in thought fantasizing about you only to get hard and frustrated. He thought about your lips, the way you might sound when you moaned his name, how your thighs would feel wrapped around his head or his waist. If he didn’t curse himself for being a pervert, he’d find himself touching himself late at night or in the shower. Now that you’re his, he doesn’t feel the need to masturbate at all. 

K is for Kink 

Daryl likes it when you pull at his hair. Something about the desperation of it and the sweet sting of his scalp only makes him thrust into you harder. Though he might not realise it himself, he also has a praise kink -- being told how good he makes you feel drives him over the edge. He wants to give you everything you desire and more and hearing you moan in approval only makes him fuck you harder.

He may be apprehensive about some of your kinks, especially if they involve hurting you, but you only have to explain to him that the way he feels when you pull his hair is how you feel when he spanks you and he’s suddenly willing to try. Other than that, he’s likely more than willing to oblige and partake in your kinks if it means pleasing you. 

L is for Location 

Daryl isn’t particularly picky about where you have sex. He just wants you to feel safe and comfortable. You often end up fucking on his couch, but there’s also been a couple of instances in the shower, once on Rick’s pool table, and plenty of times in the watch towers. You almost had sex in the chapel once, but Gabriel came in singing hymns and you couldn’t stop laughing.

Though he prioritises you above anything else, fucking you into the floor or even the ground outside really gets him going. It feels dirtier, primal even, like what God originally intended or some shit like that he can’t put into words. It feels like you and him against the world and that’s all he wants. 

M is for Motivation (what turns them on/gets them going)

It doesn’t take much for you to turn him on, but he loves it when you initiate sex. The reassurance that you want him as much as he wants you is everything to him and he’s more than happy to oblige. He also loves it when you wander around in one of his shirts after a shower. It hangs off of your body like a dress and falls to the tops of your thighs so that when you bend he can see the curve of your ass. You know this, of course, and sometimes don’t wear underwear just to drive him that little bit more insane.  

N is for NO (what they will not do)

Again, Daryl doesn’t want to hurt you and he certainly doesn’t want to disrespect you. He also won’t fuck you beyond the safety of settlement walls if he isn’t absolutely sure the pair of you are safe and cannot be see or heard.  

O is for Oral (preferences, skills, etc)

It’s a long time before Daryl feels comfortable enough to let you go down on him which is primarily to do with his low opinion of himself. He already thinks he doesn’t deserve you, why would he think he deserves to experience you like that? He gets in his head, working himself up into believing you think you have to give him head when the reality is you want to. 

Going down on you is Daryl’s favourite thing to do. At first he was a little uncertain, not because he didn’t want to do it but because he didn’t want to disappoint you. He enjoys every part of eating you out from trailing kisses down your body to feeling you writhe under him as he sucks on your clit. He often makes it his mission to make you climax before he can even think about fucking you so that he can feel you pulse against his mouth and lap up your cum like he’s been been without water for days. He’s obsessed with your pussy. He’s sure it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen -- besides your eyes and that sunshine smile of yours, at least. 

P is for Pace

How hard or slow he fucks you depends on the moment and your moods. In the beginning he struggled with keeping a steady pace, but he has always prioritised making you climax first. You find that he is often passionate, sensual, and slow after a tough supply run, as if he’s trying to ground himself and find home within you. Other times, he likes to spend his time teasing you until you’re dripping wet and begging him to fuck you hard into the mattress.

Q is for Quickie (does he like them)

Daryl prefers a real opportunity to have sex over a quickie, but when the opportunity strikes he simply isn’t going to say no. Many of your quickies have occurred in the shower or in the pantry, but you’ve also been known to make use of the barn -- especially when you want the freedom to make a little noise. 

R is for Risk (experimenting, taking risks, etc)

While Daryl is more than willing to experiment, the idea of getting caught by someone mortifies him. It’s too vulnerable and intimate. He’d likely lose his temper immediately if someone were to walk in on you two having sex, especially if they were in a position to see too much of you. 

S  is for Stamina

This depends on a number of things, like the mood Daryl is in and how his day went. Sometimes, he wants it to last because he’s trying to lose himself and find relief. Other times he simply wants to make you feel good for as long as possible, draw orgasm after orgasm out of that pretty mouth of yours. It isn’t often you have enough time in the day to get more than one round in, but when you do it tends to be filthy and carnal and he loves every second of it. 

T is for Toys

Daryl has little to no experience with sex toys which means you’re the one who has to introduce them. He’d rather use his hands or his mouth instead of relying on a vibrator to get you off. Watching you get yourself off, however, is another matter entirely, especially when it’s him you’re fantasizing about and his name you’re whimpering as you fuck yourself in front of him. 

V is for Volume

In his day to day life, Daryl isn’t particularly talkative and this doesn’t change much during sex -- especially in the beginning. He often swears and he certainly grunts and groans, but it’s only later on in your relationship when he’s more secure in himself that he finds himself encouraging you to cum as if making you tremble is what he was put on this Earth to do. 

He loves to listen to you moan and whimper. The louder you are, the better, but since you have to be careful he’s also learned to love trying to keep you quiet so that you don’t get caught. He especially enjoys hearing you say his name and telling him how he makes you feel. 

W is for Wildcard

Daryl isn’t into anything too extreme or unconventional when it comes to sex, however it surprises both of you how into ‘phone sex’ he is when you’re both apart and have no choice but to talk to each other over the radio. You initiated it as a joke, thinking he wouldn’t even try to entertain your nonsense, but he’s soon trying to keep himself from grunting down the walkey while asking you -- in so many words -- to tell him everything you’re thinking, doing, and wearing. 

X is for X-Ray 

It took a long time for Daryl to be comfortable being completely naked in front of you, though that’s more because of the scars on his back rather than his lack of self-confidence. You make him feel good, feel worthy, and he soon forgets how self-conscious he is when he’s with you. 

Y is for Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Daryl doesn’t have the highest sex drive, especially if you want to compare him to his brother, but it doesn’t take much for you to get him hard and desperate to be inside of you. You have a higher sex drive than he does, he might even tease you for it, but he’ll never complain when he gets to hold you close and show you how much you mean to him.

Z is for ZZZs (how fast do they fall asleep)

After sex, Daryl likes to talk to you for a little while or just take in the moment with you in his arms. You might not talk about anything of substance, but he enjoys the calm after the storm. He makes sure that you’re comfortable, holding you close and kissing the back of your neck before he allows himself to drift off to sleep. 

[whisperlullaby]

“I can’t keep this conversation going if you don’t put a shirt on.” With Sam Wilson and smutty please asfjkjssjk the way I ran to your inbox, Becca 🐝🥺

Me dear sweet Bee. For you anything.

The Talk

Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader

Words: 892

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex

Summary: you need to talk to Sam and he's been avoiding you. Finally you had enough and track him down.

A/N: this is my first completed work in 2 weeks and I am so happy! Thank you @river-soul for beta reading it I can't tell you how much it means to me. Enjoy!

“Sam we can’t keep avoiding this,” you yelled, banging on Sam’s door. “You promised you’d talk to me weeks ago.”

You stood outside his room fuming. It had been three weeks since your sparring session turned into a makeout session. He was promptly called away on a mission and promised to talk to you when he got back. Sam had been back a full week before you decided to take matters into your own hands and force him to talk to you.

You let out a frustrated groan when he didn’t answer.

“This isn’t over Sam WIlson,” you shouted as you turned the corner, colliding with someone.

“What isn’t over?” Sam asked, wiping his face with a towel.

“Oh I thought-,” you started before the anger sparked in you again. “We need to talk.”

Sam sighed and looked at you. “Yeah I know, come on.”

You followed him into his room and when the door clicked shut you snapped.

“You’ve been avoiding me. I cannot believe you would-,” when you looked up Sam had taken his shirt off and you turned around, feeling heat rise to your face. “I can’t keep this conversation going if you don’t put a shirt back on.”

You felt your cunt throb at the sight of him shirtless. As you attempted to get your breathing under control you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked over to see Sam standing there, still shirtless, with a soft look on his face.

“I know I have been avoiding it. I was just nervous to hear what you would have to say.” Sam reasoned as you spun to face him.

You reached up and cupped his face in your hands. He leaned down to press his forehead to yours and sighed.

“Sam. I have wanted to kiss you since I first saw you. I thought you were avoiding me because you were nervous to let me down.” You rubbed your thumbs over his cheeks and smiled.

Sam wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

“You are a fierce, loyal, and loving person. If I rejected you I would be the dumbest person on the planet.” Sam hovered his lips over yours for a moment before giving you a soft slow kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tilted your head to deepen the kiss. Not breaking the kiss, Sam walked you both to the bedroom. You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him away slightly and causing him to throw you a confused look. You smirked and pulled off your shirt, tossing it to the side. Sam let out a low growl and attached his lips to your neck before moving to your chest and gently laying you on the bed. He pulled your bra down and took a nipple in his mouth laving it with his tongue. Kissing down your body Sam pulled off your leggings and dropped them in the pile with your shirt.

“No underwear, honey?” Sam questioned, kissing his way up your legs. “Such a pretty pussy, I need to have a taste.”

Before you could say anything he wrapped his lips around your clit gently sucked. He pulled you forward until your ass was hanging off the bed, and then licked a slow stripe up your cunt. You moaned at the sensation as his tongue fucked you and his finger drew circles on your bud. Soon you felt your orgasm build inside of you and you rocked your hips to meet Sam’s mouth.

“Fuck, Sam, I’m coming.” You whined.

Sam moved his mouth to your clit and sucked it as his fingers found their way into your channel. He curved them into your sweet spot and you clenched down as your orgasm washed over you. You reached down to pull Sam up to you, crashing your lips to his for a needy kiss. You hummed at the taste of your release on his tongue. He stood up to take off his pants, freeing his thick cock. You licked your lips and reached for it which caused Sam to chuckle.

“Don’t worry honey we have all the time in the world for that, but right now I just need to see your tight pussy swallow my cock,” Sam said as he hovered over you, gathering your slick on his length.

You moaned as he slowly pushed into your velvet walls, stilling for a moment.

“Shit, Sam, you feel so good,” you whined as he began slowly moving in you.

Soon his thrusts became deeper as he stretched you out in the most delicious way. You were meeting his thrusts as the coil in your stomach started to tighten and your nails scraped down his back. Your second orgasm hit you as Sam’s movements became more erratic and he spilled his release into you.

Sam pulled out of you and went into the bathroom to get a warm washcloth. After he finished cleaning you both up he laid down next to you and pulled you onto his chest.

“So, are you going to wait another week to talk to me about this?” You teased.

“What makes you think you’re leaving this bed for a week?”

[nightowlwriting]

summary: fjord takes care of the mighty nein. you take care of fjord. (part 4/13 of the kindness series, a thematically connected series of c2/exu imagines)

word count: 2.7k

warnings: mentions of self-hatred, bullying, lack of self-confidence

note: idk why this one took me so long and, honestly, it was almost super nsfw lmfao

masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Fjord is a man who appears to know exactly what he needs and when he needs it. You’re not so sure. You tend to hang back when the group talks to people, or finds jobs for coin, just to watch. That’s what you like to do - get information, tuck it away, use it later.

It just happens that sometimes you end up watching Fjord. There’s no reason, not really. He’s the leader by default, no matter how much Nott will say that it’s Caleb. He does most of the talk, smiling all coy and leaning against things to charm the party’s way through whatever Gods forsaken situation you end up in. It mostly works, with some exceptions. There are things you begin to notice in the nights after Fjord has failed to charm someone with a well-placed wink, or a sir or a ma’am. He makes the fire just a little bit larger, stacking logs and kindling and using his flint so that Caleb doesn’t have to use his magic. He cooks heartier food, sometimes even disappearing and coming back with a skewered animal from the forest to add to the pot of simmering soup. He takes the first watch and doesn’t wake anyone until halfway through the second watch so that everyone can sleep longer, even if it makes him crabby the morning after.

You come to a conclusion. Fjord takes care of people when he feels like he’s not enough. He overcompensates in his acts of kindness when something he does fails - but why? To make you all stay? To make sure you know his worth in the group? To make up for whatever he sees as a downfall? Honestly, you’re worried it’s a little bit of all three. You’re not really sure about how the mind works - that would be more for Molly, or Caleb honestly - but growing up in an orphanage with children who pick and prod at your every physical characteristic cannot be good for a person. Especially with Fjord insisting that he doesn’t have a last name, despite the times that he introduces himself and you see it die on his lips before he can say it. There’s something there, but you won’t pry. People deserve their secrets. They deserve to keep something for themselves.

If he wants to keep his last name, that’s fine with you. If he wants to keep the self-loathing inside of him until he explodes, well, that’s not fine with you. That’s why when you realize that he decompresses by making himself useful, as if the group might dismiss him just because a few people were immune to his charms, you decide to do something. No amount of reassurance from anyone will convince him otherwise and the rest of the group tends to shrug away from his slightly overbearing kindness when something goes south. Caleb, Beau, and Molly are just uncomfortable with it while Jester is usually too engrossed in journaling, Tusk Love, or talking to the Traveler. Nott is somewhere between Caleb and Yasha (uncomfortable and straight-up not around to be doted on.) And… Well, that leaves you.

It’s not that you mind Fjord’s constant doting after he perceives something to have gone wrong, but it’s hard to let him in. Your life before the Mighty Nein wasn’t exactly peaches and cream, either, but you know that he needs this. He needs to feel like he’s doing something for someone or he’ll break. You only notice that, though, after a particularly rough, rainy day of trying to get information out of people for a job. Fjord had forgotten something important which threw off the communication and sent everyone you were working with into an angry tizzy. By the time you make it back to the tavern, everyone is soaked to the bone and cranky, even you - and you tried your best to avoid getting out in the rain. What you really want to do is go back to your room and change out of your wet clothes and then go to fucking bed, but you hold back. The group disperses one by one until it’s just you and Fjord left at the bar, and before you can make your leave you see his hands shaking. His hands, which are large and calloused and strong, are shaking like a leaf in the wind. There’s no other outward sign that he’s feeling stressed or upset, and that surprises you. It also worries you. This is not how Fjord acts when something goes wrong. He doesn’t sit at the bar and brood over an ale - he mother-hens his friends until they’re sick to death of hearing his deep, drawling voice.

The combination of these things is probably what makes you pause halfway out of your seat, eyes narrow and trained on him. He makes eye contact for a brief second before looking back down to his drink. You know that approaching and asking him if he’s okay will get you nowhere but you can’t leave him alone at the bar, not when you know he’s stewing on every mistake, every misstep, whether they really happened or he’s just overanalyzing his movements. He’s your… He’s more than a friend to you, despite the fact that he doesn’t know that and you don’t show it outwardly. Fjord means too much to you to be able to let him sit and spiral into a funnel of self-doubt. You know that it will be weird to put your pride to the side and ask for help, but you also know that you don’t really need help.

But asking Fjord for help means that he’ll feel better and you think that’s a very good reason to shelf your pride for a night.

He barely looks up at you when you approach, still dripping all over the tavern’s floors and hesitant to speak. He doesn’t speak, either, just takes another long pull from his ale to bide his time until you leave. (Probably.) You take the leap first and say his name. “Fjord.” He doesn’t look at you. “I know we’ve all had a bad day,”

“You can say that again,” He snorts.

“We have,” You stress, one hand finding the hilt of the dagger on your waist for some sort of comfort. You’re wildly uncomfortable and can feel the urge to run, get away, flee building up in your gut. If you’re not careful, it’ll spill out your mouth and you’ll be forced out of the tavern for the night in humiliation and self-preservation. “It has been one hell of a day today. I do not want to be alone.” Your sentence cuts off briskly and Fjord looks up in surprise. Your face mirrors his - untamed surprise. You had really opened your mouth to ask if he wanted to find a table and listen to your vent but what came out was I do not want to be alone. You blink and think what the fuck? Before Fjord is shaking off his surprise and standing.

“I suppose I can give Molly the room for the night.” He extends an arm towards you but doesn’t look at you. He’s doing a much better job of hiding how strange you’re acting than you are but still, you’re not going to let this opportunity pass. You wrap your own arm around Fjord’s and he begins to lead you toward the stairs. “Anything specific bothering you?”

“Nothing really,” You hum as you respond, hoping that by allowing him past your walls that it will help him, “Today is just a bad day.” Fjord halfheartedly agrees and your nerves shoot through the roof when he leaves you at your door, explaining that he’s going to warn Molly that he won’t be in the room tonight. You nod at him and slip into your own room, leaving the door cracked so that he won’t feel awkward about entering. Your laundry is everywhere and you grit your teeth, doing your best to hold back a scream. God damnit, you’re about to have the man that you have a crush on in your room and today is the day you threw your laundry all over?

