#the rest had been done for weeks.... and i was like well. strip of vague sky colours. its gonna scroll across. done <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

softersinned · 2 years ago

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She focuses on small tasks: one step, then the next, then the next, her head spinning and her face drained of color and her hands shaking enough that she shoves the free one into her pocket to avoid drawing attention. All magic comes at a price, and she once equated it to an open wound: bleed too much, too fast, and you're lucky to get out in one piece. And Arthur is infinitely careful as he keeps an eye on her, enough so that Astoria wonders if he's seen this before, but she's too grateful for the closeness to question it. If he's holding onto her, she's sure he's alive.

Incapacitated. She knows better than to believe it, though there's a part of her that wants to. When they're back in their hotel room, having somehow avoided attention, the first thing she does upon hearing the door close is strip out of the dead girl's shirt, her jacket tossed aside and her jeans following suit soon enough. When she's down to her bra and underwear—pretty, functional, and the only thing without any bloodstains on it—she drops rather gracelessly to sit at the foot of the bed. Her head is spinning enough that it takes her a moment to remember she can't read German, and she focuses her attention instead on opening the water bottle, determined to manage it herself. Once she's done that, she drinks the entire thing as quickly as she can, leaving the empty bottle beside her. "Protein," she manages finally. "Ooh, if I tip really well, do you think they'd do the breakfast menu? What was that platter thing we were looking at this morning that could have fed about four people? That one." She stands, though it takes a moment, and she grins tiredly at him. "I'll end up going through most of that myself. Order something separate for you. I bet dying takes it out of you, too."

She says it casually enough that it sounds almost mundane. Dying. He died. He died in front of her. He died and she felt the exact moment he came back. She's been trying to piece it together the entire walk back, but between the headache and the dizziness it had been more frustrating than illuminating, and any solutions felt infuriatingly close while still out of her reach. Astoria shivers, though she ignores it, and she falls back on the bed with a soft thunk, one arm thrown over her closed eyes, her other hand resting against her bare stomach. "Okay. So. That was—" Her voice trails off, and she lifts the hand against her abdomen and waves it vaguely before letting it fall back. Her fingers, like her toes, are starting to feel icy, but this needs to happen before anything else. "Something. It was something. That was—Arthur, you died. And don't tell me you didn't, because I know death. Half of my magic is death. I know death so well I can decompose bodies in five minutes or less if I concentrate. So I know you were dead, and I know that I couldn't heal you, no matter how hard I tried."

And Christ, did she try. If she pays much attention to any part of her body, she'll realize how much pain she's in, between the toll of her magic and the discomfort in her hands. Healing hurts. As it is, it's taking too much of her focus to keep from shivering like an elderly purse dog in the snow. "Look. It's been, what, two weeks? And I'm completely crazy about you." She moves her arm, sets her hand above the first, and she turns to look at him with a small smile, though she squints against the light. "Absolutely stupid over you. I understand why women in romantic comedies give up their careers to move across the country for a man they met at the start of the movie, now. But it's still been so little time, and we know each other so well in most of the ways that matter, but it's just... It's a lack of time, not a lack of trust. I get that."

She shivers again. She should be quick about this, but how can you say this quickly? "So here's what I need out of this," she says after a moment, expression growing thoughtful. "You don't have to tell me anything. Any details you don't want to share, that's fine. You can be the judge of what I do and don't need to know, so long as you understand that this is a major leap of faith on my part, and I really don't do leaps of faith, so you have to get that this is big. Okay? Just don't lie to me about what I know I saw, or try to convince me that my perception of what happened can't be trusted.

"I mean—the way I see it, it's possible. It has to be possible. It happened. And I know that magic exists and that there are things bigger than I am, so why would this be an exception? I'm dying to know more—" She grimaces at her choice of words, but the smile, faint though it may be, is back on her face. "—I mean that anything you want to tell me, I want to know. But you do barely know me. You're entitled to secrets. This sort of thing takes time." A secret for a secret, right? A truth for a truth. "And I don't intend to tell anybody. 's not like anyone would believe me if I did, but—we look out for each other, right? We have each other's backs. That doesn't stop." She lets out a desperate little laugh, and she sits up with a tired groan, resting her elbows on her knees while she waits for the room to stop spinning. "I'm just glad you're okay. That's the thing that matters most. The rest, we'll figure out."

A violent shudder shoots through her, and any endurance she's had for the cold of the room vanishes. "I want to hear everything you have to say, but if I don't go stand under the hottest water I can manage, I'm going to freeze to death. So I'm going to go wash my hands and my face and then I'm going to stand in that shower until I feel like a person again." She stands, and she's prouder than she thinks she should be that she manages it without swaying. "If I get a vote in what happens next: you call, order the food, ask them to have it brought up in about an hour, and then join me. If you don't want to deal with water that hot, then sit there and talk to me. Whatever you decide to tell me, I want to hear. I won't push, and if you don't answer my questions, that's fine. But after all of that, I just want to see for myself that you're okay. And I really want you close."

this had been everything he’d been dreading since he first realized astoria stirred his stone cold heart. her interest in the book made him wonder a number of scenarios from morbid fascination to capture and experimentation. it wasn’t fair, not by a long shot, but it had been one of andy’s deepest fears for a very long time. arthur didn’t think it seeped so far into his being but when the first nightmare shocked him awake he realized some part of him, deep down, was scared of the same thing. immortality had been lonely but he had been free. not even helping andromache escape from the inquisition made him truly scared of what the possibilities might be if someone eventually found out his secret.

other fears included flat out rejection. that, suddenly, arthur wouldn’t be arthur in her eyes anymore and this thing he finally opened himself up to would be slammed shut right in front of his face. he also planned for practical things like hysteria in disbelief. the perfect scenario would’ve been a kind of death that could be brushed off. well, technically, the perfect scenario would’ve been never dying in front of her at all. but, now, the immortal found that to be incredibly egotistical on his part. or stupid. he clearly had no idea what they were up against considering he’d never anticipated another magician on the opposing team.

instead of anything be prepared for there was silence. the blonde kept staring. kept waiting for the distrust and words of hate to fly his way. in fact, he could feel the tears burning at the back of his eyes because he was already mourning the loss of whatever they were blossoming into. some small romantic part of him held on to hope. since that was desi’s strong suit and not his, all he could really do was present all the logical evidence to himself on why they were about to go their separate ways.

well, no. there was the hysteria. a giggle was better than nothing.

“ incapacitated, “ he whispers as an alternative. considering how close astoria was when he woke there was very little chance she’d believe it. arthur was too busy trying to memorize what he feared to be the very last kiss between them and was too stunned to really return it. the second time, though. the second time he puts all himself into it. he says hello, goodbye, i’m sorry, i love you without having the words for any of it. just a kiss.

he stands only after she does. except, the exertion helps kick his brain back into warrior mode. his eyes flick back and forth across the alley to assess everything that needed to be done. so, the third one died afterall. good. he hadn’t been sure when he first went down or when he initially woke. unfortunately, that also meant no one was left to ask questions. all they had to go on was whatever was left on the bodies, starting with the one who shot him. seemed like the best place to hover considering the command to remain upwind. his pockets are more or less empty save for the extra magazine to the gun. arthur slips it into his waistband rather than worry about the prints.

the second attacker has a few bits of paper shoved into his back pocket that arthur shoves into his own. whether or not they’ll be fruitful will come later. luckily, there’s also a phone. maybe something can come from that. first, he takes a step back so astoria can finish…whatever it is she’s doing to the bodies. she’s right. it smells downright septic but it’s also easier than carrying them and burning them. beggars can’t be choosers. although, he does find it odd the clothes are left behind.

his own shirt is removed to prevent any questions to the gaping, bloody home on the left side of his chest. one shirt is questionable from the stab to the kidney. so, he decides on a jacket instead. it hangs off him like he’s a teenager and not a full grown adult, which does a little something to his ego that he’ll mull over later. first, arthur wants to get astoria out of the darkness and somewhere she can get hysterical again if she needs. or, maybe the walk back to the hotel would be enough time to process and decide on one of many paths that terrified him.

when she’s done doing whatever it is she’s doing to the bodies, arthur picks up the remaining clothing and tosses them into a nearby can. without the rest of the evidence he’s not worried about anyone being curious over a few pieces of fabric. then, he hovers. he cups astoria’s cheeks to look her over, swearing to himself when his brain decides to scream about how pale she looks.

“ come on, “ arthur takes the offered hand, lifts it to his lips so he can kiss her knuckles.

on the walk back he is whatever rock she needs him to be. it’s easier to get lost in protecting her than it is his own head. emotions don’t make sense anymore but danger does. arthur watches every reflective surface as they pass by. he subtly looks behind them whenever he can. by the time they’re back in their room he’s confident no one else was on their tail. at least for now.

The first thing he does is set a chair in front of the door once it’s locked. Everything is discarded from his pockets, including the new gun from his waistband. Next is a bottle of water and the room’s menu, both of which he sets next to astoria. “ you should eat something, birdy, “ the immortal whispers. “ pick a few things, yeah? “

#valiantsword #thread: valiantsword003 #(if someone broke in to murder them right now she's so tired she'd just flop over like 'good timing buddy thrilled to have you here')

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n0bamak1s · 4 years ago

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laughing gas - mai zenin x reader

request: “Mai Zenin x Fem S/o, where the s/o gets their wisdom tooth removed and confesses their love to mai acting all sweet and cute, mai then takes care of her s/o and confesses too, we can see mai being her bratty and confident self but when she is with her s/o she just lets her walls down” - @shockfirefly

summary: in the request! (genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slice of life, humor)

warnings: reader is high on anesthesia if that counts as a warning, swearing, mostly just tooth rotting fluff (literally!!)

word count: 2k

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this request! at this point i’m basically just a mai zenin stan account tbh but the requests for her are just so fun to write. i’m almost on summer break so hopefully i’ll be more active bc i have a few ideas i’m excited to write for!!

it seriously took everything in mai’s willpower to not immediately whip out her phone to film your groggy state the moment she stepped into the room where you had just gotten your surgery done. she stifled a laugh at the bandage wrapped around your head, vaguely reminiscent of the one noritoshi had worn following the exchange event. when your eyes flicker over to meet her gaze, you give what she can only assume is your attempt at a smile, but looks more like a dog caught eating its owner’s dinner, with your face all swollen and slightly flushed.

forget that willpower shit.

she shamelessly calls out your name, to which you respond like an eager little kid. “say cheese!” she gives you an uncharacteristically wide grin to signal you to mirror her actions. you seemed to not learn from your previous mistake and attempted to smile back at her, before immediately cutting yourself off with a muffled groan. she hardly bothered with hiding her giggle this time, but at the very least she had the decency to cover her mouth as she cracked up.

with an annoyed pout on your face, you huffed and turned to the nurse standing beside you, who you were apparently to loopy to notice had joined in with mai on giggling at your grogginess. “she’s so mean to me!” you said, though your tone had no real irritation to it.

“it’s just to send to utahime. she wants to make sure your doing alright.” mai lied straight through her teeth, though you seem satisfied enough with that answer as you started to push yourself up from the seat you’d been in. mai quickly rushed to your side, knowing you weren’t sensible enough at the moment to ask for her help. before you could stand up and inevitably wobble over, she looped an arm around your waist and moved your arm so it was slung over her shoulders.

“alright champ, let’s get going.” she tried to remain as nonchalant as possible with the close proximity, but unfortunately for her, you seemed determined to embarrass her as much as possible.

“well at least buy me dinner first, ya casanova!” you said (much louder than necessary, mind you). honestly, it wouldn’t be surprising to mai if you could be heard from the waiting room.

with an over enthusiastic wave from you and an awkward thanks from mai to the nurse, you guys set off on your way.

to be fair to you, it was surprisingly a relatively tame trip to the door, with you focusing on keeping your steps in tune with mai’s. you were too lost in thought to embarrass yourself until you had made it to the waiting room. you had rather innocently pointed out a small curse, which would have been completely harmless had it not actually been an old woman, and had you not spoken with an inappropriately loud voice. the poor old lady who had fallen subject to your anesthesia induced self gave you an agitated glare as mai waved sheepishly in apology. the moment you guys were out the door, you turned back to glance through the glass.

“we’ll get her later, mai!” you patted her on the back with determination, your voice still muffled in a way that made you sound like you belonged on sesame street. “she can’t fool me, stupid curse!”

had it been anyone else, mai would have simply rolled her eyes and tugged you on, but since it was you, she found herself laughing along, a quiet laugh, like the sound of a wind chime in early spring weather. the sound seemed to catch you off guard, causing you to stop in your antics before turning to face her. she paused when she felt your gaze back on her, looking at her like a kid would look at fireworks for the first time.

she raised an eyebrow at your sudden change in demeanor. “what?”

“your laugh is pretty.” you stated simply, clearly having some pride at being the one to get her to laugh like that.

she turned away for a moment, hoping it would stop you from seeing the flush spreading across her face, knowing you’d never let her live it down. “thanks.” she muttered, praying she sounded at least a little bit cool and composed.

the short walk to the car was filled with you pointing out random cars asking if they were mai’s as you rested your head on her shoulder, before deciding the swelling was too painful for that.

a large grin which quickly turned into a grimace (you really never learned) appeared on your face when mai finally informed you that you’d made it to the right car. she held your hand to support you as you stepped into the seat, and once she’d sat down, reached over to buckle you in. she chose to ignore the over exaggerated wink you sent her way in favor of her own sanity.

as she drove, you babbled on about nonsense like how you were sure noritoshi had made mechamaru to hide the fact that he was secretly a robot, or how after that run you had gotten at the baseball game, you were sure you were destined to quit sorcery to go to the major leagues. to humor you, mai nodded along, before dryly responding that she’d probably be a better fit considering how good she looked in the baseball uniforms.

ignorant of her joking tone, you were quick to agree enthusiastically. “definitely! but i dunno if i’m the best person to ask, because i think you look good in just about anything.” your voice was sincere as you turned fully to look at her with slightly hazy eyes.

before either of you had time to process the admiration you had shown towards her, you glanced back out the window to the familiar sight of your school. you excitedly waved at the sight of todo and noritoshi sparring together. after catching his attention, todo didn’t even bother to stop the roaring laughter that came from your appearance, pointing out to noritoshi the similarities between your current look and his from just a few weeks ago. noritoshi gave todo an annoyed look, before glancing back over to see mai helping you out of the car, once again slinging your arm over her shoulders and supporting you with an arm on your waist.

she tried her best to ignore todo, she really did. though, it wasn’t exactly easy to ignore him when he loudly exclaimed what a ‘lady killer’ mai was. she snapped her gaze to meet his eyes, giving him a cold glare, before continuing to slink you along to your dorm.

when you opened the door to your dorm, the first thing mai noticed was a bulletin board on your wall, decorated with photos of all your friends, which most recently included your classmates. her eyes flicked to a photo of you next to another girl in elementary school with a smile that showed off your gap from missing teeth, and she chuckled softly at the irony of the photo compared to your current situation. her gaze then quickly shifted to a newly added strip of pictures from a photo booth. she smiled fondly at the memory of you, her, miwa, and momo sandwiching yourselves together in the tiny booth to take photos during your shopping trip. they weren’t ‘good’ photos, per say, in fact you guys all looked rather ridiculous trying to pack into frame, but for some reason, mai seemed to soften up at the memory of it, and how happy you looked just to be next to her.

her train of thought was interrupted by you tugging on the hand that didn’t rest on you, making her turn to see you mere inches from her face.

why the hell were you so close???

“yes?” she questioned, hoping to deflect from the fact that she was so obviously gushing over the photos on your wall just moments before.

“will you sleep with me?”

had you not had an arm around her, she probably would have dropped you in that instant. from the way she carried herself to the way she talked to others, most people would assume mai zenin does NOT blush, yet somehow you’d managed to disprove that theory way too many times today.

“WHAT?” it was her turn to be loud for a moment.

“i’m tireddddd” you whined “and you’re so warm.” you had stated it so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

she groaned, as if it would cover up her sheer embarrassment at how bold you were. wordlessly, she walked you to your bed, keeping her grip on your waist secure. it was amazing how gentle she was as she laid you down on that rock solid bed all the dorms were stuck with. she pulled a blanket over you, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed in hopes you’d doze off peacefully from there. when she didn’t shift from her position, you looked at her with a confused expression.

“wouldn’t it be more comfortable to lay down?” your words were still slightly slurred together. you rested a hand on hers. “you know i don’t mind.” despite your dazed look, she could tell your words were sincere as your thumb rubbed circles atop her hand.

mai turned to face you full on, her eyes gentle rather than their usual harsh look.

curse you for being so hard to resist.

“fine” her voice was quiet “but only because it’s my job to watch over you.” she stretched out her legs so she was laying down on the bed, pulling the blanket towards her so she could get comfortable.

“you’re so good to me mai.” you smiled. not a pained grimace, or an awkward baring of your teeth, but a smile. “people always seem to be so intimidated by you, but i don’t really get it. you’ve always been so nice to me. it’s nice.”

she didn’t understand how even when you were all loopy, you still managed to have such an effect on her. hesitantly, she reached up to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

it seemed the boldness from your anesthesia had rubbed off on her.

before she had time to talk, you continued. “i always feel so glad when we get paired up for missions, you make me feel so safe. like, i know when i’m around you that you’ll protect me. i admire you so much for doing all that for me.”

she went slightly stiff at your...confession? declaration? what exactly would you call that? you had said it so nonchalantly, whether it was out of trying to play off your fear of rejection or legitimate confidence, it was hard to tell.

“plus you’re really pretty.” your hand squeezed hers as you looked suddenly very interested in the pattern of your blanket. it was odd, seeing you get so shy all of a sudden, though she supposed it was somewhat of a win for her.

as you stared sheepishly away from her eyes that traced over every inch of your face, you felt her hand come up to your cheek, tilting you to face her. she continued scanning your face with an impossibly soft expression, before meeting your eyes once again.

“you know i wouldn’t do all that if it was anyone else.” her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes bore into yours. her face was so close to yours that you could feel her breath fanning lightly across your face. “it’s all for you.” you’d never seen her so earnest before.

you smiled softly at her, even despite the ridiculous bandages around your head, and your chipmunk like cheeks, she still stared at you with so much love.

“you like meeee.” your tone was teasing, but it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that you were just as whipped as her.

“dammit. you figured me out.” she said sarcastically, shuffling forward slightly so you were flush against her.

up close, the tiredness in your glassy eyes was obvious. she sighed to herself, and slowly leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

“get some sleep.” she smiled at your eyes struggling to fight open your heavy eyelids. “we have a lot to talk about once the anesthesia wears off.”

maybe todo wasn’t so far off with that ‘lady killer’ comment.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #mai zenin x reader #mai zenin #zenin mai #zenin mai x reader #jjk headcanons #mai zenin imagine #mai zenin x you #jjk imagines

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randomprose · 3 years ago

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MoShang Week Day 02: forced marriage, seasons, literature

Shang Qinghua arrives in the Northern Kingdom in autumn.

Well, he’s pretty sure it's still autumn. At least that’s still the season when he left his kingdom.

Former kingdom, he reminds himself. How can he forget the whole reason why he’s traveling with what meager belongings he has in a cramped sedan?

It’s only been a full week, surely it hasn’t been that long that it’s now winter? Or do winters come in the North way earlier?

“It does not, my Lord,” a voice outside by the side of his sedan speaks up. Ah, Shang Qinghua didn’t realize he had said that out loud. “It is always this cold here. Practically freezing in the winter.”

“Ah, I see.”

“It will be best for Lord Shang to acclimatize himself to the northern climate fast.”

How nice to still be addressed by his title. Shang Qinghua has never cared for it for as long as he’s had it and now that he’s been stripped of it—or at least he will be once he reaches the Northern Palace and meets with its king—he finds a sudden appreciation for it. Shame he could only hold on to it for the remaining duration of this trip.

The sedan stops and a knock is heard outside. They’ve arrived at the Northern King’s palace.

Shang Qinghua expected to be led to the throne room, instead, he is led to a huge set of chambers, twice the size of his own back in his former kingdom and extremely lavish to the point of absurdity.

It is well lit with elaborate tapestries decorating the walls and thick rugs covering the floors. There is a fireplace where a fire is already lit chasing the coldness of the room away but not quite warming it and Shang Qinghua sighs at the reprieve from the cold no matter how meager it is. The bed is piled up high in down pillows, furs that look soft to the touch, and blankets possibly with the highest thread count available. He deduces that this must be the chambers of the king and he is led here to meet him instead of the throne room.

For a moment, fear runs down his spine of what being led to the king’s quarter’s entails especially to someone like Shang Qinghua.

Except he is then told by the attendants that these are his own chambers, actually, and that they wish Shang Qinghua find his accommodations to his liking.

Shang Qinghua gapes. To his liking??? This is more than Shang Qinghua thinks he deserves!! He’s a fucking war prize!! Practically a prisoner of war!! He’s not a fucking consort!! This room is so large and extravagantly decorated it fits someone of a royal stature rather than some former lord!!

“Uh, pardon,” Shang Qinghua calls after the attendants before they can fully leave. “When will the king see me?”

“The king will send a summons for Lord Shang when he is available,” one of them says a vague answer if he’s ever heard one. “We’ll let Lord Shang rest from the long journey.” And then they all bow and leave him to his own devices.

Well, Shang Qinghua thinks, best to enjoy the top notch accommodations while he’s able then.

—

Shang Qinghua doesn’t meet the King of the North until the next morning.

True to the attendant’s word, a summon was sent for Shang Qinghua in the form of servants barging into his quarters, hauling him up in bed, bathing him, and dressing him up not in the robes he’s brought from home—which honestly feels threadbare in the cold of the North— but in new thicker and much fancier robes in the colors of the Northern Kingdom. They fit well and snug almost as if it was specifically tailor-fitted for him. Then his hair is done in an elaborate updo complete with expensive pins and hair ornaments before he is swathed in jewelry. An attendant tips his face up with a brush in hand and Shang Qinghua draws the line on them putting cosmetics on his face, but relented when he sees her frown and allowed her to put a light blush on his cheek, line his eyes, and a bit of lip shiner.

By the end of it all, Shang Qinghua feels like a bride being sent to be married instead of a prisoner of war meeting his jailer. Robes fitting his form well and keeping him warm his hair falls in artful waves and matching jewelry to complete the whole ensemble. Shang Qinghua idly notes that he has never worn so many accessories in his life even at the peak of Cang Qiong’s wealth.

Shang Qinghua’s heart is jackrabbiting in his chest the whole time he is being led to the throne room. He has heard of the Northern King’s battle prowess and how terrifyingly quick he has conquered lands to add to his territories. He has heard stories of how he has taken the throne through battling his brothers and others who dared challenge his birthright. However, Shang Qinghua has not heard of anything else about the man besides his capabilities in the battlefield. Not his appearance or his age or even how tall he is. Only that he is as icy as the kingdom he rules over.

The doors to the throne room open. Shang Qinghua looks up to stare at the man perched on the throne and is suddenly very confused why he is the one sent over.

Look, the guy on the throne, he—he’s a King in every sense of the word. A face so handsome Shang Qinghua couldn’t even begin to know how to describe it (it’s just really handsome okay?! Words fail and pale in comparison to describe it!!), a powerful warrior’s physique that not even his layers of robes could hide, and the aura of someone who knows for a fact that no one else but him deserves to sit on that throne.

Meanwhile, the An Ding clan is only the fourth in line in Cang Qiong’s rule. Shang Qinghua is not even royalty. The An Ding patriarch doesn’t have any children to offer so he sent his most trusted and highest advisor instead. He didn’t even know he was being sent as The War Prize until he was told to pack his belongings and was summarily shoved in a sedan bound to the Northern Kingdom.

“So, you are the one who Cang Qiong sent from An Ding,” the king says, looking at Shang Qinghua as if assessing goods purchases, which in essence he is. “What is your name?”

“Shang Qinghua, my king,” he isn’t quite sure how to address the man but he figures it’s appropriate. He is a king after all. “Forgive this one’s forwardness, my king, but are you sure you want this one as your prize for conquering Cang Qiong?”

See, the thing is, in the week he has to travel to get here, Shang Qinghua has had time to accept his new status. So, he’s a war prize. Big deal. He used to be a commoner from a remote and very desolate fishing village before coming to Cang Qiong in a slave trade caravan. As horrible as it sounds, he’s used to being transported and traded like cattle. Mobei Jun conquered Cang Qiong fair and square and in a bizarre show of mercy, only asked for someone specifically from the An Ding clan which no one knows why but, again, as their conqueror, seems fair. He can demand them whatever he so wishes without having to explain himself. That’s just how the game is played as far as the rules of conquering lands and kingdoms go.

But Shang Qinghua’s real concern is...is the king really sure that he wants him, Shang Qinghua, as his prize for overthrowing Cang Qiong?

“Are you implying that this king had a lapse in judgment?”

“Oh, not at all, my king. It’s just that, well,” Shang Qinghua trails off before gesturing to himself overall. “I’m not war prize war material as you can see.”

Mobei Jun looks amused. “So Lord Shang says whilst decked head to toe in the North’s colors and jewelry from this king’s personal coffers.”

Shang Qinghua startles at the lazy smirk on the king’s face. Of course, he would look goddamn attractive with it.

“W-well,” he stammers, “when my king puts it that way.” An unfair assessment if Shang Qinghua has anything to say about it. He didn’t see him yesterday when he arrived travel-weary and in his regular robes. “It’s different under all these embellishments, my king.”

“It does not matter to this king.”

Well, then if he insists. He shouldn’t blame Shang Qinghua then when he inevitably gets disappointed in the long run. He can’t imagine always dressing up like this for the rest of his life.

“What do you plan to do to this lowly one, my king?” Shang Qinghua asks, cutting to the chase. He knows what usually becomes of those met with the same fate as him and if he's going to live and acclimate himself for the rest of his life in this kingdom this king might as well give it to him straight. “If this king had this lowly one dressed in the colors of the north and decked in jewelry from his personal coffers then surely this one is not to be treated like a common prisoner of war nor a slave? Unless this is a special brand of hospitality that is unique to the north?”

“Marriage of course,” Mobei Jun answers swiftly, the smirk on his darnedly handsome face never letting up. If anything else, it only grew more amused. “Lord Shang is to be this king’s husband and the Northern Kingdom’s consort.”

“Pardon, my king. This one thinks he didn’t quite hear my king right.”

“You heard right, Lord Shang.”

“M-marriage?” Well, whatever it is Shang Qinghua is expecting, it is most certainly not that. “Y-you picked this lowly one to be the North’s consort?”

“Is there a problem with that, Lord Shang?”

There is no problem. The truth is there are many problems with that. Plural. Along with questions. Also plural. They’re all swirling in Shang Qinghua’s head like a buzzing beehive, each one of them overlapping each other.

For instance, won’t the northern throne need heirs? How is the king going to do that with a man as his consort? Will he take a wife to bear him an heir? Wives perhaps? Oh, Shang Qinghua could think up ten more additional problems with that on the top of his head. Harem politics are brutal and savage and definitely not something Shang Qinghua wants to be a part of. If he is to be the first northern consort does that mean he will be the one to rule beside the king? What does a royal consort even do? Run the palace household, its servants, and finances? Shang Qinghua could do that, sure, but all his other skill sets lie on being an advisor, not a ruler.

These are some of the things that plague Shang Qinghua’s mind at the moment, but in the end all he could say is, “None at all, my king.”