It doesn’t even matter that he’s traveled with you in carts where there is no possible way to not overlap on laundry slash unmentionables. You still dash about, shoving your laundry into a pile in the corner and covering it with your weapons and shield just before Fjord raps his knuckles against the door frame, calling your name. You shiver and invite him in, wringing your hands as you stand in front of the unlit fireplace. “Are you okay?” He’s so earnest and it makes you feel… A little bad. You don’t want to say no to having Fjord be with you overnight because his presence is so calming, but it’s also… He’s not in your room because…

Ugh. “Fjord,” You say before you can stop yourself, “Okay, so, you can’t be mad but I noticed when things go wrong you’re really, really hard on yourself and you shouldn’t be. And I also noticed that when you’re hard on yourself you dive into taking care of other people because, I don’t know, maybe it feels like you’re doing something good? I’m not sure, but I really meant to ask if you wanted to talk but then that came out instead but I can’t let you stay in here if you don’t know why I asked.” He stands there, taking in what you’ve said, and then shakes his head. Your room is dark - too dark for you to see whether or not the small smile on his face is actually there or if you’re imagining it. When he chuckles, you’re more apt to believe that Fjord is actually smiling even after the day he’s had. “Um,” You finally cut the silence, “Please say something.”

“You mean to tell me,” He drawls, stepping slowly closer and removing his chest plate. It’s like his mood has gone a full 180 from where it was when he left you outside of your room, “That you looked so awkward and like a li’l kicked puppy because you wanted to help me feel better?” He sets his chest plate on the table, coming into your sight as your vision begins to adjust. You don’t get a good look at what’s happening on his face because you look away very quickly, setting your jaw.

“Well, when you put it that way,” You grumble and cross your arms, “You just like to help people - it makes you feel better.”

Fjord comes to a stop in front of you and sighs, but doesn’t say anything. Your hands begin to shake and honestly, you regret your stupid fucking decision to try and help Fjord out. You wouldn’t be here, standing in front of him and purely humiliated, if you didn’t look at him and notice so much. He finally responds, one of his hands coming up to touch at your bicep and then trails up until he’s cupping your shoulder. “I do like to help people,” He’s speaking more from his chest than his mouth, and you can almost feel the rumble through the grip he has on your shoulder. It’s not tight but it’s there, heavy and comforting. “I didn’t think anyone noticed.”

“I notice a lot,” You supply, tugging your chin away when Fjord tries to use the other hand to make you look at him. It’s only after he says your name in a soft voice that you look. You’re surprised to see that he looks soft… Soft and fond. “Please,” You whisper, uncrossing your arms to grab both of his wrists. You’re not even sure what you’re asking for but the way that you whispered please is the closest to begging that you’ve ever gotten.

“Please?” Fjord says, sounding incredibly confused but soft at the same time. You shake your head, trying again to look away from him. He ducks down, catching your eyes again, “It’s just me, remember? This is why you asked me here, isn’t it? To help you feel better?”

To your horror, you feel yourself mist up. “I invited you here so you could feel better, Fjord. I don’t want you to be so hard on yourself, and the only time I’ve seen you calm down after a bad day is when you’re taking care of one of us. I thought… Even if I don’t really need to be taken care of, that would help you. I just want… I want you to feel better.” He steps closer toward you, caging you into the rough stone of the fireplace but doesn’t speak. You’re almost worried that Fjord is going to cold clock you, but then he does something that you expected even less.

He surges forward and kisses you. Every part of him nearly engulfs you - the hand on your shoulder moves to the back of your neck, anchoring you to him, while he groans deep in the back of his throat. Your hands scramble for some purchase to express your surprise, landing on his hearty shoulders, clenching in the fabric of his shirt. You sigh into Fjord’s groan, and press as close as possible to his body heat. No matter how much you don’t want to admit it, you’ve been craving this: closeness with another person, pressing tight against their body… You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that when you thought of that, of intimacy, that you pictured Fjord. You just didn’t think he pictured you.

Fjord surges forward again, and you feel the soft scrape of tusks against you when he opens his mouth to breathe, keeping his nose pressed tightly to yours. “I didn’t think,” He says, accent thinner than you’ve heard previously, “I never dreamed that you would feel…”

“Oh, I feel,” You tell him, slowly moving your hands until you can intertwine your fingers behind his neck, “I feel so much, Fjord.”

“You never said…” He sneaks another kiss between his words, dropping his hands to squeeze at your waist, “You never even let on that you see me this way.”

“I do a lot of looking and not a lot of showing,” You remind him - it was something he had said to you when you first joined his group. I always catch you lookin’, but you never show. It’s terribly funny because he’d said it while the Mighty Nein were all naked, sudsy, and sharing a bathhouse at Molly’s insistence. The group had a field day with that and still does. The memory is apparently still fresh in Fjord’s head because a blush creeps high over his cheeks and he looks away, flustered. “You’re strong and pretty and beautiful and you take care of us so well. Even when you’ve had a bad day. I look up to you so much, but at the same time I want, perhaps selfishly, to take care of you in ways that you might not take care of the group.” He almost looks surprised at what you’ve said, but then it melts into a look of soft adoration. Fjord kisses you again and then drags his lips lightly over the arch of your cheek before he rests his head on your shoulder where he inhales deeply, his breath tickling your throat. You can feel his hands contracting against your waist, like he wants to touch and feel but is settling for keeping them where they are and feeling the soft give of your flesh. You know your heart is spinning at what feels like a million miles per hour, and you know that he can probably hear it, too. You can’t find anything in you that cares, though, because you’re so close to Fjord. He smells like saltwater, you realize. Not in a way that it seems like he’s been coughing it up again, or in the ocean, but just sort of… Naturally. Like he’s always smelled that way. Like you’ve always known he smelled that way. Like you were always meant to know and to find comfort in it. You pull yourself closer, relishing in the way that you hold each other, and Fjord sighs. You can feel the way that he relaxes underneath your hold and you relax, too.

This… This is the way that it’s supposed to be. This is how you can do for Fjord what he’s done for your team - except different. Except more.

[codenamed-queenie]

#BatsInQuarantine

I am going insane. So I poured my restlessness into one long and very detailed post and got super into it. Please enjoy this hot mess.

The Justice League, being the well-meaning virus-proof Super Friends that they are, took one good look at the news, one good look at their non-powered friends Ollie, Bruce, and their families, and collectively decided that these normal humans must be Protected At All Costs.

Now, keep in mind, Bruce is never one to roll over when it comes to being benched. 

However, he understands the importance of social distancing. He knows he needs to set a good example for his kids, and keep up appearances as Gotham’s Most Responsible Multi-Billionaire. 

So. Quarantine it is. 

But how are his kids handling it?

Dick - 

100% on board in the beginning. Gotta do the Responsible Thing. Gotta set a Good Example. Besides, guys, this is gonna be Fun. Quality Family Time is always a Must.

He lasted 2 days. 

Then he started to get twitchy. 

And as everyone knows? A Trapped Dick Grayson is a Feral Dick Grayson.

He bounces off the walls.

Literally.

“I have to climb.” 

“Dick, no.”  

“I have to climb everything.”

Has scaled the manor 16 times already. Has climbed the chandelier. The banister. Bruce. The roof. The Cave. Anything in the house that’s been bolted down and especially anything that hasn’t. 

Duke found him clinging to the wall 10 ft off the ground like Spiderman and screamed so loud it shattered glass. 

Desperate for news of the outside. 

He thrives off of it like a starving man. 

Was the one to suggest he and Barbara take a break to Social Distance from each other (”Sorry, babe, kissing spreads germs”) and experienced Instant Regret(TM) approximately 5 minutes after. 

The Family has labelled him a Flight Risk Level 1 (Most likely to say f**k it and make a break for the outside world)

Jason - 

Accidentally got trapped inside the manor with the others when Bruce called Shutdown. If he had his way, he’d be chilling in his favorite safe-house right now, binging The Witcher with Roy and Artemis, and not worrying about finding a stray brother in his sock drawer.

But he’s nothing if not an opportunist. 

The way he sees it, Jason has 3 options:

Self Improvement

Self Isolation (See Duke, Cass, and Damian)

Descension Into Madness (See Dick and Steph)

And, well, he always wanted to try a few things. Now he’s got the free time to do it.

So he settles on baking. 

Alfred’s got enough food and raw ingredients stored up to feed an army. (Not because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder in times like these. But because he’s a Panic-Buying-Hoarder all the time. Just try feeding 11+ teenagers sometime.)

Uses recipes he finds off Google.

His first few attempts are, in a word, ‘tragic’.

Alfred slips him a few of his recipe cards, and Jason suddenly starts seeing Results. 

Turns out he’s pretty good at this baking thing once he gets the hang of it. 

Hope everyone’s okay eating nothing but pie, macaroons, biscuits, and whatever else Jason whips up. 

Cause that’s gonna be the only food left by the time he’s done. 

Barbara - 

Self-quarantined with her dad. 

They’ve been binge-watching classic black and white movies together.

It’s a fun time, but she’s started to get a little antsy. Loving her dad and wanting to be around him 24/7 are, understandably, mutually exclusive. 

Calls the manor to video-chat every day.

For her sanity just as much as theirs. 

Gives everyone little challenges to film on their phones and send in. She makes compilations of everyone’s submissions so they can all watch and laugh together. 

Bonus points for Creativity

One comp shows the family trying to drop Mentos into coke bottles. 

Dick did a handstand, and dropped his Mento from the second story balcony. 

Tim did it wearing the Batman cowl. The soda exploded into his face, and the rest of the video is just Bruce’s Shrieking.

Stephanie tried it, but the bottle tipped. Everyone on camera screamed as the bottle rocketed through the front window. 

She spends most of her calls having one-on-one convos with Dick.

They’ve come up with little code phrases so they can be Cheesy even with family members lurking in the background. 

She thinks the way he clings to the monitor is cute. 

Almost like he’s giving her a hug through the screen. 

(It’s easier than letting herself worry about his mental state, at least)

Tim -

Oh this boy.

Freaked out for the first five minutes before he decided ‘hey wait, Bruce is letting me stay in my pajamas all day? Noice.’ 

Now he’s just vibing.

The rest of his family is Low-Key shielding him.

He Has No Spleen, you see.

Steph: “Someone could cough on him and he could die!”

He just goes about his day, playing Animal Crossing like there’s no tomorrow, tinkering on projects, taking naps, etc. Living his best life.

Meanwhile there’s always someone lurking behind him, keeping watch, keeping him safe. 

Dick sneezed within 5 feet of Tim once (the fact that he was on top of the dusty bookshelf Tim was perusing is irrelevant)

Jason still full-body tackled him the second Tim’s back was turned. 

No one with any symptoms--

Like, any symptoms. They don’t even have to be Corona-related.

--is allowed within 10 feet of Tim. 

Tim has been wandering the manor for weeks, now, without seeing another human being. 

(He sees Dick on the ceiling sometimes, but that doesn’t really count)

He’s been trying increasingly drastic pranks and shenanigans to draw someone, anyone, out. 

But it doesn’t matter how many times he steals Damian’s sword, or sets fire to Jason’s brownie bites.

Nobody wants to risk it. 

Cass - 

No one has seen her since quarantine started.

Everyone is approximately 87% sure she’s somewhere in the manor though

Because she does eat the meals Alfred leaves out for her.

Or at least someone does, at any rate. 

(Jason and Santa top the running suspects list)

Santa was Steph’s suggestion. For some reason it snowballed. 

It’s assumed that Cass misunderstood the meaning of ‘social distancing’ and took it too far. 

But no one knows for sure. 

She is Tim’s Guardian Angel. 

People who so much as clear their throats a little too loudly anywhere near him suddenly wake up on a different floor of the house four hours later. 

Duke came closest to spotting her while he was up in the attic. 

Either that, or there’s another Creepy Sister everyone forgot to tell him about living up there.

She is silent, and watchful, sticking to the shadows, but she does leave the occasional note out to brighten her siblings’ day. 

Things like ‘helo i love u’ and ‘hop u ar ok’  mostly. 

She is bound and determined to protect her family from this invisible threat, no matter the cost. 

Steph - 

Like Dick, she was Super Pumped at first. 

(Just kind of showed up at Wayne Manor before quarantine was enacted. The original purpose of her visit is unclear, but regardless, she’s Trapped.)

Also Like Dick, her descent into madness was swift.

She is impossible to pin down. 

Not like Cass or Damian, who’ve stayed off the grid, and are therefore Untraceable. 

No. She’s impossible to pin down, because she never stops moving. 

Switches seamlessly between Zumba on top of the Giant Dinosaur in the Batcave, and furiously knitting Alfred (the Cat) a sweater with a pair of Tim’s used chopsticks. 

Braided everyone’s hair while they were asleep.

Even Bruce’s. 

She tried to do Tim’s, but somehow blacked out and regained consciousness in the attic. 

When she woke up with a scream and a furiously twitching eye, she startled Duke out of his Makeshift Fort he built out of old cardboard boxes and antique furniture. He’s had to resort to finding a new hiding place. 

Sometimes, on the rare occasions she does sit still, staring off into the distance, she’ll suddenly start laughing hysterically. This may last between thirty seconds and thirty minutes, depending entirely on how long it’s been since she’s knitted a cat sweater or done cartwheels through every room in the house.

Blew up the greenhouse out back, somehow.

Everyone has agreed not to talk about it.

Some people were built to handle prolonged time inside their homes.

Stephanie Brown is not that way.

Damian - 

Damian Wayne Cannot Be Contained.

At least not inside the house. 

He took off thirty-six hours into quarantine. 

Thanks to the security equipment around the borders of the Wayne Estate, he can’t escape the grounds. 

(He’s tried and failed multiple times. Jason and Bruce have a running bet on how many times the perimeter alarms will go off per day.)

(Jason is winning.)

He wanders the grounds with Titus as his only companion. 

The two of them run laps, practice drills, and find ways to occupy their time. 

No one’s entirely sure what those ways are. 

In fact, nobody knows exactly where Damian is at any given time. 

Only that he is Out There. 

And he’s the best security system Wayne Manor’s ever had. 

So far, he’s stopped five groups of civilians scaling the perimeter walls before the lasers and electric nets even have a chance to deploy.

They were trying to break in and steal supplies. 

(Even ones they already had in surplus. Like Toilet Paper.)

He’s also stopped Dick from escaping twelve (12) times.

Drags him back by his shirt collar and deposits him on the welcome mat. 

Usually with a note for Alfred/Jason, requesting more fruit tarts. 

Duke - 

Did not leave the attic for two weeks. 

Then Steph discovered his hiding spot (read: was dumped there by Cassandra) which forced him to relocate to the basement. 

Yes, it turns out Wayne Manor does have a basement. 

This was a surprise to Duke, who always thought that the Batcave was Bruce Wayne’s basement. 

Alfred keeps him supplied with all the necessities:

i.e. food, magazines, assorted pastries from Jason’s latest batch, usually straight out of the oven.

Duke also snagged the Manor’s Alexa. 

She has become a sort of ‘Wilson’ to Duke’s ‘Chuck Noland’.

She is his only comfort. His only ally. 

He’s determined to wait out this quarantine, doing his best to avoid the others. 

Duke has seen these people under pressure. 

He knows exactly what he’s dealing with. 

Duke: “Alexa is the only motherf****r in this madhouse I ever respected.”

*offended butler noises from the other room*

Duke: “And also Alfred.”

[thefallennightmare]

Hard to Love [21/21]

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Words: 1621

Warnings: this story will have mentions of abuse, mental and physical so please read at your own risk. Some swearing, angst, and a good amount of fluff. Maybe some smut if I'm feeling frisky.

Summary: After moving to a new town all on her own, Reader would do anything for a stable job and income. Even if that means housekeeping for one of Boston's eligible bachelors. What she didn't expect was finding herself falling in love with him and finding him out about the past that she was running from.

A/N: I cannot believe the ending is here. I also cannot thank you enough for all the love that you guys have gave this series. I really do appreciate it and love seeing all the comments! Your words of encouragement are what kept me going for this story. I’m so so sad it’s done. 

Lets finish this story with a happy ending! 