Mobei Jun looks satisfied with his answer. “The wedding ceremony will commence before the first day of winter befalls us.”

“A question instead, my king.” Mobei Jun nods his permission and Shang Qinghua continues. “How does one know when the seasons change in the north? It is still autumn now, correct? How does one know when winter comes? Or spring and the summers for that matter?”

Of course, of all things he could be asking, Shang Qinghua chose to ask about the changing of seasons. What an idiot.

“Winter arrives when the first petals of the cerulean crystal poinsettias start to bloom.”

“Ah, I see.” Come on, stupid. Ask the real and very important questions! “One more thing, my King.”

“Speak.”

“What are–why do—” Shang Qinghua tries to start asking the questions he really wants answers for but then backtracks. Instead, he asks, “Is it always this cold here?”

“This is the north, Lord Shang. The coldest lands in all the realm. Of course, it is always this cold.” Mobei Jun explains in a tone that says it should be obvious and that basically called Shang Qinghua an idiot without saying the words. He looks amused as if the question was a particularly funny limerick. “It gets particularly brutal in winters. You should get used to it.”

Shang Qinghua just sighs and resigns himself to having his real questions unanswered. “So I’ve been told.”

They get married just before the first blue crystal poinsettias start to bloom.

[ao3 | twt and other moshang week prompts | buy me a ko-fi // more fics]

#moshangweek2021 #moshangweek #moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun #svsss #svsss fanfic #scumbag system #scumbag villain self saving system #writing

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builder051 · 2 years ago

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Everything matters

We fit like an enfit (Tube 'verse)

This one is Steve in hospital directly post-colectomy. I have had this exact procedure done to exactly these results. This is James's POV. Some swearing, some medical lingo, and emeto.

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

Steve's been through the wringer these last two days. Washer and dryer. Extra hot. Bleached. Sanitized. To hospital quality standards.

Because that's exactly where they are. And that's exactly where they're going to stay.

The beginning, Steve's exit from the PACU, had been downright frightening. Steve looked tiny and pale, and still attached to so many tubes. James Jumped up and followed the rolling bed straight to the floor, one specifically dedicated to patients recovering from gastric surgeries.

How many people are they doing this to? James had thought. The hallway was long, and the room, though private, wasn't spacious.

Steve blinked slowly into consciousness about half an hour after his nurse and transport team had abandoned them, and then promptly threw up all over his white bedding. Then all over James, who didn't realize the emesis basin and a stack of kidney dishes were actually behind him.

The nurse came in before either one of them could find the call button, for the racket of retching and shouting had apparently been audible from the hallway. James apologized for being deaf and loud. Steve backed him up with a sigh that turned into a burp that turned into a sticky, stringy hand.

A parade of techs and MAs entered and exit edthe room, getting Steve's blood pressure, changing his bedding without moving him out of it, providing a plethora of triangular graduated cylinders to collect further vomit.

Then what are all those other fucking bowls and dishes for? James wondered. Once everyone else is had gone and it was just him and Steve again, James quickly stripped off his stained shirt and zipped up his hoodie over a bare chest. As much love as he has for Steeve, James wasn't going to smell of bile all day.

"Ha," Steve had murmured, wincing as pushing out vocalizations forced chest rise. "Good idea."

"Press your morphine button." James pointed to the cord dangling half off the bed, then to the pole carrying the rest of the setup for Steve's epidural.

"It's ok--" But Steve cut himself off with a gag that brought up a trickle of something vaguely the color of Sunny D. That made James wince, too.

"See?" Jame lifted the cord and settled the push button in James's hand. "You're entitled to medicine. Every 15 minutes, even. I don't want to watch you be in pain."

"I don't want you to watch me keep throwing up," Steve replies in what can only be described as a pitiful whine.

"I'm sorry that keeps happening." James moved his chair as close to the bed as possible. He could barely reach far enough to put his hand on Steve's foot. "I'm with you till bedtime. Then I gotta go to work."

When the night nurse came to sedate Steve on another round on pain meds, he left as quickly and graciously as he could. James had had his own encounters with narcotics. Good, bad, necessary, non... He still wasn't sure where he stood. He was also going to be late for the start of the overnight shift if he kept standing and didn't scram.

Even though James watched the clock emphatically, refrigerator boxes have never seemed lighter. He barely had to push the dolly to ferry one across the warehouse. Sometimes everyone joked about the man with one arm trying to keep up with the rest of them, but that night, even if nobody was watching, it was true.

Well, it wasn't, exactly. James surpassed them by a mile. He could only think of mechanics. Scoot. Grab. Lift. Elevate... If he had a backache, he couldn't feel it. Compared to how he'd last seen Steve, the scab on James's wrist from last week's encounter with a shattered porcelain toilet, was nothing. The sweat on his brow was nothing. The cardboard dust settled on his shoulders... That might make Steve sneeze.

After he'd parked crookedly in their next-door-neighbor's designated space, James ran into the apartment, showered so quickly the water didn't even have time to fog up the mirror, got dressed, and shoveled down two of Steve's probiotic yogurts while standing in front of the open refrigerator.

Alpine wound around James's ankles. He made an attempt to put his paws into the vegetable drawer to bat at the bag of bell peppers and banana pudding multipack.

"No," James said with his mouth full.

Alpine turned and licked up a drip of yogurt that had fallen from James's spoon. "Oh, you..." James shakes his head. "I know Steve's been letting you lick the containers under the table."

After he tossed his trash and threw the spoon into the sink, James patted Alpine on the head. "I'll see you..." James thought. He couldn't remember his schedule. Work. Sleep. But always, first, Steve. "When I get back."

James shoves his feet into already-tied sneakers and throws a bag over his shoulder. He hadn't cleaned it out since he finished his associates and kissed community college goodbye. Some stupid class notes might be in there. Maybe they could entertain Steve.

Although it was the end of James's day, most people, or at least those at the hospital, were just starting theirs. After following the same maze of hallways, James found Steve's room. He waited with his back against the wall while someone in an apron yelled out "Nutrition!" and carried a cup of green jello through the doorway on a tray.

James tried not to laugh. As if Steve would eat that. Even when he wasn't puking up his guts, Steve carried an aversion to unnaturally colored things, like blue popsicles. Iced purple roses decorating frosted cakes. Bright red cherry cough medicine that James joked about using to get high, while Steve did, in fact, just use according to the directions.

When James steps into the room, he feels the oppressive hospital atmosphere settle in over his head. It's like he's broken the surface tension and plunged into a world that isn't compatible with him. Or isn't anymore.

Everything is completely the same as the night before, except someone's moved the rolling table so it emulates a bedstand, holding all necessities, which, for now, seem to be a triangular graduated cylinder with brownish splashed down the side, and the cup of jello. James notices that they haven't brought Steve any utensils, so he takes it upon himself to move the unpalatable breakfast to the back counter of kidney dishes.

Steve's still out cold, but sleeping, James thinks, instead of passed out. The oxygen cannula under his nose seems to be delivering a constant flow, just boosting Steve a little while he breathes on his own. James squints at the muscles of Steve's neck, trying to take his pulse without touching him, and then comparing the number to the speed of his breathing. Basic medical told him Steve wasn't dying. If he'd paid more attention in basic, or maybe took Air Force route and became a PJ, he'd probably know a lot more.

The chair's set up just as James left it, and he settles into the plasticized leather cushions. It's not a comfortable chair. But James didn't come here to be comfortable.

Whilst keeping one eye on Steve, James lifts the flap on his bag and peers inside. As he expected, it's a mess of student and everyday-person needs. The organization's gone to shit, if there was any to begin with. The bag has interior pockets. Maybe that was back when he was in his fuck-therapy stage, before he let OT and PT help him work his body into something he could be comfortable with. It had helped him find a job, at least. And a boyfriend.

The most interesting find from the bag, so far, is a tangled pair of earbuds. The plug is compatible with the port on his phone, so James attaches them and scrolls to his music app. After wiggling one hearing aid out and replacing it with the soft plastic earbud, James runs his finger down the available albums and chooses one at random.

Is this the real life? Is it a fantasy?

James almost starts laughing. Bohemian Rhapsody? Seriously?

Well, for a half-delirious working man shirking sleep to protect Steve, to make money for rent for Steve while he healed up, paying the parking garage in quarters from beneath the center console in the car...

Nothing really matters

Nothing really matters to--

James cuts off the end of the song before the ending notes can play. No. He doesn't want to hear it. He can't hear it. Or it'll be true. Something has to matter. Even if it's remembering to go home often enough to feed Alpine something other than artificially flavored strawberry yogurt.

James presses the button to play the next song. The first beat sounds. James recognizes it. His foot moves automatically, tapping the floor to the notes of the refrain before the lyrics even start.

Steve walks wearily down the street

his brim pulled way down low

There's a soft groan from the bed. Steve blinks sleepily and seems to be trying to stretch his shoulders without sitting up.

James realizes, too late, that he's been tapping the undercarriage of Steve's bed every time he thought he was tapping the floor.

"I'm sorry," James says, quickly standing up and moving to Steve's side so he's level with his chest and head. "Was I hurting you?"

"What'd you call me for?" Steve asks blearily.

"Huh?" James doesn't understand. "I didn't..."

"You said my name," Steve insists. "But like, mumbly. Were you, like talking while you were writing something down?"

"Mumbly?" James is still confused.

"And I think your headphones are broken," Steve points out. After a couple fumbles, he catches the dangling earbud, the one James left hanging.

Steve lifts it up so it's high between their faces.

Another one bites the dust

"Fuck." James buries the earbud in his fist and turns off the music on his phone. He turns off his phone for good measure. "I was-- I thought--" James shakes his head. "I didn't think you could hear it. I didn't mean to bug you."

"No, that's ok." Steve scoots his body a millimeter closer to the pole of epidural machines. The push-button has made its way to the floor again, so James bends to grab it and give it back.

"But," Steve continues, after giving himself a good dose of painkiller, "Why's my name in it?"

James hast to think on it. There's a "poor boy," but he doesn't have a name... Another one bites the dust is, well, about a serial killer... but...

"Oh." James points upward to show his realization. "No one's ever broken the news to you?" He goes for a sly smile, but laughter is trapped in his chest and throat.

"What news...?"

"You did it," James informs him. "You're the perp."

"I-- what?"

"Steve walks wearily down the street, his brim pulled way down low," James recites.

"That's in the song?" Steve asks, as if he isn't sure he believes James.

"It's the first word. 'Steve.'" James can contain his laughter no more. "Everybody just knows 'Another one bites the dust.'"

"Wow." Steve ponders the ceiling. "How many people did I kill?"

"I don't actually know." James furrows his brow. "I can put it on again and we can count." He looks down at the janky earbud in his hand. "Or you can keep it a secret. 'Cause if anybody here in the hospital catches wind that you're a criminal, they'll probably send you back to prison."

"You'd bail me out, right?" Steve manages to pry his spine from the mattress using the strength of one elbow. Though he's speaking, he still has all the tells going. Quivering lip, pale face, clenching jaw...

Steve looks at the graduated cylinder as if it's a bacteria sample for a biology project. Colonies to numerous to count. Remain sealed due to unidentifiable contents.

"Should I not watch?" James asks gently.

Steve shrugs. He lets saliva drain openly in expectation of the first wave. "Bail me out of here?"

James smiles sadly. "That's not exactly how things work around here. Sorry." He pauses. "And that damn yellow gate with the meter in the parking garage-- it's eating up all my gold doubloons."

"But," Steve asks in a small voice. "You'll stay."

"Somebody's gotta make a dent in the mattress and shove some boxes and feed the cat..." James shrugs. "But I'm here as much as I can be. And I'm with you to the end of the line."

#marvel #mcu #fanfic #fanfiction #we fit like an enfit #tube 'verse #steve rogers #bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier #sickfic #emeto #hospitals #surgery #colectomy

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lixiepeach · 3 years ago

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Red Moon Drabble Series - Part 11

Summary: Hyunjin figures out he really likes it when Hana is pregnant.

Warnings: Fertility rituals, pregnancy, semi-detailed description of labor, Hyunjin has a pregnancy kink.

These all relate back to the original story. It helps to have read the story before reading through the drabbles. The story can be found on the Masterlist.

MASTERLIST

Hana startles awake as someone shakes her. Hyunjin is standing over her in the dark room, dressed and holding her robe. She had been dead asleep, getting much needed rest in Seungmin’s room. Regardless of her annoyance at Hyunjin for waking her, she lets him pull her up, wrapping her robe around her before thumping down the stairs behind him.

The moon is high in the sky, full and shining down on them. Hyunjin leads her into the yard, towards a blanket set out. She’s still sleepy, letting Hyunjin strip her out of her pajamas. She stands there naked in the moonlight, watching Hyunjin as he grabs the bowl sitting next to the blanket. She watches him as he begins to paint her skin with a red substance, covering her with lines and sigils. She can’t tell in the moonlight what the liquid is, it could have been blood for all she knew.

He focuses on her stomach, painting sigils over her pelvis.

“What are you doing?” She asks as he pushes her back onto the blanket, parting her knees. “My heat is still a week away.”

“Fertility ritual.” He states simply, mixing something in a jar. “Nothing is guaranteed with this kind of magic. But anything that might make it easier.”

He leans over her, holding the jar to her lips. She drinks the foul tasting liquid, some of it spilling out of the corners of her mouth. He dribbles a line of the liquid down her body, letting it slide between her legs. Her body begins to buzz, like she’s about to start floating.

Hyunjin splays a hand over her pelvis whispering quietly. She begins to feel warm, the heat blooming outward from her abdomen. Hyunjin presses a kiss to her stomach, trailing the kisses up her body to her mouth.

***********

Hana lays on the bed in the heat room, candles and various statues placed around the room. Hyunjin was determined to get it in one go, having spent the last week trying every fertility ritual he could find on the two of them. He was lighting the last of the candles, Hana rubbing her thighs together as slick begins to leak out of her.

“You’re sure about this?” Hyunjin asks once more, kneeling on the end of the bed. “I can’t give you what you really need. You’re going to be uncomfortable for two weeks.” He slides his hands up her thighs. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll send one of the alphas in. We can just...give up.”

Hana grips his chin, fighting the lust starting to take over. “No. We’re going to do this. No matter how many tries it takes. Besides, you shouldn’t complain. You get to fuck me non-stop for two weeks.”

Hyunjin gives her a wicked grin, parting her legs finally, leaning down to kiss her.

**********

Hana wakes sticky and starving. She’s laying against Hyunjin’s chest, his arm wrapped loosely around her. There’s a half empty water bottle next to him, and several more empty ones on the floor. She vaguely remembers Seungmin coming in halfway through to clean up the mess of wrappers, bottles, and containers. She remembers more this time. There had been less of a haze with the lack of an alpha’s knot.

It had been a horribly painful two weeks, but she would never admit that.

“Do you think it worked?” She asks, tracing patterns on Hyunjin’s chest.

“We’ll find out in a couple weeks.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll try again.” She says, pushing herself up slightly. “We’ll try until it does work.”

Hyunjin stares up at her, hand tracing her back. “It’s times like this I wish I was still an alpha.”

“Hey.” She grips his chin, staring into his eyes. “I said it from the start. No matter what it takes. I want your baby, Hyunjin. No matter how many heats we have to try. I want to give you a baby.”

Hyunjin reaches over, grabbing one of the statues. “If we’re lucky, the magic worked.”

“Even if it didn’t,” Hana lays her head back on his chest. “We’ll try again in six months.”

***********

“Anything?” Hyunjin asks, pacing across the living room.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes yet.” Changbin says, looking up from where he’s trying to get Cho-Hee to say “dada.”

Chan is laying on the floor, being used as a human racetrack for the twins’ trucks. It was their new favorite game and Chan was always down to lay on the floor and let the boys play. Fatherhood had really softened him, just as much as it had Changbin, but she knew the alphas would kill to protect their kids if it ever came to it, probably more than they’d be willing to kill to protect their pack. She feels just as anxious as Hyunjin looks. She loves her three babies, but she also wants more.

It’s partly the instincts as a female omega and luna to want a big pack with lots of pups. Omegas never could quite get rid of the instinct to provide the pack with offspring, even after generations of evolution. It stemmed from the harsh lives wolves used to live, the chances of pups making it to puberty was low, so more pups meant more chances for offspring to make it. The need for pups never went away, the desire to have as many as possible never leaving the omega instincts.

That, and she knew how much Hyunjin wanted his own. He had been less vocal about it than Changbin, and even a couple others, but she knew. She knew from the glances he’d give the pups when he thought no one was looking. How he’d volunteer to hold them or play with them whenever he could. How much work he had put into making sure every fertility ritual was done correctly, all the research he did to try and find out just how likely it was for him to get her pregnant, all the tricks he could try to make it happen the first time. She knew the others were taking notes as well. It would be a struggle from here on.

The timer on her phone goes off, the room going still as she picks up the pregnancy test. Even the twins have stopped playing, sensing the tension in the four adults. She looks at the test, closing her eyes for a moment as she takes a breath.

She can’t hide the grin anymore, showing Hyunjin the test. He stares at it in shock, taking it from her hands. She laughs as he scoops her up in excitement, kissing her. Even Cho-Hee claps in excitement, even though she doesn’t understand why they’re excited.

“It worked.” She breathes, cupping Hyunjin’s face. “It worked.”

“I told you there’s some alpha in there still!” Changbin says.

*********

Hana lays still, listening to the heartbeat in her stomach. There’s only one again this time, the single heartbeat loud and strong. Hyunjin rubs his hands over her stomach, rubbing the cream into her skin. He was completely enamoured anyways, hands constantly on her stomach, wrapping around her from behind, always sleeping with at least one hand over her stomach. She hums as he moves his hands to her hips, massaging the sore joints.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, hands moving to her thighs.

Hana cracks her eyes open, looking down at Hyunjin over her stomach. “I feel like a whale.”

He smirks, pressing kisses to her stomach. “But you look so sexy pregnant.”

Hana had discovered Hyunjin’s desire to have a pup went deeper than she thought it had. He had been touchy with the other pregnancies, but now, he couldn’t help himself. He kept talking about how sexy she was, how much he loved seeing her pregnant. She knows part of it is his excitement for his pup. But apparently, he also found her more attractive while pregnant.

Hana wraps her arms around him as he hovers over her. “Be easy tonight. My back hurts.”

Hyunjin rolls her to her side, pressing himself close behind her. He wraps his arms around her, one hand on her stomach, the other under her head. He cradles her as he ruts into her, moaning quietly into her ear. They weren’t as wild as they used to be, now that there were pups in the house. It was a natural thing in packs, but Hana didn’t want to subject her pups and their developing senses to that. Not that they would understand yet.

Hyunjin makes her cum first, cleaning up after spilling into her. He lays back down behind her, holding her stomach.

“Soon.” She whispers, placing her hands over his.

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

Hyunjin’s hands are shaking as he kneels between her legs. He was determined to be the one to bring his child into this world. He had helped with the twins and with Cho-Hee, so it only felt right to deliver his as well.

“I can do this if you need me to.” Minho says, looking at Hyunjin’s shaking hands.

“No. I can do it.”

“We’re getting close.” Chan says, wincing as Hana squeezes his hands, another contraction ripping through her.

He was seated behind her, supporting her body as she squatted between his legs. It was the position she stuck to, birthing the other three the same way. She had asked Chan to be with her, wanting her alpha’s support.

Hyunjin presses on her stomach as she contracts again, almost no time between them now. “Okay, you can start pushing.”

Chan whispers into her ear as she bears down, pushing with each contraction. Hyunjin watches the head begin to crown, Minho ready with towels. His son comes into the world screaming, right into Hyunjin’s hands. He tries to blink back the tears, staring down at the small living, breathing being in his hands. He had taken part in making him. This was his son. His own son.

He lets Minho take his son as he tries to focus on finishing his job. He was in love already, and suddenly understood how something so small had taken down both of the most powerful alphas in the pack. Even Minho with his uncaring front was putty in their hands and he got it now. He understood.

“Go on.” Minho pushes him aside. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

Chan moves from behind Hana, letting Hyunjin take his place. Hana is holding their son now, wrapped in his blanket. Hyunjin wraps his arms around both of them, looking down at him over her shoulder. He presses a kiss to Hana’s head, still damp with sweat.

“He’s so beautiful. You did so good.”

“You had a hand in him too.” Hana says, looking back at him.

She’s practically glowing. She always had a glow about her post-birth. Hyunjin loves it, seeing her like that. He leans his chin on her shoulder, staring down at his son. He can’t help the tears now, tracing a finger over his soft little cheek.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fic #skz fic #stray kids werewolf au #skz werewolf au #stray kids supernatural au #skz supernatural au #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x oc #skz x oc #ot8 x reader #ot8 x oc

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saintshigaraki · 4 years ago

Text

when you break my heart, do it softly

pairing: gender neutral reader x dabi

work count: 1.5k

excerpt: A rather large part of you wonders if maybe you should’ve seen this coming. The other part of you knows that even if you had, it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. You loved him a bit too much to walk away before you absolutely had to.

a/n: it’s not like. super relevant but this is an au where dabi is not a wanted villain.

tags: cheating, angst, hurt/comfort, hopeful ending, SOFT DABI

in case you’d rather read it on ao3!

A rather large part of you wonders if maybe you should’ve seen this coming. The other part of you knows that even if you had, it probably wouldn’t have changed a thing. You loved him a bit too much to walk away before you absolutely had to.

Dabi hadn’t ever seemed like the commitment sort of guy anyway, not since the first moment you met him when he had been incessantly flirting with you and two other girls at the same bar you were trying and failing to manage. It was your first night on the job and it was a seedy place crawling with even seedier people but you needed the money and work was work.

At least that’s what you told yourself when Dabi’s flirting got more and more annoying. It was hard to focus with him breathing down your fucking neck. You told him as much. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth because while you don’t know who he is, an awfully annoying voice in the back of your head whispered perhaps you shouldn’t piss off the scarred up man who just minutes ago was demonstrating just how hot his flames can get.

You and Dabi stood completely still and silent for a few long seconds, an uncapped beer freezing through your palm and his glowing blue eyes narrowed and burning straight through your skull.

The urge to trip over your words and backtrack was almost impossible to ignore, almost. But you had shit to do and this job was already stressing you the fuck out and you’re two seconds away from being evicted so this needs to work out so it would be nice if he backed the fuck off for just a single second.

So, instead of groveling at his feet, you stuck your chin out, took a deep breath and calmly said, “Look, you’re very, very attractive, and trust me, at any other time I’d be so flattered and into this, but it’s my first night and I’m struggling just a bit so can you please give me a minute.”

He was silent for a few seconds before his lips curled up into an awfully too pleased and cocky smile revealing a pair of shockingly white teeth and weirdly sharp canines.

“You think I’m hot, doll?”

The tension between you two melted completely.

You groaned but only to hide the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips.

(He saw it anyway.

Later, in the early hours of the morning, he asked for your number. You gave it to him because you were a little dumb and he was a little too beautiful and surprisingly funny in a strange morbid violent lovely sort of way.

You thought this is dangerous. Not necessarily because he was dangerous-though you didn’t doubt that he most definitely was- but because as he smiled down at you with his crooked grin that made him look more boyish than villainous, you thought that’d he’d be so, so easy to fall in love with. And that he’d break your heart for it.

You were right, of course. But fuck if it didn’t hurt all the same because of it)

A year and a half later, standing in you and Dabi’s shared apartment, you’re forced to see the truth in your own damning words.

He had stripped off his shirt, getting ready for bed and for as strong as you’d like to believe you are, you can’t contain the wounded sound that escapes your mouth before you clamp your lips together.

He whips around but the damage is done. There are claw marks down his back, ones you most definitely had not left.

You both stare at each other, something so heavy and awful hanging in the space between you two.

Vaguely, it reminds you of the night you and Dabi met. Though thinking about that does nothing but rub salt in the wound, so you push it away and bury it deep.

He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“I love you, Dabi. I want you to know that. I love you so much. And I always will.”

The words are so heartbreakingly true.

You actually did end up getting evicted after that fateful night at the bar and even though you and Dabi had been dating for only 4 months at that point, he’d offered you his home and let you get back on your feet before paying rent. He knew exactly how to comfort you on the days where everything felt a bit too much like it was caving in, and you had held him as he sobbed so hard he’d heaved, more times than you could count.

You had seen the worst and best in each other. Bared your wounds so sweetly at such a formative time in your lives. How could you not love him? How could you not care for him for the rest of your life?

Of course, it hurt that he’d fucked another person, it broke your heart so completely, but the idea of being mad, of screaming at him, and throwing shit and causing a mess didn’t even cross your mind, because deep down, you thought, perhaps it is time to move on. Perhaps you both need something different right now.

You had gotten a job offer in America some time ago and you hadn’t taken it because of Dabi. Because you loved him and he was here. You had recently gotten an email that it was still on the table. It’d be a good opportunity for you. A great one actually.

It was time to move on, you realized. To grow as people, separately.

Dabi is the one to drive you to the airport. It’s a little strange, you’ll admit, but everything about what happened post the claw marks incident was a little strange. You’d stayed in his apartment after everything. Three weeks of skin-crawling awkwardness tinged with unspoken hurt.

It didn’t feel awkward now, though. As he stood outside his car with his hands in his pockets staring at you like you’re bound to turn to dust if he looks away.

You set your suitcase down gently and approach him, until you’re mere inches apart. He says nothing. You don’t either.

Instead, you wrap your arms around him and hug him. He’s stone still and just as you’re about to let go he returns it so tightly that you’re nearly crushed against his chest. You can’t help but laugh a little. His hold has always been a bit painful (but only in the sweetest way).

“I love you,” he murmurs into your hair.

You laugh again, light and sweet because you love him as well. So much it hurts.

“I love you, too.”

A few weeks after getting to America you change your number and don’t tell Dabi. Because even though you love him, you think you might hate him a little too. And you’d rather let it go before hate is all you have of him.

You return to Japan a year and a half later. They offered you a transfer and you took it. Going to America was an important and needed step in your life, but in your bones, you feel the truth of it. It’s time to go home.

The night you land back in Japan, you go to the same bar you met Dabi in. Partly for the nostalgia, partly because you did genuinely love your boss, but mostly because you knew you’d get a discount.

You’re on your second vodka and coke when he comes in. You don’t even have to turn around to know. You feel it deep in your chest, a sweet ache in your bones.

He sits next to you and for a moment neither of you say anything. Not until you turn to look at him. At first glance, it’s as though nothing has changed about him. Same jacket, same dyed hair, same scars, but something in his eyes is different. Older, maybe, though it’s only been a year. And he holds himself a bit differently as well.

You like it.

You tell him as much.

He gives you that same too-pleased cocky smile that you first saw what felt like lifetimes ago.

“You think I’m hot, doll?”

You groan to hide a smile tugging at the corner of your lip.

He sees it anyway.

You wonder if history really is bound to repeat itself. But you look at him and all his minute differences, and think, maybe not. And perhaps you’re too hopeful, and maybe a little dumb, but when you walk out of the bar with him and he gives you that boyish smile, you’re not as sure that he’ll break your heart this time around.

And when he’s kissing his way down your neck and whispering, I love you, I love you, I love you, like a prayer, and his tears leave a trail on your skin, it’s hard to not return the sentiment.

You love him. Of course you do. How could you not?

You tell him as much.