Tags: @kelbabyblue @patzammit @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss @jennmurawski13 @divadinag @cosmicbreathe @thevelvetseries @capstopavenger @chris-butt @denisemarieangelina @im-a-stranger-thing @jennamarieee623 @introvertedmouse @lharrietg @thejemersoninferno  @breezykpop @instantbasementtimetravel @rodgersteves @michaelscotfield-blog1 @40srogcrs @wonderingshawn @bellaireland1981 @katelyneannxo @lady-x-red @sare-bare93-blog @annmariek8​ @raabrakha​ @stxvercgersslut​

ONE YEAR LATER

“Where’s my cutie pie?!” I shouted, entering the home. 

Four feet trotted down the long hallway from the kitchen to the living room where I stood, hanging up my jacket and bag. Bending at the knees, I allowed all of the kisses and whines of happiness, scratching the furry ears. 

“How’s Dodger doing today?” I cooed. 

He followed me into the kitchen as I searched the fridge for something to ease my stomach. Munching on a piece of cheese, I checked my phone and saw a new message from Chris. 

I’ll be home in a few hours. I’m sorry baby, I didn’t think these interviews would take so long. 

Don’t be sorry! I’ll wait up for you xx. 

The last year, I had grown incredibly; putting everything that happened to me in the past, locking it away. The scars still remained on my body but I never let it affect me. Chris would always make sure he showed extra love to them, telling me that he loved the way I look. 

The first time Chris had to leave for work was a couple of months after everything and it was hard to get adjusted to sleeping in the bed alone but Dodger was the best replacement, keeping me safe every night. Chris tried to turn down movie roles but I quickly shot that down. I wouldn’t let him lose out on a possible great job because I missed him. 

I ended up seeing the live video he posted when I was missing and the amount of outpouring coming from his friends and fans also helped me heal. There were a good amount of people who at first weren’t happy that Chris was in a loving relationship but eventually, when he kept posting pictures of us on Instagram, they got used to it. 

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I saw a new message appear from Chris. 

Our weekend starts in less that two hours. I can’t wait to be alone with you. 

I smiled fondly at the message. 

The past couple weeks were filled with either him working almost every day or me continuing my schooling. We had his family and friends over a few times last week as well so we were practically begging the Gods above for some alone time. 

Which is why this weekend we had zero plans, just the two of us in our home. 

And Dodger. 

“OH COME ON!” Chris yelled at the T.V. 

A giggle erupted from my throat from my spot on the couch, my feet placed in his lap, as we watched the football game. 

Our weekend together was coming to an end, school for me and another press conference for Chris’ upcoming movie tomorrow, meant that reality was about twelve hours away. We spent the weekend in multiple different rooms of the house, our moans vibrating off the walls. 

I’ve had sex more in this weekend than I had in my entire adult life. 

Now, we were exhausted, so we decided to spend the rest of our Sunday in our lazy clothes on the couch; Chris wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats and I ended up stealing his shirt and a pair of his boxers. 

Even though his eyes were transfixed on the game, he still made an effort to show me attention by rubbing the soles of my feet. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at this man in front of me. He let his beard grow this weekend, too lazy to shave it, which I didn’t complain one bit. The red marks on my thighs from earlier were an indication of that. His hair was short because he decided that he needed to buzz it last night; he was sick of it getting in his face. 

I marveled at the way the muscle in his jaw tightened when I rubbed my feet into his lap, purposely pressing into his soft cock. 

“If you keep that up, I’ll miss the last half of the game,” he threatened in a low voice. 

“But I’m horny!” I whined, lifting my shirt up and over my head. “Please?” 

I pinched my hard nipple between my fingers, hoping that would be enough to get him on top of me. 

It was. 

I yelped when Chris pulled my ankle towards him, his body on top of mine in seconds. His gold chain was dangling in front of my face as I looked up to him, our chest rising with heavy breaths. 

“So naughty,” he muttered against the crook of my neck. 

“Enough small talk and fuck me already, Evans,” I purred into his ear, fingernails digging into his bare back.

I couldn’t help but gnaw nervously on my bottom lip, tasting a bit of blood, while I paced the floor of our bedroom. Chris was out running errands but with the text I sent him, I knew that he would be on his way home asap. 

Can you come home please? I have to talk to you. 

My hands shook with nerves, feeling my cardigan being weighed down with the pressure that was in the pocket. I couldn’t help but worry about what Chris’ reaction would be. We never talked about this and I didn’t know if this would be what broke our relationship. 

“Y/N?” 

Hearing his voice, I made my way down the stairs and into the living room where he sat with Dodger on the couch. 

“Hey, everything alright?” He asked. 

I nodded and sat across from him. “Yeah, I think so.” 

He knew in the way my knee bounced and sucked in my bottom lip that whatever I had to talk to him about made me nervous as hell. Placing a hand on my knee, he gave me a warm smile. 

“Tell me,” he begged gently. 

Words were so foreign to me, not knowing exactly how to say it, so instead I handed him what was in my pocket. 

“I know we haven’t talked about it much but I couldn't not tell you. I mean you deserve to know. If you’re angry I understand. I’m confused too on how this happened,” I rambled. 

Chris didn’t hear a word I had spouted, his eyes trained hard on the stick in his hand with the two solid pink lines. 

“You’re pregnant?” His mouth twitched. 

I nodded and handed him my phone that held an email from the doctors office, confirming the pregnancy. Yesterday morning while Chris was out with his mom, I secretly had an appointment. 

“The doctor says I’m about six weeks,” I spoke softly. 

I was unsure of what his reaction would be, his gaze still stuck on the pregnancy test in his hand. 

Dodger knew something was different, sniffing the test in Chris’ hand. 

Finally after what felt like forever, Chris looked into my eyes and his mouth curved into a smile. 

“We’re having a baby?” 

The smile he had was a giant one, where you could almost count all of his teeth as he smiled down towards Dodger, showing him the sonogram on my phone as if Dodger could tell what he was looking at. 

The joy in his voice brought tears to my eyes. 

“You’re happy?” I asked. 

His hands snaked around my waist, pulling me into his lap. “I’m fucking ecstatic.” 

Our lips met in a rushed kiss, his hand finding its place on my stomach. His forehead rested against mine and his eyes shone with so much love that my heart leaped into my throat, knowing that his reaction was the complete opposite of what I was prepared for. 

“Stay here,” He mumbled against my lips in another kiss. 

I waited patiently as he rummaged for something in the desk of his office and he returned, hand behind his back. 

“I was saving this for when we went away next month but I don’t think I can wait.” He spoke before handing me a small box. 

A small velvet box. 

I gasped, watching him get down on one knee, and pried open the box. Inside was a gorgeous oval cut diamond on a plain gold band. The sunlight from outside had caught the ring in a warm glow of light. 

“This isn’t the most romantic idea of a proposal but I don’t want to wait any longer to ask you this. I first met you in this room when you came to work for me and in that moment I knew I wanted you; I needed you in my life. Y/N, you know I love you so fucking much. You have changed my life in so many ways and now we’re having a baby. You’re having my baby and somehow I love you even more. Y/N, will you marry me?” The tears welled in his eyes and he blew out a shaky breath. 

“Fuck yes!” I cried, hormones causing my eyes to pour tears down my cheeks. 

After he slid the ring on my finger, he picked me up with ease as he walked us towards our bedroom so we could celebrate the rest of our lives. 

I couldn’t believe how much my life had changed in two years since I first drove up to this house, nervous about what the job was that I had an interview for. I never imagined that I would face my past again, not letting it define who I was anymore. And I definitely never thought I would find someone who would love me with his whole entire heart and soul, knowing how hard to love I was. But he did; Chris vowed to me that night in hushed moans that he loved me then and forever. 

Along with the baby I was growing in my stomach; our baby. 

AND FIN!

[darling-i-read-it]

Temple of the Forbidden Eye

Indiana Jones x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: bugs, skeletons, lava, danger, running lol, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: This is, in fact, the plot to the disneyland ride. I’ve been on it so many times, when I was trying to think of an Indiana plot to do I literally just wrote the ride. And i love this. 

Summary: You and Indiana are tasked with going to look into a Temple.  

Song: Indiana Jones and the Temple of the Forbidden Eye by John Williams 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Sallah stood in front of you, frantically opening up a tattered map. He ushered it over to you and you looked down at it, breathing in the hot 80 degree air. He pointed at the picture of the Temple, looking up at your face as he did so.

“That is where you need to go.” You pursed your lips.

“You’ve spoken to Indiana about this?” 

“He is already on his way. He is in a hotel, awaiting my call for your answer,” he explained. You looked up at the blue sky and took a deep breath. You told yourself you wouldn’t get caught up in anything like this again. Going to India, trying to find this Temple of the Forbidden Eye. Working with Indiana Jones again. “You should go. He will need help, it is dangerous.” 

You looked at Sallah hard and you saw him realize that you were going to go. A small smile creeped onto his face and he nodded quickly, slapping your shoulder happily.

“I will call him.” He started to walk away and you sighed loudly, shaking your head. You raised your hand to him. 

“Sallah wait.” He turned back around to see you. You shut your eyes tightly and opened them again, allowing yourself to realize what you were about to do. It was dangerous. “Tell him to book me a room.” 

====

You stepped into the hotel. It was even hotter in India than it had been back where you were. The hotel offered no solace. You were pretty sure it was more humid in it than outside where at least there was some wind. You held your suitcase tight and approached the desk.

“Hello I’m Y/N-”

“Indiana reservation?” the front desk manager asked. His accent was thick which was understandable. You were the tourist after all. 

“Yes,” you told him, nodding. He smiled sweetly and handed you a key. He gestured to the right of him where there were some stairs leading up to the rooms. 

“Room 341.” You nodded and gave him a smile in return before walking up to the room. 

It was nicer than you expected but you didn’t expect to be spending much time here. Once you spoke to Indiana the two of you would be out and going to see the Temple. But first, some rest. If you could get it in this heat.

You put your bags down and looked out the window at the small town outside. You were about to sit down on the bed and get changed when the door opened. You quickly turned around and saw Indiana there, a smile on his face. 

“You made it.” You rolled your eyes.

“Against my better wishes, yes.” 

“Sallah told me he could convince you. Although I heard you didn’t need much convincing,” he teased. You rolled your eyes and he sat down on the bed so you stayed standing. 

“So this Temple... anything I should know before getting into it?” you asked. He raised an eyebrow. His temple was sweating but he didn’t seem to be affected much by the heat.

“They say it’s a chamber of destiny. A fountain of youth, riches, all that regular stuff,” he explained. You nodded, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall. 

“It’s always the greedy stuff that gets people flocking.”

“You say that like you speak from experience.” You rolled your eyes.

“I am nearly as experienced as you.” He stood up and walked over to where you were standing, getting a little to close. You made no attempt to move. “Are you disagreeing with me?” 

“No. You’re right. It is the greed.” You rolled your eyes. 

“If we’re going to do this you need to forget about what happened last time. It was a one time thing and we’re better off moving forward as partners,” you told him evenly. Your face was hard and your eyes were giving nothing away. He admired that. 

“Whatever you want,” he said but it sounded like he didn’t mean it. 

“Indiana I’m serious.”

“So am I. Be ready by tomorrow morning at 8, I got us a car to take us as far as it can. If you need me, you know where I’ll be.” He walked away and you nodded slowly watching as the door closed behind him. 

You shook your head and smiled. 

======

You were ready to go before he was so you waited in the hallway for him to come out. The ride was short before you reached the spot where you had to walk. That was surprisingly short as well and you were at the Temple in no time. 

People were lining up out front. They praid, left presents, and some even cried to the Temple for help. You and Indiana had to step over these people and they paid you nearly no mind as you approached the doorway. 

“Here,” Indiana said gruffly. You looked over at him and he handed you a hat.

“Not my style but thank you.” 

“Put it over your eyes when we get to the eye of the idol. Unless you would like to die an untimely death,” he said. You looked down the menacing hallway of the Temple and tried not to show your fear. It was always easier when Indiana was around to pretend you were braver than you actually were. 

You took the hat and put it on your head.

“It’s going to fall off.” 

“I got one fitted to your head.” He started to walk inside. “It’s not going to fall off.” ====

Once you got past the first hallway, it did not get any better. The pathway got narrower and colder. You were lucky that Indiana lit a torch to illuminate the small path. 

He suddenly stopped in front of you, putting his arm against your chest. In other circumstances you probably would have made a quip about that but you didn’t. You were both in danger now and the only person who could save you if you messed up was Indiana. You weren’t about to question him now. 

“Look at the tiles.” 

Your eyes went down in front of him. There were regular tiles and then ones with diamonds on them. They were few and far between but that didn’t matter. They were still there. 

“I take it we shouldn’t walk on those.” 

“I think it wouldn’t be advisable.” 

“Then we probably should also not pull on that rope,” you muttered. He looked further in front of him where you were looking and noticed a pile of rocks in the distance, tied together with some rope. He nodded.

“Not a bad idea.” 

You pushed forward, stepping only where he stepped. You barely even touched the walls. 

“What you were saying yesterday-” he started.

“Right now is not the time,” you grumbled, eyes glued to your steps. His face was on the ground as well as he held up the torch. 

“We may die.”

“You cannot use that line more than once. We lived last time,” you muttered. He chuckled and bit and turned to you, causing you to hit his chest because you weren’t paying attention. “Indiana-”

“I liked last time. We worked well together.” You shook your head and grabbed the torch out of his hand.

“I will lead.” He shook his head and took a step back which caused you to stumble backwards a bit. That was when you realized that the door behind you was shutting. You turned quickly and then noticed the spikes above you. There were skulls attached to some, a couple heads that had barely decomposed. 

He grabbed your arm before you could say anything and dragged you out of the small room into a bigger clearing. You looked up and there it was. Surrounded by green neon light, the huge face of the idol. 

“Hat down!” he screamed and grabbed your arm before running. You followed his lead, hoping that he hadn’t looked in the eyes. You held your hat down with the other hand, unfortunately dropping the torch and leaving it behind. 

Slowly you came to a stop. You felt hot and you could hear bubbling. Indiana pulled your hat up and you rubbed your eyes to gain focus back. Before you was a bubbling chasm of lava. At the other side was a menacing face in stone. 

“You still going to lead?!” Indiana asked and you got your bearings together before grabbing his arm and running in to your left. Your lungs were burning but the adrenaline was pumping. 

“What is that?!” you asked and he put his arm in front of you as he looked up at the skeletons hanging from the wall. The room was lit with torches, a tall rock ceiling above your heads. You grabbed his arm tightly. “The people who looked into the eyes of the idol,” he said seriously. You hardened your face and started to run again, jogging this time as you searched for a way out. There was no coming back this way. 

“Damn the search for the truth. We have to get out of here,” you told him stiffly. He didn’t react even as you heard thousands of bugs crawling above your head. You held his hand tightly and ignored the urge to stop. 

“Y/N…” he said carefully and you shook your head. You looked at the bridge across the chasm of lava and shook your head more violently this time. You backed up. There was no way. It didn’t look like anyone had crossed it in centuries. It wouldn’t hold the two of you up, he couldn’t. “We have to cross it.” 

“Oh yeah?! And fall in?! Be my guest Indiana but I chose to live another day.” He turned to face you and it was the first time you had looked him straight in the face since before you started running. Your breath was heaving and so was his. There was a cut across his face, likely from bumping into a jagged rock when the two of you were all but blindfolded. Sweat poured down his forehead and his expression was hard. 

You looked almost the same. Sweating, cut up, breathing hard. 

“You gonna climb your way over sweetheart? Huh?” You didn’t answer him. You just breathed. “I didn’t think so.” 

Then before you could even think of an answer, he was running across the bridge. You waited for a moment, looked behind you and then cursed under your breath as you ran forward across the bridge. Indiana reached the other side and just as you started to reach it the bridge creaked and caved underneath you. The plank you were standing on broke under your foot and you fell, foot lodged in between planks. The bridge split. You erupted in screams. You grabbed onto the planks, wrapping your arms around them as Indiana looked down at you, hanging from the edge. He reached his hand down and you took it, using every ounce of strength you had to get your foot unstuck. 

He pulled and finally you climbed over the top. He wrapped his arms around you to hold you steady and finally was able to gauge what else was on the other side of the chasm. 

And it was crawling with snakes. 

Indiana stumbled back and you caught him before he fell into the lava. 

“Henry Jones I swear to God if you leave me-” His face was riddled with fear and he started to run to the left, away from the snakes. “Henry!” There was a door on the other side of the snakes and he was climbing up to try and find another way. You shook your head and carefully but quickly crossed the snake pit. You held your breath until you were back on regular ground.

You looked up and Indiana was gone. He must have found another way. You just hoped that he would be able to get out of here. You were not coming back in. Well if he didn’t make it out before you, you might think about it. 

The doorway opened up to a smaller room but it was still huge. The cave was littered with skulls, illuminated with lit red candles. You took a deep breath.

“I take it this is not a place I want to be,” you whispered to yourself. Bats flew above your head which ushered you along to the next room, through a large cave opening. You were just running from room to room, hoping to find something that would lead you out. 

That was when you saw the walking skeletons. You stopped in your tracks and looked at them, on the left and right of you. There was a narrow opening between the two groups and you made a split second decision. You put your hat down over your eyes and ran. 

You could feel the air of them shooting things at you. Their wordless attacks were terrifying. All you could hear was air and their bones moving against each other. You gasped and finally hit a spot where you didn’t feel any air anymore. You moved the hat up and turned around quickly. 

Nothing. 

You looked forward again at the darkness and your breath started to pick up. It was then that Indiana hung down on the rope. You looked up at him and he was yelling but you almost couldn’t hear him as the boulder started to come down.

He reached his hand down and you grabbed it just in time for him to pull you up onto the rope, the boulder moving beneath the two of you with a loud crash. You hoped it took out the skeletons. 

You held onto him, feet dangling and muscles screaming. He held onto you as best he could, although he was keeping himself up as well.

As the boulder crashed you saw daylight from the place it had been stuck. You grunted from the effort of keeping yourself up. 

“Look,” you whispered. He followed your gaze and you dropped yourself back down to the ground. He did so as well and followed you as you ran to the light.

You emerged in the jungle, the sun against your skin. You wanted to kiss the ground, bathe in the sun, never go in another Temple again. 

“I didn’t see any riches,” you said, coughing. He chuckled, lying on the ground of exhaustion. You got on your knees and breathed in the fresh air. 

“Can’t say I did either.” He looked over at you, hat on the ground above his head. “But we didn’t do too bad. For tourists.” You laughed dryly. You laid down next to him and looked up through the trees at the sky. You were sweating and the wind was welcome. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. He looked over at you and you felt his stare. You waited a second and then turned to kiss him. You leaned against your elbow as you did so, the hat falling off your head. “I thought you said it wouldn’t fall off,” you whispered. He took a breath in from his nose and laughed. 

======

Sallah was waiting for you at the hotel. He had flown all the way up to hear about your findings. He was sitting on your bed when the two of you walked in, still covered in dirt and sweat, in desperate need of a shower. 

“We’re kind of busy,” you muttered, barely recognizing his presence.

“What did you find?!” he asked, standing up. Indiana looked him in the eye.

“We’ll talk after a shower,” Indiana said tiredly. You opened the bathroom door and gave Sallah a dismissive wave. 

“I take it the two of you will want to work again soon?” he asked, ignoring your dismissive signals. 

“Stay out of trouble will ya?” Indiana said before following you into the bathroom. 

Sallah smiled but he also noted the lack of treasures in your hands. Disappointing. Perhaps you got the fountain of youth.

[guqin-and-flute]

And A-Fu Makes 4--Ch. 3

[Happy belated birthday, Jingyi! 🥳]

[Ao3 Link]

Things got a little better in school. Not too much. What they were learning was so boring that paying attention didn’t really make it better even when he did use his new rocks so his ears woke up. His ears just didn’t like what they were hearing. When Yellow-Father visited the Cloud Recesses and gathered him up and asked him all smiley what his favorite thing from class today was, A-Fu scowled. “When I leaved. ”

Yellow-Father’s eyebrows went crinkly. “An education like this is a great privilege, Fufu. You’re very lucky.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t feel lucky. Not never.”

His father’s crinkles turned into a little frown and he said, all serious, “There are a great many people who never get to go to school, let alone have the life you’re going to have.”

“Then they’re the lucky ones.”

After that, Yellow-Father closed his eyes and took a deep breath before smiling and asking if he found any good bugs lately--which was such good timing because A-Fu had ! He got to show Yellow-Father the little house he had made for them in the back garden with mud and sticks and a couple rocks--unfortunately, only a couple had actually stayed inside. And maybe that was because they were too busy sleeping on their backs with their legs all curled up but that was okay, because he held them up all proud and Yellow-Father agreed that yes, they were a very nice find and now he could go and wash his hands. 

What actually really started to make school lucky was that they began going outside to train and use their practice swords more. A-Yuan may have been good at everything else and just a little bigger than him, but A-Fu was starting to feel great when he got to swing his sword around all strong and fast like his fathers. Up until now, no one at Cloud Recesses had let him whack anything, practically--it was all ‘hold it like this’ and ‘bow like this’ and ‘etiquette etiquette etiquette’. Blah blah blegh. Just another thing to forget. But A-Fu was finding out that his body was pretty good at remembering things, even if his brain wasn’t, and one time, even the teacher passed by and nodded, saying, “Just like that, Lan Fu,” and the sun came up in his chest all sparkly and happy. 

He grinned over at A-Yuan, who was concentrating really hard on swinging straight down and didn’t see him, but it was totally okay, because the teacher had told him that he was good! He was doing so good!

After class, he ran all the way home through the sun coming down through the trees to the Hanshi and told the whole entire thing to Blue-Father about 5 times as they walked to the secret bunny patch in the woods. He even stopped on the path to stand with his practice sword to show him his stance and everything. “I’m so proud of you,” Blue-Father had said with a wide, warm smile, waiting for him to catch back up. “You’ve been working very hard.”

“I have! Watch, watch--I can do it so fast! So much faster than A-Yuan! I’m gonna kill all the bad guys!”

Blue-Father shook his head, still smiling, turning to walk beside him with Shuoyue held behind his back. “We should use our swords to protect people.”

Right away, A-Fu copied him, holding his practice sword behind him with his shoulders all straight and his chest puffed out. Their footsteps crunched on the white rocks, every once in a while matching up on a step. A-Fu tried to make them match more, but Blue-Father’s legs were too long. “Yeah, from bad guys that I’m gonna kill! When is the next war?” he asked, looking up at his blue father, all calm and tall against the trees. “Are we gonna win it?”

“Wars are not scheduled, silly boy. Nor should we wish for them.” He held out his hand--A-Fu switched his sword hand and took it as they kept walking. “Your die’s have fought very hard to give you a world free of war.”

What? That was the worst news! “No more wars ? How is people supposed to be heroes, then? That’s not fair, all you got to be heroes! Die, you shouldn’t have ruined it for the rest of us.”

Blue-Father gave a small hum of laughter through his nose before looking down at him with a smaller smile, shaking his head again. “In truth, wars aren’t about glory or heroes. A good leader sees them as a last resort, not something to seek out. The ones who suffer the most are the people who cannot protect themselves and those left behind--and so we dedicate ourselves to the service of those who need us. That should be your goal if you want to be a hero, not the killing. It's what your Uncle Wangji does, when he can. He is known for being where the chaos is.” He looked out into the deep green of the forest shadows. “There is nothing wrong with a peaceful life.”

A-Fu rolled his eyes and leaned way over, hanging from Blue-Father’s hand. “Boooring. I wanna fight--kshh kshh ksshhew!” he added really loud as he reached out to beat up a rock right next to the path, whacking it so loud ‘tok’s echoed around them, scaring a squirrel up a branch.

Blue-Father’s hand squeezed and tugged him back carefully. “A-Fu, don’t treat your sword that way, use it with respect.” 

Sulkily, A-Fu stuck it behind his back again. 

“And you will have plenty of opportunities to fight, in the life we lead. What’s more important is to have empathy and kindness. Ah, Wangji.” He nodded to him as they finally stepped into the little meadow, bunnies hopping up eagerly to see if they had treats in their pockets. “A-Yuan!” He added with delight as A-Yuan raced up and grabbed onto his thigh with a big grin.

Excited, A-Fu pulled his hand away and wrapped around his other leg, linking his feet behind his heel. “Walk! Walk!” he hollered and so Blue-Father did, walking with careful straight leg steps all around the bunny patch while they both giggled into each others faces when they swung by and the little white puffballs of rabbits scattered in front of them.

A-Fu loved playing near the rabbit hutches with his family--it smelled like sweet hay the rabbits ate and the clean water smell of the stream nearby which made cheerful noises. Some sun came through the thick leaves, but not a ton, so it was green and shady, even on sticky hot days. The grass was thick and fun to jump around and dance and wrestle on. 

After 3 times around the whole meadow, Blue-Father shooed them off so he could sit, and A-Fu shyly went with A-Yuan over to go say hi to Uncle Wangji where he sat watching them with a guqin on his knees and a bunny nestled in the corner of his thigh. A-Fu showed him that he still had his rocks from school, tucked in his inner pockets, snug and warm. Uncle Wangji nodded with a little smile and A-Fu felt all shiny and bubbly and thought that this was maybe one of the best days ever. He sat right next to him, leaning on his leg, and told him what songs he wanted them to play when Blue-Father took out his xiao. The grownups played lots of music while they were there; dancey ones and pretty ones and boring ones they played all slow and sad. It was nice because the music was kept close by all the huge trees, like a private recital. A-Fu danced with A-Yuan to the fast ones, pretended to be underwater for the slow ones, then chased the bunnies around when there were too many of those--until A-Yuan made him stop.

Eventually, though, fathers started talking in between the songs, and that got long enough that the instruments just stayed in their laps and A-Fu got bored. Then, he had the greatest idea. He grabbed A-Yuan’s hand and pulled him up so his special speckley rabbit hopped out of his lap. (A-Fu had named it Poop-Eater and A-Yuan had named it Turnip and they both would not use each other’s name--A-Fu because he thought it was lame and A-Yuan because he thought it was gross--even though it was true , because he did eat poop, A-Fu had seen it.) Dragging A-Yuan over to where the grass was long and soft and pretty un-nibbled, he said, “Let’s do a dueling!”

A-Yuan held out his arms wide, showing him in his sleeves. “But I don’t have my practice sword.” 

“Hmph. Well, okay, I have mine...so the duel is who can swing the sword the best. You go first.”

A-Yuan scrunched his face up and looked back at where Blue-Father and Uncle Wangji were chatting quietly about something, both petting the sleeping bunnies in their laps. “Do I gotta? I’m playing in bunnies and I'm tired.”

“Yes, we gotta, for really real! We can play in bunnies after!”

After one more longing look at the rabbits, A-Yuan sighed. “Okay.”

They practiced, back and forth and back and forth, and since A-Fu was so good in class, he was able to tell his cousin that his hands weren’t holding it right. Then, that his feet weren’t right, and then that he wasn’t swinging it fast enough or straight enough. It felt great to be the one in charge, the one who knew all the right answers, for once. Eventually, he rolled his eyes and asked, all smug, “Did you even pay attention in class? It’s not that hard. Are you trying at all?”

Right away, he knew he messed up. 

A-Yuan’s face got all wobbly and red and his eyes went shiny. He dropped the sword and ran to Uncle Wangji sobbing, saying that A-Fu was being mean to him. A-Fu’s tummy dropped into his feet like when he had jumped off the too high wall. He ran to go hide behind his father--but, of course, he didn’t let him. Blue-Father found his hand and tugged him to his feet and made him stand up straight and tell them what happened. Uncle Wangji sat on the grass and held A-Yuan under his chin and listened to A-Fu explain with a quiet face that didn’t show what he was thinking at all. “I wasn’t making fun of him! We were playing!” There was a long silence, and A-Fu squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. “I’m not lying!”

Blue-Father’s even voice said, “Then tell us, A-Fu.”

Desperately, A-Fu looked up at him where he stood, still covering his ears. He was looking down at him with a serious face, eyebrows raised. He wouldn’t let Uncle Wangji yell at him.

...Right? 

“Diedie… ”

“We need to take responsibility for the hurt we have caused. There is no getting out of it.”

“You were making fun of me,” A-Yuan sniffed, all miserable, turning in Uncle Wangji’s lap to look at him. 

Everyone else was looking at him, too, and A-Fu got all hot and squirmy and ashamed because now everyone was mad and hated him. “I was just...I was teaching him...he wasn’t doing it right…” he whispered, his eyes all blurry. 

He just wanted to be good at something. Why was he in trouble for being better than A-Yuan at something when A-Yuan had so many other things he was better at? It wasn't fair.

Uncle Wangji looked at A-Yuan, whose lip trembled as he said in a voice like a wobbly guqin string, “But you said it so mean.”

“I didn’t! That’s how they teach me !” A-Fu cried, pulling his hand down from his ear to scrub at his tears.

“Do you know it is wrong?” Uncle Wangji’s voice was quiet--which definitely wasn't yelling but it sure felt like it.

A-Fu just covered his face and didn’t say anything.

“Should you do it, if you are aware?”

“...No.”

Blue-Father knelt down beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You know that this is not how we treat people. You need to practice empathy--think of how he is feeling. If it hurts you, it will hurt him. What do we say to A-Yuan?”

When A-Fu looked back at A-Yuan, seeing him still crying made A-Fu start crying again, which made A-Yuan start crying again and they hugged and A-Fu said he was so so sorry and he would never ever say anything mean to him ever again. A-Yuan forgave him right away, like he always did and hugged him back super tight. A-Fu saw Blue-Father smile a little at Uncle Wangji--who gave a teeny smile back. (A-Fu was getting better at being able to see them. They were there! Just quieter.) Then they both curled up on Blue-Father’s lap and played with the bunnies while Uncle Wangji played more nice songs on the guqin and things just all got so much better. 

‘Empathy’ was a Blue-Father word--A-Fu noticed it popping up, like Blue-Father kept it in his pocket. Whenever he yelled when he got too mad or did something without thinking or talked before his mind caught up, it was ‘empathy empathy empathy’. Maybe it was his favorite or something.

Some of his other grown ups had pocket words, too--Great-Uncle Qiren’s was ‘Prohibited’ or ‘Impertinent’ and Yellow-Father’s was ‘Careful’. When A-Fu started looking, he kept noticing it more and more--when he played with A-Qiang a little too rough or balanced on the edge of the koi pond, he got a 'careful'. When he ran around right after a bath, he got a “Fufu, careful! ”

One time, he got a ton of ‘carefuls’ in a row, when he was in Koi Tower and he snuck out behind the nanny’s backs again. He went around and around in the halls to lose them until he was almost dizzy and when he finally stopped, he realized he didn’t recognize anything--there were no windows and more doors than usual,  dark and sturdy. The walls didn’t have as many fancy curlicues and dangly bits as the rest of Koi Tower, more plain blue with just some gold circles studding the pillars every once in a while. Well. A-Fu just had no idea where this was. 

He wasn’t worried, though, because when he poked his head around a corner, he spotted Yellow-Father facing away, talking to a black and gold someone in a doorway, so he dashed down the hall and catapulted into his father’s legs and yelled a hello with a big grin. It wasn’t until he looked up at his father’s face that he noticed he wasn’t smiling back like he usually was. His expression was all tight and unhappy, his eyes darting between A-Fu and the man he was talking to. 

The man was smiling down at him, though. But his eyes weren't friendly--they were dark and... waiting. They glittered like a snake and A-Fu even liked snakes--but he was pretty sure that people shouldn’t have the same sort of eyes.

Yellow-Father’s hand squeezed his shoulder as he tried to turn him around quick. “Fufu, you are not allowed down here, you need to--”

But A-Fu spotted something and he squirmed back around in his hands. “Why do you have that?” He pointed at the man’s hand where it sat on his hip with only the pinky covered by the black leather of his glove. “That’s weird.”

“Lan Fu-- ” 

The fact that Yellow-Father just full-named him flew out of his head because A-Fu decided right then and there that he didn’t like this guy when he said, “Wow, you’re a rude little shit, aren’t you?” Then, the stranger man tilted his head, his wide, weird smile growing wider and weirder. “Ooooh, is this Er-ge’s spawn?” 

A-Fu jutted his chin forward and folded his arms. “No, I’m--”

“That’s enough. I think you have somewhere to be,” Yellow-Father said. And A-Fu froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. Because Yellow-Father was never rude, no matter what--but his voice had been rough and cold like ice and he was staring at the snake eyed man. And he was finally smiling; all hard like a warning. 

For some reason, that seemed funny to Snake Eye Guy and his teeth peeked through. “You’re not even going to introduce us?”

“No.” Yellow-Father took A-Fu by both shoulders and turned him, marching him right back down the hall.

“Rude. Do you like sweets, brat?” Snake Eye Guy called after them.

A-Fu scowled back over his shoulder as Yellow-Father kept steering him in front down the hallway, almost tripping him on his feet. “Yeah,” he said, super tough, just like Gray-Father would. “Why?”