Perhaps this is a mistake. Perhaps it isn’t. Loving someone is always a risk, sometimes it feels like you’re setting your heart up to be broken.

But, this is worth the risk, you think. It always has been.

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi imagine #dabi x you #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha #dabi #mha #my hero academia #vicwrites

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americxn · 4 years ago

Text

Run (part 5)

wordcount: 3.5k

warnings: teasing, slight smut

Kai’s side of the bed had long since gone cold when you awoke the next morning. Hurrying from the room, you cursed yourself for having gone to him, the restful sleep that his presence had provided you allowing your thoughts to become sharper and you scolded yourself for giving in to your want so easily. But as you dressed and readied yourself in the guest room across from Kai’s, your craving for him was undeniable, his face stark behind your eyelids whenever you closed your eyes, whenever you blinked. Your heart had seemingly already made the choice for you: It would take awhile for you to fully forgive Kai for what he had done to you, and you knew that when that happened, your want for him would simply burn even stronger. There was no point in forbidding something that both you and him so desperately wanted. A slow grin spread across your face as you mentally agreed with yourself that you were more than willing to give him a chance to love you. But where would the fun be in giving yourself over to him so easily? You turned back to your closet, pulling off the simple shirt you had just donned and replacing it with a tiny, low-cut crop top. Smiling evilly, you turned for the door, making your was down the stairs to the kitchen, silently hoping that Kai would already be in there.

The kitchen was empty when you arrived, causing you to sigh. Pushing away the dim glow of disappointment unravelling within your gut, you stalked for the fridge, grabbing some milk and setting about making yourself a bowl of cereal. You ate your breakfast leant against the counter facing the open kitchen doors, your eyes constantly flicking from your food to the door. Kai had probably gone out, you had woken up fairly late and he usually had errands to run that he preferred to do in the morning. The acknowledgement that you knew Kai’s routine so well made you smile softly. You stopped yourself, hurriedly shoving more cereal into your mouth, wiping at the milk that dribbled down your chin as you cursed yourself for already being so smitten with this man. Finishing up your breakfast, you chucked the empty bowl and spoon into the sink, filling a glass of water and draining it before bracing your arms on the counter. “You’re hopeless.” You whispered to yourself, pushing yourself off the worktop and slowly meandering to the kitchen doors, not sure what to do with yourself. The familiar sound of a car turning into the house’s driveway made you pause in your tracks, your head snapping to the window, watching as Kai’s large white car slowly rolled up the driveway. You stole that car. Your mind whispered at you. Pushing the thought away you watched as Kai emerged from the car, the door slamming shut behind him. Jerking into action, you jumped onto one of the barstools arranged around the marble island in the centre of the kitchen but cursed yourself as you realised that now you were sat stupidly at the kitchen table, along and doing absolutely nothing. But You weren’t given time to dwell on the thought as the front door swung open, Kai’s audible footsteps allowing you to track his short journey down the small stretch of hallway between the front porch and the kitchen door. He was whistling quietly as he came into view in the open doorway, his movements halting as he beheld you sat at the table. He wore a neatly ironed black shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal a portion of his chest, the top half of his faded blue hair pulled into a tight bun at the crown of his head. His car keys hung from his finger as his whistling stopped, Kai turning towards you and diverting his journey to step into the kitchen. You smiled at him, your elbows coming to rest on the cool surface before you, ensuring that he noticed when you squeezed your arms slightly tighter to your body in such a way that pushed your tits further together, your cleavage more than noticeable from the low-cut material of the shirt you wore. “Hey.” He greeted simply, wandering further into the room. “Hi.” You responded, leaning forwards in your seat to greet him. “Where have you been?” “Just running some errands.” You nodded at his vague explanation. “When did you wake up?” He asked. “Not too long ago, I slept in.” He hummed, before responding. “My bed is very comfy, isn’t it?” You tried in vain to keep your cheeks from heating, dropping your gaze to the table in order to avoid his dark eyes as they bored into yours, trying to gauge your reaction. “You should visit me in bed more often, y’know. I enjoy your company.” Whether he knew it or not, his implicit offer was clear: he didn’t mean just to sleep. You cleared your throat, adjusting your arms in order to enhance your cleavage even more. “Do you need any help with anything today? I need someone to give me something to do, I’m already bored.” Kai smiled slowly, his eyes roving over your body, dipping dangerously low before rising to meet your gaze once more. “Nah, I’ve got it covered. Thanks though.” He shrugged as he turned to leave the room. “Although, you could do me the favour of putting those pretty tits of yours away. I don’t want anyone else seeing them.” Your mouth went utterly dry at his boldness, your eyes trained on his broad back as he left the room without another word, resuming his whistling. You stared at the empty kitchen doorway for several moments, trying to ignore the effect that his words had on you as your pussy wetted slightly. Fine, if he wanted to play that game, you could play it just as hard.

Your teasing only got more and more bold over the next few days, and Kai’s reactions only became more and more noticeable. At cult meetings, you sat so close to Kai on the couch behind where he stood to address his group that your knees would brush the backs of his legs, his shoulders stiffening almost imperceptibly with each press of your clothed skin against him. Whenever you cooked dinner together, you would purposely brush past him again and again, leaning over the work surfaces slightly and pushing your ass out. Kai would return the carefully planned ‘careless’ treatment, leaning over you to reach for things from the cupboards, his hands falling to your hips with a ghost’s touch whenever he needed to get past you. Your outfits got skimpier and more revealing each day, the slices of skin that you kept on show for Kai begging him to make more comments on your body like the one he had made about your tits in the kitchen. But of course, Kai knew exactly what you were trying to do and refused to give you what you wanted, instead returning the treatment by ensuring that you walked in on him shirtless several times. This experience had left you flustered and unable to think coherent thoughts afterwards each time it happened, Kai indulging in the redness of your cheeks and the slackness of your jaw each time he allowed you to see the strong plains of his chest and back. And there was that time when you gone into Kai’s room whilst he worked downstairs, wearing nothing but a large t-shirt and your favourite panties. You had arranged yourself on his bed above the covers on your side with your legs tucked upwards to your chest, your arms gathering the pillow to your face. Kai had eventually entered the room after you had drifted off to sleep, his mouth falling open as he beheld you and the generous view of your bare ass that your position presented him. You had stirred five minutes later, disturbed by the sound of the shower running, Kai shivering beneath the frozen torrents of water as he forced himself to empty his mind of the truly filthy thoughts that had flooded his brain at the sight of your ass, your panties hugging your body so tightly that they were almost entirely hidden by the glorious curves of your ass. When he emerged from the shower several minutes later, he had composed himself enough to carefully move your body so that he was able to tuck you beneath the covers before stripping off his clothes and sliding into the bed beside you, his skin cold from the shower.

After some time of playing with and taunting one another, you had begun to lose hope that Kai would make a move on you, but your desperate prayers were answered when, after about a week of Kai enduring your teasing, he finally gave in, stiffly knocking on the door of the guest room late one night. “Yeah?” You called out, pausing the show you had playing on your laptop and looking towards the doorway. Kai appeared as the door was pushed open and he wasted no time in stepping into the room; closing your laptop, you pushed it to the bottom of the bed, greeting Kai with a questioning look. With his sudden presence, the room seemed to get smaller, filling with an agitated energy as you beheld his stiffly set shoulders. “Stand up.” He ordered, meeting you halfway across the room as you stood instantly as his command, the hard set of his face making your stomach flutter. He stepped up to you, his face an inch from yours. “You’ve been driving me fucking insane.” A slow smile spread across your face at his words. His gaze dropped to your grin, his jaw clenching, the muscles within feathering at your satisfaction. “Wicked thing,” he spoke through gritted teeth, taking another step forwards so that you were chest-to-chest. “I didn’t think you were enjoying it that much.” “Oh, of course I was.” You exclaimed coolly, your hands raising to settle on his chest, your fingertips tracing swirling patterns onto the soft fabric of his shirt. Kai’s eyes were dark as they bore into yours. “Are you finally going to let me do something or what? I don’t know how to make my apology even more clear to you.” You pushed his lowly spoken words aside, just wanting to forget about everything but the glorious man before you. “I don’t want anymore apologies, Kai. I want you to show me how sorry you are.” Your tone was light as your fingers roamed over his shirt, wishing that it was his warm skin you were touching as you raised your eyes to his. He hummed, his hands shooting out to latch onto your wrists and removing them from his chest. “Oh, I will.” Kai promised, stepping forwards slowly whist using his hold on your wrists to back you towards the bed. The tight hold of his slender fingers on your skin was intoxicating and you ached with both want and excited trepidation about what would come next. “Is that a threat or a promise?” You ventured, the knot of excited nerves gathered in your gut growing. “You won’t have to worry about that yet. Now stop talking.” His hands released your wrists, trailing slowly down your chest to the front of the vest you wore. The sound of the fabric tearing filled the room as his fingers hooked into the neck line, pulling the material apart in one clean rip. It fell to the floor around your feet, Kai not giving you so much as a second to track his movements as his fingers moved to hook roughly into the waistline of your pajama shorts. He quickly slid the garment down your bare legs, following the movement with his body until he was kneeling on the floor before you. You could barely breathe as he looked up at you, his hand trailing lightly up the back of your leg to your upper thigh. Your panties were the next thing to be discarded on the floor, Kai smirking as he gripped the back of your knee with his hand and pulled your leg up onto his shoulder. Your head tipped back of its own accord, the proximity of his face to your already drenched cunt overwhelming. Kai’s hand gripped onto the thigh you had hooked over his shoulder as he leaned in to press a single lingering kiss to your mons. The simple action could’ve had you cumming right there but Kai pulled back, his hand once again finding the back of your knee as he rose, pulling your leg off his shoulder and hooking it around his waist once he had risen to his full height. You could do nothing but stare at his face as his fingers deftly reached around you to undo your bra, it’s rough straps scraping against your too sensitive skin as he eased the garment from your shoulders and arms. As soon as it had hit the floor, Kai pushed your back, practically drooling as you fell onto your back in an exposed sprawl. His eyes dipped to the apex of your thighs, his heart thundering with need at the sight of the glistening sheen of wetness coating your pussy; he pushed his overwhelming want for you aside, needing to extract his revenge for your teasing before allowing himself to have his way with you. You couldn’t suppress the shudder that racked your body under the intense scrutiny of his dark eyes. “I want your head on the pillows.” He ordered, watching as you scrambled to obey his command, your pert ass exposed to Kai as you quickly crawled up the bed, flipping yourself over and settling into the soft pillows. He was on you immediately, his knees settling on each side of your legs. “You want me?” He breathed down to you, his hands itching to touch every inch of you. “Yes.” You whispered without hesitation, your hands coming to settle on his shoulders. “I can see that you’re already wet for me.” He crooned, bringing his face slightly closer to yours. “Yes. I’ve been wet all week.” You admitted shamelessly. His face crumpled in mock sympathy. You writhed your hips beneath him, restraining yourself from whining at his sudden lack of action. “You’re sinful.” He whispered roughly and you nodded, agreeing with his comment with renewed desperation. “Keep your arms above your head.” You blinked at him, but did as he asked, your hands hitting the headboard as you silently complied. Satisfied with your obedience, Kai lowered his head to the base of your throat, his hair brushing pleasantly against your collarbones. His lips were soft and warm as he pressed several kisses to your skin, drawing a trail up the column of your throat to your chin. You followed his movements by tipping your head back slightly further with each kiss as he progressed up your neck, allowing him better access and silently inviting him to use his teeth to mark you. As soon as his lips had completed their journey to your jaw, skimming against the bottom of your chin, he pulled away, denying you the full kiss to your lips that you craved. He kept eye contact with you as he moved down your body slightly, his lips latching onto your ribs and proceeding to give them the same treatment that he had just forced your neck to endure. This time, he allowed his teeth to graze against your skin as he travelled from one side of your torso to the other, goosebumps forming in his wake, chasing after his touch. You couldn’t help but groan when he pressed his nose to the space just beneath your breasts, his hot tongue finally coming contact with your skin as he kitten licked his way up to your tits. Pausing at the bottom of their sloping form, he closed his eyes, listening to your laboured, shuddering breaths. From above him, your own eyes were clenched shut, your mouth slightly parted as you forced yourself to keep your hands above your head. All you wanted to do was to weave your fingertips into the blue strands of his hair but you knew that in doing so, you risked upsetting Kai and cutting this intimate exchange short. Using his tongue, Kai softly traced the area of skin where your pert tits met your torso, tracing and licking back and forth. “If you’re not going to touch me properly, then at least let me touch you.” Kai’s teeth latched onto your skin at your words, breathless and accented with whiny need, tugging painfully at your flesh as he raised his head slightly before releasing his hold on your skin. “No. Move your hands and I’ll leave.” He responded firmly. You groaned, your head sinking further into the pillows beneath you at his blunt denial. He dipped his head once more, this time skimming his warm lips along your abdomen, past your bellybutton and to one of your hips. You hissed softly when he bit down on your skin, simultaneously latching his lips onto you and sucking harshly. Kai moved back and forth between your hips, painting them in turn with blotchy, deep red marks, the sensation becoming slightly more painful as his brutal onslaught on your skin continued. In the midst of the intense attention that Kai was subjecting your hips to, you didn’t even notice when his hand trailed down the small stretch of skin between your hips, his touch light as he ventured over your pubic bone to the heat between your thighs. Using his fingers, he pinched the skin either side of your labia together, forcing your cunt to close in such a way that made your clit throb from within the confines of his hold. You gasped when he pinched harder, moving his fingers slightly and rubbing the outer part of your pussy together. Your clit jumped and pulsed in an attempt to gain any sort of traction, Kai’s fingers going still and effectively leaving you to jerk yourself off in his hold. You moaned softly as Kai moved his face away from your skin, dropping his gaze to watch as your pussy pulsated of its own accord in it’s desperation to gain some pleasure from his manipulative touch. He smiled up at you as your hips undulated in weak desperation, his hand not leaving your snatch as he moved back up your body, his face appearing before yours. Leaning down to your pleasure-contorted face, his mouth finally found yours. The kiss was a mere brush of lips before Kai’s teeth latched onto your lower lip, pulling back slightly with your lip still in his firm hold. You groaned when, all at once, his teeth released your lip, his hand leaving your pussy. “Be ready to stay wet for another week.” He said in faux blithe, his face disappearing from view. You couldn’t bring yourself to move as he left, the door closing softly behind him, bathing in such deep frustration that tears pricked your eyes as you listened to his light footsteps as he crossed the hall, the sound of his own door opening and closing like a physical blow as he left you feeling utterly empty and unsatisfied without his warm touch.