“Come find me if you ever want any.” Then, he laughed, delighted when Yellow-Father’s fingers tightened on his shoulder like claws. “Oh, what, Lianfang-zun? What do you think I’m going to do to him? It’s just candy.” His mocking followed them around the corner A-Fu had to take at a jog.

Yellow-Father had hustled them down the strange corridors until they found the sun again. He was still squeezing until A-Fu yelped that he was squishing his bones out, and he let go right away. When he stopped to kneel down and rub them, he started scolding with a worried frown, “Fufu, you cannot keep doing this. You need to stay with your nannies and out of places that are not meant for you. You have to be more careful.”

A-Fu just wanted to know who that guy was and why his hand was like that and why he was so weird and why was Yellow-Father so mad at him and did he really have candy?

And Yellow-Father wouldn’t answer any of his questions at all. He just kept saying, so serious, that A-Fu could never be around him again or talk about him and that he needed to be careful. And usually A-Fu was annoyed at new rules, but this one seemed to make sense. It would also be pretty easy to follow, because he gave him the creeps and he didn't really want to have to talk to him again. But he still wanted to know-- “Why?”

“He’s not someone a child should be around. If he ever tries to talk to you again, you come and find me right away, Fufu. Do you promise me?”

“Who was he?”

“Do you promise ?”

A-Fu had to think. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just...don’t worry about him. You shouldn’t see him again, but if you do, leave at once.”

“Are you mad? Why can’t I talk about him?”

“...Because it would be gossip. Gossip is forbidden.”

A-Fu guessed that made sense. Maybe. He reached up and grabbed Yellow-Father’s hat dangly, asking, “Are you mad? Are you mad at me?”

Yellow-Father sighed and rubbed his face and then finally smiled at him, all squinchy and small and harassed. “No. No, I’m not mad. I’m sorry.” He pulled A-Fu in close and squeezed, kissing his forehead.

“Is he a bad guy?” A-Fu asked Yellow-Father’s neck. “I can beat him up for you, I’m getting really good at swords.”

Yellow-Father huffed out a breath and smoothed A-Fu’s hair down. “I’m sure you are. But no. Just...just be more careful. Don’t come here again. Stay with your nannies.”

“Why? Careful what?”

Yellow-Father pulled back and rubbed his temple. “It’s time to go back, now--and no more escaping! You can’t be so naughty, what are you going to do to my heart, making me worry? I’m going to have to have a talk with your nannies….”

If ‘Careful’ was Yellow-Father’s pocket word, maybe one of Gray-Father’s pocket words was the grownup word 'Conviction'. A-Fu first learned about it when he went to stay at the Unclean Realm for a whole entire month in the summer. 

It was so much fun--he went into town with Uncle Huaisang a lot and hid in the sweet smelling fabric at the silk shops and got a little toy fan, just like Uncle Huaisang’s. Almost every day they went down and both got candied hawthorn sticks as they walked around and looked at things. A-Fu’s favorites were the toy stands--he got pinwheels for him and A-Yuan and A-Ling and A-Kui. He tried to get them in all the Clan Colors but they didn’t have red, so he got A-Kui yellow, too.

Sometimes, though, they would go into the forest and find a little stream where Uncle Huaisang would tie up their sleeves and they would try to catch fish with their hands. Uncle Huaisang was really bad at it and A-Fu told him so. He got so offended that he splashed him and got his robes all wet. And one day, they followed a little blue bird for-ev-er until A-Fu started complaining and scared it away. Uncle Huaisang had paid him in candy to not repeat any of the words he yelled at the sky as it flew off above the trees. Oh well. A-Fu liked hunting for things on the ground more anyway, like frogs or turtles. They couldn’t fly away and they were easy to stuff in his pockets or his sleeves. One time, he brought back, like, five toads and Gray-Father said the same bad words as Uncle Huaisang when they got on his important letters. From then on, toads were banned from the Unclean Realm, which made A-Fu grumpy. But at least he still had the 3 salamanders he found and he was learning new vocabulary words, like he did for school.

Other times, he would help weed and water the vegetable garden out behind Uncle Huaisang’s room. They had planted it together the last time that A-Fu had stayed a million years ago and things were still growing--but there were a couple beans and lettuce and carrots he got to munch on after they rinsed them off. It was kind of boring, but he got to look for worms and eat, so it wasn’t so bad.

Nie Zonghui, Gray-Father’s second in command, always had a nice smile and showed him how he could use his double sabers, which was the coolest thing next to Baxia. Now that he actually knew things about swords, A-Fu followed him around a lot when he was doing practice drills in the training yard with all the pink flower trees around it, copying his moves with sticks, since his practice sword was back in the Cloud Recesses. “I’m not certain I should be teaching you these,” Nie Zonghui said with a smile down at him as A-Fu hacked at a practice dummy’s butt. “Sabers and swords use different techniques and I don’t want to spoil your learning before you even start.”

“Well, if it’s my sword, I can use it how I want, right?”

“Mm. Not quite. You’ll be taught Lan skills.”

A-Fu frowned, wiping sweat off of his face with his sleeve, then shoving his headband up when it slipped. “Then I’ll get two--one sword, one saber and I’ll use them in two hands like you and it will be the coolest thing anyone has ever seened.”

Nie Zonghui grinned and looked over at the Nie shijie that was snickering nearby at the next dummy. “Uh, that will be a sight. I look forward to it.”

A-Fu nodded firmly at them. “Yeah, you do that.”

When Gray-Father stopped doing boring work talking to people and came out on the training grounds, A-Fu would challenge him to a duel and fight him with a Nie practice saber. It didn't always go so well because Gray-Father knew more moves, but when it got too complicated, A-Fu just whacked his shins and knees really hard and then tackled his tummy so they fell on the dirt and laughed. When Gray-Father wasn’t around, the cool Nie disciples sometimes let him whack them in the knees! He just had to promise to avoid the nards, which he thought was fair.

He would go walking and playing with Gray-Father on days where he was back from Night Hunting and meetings, riding on his back or one shoulder like he was Clan Leader--or even a King! When he sat up there, he was so tall, he could probably be in charge of anybody! Sometimes Gray-Father was grumpy and not in the mood for a lot of wrestling. Sometimes he told A-Fu to ‘calm down and cut it out’ when he got super bouncy or loud. But most times, he was happy to see A-Fu and threw him up into the air or pretended to eat him or asked him all about his day. And A-Fu was so super happy to see him too, because he missed him.

Sometimes, though, he got a little sad and missed Blue-Father and A-Yuan and his Cloud Recesses friends and the bunnies and Uncle Wangji and even Great-Uncle Qiren. Sometimes, he had nightmares where he woke up in a place he didn’t know and no one would look at or talk to him. Those times, Gray-Father would let him crawl into bed once he knocked on the door. He would hug him close to his chest and pat his back and say that he missed Blue-Father, too, and he wouldn’t ever leave A-Fu anywhere he didn’t know. The Unclean Realm was his home, just like Cloud Recesses and just like Koi Tower, but he just had a whole bunch more practice of Cloud Recesses. He was used to the night noises of the bugs and the shush of the tree outside his window when the wind blew. Well, he told his father, A-Fu just needed to stay here more often, that’s all! And he had smiled.

When Gray-Father heard about how good he was getting at swords in school, he was so totally proud of him. His father ruffled up his hair and smushed his cheeks and said, “Practicing a lot, are you? You’re going to be a fearsome warrior just like your die? Smite all the evil?”

A-Fu got that happy sparkly feeling bubbling up again. “Yeah!”

Uncle Huaisang grinned and fwipped his fan shut, patting A-Fu’s shoulder with it. “Ah, good job, good job! What about reading and writing, xiao-Fu? I bet your calligraphy is going to be impeccable!”

A-Fu wrinkled his nose--peckable? "We don't keep birds like that in the Cloud Recesses, shushu," he reminded him, all patient. Ugh, did he ever think about anything else besides birds?

His uncle and his father looked at each other. "Oh, of course! My mistake. But I bet with your shu-gong on your case, you're the top of the class!"

A-Fu shrugged, flapping his toy fan open and closed really fast, the way that made Uncle Huaisang wince (and he did). “I hate reading. It’s stupid and hard. I like doing swords way more, I’m better at stabbing. ” When he said it, he jabbed the fan forward with both hands toward Gray-Father’s chest.

Gray-Father did a complicated twisty thing with his hand and snatched it right from A-Fu’s fingers, bopping him on the head with it. “Good boy, practicing.” 

A-Fu wrapped both arms around the sting and scowled. “Hey!”

Uncle Huaisang sighed. "Aiya, another one. Promise me you'll at least still paint with me?"

Before he could answer, Gray-Father asked, “How are you with a bow and arrow? Have you started yet? Maybe we could try hunting sometime soon.”

Uncle Huaisang made a scrunchy face, folding his arms. “Da-ge, don’t you think that’s too rough for him? And... would Er-ge approve?”

Some of the happy went away from Gray-Father’s face and he looked over at Uncle Huaisang. “I went out with die around his age. And Xichen has agreed that he should have a broad education.”

“But he’s just a baby!”

What! 

Extremely offended, A-Fu puffed up and raised his fists. “I’m not a baby! I can hunt! Die, die, I can hunt, can’t I?”

“Of course you can. I can take you later today. How about it?”

When A-Fu cheered, Uncle Huaisang rolled his eyes and muttered something, fanning himself real fast. 

When they went, it was still a nice day but the sun was so bright when it peeked through the leaves, A-Fu had to squint against it and sweat kept trickling down his neck, even though the air was cool up in the mountains. They were both clopping through the forest on Gray-Father’s big brown horse, Leiting, with A-Fu perched in front on the saddle. He felt very important and tall and he kept very quiet just like Gray-Father told him to be, looking around with his practice bow in his lap. When he snuggled back against him, he felt Gray-Father chuckle in his belly and he reached down to pat A-Fu’s chest. Then, his father sat up, straight and quick, and twisted to the side, shooting his bow with a twunnnnng before A-Fu even knew what was happening.

And it turned out that Uncle Huaisang was actually right. 

Because when they got down and found the arrow butt poking up from the bushes, A-Fu’s tummy clenched up tight like a fist. The other end was stuck in a bunny. It was lying there all floppy with blood coming out of its mouth and nose. The one dark eye he could see was looking at the sky, reflecting the sun coming through the leaves. It wasn’t moving. It wasn’t ever gonna move again.

It was dead.

And all A-Fu could think was that this bunny wasn’t ever going to feel the hot sun again or eat a flower or anything.

He had heard about killing before, and he knew what dead was. Kind of. Sort of. He had just never thought about it for Really Real, actually happening. It was for stories and legends. It hadn’t meant anything before now. 

Suddenly, the nice day was horrible and awful and he burst into tears, startling Gray-Father and Leiting, who swung his huge head around to stare at all the noise. Then, he puffed out a breath and shook his head with a jangle. 

“Why did w-we gotta shoot it!? It’s j-just a bun-unny!”

Gray-Father frowned and knelt down next to him, a hand on his shoulder. “What did you think hunting was, child?”

“I do- hic- on't know! Why did you do that?!”

“We hunt animals and take them home for their fur and meat. For food.”

He stared down at the bunny’s big gray body, just laying there on the ground. “Food?!”

“That’s how we eat. What did you think was in rabbit stew?”

“I don’t k-know ! Bits! P-Parts!”

With a face screwed up, Gray-Father pinched his nose with his fingers, then looked at A-Fu again. “You thought we just cut parts of an animal off? That would be cruel, their legs and things don’t grow back. Chicken is chickens. Pork is pigs. We kill them and eat their meat, just like wolves and tigers do. It’s the natural order of things.”

This was the worst news in the world. All this time, he had been eating silly chickens and fluffy rabbits? They were dying? No wonder there were Lan rules about not eating meat or killing in the Cloud Recesses! He wrapped his arms around his tummy and yelled, “I hate it!! I’m-m never gonna kill an-nything ever!”

Sighing, Gray-Father picked him up. A-Fu put his arms around his neck and wiped his nose on his shoulder, smushing his face into his chest. He smelled like leather and the sun. With a thump, Gray-Father sat down on something, maybe a log, patting his back. “We are cultivators. One day, it will be your job to kill evil things--”

“Bunnies aren’t bad guys! They never hurt anyone! ”

Pat pat. “I never said that. Listen to me. You don’t have to like it, but it’s important to know what goes into your food. Everything in this world has its price.”

“I’m n- never gonna eat meat ag-gain!”

“Child--”

“No ! Never! It’s ho-horrible!”

A-Fu felt him heave another sigh as he kept pat-patting. “Alright, alright, deep breath. It’s your choice--you’ll be like your Blue-die and rest of the Lan. If this is what you decide, then we’ll make you vegetarian food when you come here...and I’m sure the cooks in Koi Tower will do the same. But you can’t be picky about what you eat, because you need to grow up strong. You’ll eat what’s put in front of you.” Gray-Father peeled him back and looked down at him with a serious face as A-Fu sniffled. “That means no more of Jin-shao-furen’s rib and lotus root soup or pork bao. No sneaking things with meat from the kitchen just because you get tired of it. If you have a conviction about something, you stick to it. It means nothing if it changes when you please--that’s not conviction, that’s convenience. Do you understand?”

This was obviously a way bigger decision than he had thought when he first said it. He scrubbed at his eyes and stared at the threads sparkling on his father’s robes in the sunlight as he thought. They were bright gold in the dark green, like the fish scales in Uncle Zixuan and Aunt Yanli’s koi pond. “...N-no more pork bao? Or bo-mu’s soup?”

Gray-Father raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Or chicken or fish or any sort of meat.”

He snuck another peek over at the arrow poking up out of the bushes, then stuck out his chin, crossed his arms and announced, “Yes. Never.”

With a big, rough thumb, Gray-Father wiped his tears away from his cheeks, then rested his hand on his shoulder. It was really warm. “Alright. Think more before you decide, because it’s a big change. And if you believe in something, I expect you to mean it.”

A-Fu wasn’t going to think more because he meant it, he really, really did. He didn’t even look at the body of the rabbit as Gray-Father brought it home and he hid behind his hands when they stopped by the kitchen to drop it off. When a golden Jin butterfly fluttered from the sky, Gray-Father scowled and lifted A-Fu down from Leiting’s big back and set him on the ground. “Go find Huaisang. I’ll be by later.”

Instead, A-Fu first wandered to his room and ate the rest of the sticky candied hawthorn that he had forgotten next to his bed and felt a little better. Then, he went and found Uncle Huaisang. He burst right into his room and announced how terrible hunting was. “Did you know they kill the animals!?” he demanded up at him. “Did you know that? I think everyone should!”

Uncle Huaisang pressed his lips together, looking at the door like it had said something rude. Then, he took A-Fu out into their garden and together, they threw seeds on the warm ground and watched the different birds come fluttering down, bright as little bits of colored cloth. He even showed A-Fu how to follow them from behind and reach down to catch it. He wouldn’t let A-Fu try on his own, cause he might grab too hard, but he let him hold one really, really gentle in his hands after he caught it.

It was tiny and smooth and he could feel its little heart beating super fast against his fingertips through its fluff as it looked around. It was so light and small that he all of a sudden got worried that he would squeeze too hard and kill it, so he let it go. 

The rest of the day while he played and ate and ran around and snuggled with Gray-Father, the rabbit totally wasn’t even in his head. 

But that night, after he was tucked into bed and the lantern got blown out, he laid there and thought about the bunny and death. What if they killed a baby bunny's mommy and now it was all alone in the dark? What if it was a Cloud Recesses bunny's cousin? What if they had just killed A-Yuan's bunnies’ A-Yuan? A-Yuan would cry and cry and cry all day if he had seen. 

Rolling over onto his back, he watched the branches outside wave against his ceiling in the moonlight, rustling outside his window in the wind that blew in the sweet smell of flowers. Death seemed to be what big, strong things did to littler, weaker things. It made sense--people were bigger and stronger than the bunny, so they killed it. Tigers were bigger and stronger than regular people, so they killed them. 

Were his birth parents small and weak? They had to be. Had someone shot them through the heart, just like Gray-Father did today? He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them, green and black speckled clouds of stars squishing around in the dark. Before today, they had just been a story Blue-Father told him. It hadn’t been real life. And he never really thought or wondered about them dying; they just were dead already. But he guessed that they didn’t just come that way because dead people couldn’t have babies. It was weird. 

It was better that he had his real fathers, now. They wouldn’t ever leave him and Gray-Father could beat up every tiger.