Even the freezing water of the shower wasn’t enough to dull the burning need searing through Kai, smoldering a little hotter each time your face infiltrated his thoughts, the sounds of your breathy moans under his close ministrations replaying over and over in his mind. After his shower, his lay naked on his bed, unable to take his thoughts off of you and what you were doing. Relieving yourself from your own frustration probably. The memory of the pleasant smell of your cunt and the hot wetness that had gathered there for him had his hand wrapping harshly around his cock. He had to bite onto the corner of his pillow to remain silent as he brought himself to orgasm not once, but three times, imagining that it was your smaller hand in place of his. He tossed and turned in bed for hours, your scent seeming to hang around him, taunting him and preventing him from the blessed closure of sleep. The fourth time he made himself cum left him still feeling painfully unsatisfied, but it was enough to douse the burning desire coursing through every part of him, sleep coming to offer him a brief reprieve from the strong memories of the sound of your laboured breathing and the feel of your hot skin under his lips.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove (if you want to be added or removed, just send me a message <3)

#ahs #american horror story #ahs cult #american horror story cult #cult #ahs season 7 #kai anderson #kai x reader #evan peters #evan peters ahs

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

Text

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #mgg #mgg fluff #fluff

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palbabor-writes · 4 years ago

Note

Hellooo queen I hope you had/will have a great day. This is actually my first time requesting something so I’m very sorry if I do something wrong 🥺🥺... can you maybe write some fluff (OR NSFW I DONT MIND... just love him way too much damn) stuff for dabi?? I don't know if you only take requests with exact instructions or if this request is enough... if you need something more precise i will try to come up with something! Thank you very much!!

Hello, love! You did it perfectly & thank you so much for asking! I can be a bit of a lurker on things, so I totally get how much courage it takes to do one of these.

You did amazing & I love, love this question. I love it so much that I went ahead and took an old outline of mine & made it into a full blown fic for you!

Now, in honor of all the craziness swirling around our favorite flame user, Imma post it a little earlier then I’d planned! So, thank you for the ask & I hope to talk to you again ( ＾◡＾)っ ♡

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7496

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW 18+ only, mentions of blood and gore, heat play, dick piercings, adult language and freaking Dabi. That alone should warn you.

Thermós θερμός ther·mos adjective m (feminine θερμή, neuter θερμόν); warm, hot, boiling, glowing

It’s sweltering; the fervor of summer sticky, humid, and oppressive. Japan is in the throes of August, and this heatwave is not letting up. Even at night, it’s impossible for Dabi to get comfortable. He’s been lying, half naked, draped across his narrow twin mattress for the last few hours, sweating.

His quirk isn’t helping matters.

He’s been trying to recruit new members. Every day, he sets out, pounding the pavement, sifting through the bits and pieces of trash that he runs into. It’s a pity. If those scrubs weren’t so fucking pathetic, he might not be in this predicament. But they are, and now he’s having to suffer the consequences of his temper.

His phone gleams on his dilapidated side table, a text message chiming across the screen as it flashes a speck of brightness into the darkened room. Groaning, he leans over and snatches it up, his hands slick as he clutches the encased plastic.

It’s Toga.

As a rule, he tries to avoid her. He hates her chatter. It’s always some unending nonsense about those UA kids, about Stain, or about fucking blood. It’s always blood with her. Give her five minutes, and she’ll work it into her conversation somehow, even if it’s just blurting it out, a blush staining her cheeks.

Fucking freak.

[ Blondie: 12:34 am ]

- found smth 4 u. (Y/N) has a place. Keeps it @ like 60 degrees… lol

Well, disgusting as Toga is, she has her uses; he thinks as he reads her text.

He’d asked her, a few days before, if she knew a place where he could crash. Somewhere that had some goddamn air conditioning. The hideout’s unit is on the fritz again, not that it had ever worked all that well.

Hmm, well this is something, at least.

Dabi’s isn’t sure what to think about Toga’s little ‘find’. You were a newer recruit, someone that Compress had brought in.

He hadn’t paid much attention to you. You didn’t stay at the base and were only around if there was a specific mission, or a task, that Shigaraki set for you. He isn’t even sure what your quirk is. You seemed easy-going, neutral, but he doubted you’d extend that easy-going demeanor to him camping out at your place for the A/C.

Chucking his phone back on the side table, Dabi flops to his side and tries to drift off, hoping his exhaustion will let him ignore the suffocating heat he’s drowning in.

Fuck.

He’d done it again. It was hard to resist the urge when these people spouted such vague fucking bullshit at him. No one, not fucking one of them, could live up to his cause. And if they couldn’t meet that standard? Well, they were better off as ash, melting into blackened pools as the asphalt greedily soaked their blood into its cracked depths.

There is a heat advisory today.

He’d heard the news as he scarfed down a quick breakfast at the hideout’s bar. He wouldn’t be out for that long, he reasoned. Besides, maybe today he’d find someone good.

Wishful thinking on his part.

His skin feels oppressive and his staples and piercings are scalding, the metal hissing and steaming as he tries to dampen his quirk. It’s harder to regulate his temperature on hot days. He shouldn’t be out here, he thinks, snarling as he pats out a few rogue flames that catch on his dark jacket. Even lifting his arm to perform that simple task makes him grunt, hissing out a mantra of curses.

Shit, fuck, goddamn it fucking all.

He looks bitterly up at the sun and debates his next move.

He could retreat to the bar, but that doesn’t solve his problem. No, the viscous heat that radiated along those upper floors would just make his skin feel worse. Hell, it might even result in more mottling, his burns stretching farther along his arms and chest. He’s not going back to the bar.

Where the fuck even is he?

He peers down the alley toward the street. It’s not too busy; just after noon, so most of the foot traffic from the morning has died down. He yanks his hood up, ignoring the ache of his legs as he stalks toward the street corner.

Carefully, he pokes out, his eyes tracing over the crosswalk, looking for the street signs. Ah. He’s close to that address, your address, that Toga sent him.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he saunters along the pavement, careful to keep his head down.

You were out of town.

He’d picked up that tidbit from Compress this morning. The masked man had been lamenting that you might be away for a few days, possibly weeks. Something about being on a fact finding task for that shadowy voice that talked with Shigaraki from his tv.

He didn’t care, still doesn’t. All he knows is that you supposedly keep your place cold, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

You’ve got a nice apartment.

It’s decorated in pleasing whites, yellows, reds and greens, with clean lines and modern touches. It’s kinda like you, he considers as he shrugs his coat off and breathes in that amazing waft of cold A/C. You’ve been useful to have in the League; efficient and no nonsense about the missions you're given and you can fit in with the outside world. You’d give even Toga a run for her money when it comes to espionage, he’s heard others say about you.

Dabi tosses a distasteful glare at your narrow couch and pads toward your bedroom, shouldering the door open and stepping into the dark sanctuary.

Your bed looks nice. It’s a good size too.

Lifting his boots from his feet and stripping down to his boxers, he presses into your clean sheets; shivering as the chilly air hits his overheated skin, cooling and dampening that oppressive sense of heat. He’s out in seconds, his body relaxing, slackening as he falls into the void of his dreams.

Yeah, now that he’s had this, there’s no way he’s staying at that hideout of the League’s unless he has to.

You’re gone for the better part of a week.

He’s started asking Compress about you. At first, the older man had given him an impassive stare. Since when did Dabi even know your name?

He’s asking because he needs to talk with you about… uh… supplies?

This, apparently, is the correct thing to say, because Compress nods his head sagely and elaborates on your timetable. You’re collecting things for Kurogiri and you’ll be gone for another few days.

Good, Dabi thinks, slinking into your apartment again, lowering the window behind him. He’s careful to leave things as he found them, his entryway into your place included. You don’t need to know about this.

What the fuck would he even say to you?

Hey, uh, it’s fucking hot at the hideout, and since you’ve got a working A/C unit and like 3 fans, he’s been sleeping over at yours. No big deal, right?

Even after you return, he keeps sneaking in.

He’s gotten your schedule memorized, and he’s heedful of the hours you keep. You’re a little more regular than the others in the League. You actually sleep at night; unlike the rest. The others are often out at God knows what hour, combing for recruits and leads, but not you.

So, Dabi shifts into full night owl mode. He crashes at your place in the midmorning, after you leave for the day, trying to ignore the perfume that comes from your sheets.

You’ve got a nice smell.

It’s oddly comforting, and he hates when he accidentally burrows into your pillows; nostrils flared, inhaling that aroma that’s all you. While he’s never talked with you before this, he goes out of his way to ignore you now.

What he’s doing is fucking weird, and lines are blurring. The other week he’d bumped into you coming out of the bar and he’d almost snatched you to him.

You must have just showered, because that fucking scent was radiating off your skin. It’s nothing too, eh, feminine? No, it’s more like… oranges and sandalwood. It’s a heady blend of rich balsamic and citrus, and he can’t get it out of his head.

August has faded into September, and he’s still sleeping over at yours.

He can’t help it. It’s not his fault your bed is so downy and, fuck, cool. It’s like the sheets don’t absorb his warmth. No, they’re always cold and they feel so fucking good against his staples and burned skin.

It’s midmorning, closer to noon, and he’s dozing, his eyes heavy and drooping. He’s exhausted, so bone tired, that he doesn’t hear your door opening. No, he doesn’t even notice you until he hears your voice.

“Um, would you like to tell me why you’re in my bed?”

He’s on his feet in a flash, a slow flicking of blue flames tracing along his fingers. You’re framed in your doorway, eyes wide, stepping away from his aggressive stance.

“Woah, woah,” you begin, lifting your hands in supplication. “Let’s just… take a minute and talk. I’m not-”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he snaps, his cerulean eyes narrowing, but he dampens his fire, a long curling of smoke framing his face.

“Uh, I think you got that backward there, bud. You’re not supposed to be here, I live here,” you scoff, one hand propping on your hip, head tilted exaggeratedly.

Dabi is about to spit something else out when you stride into your bedroom, tugging your jacket off and sauntering over to a tall dresser. He snaps his mouth closed and watches you. He’s not sure how he’s going to talk his way out of this, and he’s grateful for the reprieve. But, he knows an onslaught of anger or, fuck, preserve him, a lecture is incoming. Worst case, he thinks, observing you from his peripheral as you tug out a long shirt and some shorts, you’ll just kick him out and that will be that.

You glance at him again, your eyes lingering over his exposed chest and legs, and he can’t help the scowl that breaks over his face. He’s not embarrassed, he’s just, well, he’s not sure how to classify that stare. Most people recoil or toss him a glance of pity, their brows wrinkled with worry and distaste. But you? You arched an eyebrow and smiled.

Fucking weirdo.

Pausing in your doorway, you bite your lip into your mouth and carefully speak your next statement, voice smooth. “Look, while I’d rather you, oh, I don’t know, asked me about staying here. I’m not in the mood to argue with you, and I’ve got a long journey ahead of me tonight.” You take a deep inhale and toss him another smile.

“Just… just lay back down and get some rest. I promise I won’t molest you,” you tease, and he snaps his head up at that, his chin jutting in agitation.

You laugh at his sour face and he feels wrong-footed; lost. What the fuck? Who says shit like that? Who is in their right mind is just, oh, no worries man, promise I won’t grab your dick?

What’s wrong with you?

“I’m going to change and then I’m going to go to sleep. You can go, or you can stay, I really don’t care. All I know is that I’m not going to sleep on the couch when I’m in my apartment.” You retort, that grin still lifting your lips as you step away, the wall shielding you from his view.

Dabi remains where he is; standing in your bedroom, clad in his boxers, his hands clenched into fists by his side. Somehow this is worse than you throwing him out.

You return a few minutes later and he can’t get a good look at you. You slink past him and are under your covers in an instant. Not that he’s trying to give you a once over, he snarls to himself, shaking his inky head.

You nestle into the comforter and turn to your side, leaving him plenty of room on the opposite end of the bed. He blinks at you, a deep welling of uncertainty nestling in his stomach.

You’re quiet for a long moment, your eyes closing and shoulders relaxing, acting like there’s not a wanted, deadly villain in your bedroom, paces from your side. Then, you twist, giving him a quick scan, your eyes lingering over his.

“Either lay down or get out, Dabi. I’m not going to be able to sleep with you glaring at me like that. You look like some kinda ghost.”

Your declaration provokes a huffing, agitated reaction out of him. If there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s being told what to do.

He slings himself beside you, splaying out, his body laying on top of the sheets. You chuckle, your head peeking at him over your shoulder. He ignores you and tries to close his eyes.

It feels strange, resting next to you like this. It’s… intimate, and he’s not sure if he hates or likes the sensation. He chances a glance at you, but you’ve already turned back to your side, your shoulders rising and lowering rhythmically. He shakes his head at your blasé reaction. How can you just, fuck, sleep?

He can’t get comfortable and his skin feels heavy again. It’s not heat this time. No, now something else is making everything feel too close, too warm.

He dampens his thoughts, mind frantically focusing on anything but you. As the sun slips behind the buildings across the street, his eyes lower and he fitfully sleeps, your rich smell filling his senses.