When he got back to the Cloud Recesses at the end of the month, he made sure everyone knew what hunting really was. “And the bunny just died!”

Great-Uncle Qiren sipped from his tea cup, then set it back down in front of him. “Yes, that is the nature of hunting. If you’re worried, it does not sound like the creature suffered.”

“Uh…” No, he hadn’t thought about that. “That’s good. I guess.”

Blue-Father squeezed the base of his neck, comfortingly. “That must have been quite a shock if you weren’t expecting it.”

“Yeah….Did my birth parents get shot by an arrow?”

Blue-Father took in a quick breath, but it was Great-Uncle Qiren who said, in a quieter, kinder voice, “No, Lan Fu. They died in battle, protecting their Clan. You don’t need to know more than that.”

“Why?”

“There is no need to trouble your mind with such knowledge while you are young. Know they did what they could to protect you. As Xichen does now.” 

“I won’t be troubled!”

Great-Uncle Qiren shook his head, mouth a tiny bit smiley under his moustache. “Enough.”

“Will you tell me later? When I’m older?” 

He tilted his head a little. “Perhaps.”

“7?”

“No, it will be many years. Do not ask again, I will not answer.”

A-Fu looked up at Blue-Father, who was petting the ends of his hair where it laid over his shoulders, watching him with a soft smile. “I’m never gonna go hunting again,” he said, firmly. “I’m gonna eat like a Lan always.”

Blue-Father’s eyes curved up and Great-Uncle Qiren made a little bit of a pleased face and nodded. “It is wise of you to consider the sanctity of life and purity of your body. It is why we have this rule.”

Huh! There were good reasons for rules! A-Fu never knew. 

When he told his class, some of them already knew about it, like the older kids and A-Yuan--which wasn’t surprising because A-Yuan knew everything. But a lot of them asked questions, which he did his best to answer while feeling very important. They asked him things like ‘did you see its ghost?’ and ‘was it scary?’ and he demonstrated being dead a couple times, then Gray-Father being the hunter. After a while, they all wanted to try and they ended up all taking turns pretending to die and kill each other in a big game around the practice yard, which was really fun! Until Teacher Lan Hai came back outside and had them practice tightrope again.

[shoutogepi]

Heartbeat

Todoroki Shouto

word count : 6.0k

[ ☀︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ]  bitta fluff, mostly smut oop

themes : doctor/healer!reader x pro-hero!shouto, mild temp play (quirk use), confession, dirty talk

bio : You ditch your boring dinner date to tend to your favorite coworker’s latest battle wounds... though upon healing him swiftly, you find an excuse to stay.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “hero x doctor” slot ;) bingo masterlist here! special thanks to @fanfic-me-up​ & @savagetrickster​ for beta’ing! tysm lovelies <3 

side note: this fic is dedicated to my special peony @shoutodoki for her birthday!! val honey i love you so much. you’re my oldest friend in this fandom and every time we talk you fill my day with sunshine. please wish this sweetpea a happy birthday!!!

also available on AO3 here

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Sparkling droplets of rain run off the plastic of your umbrella and onto the marble floor in the hallway. Setting the drenched thing against the wall, you wipe the soles of your shoes against the doormat. Stretching your lungs with a fresh breath of air, you push the handle until the door opens soundlessly, allowing you entrance into the shadowy apartment. None of the lights are on; the only source of luminescence is from the soft glow of the street lamps shining through the downpour on the sidewalk far below. The silence of the seemingly empty place is only interrupted by the steady rainfall outside, and you fidget with the strap of your purse on your shoulder, suddenly feeling like you shouldn’t be here. Sure, you’ve been to Shouto’s apartment, but it’s always been daytime before, and somehow the storm outside makes you feel even jumpier than usual.

A soft groan rips you away from your overthinking, and your feet immediately slip out of their shoes, taking you toward the source of the noise without hesitation. As you round the entryway corner, you can see his figure slumped on the end of the leather sectional. He’s bathed in a gloomy grayish-yellow hue from the dim light that pours through the ceiling-tall windows, red and white locks looking tousled and hero suit plenty disheveled.

“Shouto!” you gasp his name when you register the scarlet on the front of his jacket, your body moving to kneel before him without so much as a thought.

The pro-hero Shouto coughs as he tries to sit up, a large hand clutching his ribs when he starts to sputter out a greeting. You hope he cannot see the flush that blooms in your chest and cheeks as he murmurs your name, his voice gravely and low, as if he hadn’t said a word in hours. How long has he been sitting here like this— how long has he been waiting for you? Before you can talk, he forces himself to speak. “It’s not my blood,” he says, meagerly attempting to comfort you.

His eyes are barely open, squinting at you through what must be quite some discomfort— his face is contorted into a grimace and his hand still covers his side, his breath ragged. His fingers feel cold as your hand lands on top of his, thumb stroking across the surprisingly soft skin on his wrist. “Let me help you,” you whisper, and he nods, your locked gaze sizzling as he takes your hand in his.

Shouto bites back a whimper as he moves his other hand to burn off the material of his hero costume, head falling back onto the cushions of the sofa in pain. His palm is cool atop yours as you examine the purple and red tainting his pale skin, a frown forming on your lips.

“It’s not broken, so that’s good,” you say quietly, fingertips dragging along the tight muscle. When you prod the flesh along the top of the bone, he sucks in harshly, which only causes him to yelp, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “It is bruised, though…”

He exhales an icy breath, nodding at you when you give him a look for permission. Placing your palm on top of his battered skin, you close your eyes and concentrate. You let yourself envision his healed body, the pale muscle of his obliques rippling on his healthy physique. The image makes you feel hot, and you try your best not to let the thought of his naked body distract you from the task at hand.

Meanwhile Shouto watches you work, his gaze glued to you as your eyelashes flutter on your cheekbones, your lips a flat line in determination. There’s a soft, golden glow beneath your hand, bathing his flesh and your face in an heavenly light. Shouto wonders if you know what you look like using your quirk— if you know that you look simply angelic while illuminated in gold and tending to his wounds, taking away his pain. It’s over swiftly, and he’s not sure if he’s more relieved that the pain has stopped, or reluctant his time with you is over already.

“You could’ve gone to the hospital, you know,” you sigh, the light from your palm fading as you lean back, nails brushing against his abdomen before you take your hand away.

He frowns as your touch leaves him, sitting up and breathing deeply. His lungs stretch and empty without any pain, and his lips curl into a thankful smile. “But then I wouldn’t have an excuse to see you.”

You wonder if he notices the effect his choice of words has on you— if he sees how you bite your lip and turn away, too flustered to look at him in all his handsomeness. You don’t need an excuse to see me, you think, hands folding together in your lap.

It’s then that Shouto notices your appearance is even more gorgeous than ever— your earrings dangle and sparkle in the moonlight, your dress hugging your figure snug and hanging just low enough to show a stretch of cleavage. Your collar bones stand out against the thin, plum-colored straps, and your hair falls perfectly on your shoulders. Wow, is he glad he called you tonight.

“Speaking of, you look… stunning. I thought you looked cute in your white coat and everything at work, but this is really something else,” he comments, eyes trailing down your chest to stop on the gemstone pendant shining brightly between your breasts. He feels heat rise to his cheeks, tearing his stare away and instead examining your bashful expression. “I’m sorry if I interrupted your evening.”

You laugh at that, a short sigh falling from your lips. “Don’t worry, you weren’t interrupting much of anything,” you say, playing with the sparkling bracelet on your wrist. You chance a glance up at him to see him looking at you, curiosity shimmering in those captivating, mismatched orbs. “Date was a bust, the guy would not stop talking about microbrews the whole time, and then— get this— he ate my lava cake when he said he didn’t want dessert!”

Shouto laughs at your clear display of upset, a hearty, rich chuckle sounding from deep inside of him. The sound causes butterflies to flurry in your stomach, a grin conquering your pout as you watch his laughter come to an end. “That’s definitely a red flag,” he smiles, pink lips turning up and warm eyes falling on you once again. “The lady has to have her own dessert. Shame on him, screwing up his chance with you.”

“He never had much of a chance anyway,” you mumble, your gaze tracing the shadows stretched across the salt and pepper rug in faux interest. Before Shouto can ask what exactly you mean by that, you cut him off, standing up and brushing off your thighs, smoothing out your dress. “I’m glad you’re okay, though. You don’t feel any more pain, do you?”

“No I’m—” his lips part before he closes his mouth, brow furrowing before he sits upright, hand coming to land over his chest. “Actually right here is a little tight, do you think you could look at it for a second?”

You blink owlishly as he moves, lithe fingers unzipping his shirt and exposing his chiseled torso to you. Desire stirs between your legs at the sight of him, half naked and gazing up at you expectantly. If you didn’t know any better… you’d think he’s trying to make a move on you. Hesitantly you sit on the edge of the couch cushion, reaching out for him. The muscles on his chest jump when you make contact, his flesh warm and smooth beneath your skin. “Here?”

Shouto watches your eyes widen as his other hand slides around your waist, pushing your body toward his. His fingers wrapping around your wrist, he steers your stretched palm across the expanse of his pecs, stopping when it’s positioned on top of his heart. “Here,” he replies, feeling the muscle start to move rapidly underneath your caress.

“S-Shouto, I—” a part of you wants to believe he really is coming onto you, while the other side of you knows that first, you two work together, and second, he could have any woman he wants— he would never choose you. “What are you..?”

“Is it supposed to beat this fast?” He tilts his head, expression earnest, his fingers dipping into your flesh through the silky fabric of your dress. “I always feel like this when you’re near.”

You don’t know what to say— you don’t know if you can even speak at this point. It’s so hot in here, and his gaze, his touch— the frantic thumping of his heart beneath your palm— it’s all completely overwhelming you, so much to take in.

“Is something wrong with me?” Shouto asks, and his arm around your waist tightens, causing you to tumble into his chest. Your soft breasts press up against his firm chest, both your hands splayed open on the expanse of his pecs. You can feel his heart pounding underneath your hand, leaping in his chest like it’s trying its best to reach you. It’s the exact same as how your own feels at this very moment.

You start to tremble in his arms, your face so close to his. You can see each shade of blue and gray in his eyes, every freckle and scar on his skin. He’s never been so close to you before, and you can feel your composure melting away rapidly, his flames licking your body and warming you to the bone. “No, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” you answer, your voice barely above a whisper.

Then he’s leaning into you, cologne faintly wafting off his throat. His head is tilted slightly, eyes dropping to your lips— oh god, he’s going to kiss you. “So this isn’t all in my head, then, is it?” His voice is low, so low— as if he fears he’ll scare you off if he raises it even just a hair. “The lingering glances, the touches, the flirting— you want this, too, right?”

His hold on you finally breaks through the layers you’d built so carefully, your hesitance slipping away like smoke in the wind. There’s only a brief moment that the two of you stare into each other, questioning if you really want to cross this line or not. If you’re ready to drop the charade, the game of cat and mouse.

There’d be no going back once even just one toe sneaks over that threshold.

But it doesn’t matter, because just like that, you’re kissing him, a muffled moan sneaking out from between your lips and reverberating through his. Shouto kisses you back with fervor, eager hands gathering your body closer to his— fingers kneading into your flesh and rubbing over your dress. Your lips slot together perfectly, his soft and plush as they move in synchronization with yours. When you push, he pulls— and when you moan, his tongue roves over your lip before dipping inside your mouth. You’re panting, fireworks exploding underneath your skin with every caress, mind and body completely drunk off of him. Your heart is pounding furiously in your chest, any inhibitions good as gone. Todoroki Shouto is kissing you, ravaging you on his couch in his apartment— and he’s shirtless, and he’s touching you, and he’s holding you so tight and so close that you can barely even think to kiss him back.

Shouto breaks away from you, breathing slightly labored as a bright grin morphs his mouth. “I’ve wanted that for so long,” he confides, pressing his forehead to yours. One of his hands wanders up and down the curve of your spine, smoothening the fabric of your dress. His bottom lip shines with a mixture of your saliva, glistening brightly in the dimly-lit room.

“Shouto,” you whisper his name, cautious not to shatter this perfect moment. You take a second to gather your courage before you secure your arms around his neck, your thigh slipping over both of his as you position yourself above his lap. Shouto’s eyes are wide as you shyly meet his gaze, tingles zipping through your limbs when your panties brush along his muscular thigh. “I can’t… I can’t pretend that I don't want you for another second…”  

You can’t bear to look at him, so you close your eyes and press your lips flush against his once more, your fingertips twirling in his messy locks of red and white. There’s a temporary pause, Shouto laying still beneath you as you kiss him, petting his chest and his hair as your legs tighten around him.

And then you’re on your back, hair fluffed out on the pillow behind you as Shouto hovers over you, his strong arms holding himself upright as his lips attack your own with ferocity. He’s in between your legs, a large hand cupping your jaw and guiding your face so your lips can dance flawlessly, tongues swirling together with ease. A wave of lust crashes over you, Shouto’s hand wandering beneath your waist, your spine curling to arch your chest into his. He groans as he feels the plushness of your breasts against him, hugging you tighter as his tongue traces the bottoms of your teeth.

“You dunno how happy I am to hear that,” he pants, tracing the wet muscle along your jaw and down your throat. He starts to suck on the sensitive skin there, and your hips jerk up into his instinctively, a strangled whine tumbling from your mouth. He kisses your neck messily, trailing down to the soft skin at the neckline of your dress. “So responsive,” he purrs, and you can feel your pussy clench tight beneath your lace thong, excitement gathering between your legs. “How long have you wanted me?”

You close your eyes, swamped with anticipation as you feel him shuffle between your legs. His hot mouth nips at more and more of your skin, shuffling the dress down so your tits spill out of the ensemble, nipples stiff and begging for his attention. “So long, Shouto,” you moan as his warm mouth engulfs the pebbled bud, the tip of his tongue rolling around it easily. He sucks gently, and your legs twitch together, your thighs desperate to create some kind of friction to relieve the wetness gathering in your panties.

Shouto smirks at you, lazily lapping at you as a hand wanders down the front of your dress. He takes your nipple between his teeth teasingly, cool breath only making the poor bud harden even further. His fingers gather the bottom of your dress at your hip, pushing the fabric up so your cunt feels the cool breeze of the air conditioning, your thong not offering much protection. “All that time, I could’ve been touching you like this,” he sighs, fingertip running along your slit through your underwear. He tugs at your nipple when he pulls his hand back, rubbing the ample, sticky evidence of your need between his fingers.

You squirm underneath him, flustered and impatient, sinful embarrassment surging through you at how slutty you must look in his eyes. “I— I’ve thought about you… l-like this, on so many nights,” you squeak out, your cheeks bursting with heat from the mortification. But you need him to know that you’re only like this for him… because of him.

He groans in response, letting your nipple free before he moves to devour the other one. His hands grow impatient, fingers looping under the sides of your panties before he slips them down the length of your thighs, flinging them off into the darkness of the apartment as soon as they’re around your ankles. Immediately he cups your dripping folds, peeling his digits apart so you’re left completely exposed to him, revealing your glistening hole and puffy clit. “You touch yourself and think of me?” he reiterates, a dangerous tone lacing his low voice.

He slips two fingers vertically between your folds, coating them in your ambrosial slick, and rubbing the pads of his fingers over your twitching entrance. His mouth suddenly turns cold, and he grins as he feels your hole quiver violently in response. “Yes,” you breathe out, the word slipping through your lips like a snake. “Oh, yes!”

Shouto slips the fingers inside, each two knuckles deep as his fingerprints rub along your shivering, slick walls. He washes the bud in his mouth with his searing tongue, his quirk tossing you left and right in the throes of pleasure. He allows you time to stretch, casually pushing his fingers out and then back in, never going deeper than that initial thrust. It’s not long before you’re gasping, your body trembling underneath his, and aching for more of his touch. Your tits fall from his face as he cranes his neck back up to look you in the eye. “And did you ever make yourself feel this good?” he queries, and before you can answer, he thrusts the digits all the way inside of you, his knuckles grinding against your quivering entrance.

Your eyes roll back as he begins to move his fingers, the tips of them reaching places you’d never been able to reach yourself. He’s so long, and thick compared to the equipment you’re accustomed to; his genetics blessing you and filling you better than your own hands ever could. “N-Never— oh, god— Shouto!” you cry, just as his lips capture yours again. You whimper and whine into his mouth, legs switching between spreading wider and tightening around his ass, trying to pull him into you. His tongue dominates yours, claiming your mouth as his own. You let him lead— too lost to try and fight him— happily submitting and allowing him to guide you through the pleasure. His fingers work diligently inside of you, alternating between pumping into you, curling to press into your spongy walls, and sliding out all the way to tease your sopping hole.

His mouth leaves yours as he moves to kneel on the floor, gathering your frame to sit upright with his free hand. His slender digits still pressed deep inside of you wiggle, and you bite your lower lip as he begins to kiss along your inner thighs. “Did this tight little pussy cum around your fingers, wishing they were mine instead?” he asks, words rumbling against your skin.

Your thighs shake as he holds them open, his wide shoulders pressing against one and the other in his white-knuckled grip. “Yes, yesyesyes,” you mewl as he ducks down, lips pressing a sweet kiss to your throbbing clit. “I imagined you between my legs, ah!— f-filling me so many times!” Your confession seems to be exactly what he was waiting for, for his mouth sucks in your clit and he starts to shower it with attention— licking and rubbing the flat of his tongue up against it for complete stimulation. You cry out, his fingers continuing their assault on your tender walls deep inside, bending to put pressure against just the right spot.

“Come on then,” he gasps for air, your clit buzzing as his cool breath washes over the aching pearl. His lips shine in the low lighting, glossed with a generous film of your essence while his dual-colored gaze burns into yours with fiery determination. “Don’t you wanna cum for the real thing?”

He attacks you again, this time less merciful than the last— his fingers pummeling into your gummy insides with determination, his tongue lashing over your clit and sucking on it so hard that his cheekbones stand out on his handsome face. The intensity of it all is too much, your body feeling electrified by another’s touch— it had been so long since you’d been satisfied by a man. And this was no ordinary man, not to mention— it’s Shouto who’s pleasuring you— the man who makes your heart race and your stomach burst with butterflies. The pressure heightening in your stomach, your walls flutter against him, attempting to suck his fingers even deeper. You’ve wanted him for so long; gazed at him from across the conference table or tended to his wounds with extra care, even spent who knows how many lunch breaks by his side. Now that you have him, here between your legs, here for you to touch and hold and kiss, your body falls apart for him. Just for him.

Shouto moans as your orgasm ripples through you, the tip of his tongue twirling your sensitive pearl as his digits press against your slick, quivering walls, only delivering more pleasure to you and intensifying your climax. His cock throbs along his thigh, wondering how heavenly you’ll feel wrapped around his length and clamping down around it instead of his fingers. You’re still entranced by your orgasm, ecstasy coursing through your veins like fire and ice combining explosively, just like the quirk of the man who had caused such a phenomenon. When your grip on his disheveled hair finally unfurls, he pulls his fingers out of you, mouth making quick work of kissing your dripping, twitching cunt all over. With one last kiss to your pulsing clit, he moves back onto the couch, hovering over your fatigued body.

Your head already clearing of the static, orgasmic fog, your fingers slide around the back of his neck, underneath the cool fabric of his hero suit and along his broad shoulders. The muscles adorning his back are firm beneath smooth skin, the heat of him radiating through and greeting your fingertips pleasantly. Shouto gets the message, sitting back and shrugging off the jacket. Just as he does so, you make your move, pushing his shoulders back just hard enough to get him off balance, falling back onto his ass with wide eyes. Instantly you take your place before him, your knees hitting the carpet as your hands travel up his slender thighs, sinew twitching beneath your caress.

He doesn’t say a word as he watches you undo the top of his pants, your lips trailing along the prominent contours of his abdomen. Even in the dim lighting, you can see the outline of his cock struggling to be freed against his inner thigh, aching to be released and touched by you. You share a heavy look with him as your hands pull down his pants, his boxer briefs going with them. His length springs out of its confines, standing thick, long, and deliciously hard against his pelvis. You can’t help but stare at it, your tongue wandering out to wet your lips as you take the sight of him in before you.

When you glance up to catch his expression, you’re shocked to find his cheeks slightly darkened, his brow furrowed as he gazes down at you. “Y/N, you don’t have to—” he gasps as your mouth envelops the head of his cock, the hot, wet suction enough to steal his breath away. “F-Fuck…” Shouto sighs as you begin to slide even more of him into your mouth, your tongue gliding against the underside of his throbbing length. You make it halfway down his length before you lean back, pressing a chaste kiss to the very tip of him, just as gently as he’d kissed your clit moments ago.

“I want to,” you murmur, your words reverberating against his hard cock, a coy smile curling the corners of your mouth as it jerks against your lips. “I wanna take care of you, Shouto,” you hum, your hand wrapping around the base of him and beginning to pump, “Let me taste you.” His head falls back onto the top of the sofa, a muffled groan trapped in his throat. It’s ripped out of him as your mouth descends onto him again, your spit allowing you to take him deeper and deeper into your throat. You do your best to keep a steady tempo, bobbing up and down on his cock as you suck in your cheeks, tongue swirling and massaging the bulging veins along his shaft. Beads of pre-cum stain your tastebuds, bittersweet and urging you to continue your ministrations. The head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat and he groans loudly, lithe fingers gripping your hair tight.

Shouto tenses beneath you, his abs straining as he holds your head flush against his pelvis, his cock sheathed deep into your throat. “You feel… so good,” he moans, pulling your head back and letting you catch a fresh breath of air. You take the opportunity gladly, wasting no time before you take his engorged length back into your mouth. Carefully you suck on the tip of him, your hand moving to jack off his length as your other hand cradles his balls, your thumb rolling them easily in your palm. The effect is immediate, Shouto’s laboured breath coming out in harsh pants as your fist slides along him flawlessly. He bites his lip, his free hand pushing his snow and scarlet locks off his forehead as he chokes out, “T-Too good— slow down, baby.”

When you don’t adhere to his instruction, he reaches down and touches your cheek, guiding your mouth off of him before he leans forward and pulls you into his arms, your knees dipping into the soft cushions of the sofa on either side of his hips. He wastes no time snagging your dress over your shoulders, leaving you completely naked on top of his lap.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he nearly whines, eyes raking over every curve, his hands coming to rest along the top of your hips before they wander around your back, cupping an ass cheek in either palm. He guides your body forward, your dripping folds dragging against his slick cock. Your hand lands on his wide chest, the other coming to rest on his cool cheek to steer his gaze unto yours. His eyes seem alive with passion, boring into you with unrestrained desire, filled with emotion as he whispers, “I want you so damn bad, Y/N.”

You smile and touch your lips to his, enjoying the moment of tenderness between the two of you, your bodies finally pressed flush against each other, with nothing to separate your skin from his. “Then take me,” you reply, voice hushed and gente, your thumb stroking against the edge of his scar, “I’m all yours, Shouto.”

A simultaneous moan overtakes the silence in the room as his cock sheathes completely inside of you, your sticky, velvet walls stretching wide around his intruding length. He’s so big, and hard— you can feel every single inch of him, all the way to his swollen tip that nearly brushes against your womb. Your pussy struggles to accommodate him, pulsing and clutching onto him as every time you think you’re adjusting to his size, more pleasure flows through you and you clench onto him again.

“H-Hot,” Shouto groans, face buried in your shoulder as his fingers dig into the plush of your ass. “So hot, and wet… and you— you’re so fucking tight.” He takes a few deep breaths before his biceps flex, and he pulls your body up slowly before he allows gravity to take it back down, your sweltering cunt swallowing him inside again.

His length pushing into you elicits a loud moan from you, the feeling of your walls stretching so deliciously around his width only causing further bliss. Not to mention how the head of his cock prods into a sacred spot as your ass meets the top of his thighs, his length disappearing completely inside of you as your toes curl behind you. Your body tingles, electricity zipping through your veins as you strain your thighs, pushing yourself back up so his cock slips mostly out of you before you fall back down, spearing yourself onto his waiting length. “S-Shouto,” you gasp, trying to find a tempo as you repeat the action, your slick dribbling out to coat his cock even further, “you’re so big, I— your cock, it—aha nnn— it feels so good!”

Shouto’s hands stray from your ass, traveling up your spine, your waist, your thighs, your tits. He’s examining your body, his lips parted as heavy pants tumble out between them, eyes soaking in every part of you and committing it to memory. A hand cups your breast, squeezing and flicking a nipple back and forth with his thumb. He notices how your cunt squeezes around his cock when he does that, and he licks his lips as he continues to toy with it, pinching and rolling the hard bud between his fingertips.

Meanwhile you can barely keep your eyes open, your jaw fighting the opposite battle and losing, quite frankly, as it hangs unhinged, choked moans tumbling out from the bottom of your lungs. Your hips fire relentlessly, his cock pushing in and out of your slippery walls as easily as a hot knife slipping through butter. With every meeting of your hips against his, his cock drills into your sweet spot, stars dotting along the corners of your vision. You’ve never been so full, your body nor your heart, certainly not both at the same time— nothing like this.

This is something else— incredible, ethereal.

You’re with Shouto, and he’s with you.

The lewd, wet slapping of your pussy against his pelvis fills his living room with noise, the sofa wheezing ever so slightly with every roll of your hips. You cry out when Shouto takes your other nipple into his mouth, sucking and tongue writhing against the perky bud mercilessly. Your fingers curl into his two-toned locks, securing a harsh grip while your other hand stays on his shoulder for balance, your body rocking itself onto his hard cock like it’s the only thing keeping you alive. You want to reach down and rub your clit, the pleasure already beginning to build up in your stomach.

Shouto can feel your cunt fluttering, your desperation to cum clear as day. You squeak as his arms envelop you, one curling around your waist and the other up your back as he plants a firm grasp around the bend of your shoulder. With his grip secured on you, he starts to thrust upwards, his cock slamming into your trembling pussy with vigor.

You cry out, his hips drilling into you from below faster, harder than you’d been able to provide. The brutal onslaught catches you off guard, leaving you breathless for a moment as you allow the sheer pleasure to take over. “Shouto! You shouldn’t— ohh, god yes!— fuck, y-you should— your ribs!” you try to say, but he doesn’t give you a second to think, nor to catch your breath. He just keeps hurling your body down onto his waiting cock, spreading your walls with his thick length and driving into your pussy without relent.

“That’s okay Doc,” he chuckles, sucking in a short breath through his bared teeth, his lips tracing along the column of your throat, “You fixed me up, so— hah, fuck— just… let me make you feel good t-too.” He begins to sloppily kiss your neck, marking your skin and stating his claim on you for all to see. His cock easily glides into you, despite your tightening walls as your impending orgasm draws closer and closer. The bouncing of your body onto his allows your clit to be stimulated too, rolling against the firm muscle of his pelvis as he thrusts up, meeting you halfway.

The inferno in your belly only grows more powerful as his cock continues to plunge into you, your pussy sinking down onto him willingly while your excess slick drips down onto his lap. You’re so turned on that the only thing you can focus on is Shouto, hammering away underneath you as he sucks on the fragile skin on your neck. Surely there’ll be hickeys there tomorrow morning, but you can’t find a single fuck to give, too occupied with the thought of being his and everyone knowing it. You find your pussy gripping onto him tightly at that, desperate for you to seal the deal, your months of yearning coming to an end as his hips stutter against yours, his fingers digging into you as he clutches onto you. You want to feel him finish inside of you, for him to coat your walls in his essence and claim your body as his.

Shouto seems to be on the same page, for his arms lock around your waist now, pressing your chest flush against his. Your eyes find his for a brief moment, all that pent-up longing shattering as you look at him and he looks at you. He closes his eyes as your lips meet, ragged breath mixing as your tongues ravel, and it’s then that you let out a sinful moan, the rubber band in your stomach snapping.

Euphoria floods through your system, every nerve in your body lighting up like the night sky on the fourth of july. Tidal waves of pleasure crash through you, your body trembling in his arms as your cunt wrings snug around his cock like a vise. Shouto groans against your mouth as your walls clamp and flutter, milking him for everything he’s worth. His own orgasm hits him too, his seed spurting into your womb as thick, white ribbons spray deep inside of you. Your fingers nestled in his hair, you keep your lips on his— the only anchor you can keep ahold of as your body is cast out to a sea of ecstasy. His hands slide down to cup your ass again, leisurely rocking your body against his as you both ride out your highs and cling to each other.

As you catch your breath, you lean into his strong frame, nose buried in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. His palms trace your spine up and down, one cool and one warm. When you finally lean back to look at him, you can’t stop the smile that spreads across your lips, tired laughter bubbling up in your throat. Shouto smiles back at you, a large hand coming to cup your jaw and bring your lips to his once more.

You sigh into the kiss, content blooming in your chest as bliss from your orgasm still lingers, simmering on the backburner gently while you bask in his embrace. This kiss is sweet and short, unlike the ones from earlier that were all-consuming and overflowing with passion.

“Can I take you to that restaurant you went to tonight sometime?” Shouto whispers, words barely loud enough for your ears to catch, even though you’re right before him.

Blinking at him curiously, one side of your mouth quirks upwards at his proposal, your eyebrow following its lead. “What? Does it have to be the same one?”

Shouto frowns. “Yes. So I can order you your lava cake,” he states nonchalantly, expression completely serious. His biceps flex on either side of you, chest puffing out slightly. “I promise you can have every bite to yourself.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at his bluntness, unable to stop yourself from absolutely beaming at him, and shooting him your gooiest heart eyes. He feels his heart skip a beat, his cheeks flushed with pink at being the target of your affectionate gaze.

“If it means you’re taking me out… I guess I wouldn’t mind sharing.”

  ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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as always, thank you for reading <3 villain!denki coming tomorrow~

➥ masterlist

➥ BINGO masterlist

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

The Birthday Fic

Several months in the making. Started around Ruggie’s birthday (Which is why he’s the opener) completed long past my own birthday.

Content warning for coarse language, sexuality, mentions of illness and the medication needed for managing it, and getting wildly horny to a point that even I was impressed with myself.

As always, there’s more in my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag, send me a message if you liked it! (I know what the birthday gifts were from most everyone, even if not mentioned in-fic.)

~*~*~*~

"I'm sorry dude, what did you say? You ears started going and I just tuned the fuck out."

"I said, 'when's it your turn to have the school-run birthday party?' It's got it be soon." Ruggie's intentionally twitching his damn ears, has to be, and you had to physically shield your eyes to be able to answer properly.

"I don't fucking know, man, I need to have a birthday for that."

"Everyone has a birthday."

"Yeah, but I don't know when mine is."

"Can't Crowley tell you? He's got all kind of magic."

You sighed. "He tried that, so I could remember my proper name. He can't even get a year fix."

"That fucking sucks, Yuu." Ruggie passed you a pop can before cracking open one himself. "You should get one of these, too."

"Ah, maybe Riddle will take pity and dedicate me a specific Unbirthday party." What was this, melon? Not bad.

"That's not the same because you won't get loot."

"Yeah, you wanna go through fifty boxes of chocolates to get rid of all the ones with potion-of-suck-your-dick? I'm good."

He scrunched his nose in disgust. "People still trying love spells on you?"

"Not as much, but I still get Mal to check them over for me. He's good about that."

"He just doesn't want to share."

"Shush."

"It's true!" He stopped for a moment. "Does he know you don't have a birthday?"

"He hasn't realized yet and you're not going to tell him."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu?"

"Trey?" You blinked up at him. You didn't talk as much as you'd like to, mostly because every time he showed up your mouth rapidly filled with whatever treat he'd just made.

"What do you like best for cake?"

"I will literally eat anything that you put in front of me if you make it, even if it's full of shit I hate."

He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, new angle. What don't you like?"

Oh boy, he better prepare himself. "Fondant tastes gross, modeling chocolate is white chocolate so I hate it, a cake should be cake and not mostly fucking icing and rice crispy treats, most icing's too heavy for me if it's not whipped cream- why are you writing this down."

He looked up from his notebook, blinking at you with his pleasing yellow eyes. "Because you always give thoughtful feedback to my baking and I want to make you something as a thank you."

"Oh. If that's it, I'd rather have cheesecake."

~*~*~*~

"Mon Trickster~"

"Rook, I'm trying to re-" You yelped as he squeezed your waist, and you swatted at him. "Fuck's gotten into you?"

"What, I cannot play with my sweet friend?" He'd dragged you from your seat in the library, and was now doing his damndest to twirl you around without ramming you through the tables.

"Not right now! I expect this shit from Floyd, not you." He's going to get you both kicked out of the library if he doesn't smarten up.

"Our dearest Malfeasant is playing with the Rose King right now. Besides, he lacks my talents." He stretched your arms out straight before twirling you around, your back pressed to his front.