He’d left you in the night; tucking his clothes back on and easing out of your window.

True to your word, you’d relegated yourself to your side of the bed, hardly tossing or turning as you slept. As he paced back to the hideout, he wasn’t sure what he’d gotten himself into. He just hoped you’d keep your mouth shut. He didn’t want the others knowing about this, it felt, well it’s not like him. Abrasive- fucking spewing anger and vitriol? Yeah, that was him. But this? This was too soft, too gentle. He hated it.

But that’s the problem with hate. It’s terribly close to that other emotion. They’re sisters, really. Usually love and hate exist on two sides, but they’re still the same coin, no matter how you toss them.

You don’t act any differently after that night.

You keep coming to the hideout, giving him a vague smile and greeting before continuing your day. He’s acting differently, though. He can’t help but watch you, suddenly fascinated with how you move. He tries his best to shake himself from his musings, but sometimes he can’t help it.

If anything, he grumbles to himself, watching you chatter with Toga, you’re subtly going out of your way to place yourself in front of him. You were never around this much before. Well, maybe you were. He didn’t pay you any mind back then, but now? Now he can’t get enough of you.

He reacts when you laugh, or talk, his head turning, like a sunflower, toward the light you give off. Ugh. His only hopeful reprieve from this, from you, is the changing seasons. The days are getting shorter and that heatwave is finally, finally breaking.

It’s his one comfort, his saving grace.

Yeah, he should have fucking never tossed that wish into the universe.

No, another heatwave passes over the island and it’s the worst one yet. The daily temperatures have been hitting the low 100s and the nights aren’t much better. To make matters worse, the A/C at the hideout has given up the ghost and won’t turn on at all now.

Still, Dabi’s prepared. He’d bought a secondhand electric fan a few weeks ago, and he’s grateful for the tiny slice of paradise that it grants him. It’s not as nice as your apartment, or your bed, but it will do.

He’s laying across his mattress, sweat trickling down his back and shoulders, trying to ignore that ache in his burned skin. The fan is blowing across him and he’s about to crank it up a notch when it gives out an ominous sputter.

Dabi sits up, his eyes flashing. No, no, no, no. There’s no fucking way.

The fan’s blades are slowing, that sweet, cool air dampening, drifting into the low-lying humidity that surrounds him. He yanks the plug from the wall, his staples stinging as he stands. He stomps over to the outlet and plugs the fan back in, turning on his haunches to see if the blades will start that familiar whirl.

There’s fuck all happening.

Cursing, he kicks the shitty thing over and grabs his jacket, storming down the stairs and into the night.

You’re sleeping when he slinks under your window sill, sliding the glass shut and kicking his heavy boots to the floor. It’s that sound that wakes you, and you lift yourself up, your sheets falling from your chest, revealing a bare shoulder and low cut shirt to him. Unabashed by your appearance, you wipe a palm over your eyes, rubbing the sleep away and croaking out a greeting.

“When I said you could sleep over here, I didn’t mean you could barge in at all hours. And through my window? So, that’s why the hinge looks like that.”

Dabi considers you for a moment, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You tilt your head at him and suck your teeth.

“A, oh, I don’t know, sorry, would be nice?” you scold, that alluring smile lifting your lips. He follows the line of your mouth, his thoughts hazing over, focusing on some other, darker, daydream.

“Hello?” you call, waving your hand beside your face. “Earth to Dabi. What do you want?”

That question slips him out of his stupor and he lifts his eyes back to yours. “The A/C is out. Bought a fan a few weeks ago, but the fucking thing broke and I can’t… it’s hard to regulate my body temperature in this fucking heat. You keep this place like an icebox, so I started crashing here. Wasn’t planning on coming back, but after tonight-”

“Ok, ok,” you laugh, already scooting over and flinging the covers back. “Seeing as you didn’t try any funny business last time, I guess I’ll let it slide. Just, not to be rude, but shut up and let me sleep. I’ve gotta long day tomorrow and as enthralling as this conversation is…”

“Whatever,” Dabi mutters, slinging his damp shirt over his head and pacing over to the side of your bed. You blink up at him and shake your head, that tiny grin lingering. He presses into your familiar sheets, eyes already slipping closed as the fragrance of you pulls at him.

It’s early when he wakes, shuddering out of a nightmare, red flames and crying voices fading into the back of his mind.

Wincing, he raises a hand to his eyes and pulls at his face, relieved that it’s still cool air that meets him. As he rolls to his side, he feels something trace over his unscarred chest. The sensation makes him freeze, his eyes snapping open again, the cerulean searching, whisking over the dim figure beside him.

You’re still sleeping, but you’ve shifted, your body curled, facing him, and one of your hands is reaching toward him. Shit, he thinks, heart pounding in his ears. You’re so close.

He’s never been this close to you.

Your mouth is parted, delicate lips plush and soft in the early morning gloom. He tries to shift away, but your brow creases when he does, so he stills his movements, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore that flush that is building across his nose.

This is stupid. It’s just you. It’s not like the two of you have even done anything. Fuck, you barely talk with one another.

He burrows his head into his pillow and the shift of his body urges you closer to him, your hand opening and pressing to his skin. A sigh slips from your mouth as your fingers splay out, tapping against his warmth, and he nearly startles off the bed.

He looks down at your hand, aghast. He wants to move it off of him; can’t stand that you’re touching him, he tells himself, that you’re this close to him. But he can’t bring himself to move. Your hand is so delicate, so…

Unconscious, you turn from him, your fingers lifting on their own, curling back to you. Dabi almost moans as you slip from him, clamping down on the sudden, primal desire that races through him. He wants to grab you; to drag you back to him.

The hell? What the fuck is wrong with him?

Sucking his teeth, he turns over, facing away from the confusing neediness that’s lapping at his subconscious. He fluffs his pillow aggressively, trying to drown out all the raw emotions that are racing through his mind.

Forget it. Sleep.

When he wakes again, you’re gone.

The sheets where you slept are cold under his fingertips and he sits up, his arms resting on his knees. This whole situation is so fucking weird.

He lets himself ease into consciousness before standing and stretching out the leftover kinks in his muscles; stooping to grab his discarded shirt, pulling the fabric over his head and shaking his dark head against the sunlight. Just as he’s slipping his coat on, he notices the note that’s sitting on one of your bedroom chairs. It’s got his name on it, so he snatches it up, flipping open the folded paper.

“There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge, I won’t have time to eat it. Help yourself. There’s also a spare key on the coffee table. Take it and stop jimmying my window open.”

Scoffing, he crumples the paper up, tossing it over his shoulder as he paces into your kitchen.

It’s a fucking thing now.

He’s rarely at the hideout. Why bother? You don’t seem to care if he sleeps over. Hell, you make space for him. There’s gotta be something else to it; there has to be. What kinda idiot is so fucking accommodating? You act like you’re a fucking hostel or something. Well, a hostel where there’s only one bed.

You even bought another fan. You told him you don’t like to keep the overhead one on in the cooler weather, so he can use this one for his side of the bed.

Yeah, he’s got a goddamn side of the bed. It’s fucking insane.

The other members of the League either haven’t noticed what’s going on between the two of you, or they don’t care. It’s not like either of you talk about your sleeping habits. Fuck, you still never interact with him at the hideout, content to maintain that level of professionalism.

He’s not sure why it bothers him.

One night, the temperature drops into the low 40s and he’s stretched out on your blankets, enjoying the first real cold snap of the fall, when he sees you shivering. It’s not very noticeable, what with the way you’re turned away and bundled, but it makes him tilt his head toward you, watching.

Another pass of his fan has you repeating the quake and, without thinking, he pulls you closer, one long arm wrapping around your shoulder and tugging. Startled, you fight his hold, but he calms your movements with a squeeze, grumbling about your stoic reluctance.

What’s the big deal? It’s not like you haven’t brushed up against him before. Calm down.

You quiet after that and slowly, tentatively, you lean against his bare chest, your cheek cool against his heated skin. He tucks his chin over your head and tries to keep his breathing even. He doesn’t want you to hear, fuck, feel his heartbeat; it’s slamming its way out of his throat and he gulps when your fingers pull him closer.

“How are you so warm?” you ask, your breath floating across his pectorals.

“It’s my stupid quirk,” Dabi mutters, dipping his head down to his pillow, shifting you with him. You nod against his lean muscles and your fingertips trace cool designs into his skin, lingering over his burnt patches and staples. He sighs, unable to resist the low shiver that creeps up his spine.

This is nice; too fucking nice.

He can’t do without your touch now.

Remember that thing about love and hate being sisters? Well, that hate is simmering into something else for Dabi. It’s not love, he doesn’t know you well enough, but it’s certainly not hate anymore.

He likes touching you. You’re smooth against his jagged skin and he enjoys the contrast. He’s slow when he pulls you against him, careful to not snag you against his staples, but you seem to like his heat. You’ve even started wearing less to bed, slipping out of that baggy shirt and into a thin tank top; he’s pleased that he has more of you to caress.

It’s getting harder to keep you out of his head. He can smell your perfume, even if he hasn’t seen you for days, and each time he does see you, even at the hideout, his fingers itch to press against you.

You’d laughed at his sudden, intense, interest. The hell Dabi, are you touch starved or something? You’d teased. What’s up with you? I was worried about you burning down my apartment, not you turning into some kind of cuddle fiend.

He doesn’t care what you say. He knows it’s fucking stupid, fucking dumb, that he’s this desperate. It just feels good. And there’s not much about him that feels good these days, so he’ll take what he can get. Fuck you very much.

There’s a meeting. It’s one of the ones where Shigaraki demands that everyone make their way to the bar.

Boss man has been tense lately, thrumming with some dark energy, so the room is quiet as Kurogiri elaborates on the smaller details of the mission. Your part is minimal, limited to reconnaissance with Toga. It’s boring shit, and Dabi is only half listening to any of it.

Besides, there’s something else that’s snagging his attention.

Dabi is sitting on the couch, his eyes lingering on you. You’re wearing one of his favorite outfits and the color looks good on you. It brings out your eyes. You’re questioning Spinner and Toga about the finer points of your team up. He can’t hear you from here, but that doesn’t matter, he’s still in the best spot to spy you leaning forward, perfect ass on full display.

“She’s gotten better, more adept at working undercover,” Compress’ voice shakes Dabi from his thoughts and he turns to him, a bland frown on his face.

“Who?”

“Please, you know who I’m talking about. You can’t stop looking at her.”

He chortles, his laugh a sharp bark. “You’re fucking joking. Her? Fuck, no. I’m gonna head out, not like the boss has anything for me anyway,” Dabi stands, slipping his hands into his trench coat and pacing to the heavy door, shouldering his way into the night.

He leans against the brick wall, lighting up a cigarette and sighing a thin line of smoke into the chilled air. Fuck, they’re noticing what’s going on. Wait. What is going on? It’s not like the two of you are fucking. Yet, a small voice echoes in the back of his mind, and he smirks at that thought.

Yeah, maybe it’s time to speed things up.

You step out a few minutes later, your eyes searching for him. He flicks his cigarette onto the pavement and wraps his fingers in your coat, tugging you to him. You don’t fight him; don’t make a sound as he pins you against the brick, his body hot against your front.

The two of you watch the other, his cerulean eyes roving over your face. Then he’s lifting your chin, his lips sliding across yours. It’s a strange kiss. Usually, he’s too busy trying to get off to focus on his partner. He rarely kisses anyone, even if he’s hooking up. But this kiss?

Like everything else about you, it’s fucking nice.

You move with him, your body surging from the brick, breasts flattening against his chest, fingers cupping behind his ears; nipping and sucking at him, your teeth digging into his burned lower lip and pulling. You’re encouraging him to touch you next, rubbing yourself on him until his hands fall to your hips. He’s already half hard, and that warm juncture of your thighs isn’t helping matters.

To his shock, he’s having trouble keeping up.

You’re already pulling from him when he dips his tongue into your mouth. He gasps at the emptiness, that chilling vacancy that your touch leaves him panting into. Before he can bemoan your absence, you’re kissing at his neck, lifting on your tiptoes to reach the staples on the side of his face. You lick at him, your wet tongue dragging over his burns. He trembles under your hands and you smile, your laugh bright.

Snarling, Dabi yanks your head back and you meet his hazy gaze, biting your lip; pantomiming a wonton innocence. Immediately, he’s pushing you into the brick, his hands cupping and lingering until you’re whining for him. That’s fucking better, he thinks, his teeth worrying against your pulse.

Just when he’s got you where he wants you, your hand snakes between the two of you, pressing against the bulge of his dick. Dabi can’t help his sharp intake of air, and his head falls to your shoulder as he ruts into your palm. You keep kissing at the side of his face, your lips roving over his ear as you tug at his covered dick. You’re saying something, but he can’t focus when you’re doing that.

“Dabi,” you try again, teeth ensnaring his destroyed earlobe, sucking at the burnt skin. “They’re about to come out.”

He knocks your hand away from his straining, throbbing length and leans away from you. Fuck, you look good.

Your lips are swollen, and your eyes are dazzling. He can’t pull himself away. You smile at his dazed expression and lift a hand to his cheek, your palm cool against his overheated skin.

The door shudders open and the two of you spring apart. A few minutes later Toga is grabbing at your arm and pulling you down the street, away from him.

He’s waiting outside your apartment, another cigarette smoldering to ash under his lips. But he can’t bring himself to go in.

Not without you.

Toga’s kept you busy. It’s been over an hour since that kiss in the alleyway. He’s cooled off since then, but that simmering heat that you elicited from him? That hasn’t dimmed. He’s still half hard against his dark pants and he can’t bring himself to care. Besides, Dabi has a very specific idea about how he’s going to have you lessen that pressure for him.

He’s just about to light another cigarette when he sees you.

You walk into your building, and he starts the long climb up the fire escape. His heart is pounding again. He hasn’t wanted something this badly in ages. He’s been so fucking focused on his cause, on making his plans a reality; he just hasn’t had the time.