"Is that getting away with being a shithead?" you ask as you pap the side of his face, too little force to be a slap but with a similar message of 'stop'.

"Amongst much else, my dear!" He managed to dip you low, bracing one of your legs in the air, and you wiggled out of his grasp with a thump to the floor.

"Ah, what an invitation, ma belle! But alas, I cannot. It could never be. I'll see you at lunch." And he left you there, baffled, on the floor.

You wound up getting kicked out of the library after you started shrieking in rage and kicking like a damned toddler. What the fuck was that about?

~*~*~*~

"People are being weird."

"Everyone's weird around you." If Idia's combo kept, this would be a perfect match. "You encourage it in people with your presence. It's a passive AOE. No fighting against it."

"More than normal."

"It's the curse of spring. If you aren't sneezing, you see pretty girls and get stupid." He got his perfect match, and went back to the lobby. "Even I'm not immune to simp fever and spring flowers."

"You sure? You only go outside so you don't die of Vitamin D deficiency."

He pouted at you. "Girlfriends are supposed to be nice to you, you know."

"If I stopped, you'd wonder what's wrong. Anyway, then you couldn't brag to your followers about a tsundere girlfriend."

"You're not even a tsundere! You genuinely like me even when you're mean." He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. "You're maybe sadodere."

"What's that one?"

"Sadistic yet affectionate."

You opened your mouth but genuinely couldn't argue. He was too fucking cute not to be mean to! What can you say? That pwease-no-buwwy aura he got when distressed was just too much.

"Yeah." He paused, a small smile creeping across his face. "Yuu."

"Yeah?"

"You really like stripes, don't you?"

You looked down, at his blue striped shirt you were wearing. It honestly fit you better than it did him. Further down was pinstriped socks, and if you remembered, the underwear had stripes too.

"What do you think."

~*~*~*~

"Mal?" "Yes?" "Why do you have all this even if you don't wear any of it?" "I do wear earrings now, thanks to you." He dropped another oversized ring onto your finger. "The rest, I simply don't bother with unless I must appear in an official capacity."

"So I'm a special occasion?"

He smiled at you, sweet and genuine. "Always."

"Then why am I your jewelry rack today?" So many necklaces. So many rings. There'd be a crown on your head, too, if the crowns for Draconias weren't essentially elabourate chains hanging off the horns.

"Perhaps I enjoy seeing you wearing my things. You wear Shroud's all the time." He was slowly going through a box of rings, trading them on and off your fingers after puzzling over them.

"Your clothes are tailored, and I'm too big around." You thought for a moment. "So, Mal."

"Yes?"

"Are you planning on something you aren't telling me?"

He blanched and immediately went shift eyed. "Of course not."

You took a breath. "I'm gonna say no."

"Yuu-"

"I'm pretty sure your grandmother would eat me alive if I said yes."

"No!" He made a shushing guesture. "I... am planning something. But not a proposal, my goodness, that would be too much pressure for you and would splinter the kingdom." He sighed. "Even if I would like it."

"I know you would. What are you planning."

"No."

"Yes, tell me."

"It's a surprise. You'll get it at some point in the future."

You thought back to some of the stranger events of the past few weeks. "... is it a birthday party, Malleus."

"Nnnnnnoooooooooooooo?" His face was a desperate, wide-eyed mask of please-believe-me.

"Yes it is."

"I didn't say that."

"You might as well have!"

"It's not." He wasn't even facing you anymore, knowing his face would betray him.

You took a deep breath. 

"I can keep pretending I don't know. I mean, if you want to throw a surprise party, I can't really stop you. And anyway," you added, "If I don't have a set birthday, there's no way I can know exactly when it's coming."

He relaxed, slightly.

"Don't get me a ring, though."

He chuckled. "That does have implications, doesn't it."

"Don't it, though?"

"I was checking what colours were most flattering for you." He finally turned around, all warm smiles. "I should have known. They all look lovely, because you're the one wearing them."

"Stop." You could feel you cheeks reddening. "If it helps, gold doesn't make my ears act up."

~*~*~*~

When you walked to your dorm one warm day, after school, you simply could not see the building for the brambles grown up since you left this morning.

"Yuu?"

"Grim?"

He squinted at you, unimpressed. "Your prince boyfriend has lost his fucking mind. Why'd he do this?"

"I think I know." You looked in amongst the branches, which held no roses, but something better. You plucked off a blackberry and held it to your little shoulder monster.

"Ew, no. I want tuna."

"Suit yourself." There was a path, and if you got on tiptoes, a tent half-hidden behind the briar. "You ready for a party, Grim?"

"What? What party?"

You shifted him from your shoulder to your hip as you walked along, careful of your sore arm. "They decided I needed a surprise party because I don't have an actual birthday. Figured it out like two... three? weeks ago."

"Why didn't you tell me?" He stopped, looked away, and bristled. "Why didn't they tell me?!?"

"Because you can't keep a fucking secret?"

He yelled and scrambled to the ground. "Hey assholes why didn't you tell me I better be getting presents too-" He's already out of sight, and you can't stop laughing at him. It's better like this, when he's himself.

~*~*~*~

Why is Everyone here. There's a huge stack of presents, there's a buffet table, there's chairs, there's - 

"Shrimpie's here!" And then everyone converged with enough words that it was just a wall of sound; mystery hands leading you to a chair, someone was trying to stick a hat on you -

"Wait!"

People only stepped off and quieted because your voice cracked. Idia, hiding in a corner, managed to raise sympathetic eyebrows before whispering something into Azul's ear.

"I gotta go inside for like, five minutes, I'll be right back." And off you went.

~*~*~*~

"You don't seem the type to do drugs."

You looked up and laughed. "Well, Vil, I gotta get through the day somehow." You shook out two pills and poured a glass of water.

"What are they for?" He leaned against the doorway, as though it wouldn't cover his clothes with splinters and dust.

"These," you said as you pointed to the two in your hands "are anti-nausea. They're new."

"How many of those do you take?" He nodded towards the other bottles on the counter. “I didn’t see them during training.”

"Well," you said, as you started to number them off on your fingers. "I started the first ones after Eliza, to help stabilize my organs, the second ones were immunity-boosting after my pneumonia, I started taking vitamins after that as well, I got sleeping pills for nightmares after Jamil blotted - they don't always work, but hey - and, well." You shook your current bottle. "Your curse vapours are pretty good, it turns out."

He blanched, and you backpedaled. "You weren't yourself, and I only have to take these before meals now. I had to get IVs in the morning for a few days, I couldn't keep... wait, wait, shit, no, I'm sorry, don't make that face -"

Vil crossed the distance, putting his face very close to yours. "You should have told me."

"Why make you feel even worse, man?"

"Because I could have formulated something better for the damage." He flicked your nose, more exasperation than malice. "Cures and poison go hand in hand. I can't fix what was done if I don't know."

"Taking care of my medical woes is not your job, Vil."

"You don't get to tell me what is and isn't my job." He squeezed you close with one arm. "You're just an exhausting little potato."

"I'm a delicious little sweet potato that you can't resist."

He sighed, exhausted. "Yes you are. Now take your pills and stop with secrets."

~*~*~*~

"What kept you?"

"Had to make sure there's room in the fridge for all your food, Trey." He hadn't chosen one cheesecake - he had at least two dozen varieties of bite sized miniatures, labeled by flavour and potential allergens. "You were busy."

"Well, I felt like experimenting. I hope you don't mind."

"You're the one doing me a favour." You looked around, everyone chatting idly with one another. "Where's Mal."

"..."

"I swear to fucking god if he didn't get an invitation to the party he helped organize-"

~*~*~*~

It turns out he'd left to fetch an obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers, the scent so overpowering you thought your chair might tip from the force of it.

"You do enjoy them?" Mal was so cute when unsure.

"Yes, dear." As long as people didn't crowd in again. Lately, you can only take so much sensation before your brain shorts out and you start yelling. "Set them on the table, I'll have to start on them later." Hairspray and an arid room would have those dried within the week.

"Which part of the celebration will we start with first?"

"I don't know. It's my party but you're the ones throwing it. Where's Grim?"

He pointed over to one of the set up tables, where Grim sat in a pile of wrapping paper, furiously kick-scratching at a wriggling toy fish as big as he was, while Cater filmed. "We realized a few days ago he'd be unhappy if he didn't get his own presents."

"Aww. Is there catnip in that?"

He leaned in conspiratorially. "We're not supposed to have any on campus because Kingscholar is susceptible to it."

You went right past normal laughter straight to wheezing.

~*~*~*~

So far, the highlights were: A mycological photobook from Jade big enough to crush someone's head with (that he cheerfully wrote as such on the inside flap), an enormous multipack of slipper socks from Ruggie (with a note saying it was a return on the doughnut-patterened ones you'd given him for his own birthday) and a parure set from Floyd, crafted from thousands of woven seed pearls with carved coral feature beads that was frankly obscene in the amount of money it must have cost. (He, of course, said it was worth it as long as you wore it for him, and simply laughed when you quipped that he meant with clothing right?)

The rest was fantastic, still - various books and movies, a pretty glass vase from Ace stuffed with wildflowers, fine silk dresses from Kalim and a simple belled bracelet tucked in, from Jamil. Currently, you were opening a basket from Vil.

"Oh, wow," you meant with sincerety as you pulled out a light, fragrant soap. "You make this yourself?"

"Yes. There's soaps, shampoo, conditioner, perfumes, lotions..."

You smiled at him sweetly. "You saying I stink, Shoenheit?"

He mirrored your smile right back at you. "Be sure to use them."

"... I'm going to kill you," you said, laughing, as you lobbed the wrapping paper at his face.

~*~*~*~

"Az?"

"Mm?" He was watching with amusement as you looked the jacket over, a lovingly tailored frock coat in periwinkle wool and shell toggles.

"Are you sure this'll fit?"

"Of course." He guestured down the table to Rook, who waved. "He checked your measurements."

"When did-" Ohhhhhh. Oh. Alright. "I'm surprised he couldn't tell by just looking."

"I could, mon ange! But that was more fun!"

~*~*~*~

Malleus barely hid his pout when sliding his box over to you, and it didn't take you long to guess why. "Floyd's jewels really show yours up, huh."

"Perhaps," he said, pointedly not looking at the boy currently playing with Grim.

"Yours are more special because they're from you." When unwrapped, the box was stunning; carved walnut with shell inlaid curlicues. "My god, how old is this?"

"Older than I am," he said with a smile.

"How old is that, Mal."

He just kept smiling, and you rolled your eyes and opened the box to reveal a piece far, far different than the frothy confection Floyd gave you. A single, sizable brooch of gilt and enamel, a tiny faerie woman staring up at you with imperious emerald eyes, she was so lovingly crafted you could see the tension of her muscles and the hair between her legs.

"This piece is only a hundred and fifty years old," he said mildly. "The artist lives in the Valley of Thorns, and created it in the image of her lover." His smile was fond, and sweet. "They're still together to this day. Even if we may not last so long, I hope that it can be as strong."

The sentiment was enough to make you tear up.

~*~*~*~

Several tissues and a bat-shaped blanket from Lilia later, Idia pulled out a large box. And another, and another.

"Uh, Idia."

He just turned red as he stacked another box.

"Dude, holy fuck. What did you do?"

"Looked at your wishlist on your shopping websites." He's flickering pink at the tips of his hair. "Couldn't decide."

"I told him to just get them all!" Ortho looked wildly proud of himself. "Some of them are from me."

You blinked several times. "I thought the sites broke." You started feeling faint. "Idia."

"Yes?" He finally brought out one last box, easily two thirds your height, and set it in front of you.

"Some of those dolls were... so much madol."

He was shifty-eyed. "Yeah."

"Some of the outfits were themselves more than some of the dolls on those wishlists."

Despite the redness, his face was still. "Yeah."

"Oh my god." You're already sitting down, but you need to lie down. "That's too much money."

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

"Why do you have so much money one of those sites alone was at least a million madol's worth of-"

"Please just open the boxes," he said in a strained voice. "I don't want them all staring."

You take your shaking hands to start unwrapping, mentally trying to figure out which rooms in the building were sound enough to hold obscene amounts of porcelain, resin and plastic. By the time you were done, there were over forty of varying shapes and sizes with complete wardrobes for each; the last not even on any list - that was an art piece near as tall as you, a fine bone china girl with golden curls and knowing eyes from an artist whose work did not go for less than five million madol even firsthand. Your vision greyed at the sight of her, and when you came to your senses, everyone breathed a sigh of relief before spending the rest of the evening treating you as something at least as delicate and precious as her.

~*~*~*~

It's just past sunset, and guests are still milling about. You're not really looking at them, though - you're losing your little friend.

Grim's only himself in daylight, now. Once the night hits, he goes back to the strange, feral thing that laid your wrist open to eat a chunk of solid ink. He's gone twitchy, wordless, pacing with his now headless robot fish in his mouth, before finally tearing through the brambles to god-knows-where.

"... I don't know what to do about it. He doesn't come back at night anymore. What if he doesn't come back at all one night?"

"I won't let that happen." Idia was draped over the back of your chair, idly playing with the wrapping on your wrist. You couldn't see his face, but a curious tension was clear in his voice. "How many of those crystals has he eaten?"

"All of them, as far as I know." There may have been one on the camping trip that you were mercifully excluded from; thankfully your restraining order against Vargas meant that Grimm had been allowed to attend by himself. Good thing, too, your period had arrived weeks early. "Do you think it's like mercury poisoning? The effects get worse as more collects in his body?"

"Maybe. It's something to look into."

You snorted, lightly. "What do you know about it?"

"... Less than I'd like." Before you could ask, he leaned down to your ear to whisper, "I'd rather know you."

"What, now?" You looked around at the tables. "There's still people here-"

You barely stifled a cry when he nipped at your earlobe. "I put on something nice for you~" You could hear the smirk in his voice as he played every trick in his book to goad you. "Unwrap me and see~"

It took every ounce of self control in you to not throw him down on the table and take him right there, in front of God and every student in the school.

~*~*~*~

"I'm too late, I see."

"Close that damned door before everyone hears."

Malleus obediently shut the door to the balcony before setting his slotted pillow on the dresser. "They couldn't even if they had their ear to the door, I soundproofed all our rooms months ago."

"Aren't you clever. Did they buy the excuse?"

"I think that they would have believed that you were going to bed if you did not say it as soon as Shroud went inside looking very proud of himself."

You flopped back onto your pillows, eliciting a sleepy grunt from Idia. "Shit."

"And if you didn't trip on the stairs in your haste."

"Now you're making fun of me."

"Perhaps," he smiled, sitting at the foot of your bed and idly stroking your leg.

"So, why didn't you tail up after us?"

"I am, if I try very hard, capable of some discretion, even when it comes to you," he huffed. "And anyway, someone had to see everyone off, get everything put away, and bring the gifts inside."

Your face fell. "I'm sorry-"

He crept up to put a finger to your lips. "It was very simple. Now," he pressed himself against you and turned to look at Idia's drowsing form, "what is this?"

You snickered lightly to yourself. "I think he found my browsing history." All you'd left on him was a fine pair of silk stockings, with delicate stripes from thigh to toe. You'd never thought he'd even consider wearing something like that, but your pretty blue boy was so full of surprises.

Malleus hummed to himself as he reached out a hand, dragging a finger along one bruised hip. Idia only sighed and fluttered his lashes, and Mal let out a stuttering gasp.

"Do you think," he whispered, voice hoarse, "that if I took these off with my teeth, that he would still stay asleep?"

You felt faint at the thought. "I don't know, but let me watch you try."

~*~*~*~

You awoke, later, to Idia sitting with the blankets pooled around his waist, five of his blue screens open. You couldn't make much sense of them, too sleepy to make out the letters on their obnoxious brightness, so you reached out both hands to squeeze his waist.

He yelped and scowled at you. "Go to sleep."

"No, you." The screens weren't making any more sense, but there was, briefly, a picture of Grim. "What are you working on?"

"I'm almost done," he said, which was not an answer but you were too tired to notice, so you reached up his back to wind a few locks of hair around your hand - and pulled, which lead to another annoyed yelp as he quickly saved and closed his work. "Just say you're weak to light attacks instead of doing that."

"You know I am." When he finally laid back down beside you, you put your face to his chest, as much to block out the light from his hair as for warmth and comfort. No wonder he slept so poorly, he literally gave off blue light every hour of the day, that only dimmed once he was already asleep. "Tell me about it later, okay?"

"Later," he said, and you drifted off between your two boys, which was almost as nice as sleeping with Grim in your bed, but this would have to do until he got better.