But now? Fuck, he wants there to be more hours in the day. He’s hoping the two of you can pick up where you left off. Yeah, he tells himself, scaling the last few steps, it’s just about the sex.

That sounds better than saying what he really wants.

You’re already slipping your oversized sleep shirt over your head when he lifts your window. You pause, watching him curl his way into your space. Once he pulls his legs inside he turns to you, his eyes dark, unfathomable, the blue so deep that you feel you’re drowning in it.

He doesn’t shut the window. Instead, he yanks his clothes off, clattering them against your floor. You smile and a gentle laugh makes its way to him.

“What did I say about coming in through the window?” you chuckle, already lifting your arms for him.

He’s against you in a single breath, his warmth seeping its way into your chilled skin. His lips are rough, pressing and lifting, biting and nipping. He’s working you toward your bed and once your knees hit the edge of your mattress, he’s shoving you down.

You flop against the cold blankets, your legs already spreading for his hips. He’s hot, scaldingly hot, against your hands. Your fingers dip into his hair and you pull him back, earning a low growl and his flashing glare, displeasure written all over his face.

“Slow down,” you scold, your legs wrapping around his hips, grinding against the hardness you find.

“The fuck? You goddamn tease. Fucking saying that, then rubbing your wet pussy all over my dick,” Dabi snarls, snatching your wrists and pinning your hands beside your head.

“How do you know it’s wet?” you ask, batting your eyes at his steeled jaw.

“It fucking better be,” he groans, his teeth sinking into your neck and pressing, hard.

You gasp at the stimulation and arch for him, testing his hold on your wrists. Grunting, he licks a wet line to your pulse, his hands tightening over yours. “Mmm, why don’t you find out?” you ask, leaning into his lips, loving the contrast of his destroyed and perfect skin.

He shifts his grip on you, yanking your arms up, pinning your hands above your head. He lifts one of his own hands away once he’s satisfied he’s got a good hold on you. His warm fingers trace down your side, pausing when he gets to the lacy band of your panties. Teasingly, he pulls fabric away from your skin, and lets it snap against your hip. Dabi tips his nose into the curve of your neck and shoulder, taking a deep drag against you.

You buck your hips, squirming under his weight. “You get lost? My pussy is a little further down.”

He chuckles darkly, his breath making you shiver. You’re just about to wriggle from him when one long finger eases past your panties and presses into your sopping heat. “Oh,” you gasp, your eyes rolling back. It feels like he’s heated his fingertip, and the skin that’s stroking and thrusting into you is warm, too warm.

Dabi leans away from your neck, bracing himself above you with his knees, pulling himself into a hunched position. He’s smirking at your awed expression and his teeth glow in the darkness.

“Like I said doll, you’re already so fucking wet for me. You want more?”

You nod and buck your hips, digging that finger deeper. He groans at your eagerness and you can feel him warming the next digit up, the tip burning against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

Once it’s in, he starts to v the two, dragging them along your rippling walls, spreading you open, easing you into his hand. Your slick is sliding down your legs and seeping into the sheets. Still, Dabi keeps on, maintaining that steady stretch. It starts to sting and you shift away, but he releases your wrists, free hand moves to your hip, stilling you.

You glance up at him, curious. His eyes are hooded, the blue a velvety sapphire. He looks like he’s holding himself back from something. Almost like… like he’s handling you with more care than he’s ever given anything. It’s a strange thought, but the idea of it makes you reach for him, your fingers running down his discolored skin, lingering over the staples and piercings.

“I’ve gotta stretch you out,” he informs you, his eyes closing behind his trembling eyelids, savoring your gentle caress.

“Hmm, you that big?” you joke, fully expecting him to react, to silence you with a kiss or another well-timed thrust of his fingers. But he surprises you. He opens his eyes and fixes you with a rough stare, his digits continuing that aching pull. You’re throbbing around him, your arousal easing his passage, his extensions.

“I don’t want to… hurt-” he stops, his eyes narrowing. With an inaudible sigh, he slides down your body, only halting once he’s face to face with your sleek cunt. His breath heaves against you and you wrap a leg over his back, holding him close.

Dabi laves his tongue over you, latching onto your pulpy clit and giving it a soft suck. Your hands sink into his hair, curling into the spiky tendrils, urging him to give you more.

He rewards your needy moans with another lick and he flicks his eyes up to yours, watching you over your shaking curves.

“I’m going to add another finger,” he tells you, preparing you for another deep stretch. When he enters you almost pull from him, your hips bowing away at the pricking of pain. Sensing your distress, he keeps his lips around your pulsing clit, distracting you with kisses and low blows of air.

Finally, you can feel yourself loosening. Your feet brace against your bed and you use the leverage to maneuver him deeper. You feel, you feel so…

Dabi, realizing that your cunt is quivering around his intruding digits, shifts closer, his piercings rubbing against your thighs. He’s sloppy now, less controlled. His tongue is circling your clit with furious laps and he lets a canine trace the bud. His fingers are still spreading and he’s found that spongy spot now. He taps against it, teasing you, making you clench and gasp around him.

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, when it seems like all the sensations are too, too, much; it snaps. The coiling in your core pulls free and you’re moaning, so loudly you’re worried your neighbors will hear. His name is falling from your lips at a rapid rate and you can feel his smirk as he lifts his fingers from your cunt.

Dabi leans away and you shake at the loss of him. He was so warm, so hot against your damp skin and you miss it. He watches you, tucking his fingers into his mouth, lapping the final bits of your release from him.

“Take off your clothes,” he demands when he’s finished, his hands already dropping to his tented boxers, slipping the elastic down his trim waist.

You shift to obey, your hands yanking your shirt, bra and soaked panties off of you. You splay under him, indolently admiring the sight that is revealed to you. Oh, you think, unable to contain your small gasp, he is big.

His cock is long, thick, and curved, and it’s dripping with pre-cum. There’s a crossed set of piercings at the tip of his length and you watch, mesmerized, as a shimmering strand of his arousal catches on the shiny silver, leeching down the smooth length of him. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, and that thought makes you shiver with anticipation, and a small sliver of worry.

Dabi grins wildly at your flushed face. “Like what you see?”

You nod, and he laughs, fingers snatching your legs, tugging you toward him. You spread for him, so eager and fucking turned on you can’t think straight. His hand lowers to his cock, and he strokes himself as he rechecks your silken cunt, gathering some of the gossamer strands of your arousal on his fingers as he ensures that you’re ready to take him.

“I’m not going to go slow,” he warns you, his eyes lifting from your folds.

Gulping and biting your lip, you nod, a shaking exhale escaping your lungs. He shifts himself nearer and begins to press. He’s right, you think, wincing at the sting of his intrusion. He’d stretched you out, licked you until you were leaking all over the bed, but it hurts.

It takes him a moment to bottom out. Once he does, he groans and gasps above you. “Fuck (Y/N), you’re so damn tight.”

You flop your head against your pillow and let out a long sigh. He’s holding still as you adjust, and, despite his warning, he’s being careful with you. It makes your chest squeeze. After a few more pained breaths, you can feel a low tingling radiating from your core. It’s like an itch. Experimentally, you cant your hips, your legs wrapping around his waist, cautious of the stapled skin across his lower back.

Dabi mutters a soft curse and pulls back, his length sliding out of your drenched pussy. When he glides back in, you feel that same tingling sensation. Distantly, you realize it must be those piercings of his, but you’re too overwhelmed by the sensation to process it fully.

“Hold on,” he groans, his hands bracing beside your head. You lace your arms around his bowed neck, and he starts to pounds into you. It’s a calculated motion, but- ah- he’s taking the extra second between his powerful pulls and thrusts to scrape his pelvis against your pulsating clit, stimulating you, ensuring that dim blaze pleasure within you keeps building. Whimpering, you arch your back, your ankles locking around him, encouraging him to keep going. You feel so good, so full, filled to the brim and practically begging him for more.

Sloppily, his mismatched lips find yours and he nibbles and kisses at you. The sheer heat of him is making you both slick with sweat. You don’t mind the salty, dampened feeling, if anything, it eases his motions.

You’re so wet now that he’s gliding easily into you; that piercing of his heating up, and the rapid fire thrusts he’s giving you create a smoldering inside you; like he’s catching you on fire from the inside out.

His hips stutter and he lifts one hand from the bed, his thumb easily finding your clit. He presses a tight circle across you and you see spots.

“Come on,” he groans, his voice hoarse, strained, “cum for me (Y/N). Fucking cum on my dick.”

That desperation in his tone is all that it takes.

Seconds later, you’re arching and shaking so much that he has to hold you still. He eases into you a final time, his frantic thrusts slowing, spacing out as he enjoys your rippling channel, and the fiery feeling of his own release almost hurtles you over the edge again. You curl against him, panting into his burnt ear, licking at the damaged skin.

Dabi leans heavily against you, one large hand pressing into your lower back, lifting you to him. Once he comes back to himself, he kisses at your shoulder, his warm breath making you shiver. He eases himself out of you and your legs clamp together, holding his cum inside you. It still feels so, so hot, and you’re not ready to let it drip out of you, not yet.

He untangles himself from you and adjusts some of his staples, wincing against the sting of his marred and clean flesh. Realizing what he’s doing, you slip from the bed and pad into your bathroom. You clean yourself off and grab a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, dampening a clean cloth with the solution.

“Here. It’s got some peroxide on it,” you tell him as you reenter the bedroom, tossing the rag his way. He catches it easily, dabbing it over himself, careful to not snag it on any of his loose skin. While he’s busy doing that, you snatch up his discarded white shirt and sling it over your head. He looks at you and scoffs.

“What’s wrong with yours?” he asks, tossing the cloth onto the floor.

“Yours looked better,” you inform him, returning to his side and leaning close. He rolls his eyes at you and you shift into his open lap, straddling his hips. Grinning, you kiss at his neck again, sneaking a few groans from him. Sighing as you give him a particularly hard nip, he bats you off of him, tumbling you down to the sheets.

“Give me a fucking minute,” he complains, shaking his head as you wrap around him, pulling him into your arms. Once he’s settled onto the bed you turn, pressing your back to his chest, relaxing into the familiar hold. He snorts, amused by your sudden change of mind.

Dabi lowers his forehead to the back of your head, a small smile rising along his lips. Your breathing evens out and he listens to the sound, trying to memorize each little detail of you.

Yeah, this is it, he tells himself as he drifts off. The rest is just extra. Oh, it’s nice, to be sure, but this, this right here is what he really wants.

Notes: Soft, soft Dabi. I like him like this ꒰ ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱ ˖°

Tags: @evesmores, @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx

#dabi #toya todoroki #i can put that #like omg #bnha smut #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #toya x reader #toya x y/n #toya x you #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: dabi #tw: heat play #answered asks #asks

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iphoenixrising · 3 years ago

Text

DickTimWeek2021 Day 2

** Day 2: Time Loop | Jealousy | Stray AU

Welp. Time to break some hearts.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

“Did you see that thug punch himself in the face?”

“That’s the right way to get out of an ass beating by the Batman.”

Tim, still in Red Robin, doesn’t even bother, just lets his knees buckle so he can slide down to the floor and laugh until tears are rolling down the dominio still plastered on his face.

He’s riding the concussion train with

(J)

Josephine and she’s not as bad as some of them are.

Dick at least tosses the gloves and gauntlets before hauling Timmy’s bruised ass up off the floor, throwing the arm around his shoulders.

“C’mon, you butt. Really Timmy, just laying here in your suit? Alfred would be appalled.”

“S’why I don’t go to the Manor much anymore.”

“Ooh, I’m telling. You’re going to be in so much trouble,” as he gets Tim down the hallway to the bathroom.

“Y-You can’t! You’re the oldest! Dami’s supposed to be the tattle-tale!”

“Nu-uh. As the oldest, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

And does he tell on Timmy? You bet your ass he does.

It’s nice when Alfred can look at someone else in the family with extreme disappointment.

Tim comes by the Manor the day Alfred video chats him, shuffles down to the Cave behind the butler and absolutely sticks his tongue out at Dick’s smarmy grin.

His apartment is a literal mess and Dick can’t be bothered to do much more than flop on the overstuffed couch with a groan.

Still in his uni from the day shift, he’s too bruised and battered and tired to even think of suiting up for the night. He’s been running himself ragged for two months, the day and night shifts blending together along with the usual bullshit of daily human life, and he desperately needs a night of terrible television, junk food, and snuggles.

Like he’d been reading the room, Timmy walks out of his bathroom, towel around his shoulder and hair just this side of damp.

“Hey, you made it home in one piece.” Tim’s long fingers in his hair literally pulls a noise out of Dick he can’t ever remember making.

“Yeah, I drove down because you looked like death warmed over when we talked last weekend. Luckily for you I went grocery shopping, did a few loads of your laundry, and cleaned up a little so you don’t have to worry about housework.”

“I love you. Have I told you that recently? Like, so, so much–” is muffled by the couch cushions, but he thinks Tim can probably still make it all out.

“Mmhm, I know,” and the gentle scratching against his scalp doesn’t stop, and Dick goes a little boneless with it. “I even brought my Roku so we can binge watch terrible television while you eat something more substantial than cereal. Alfred is going to be so proud of you.”

A pat to his head and Timmy is off, slinging his towel on the rack, turning on the shower again to make sure it’s nice and hot for all those bruises and contusions.

He’s no-nonsense about picking up his previous mentor and best friend, literally stripping him down and manhandling him in the shower after a low whistle at the span of blue/black across Dick’s chest and ribs, the scrapes across his back and shoulders.

The first aid kit tackle box makes an appearance because Tim plans for literally everything ever, and Dick finds himself sitting on his sink wearily while his injuries are meticulously treated.

He knows he eats something super tasty with meat and vegetables, his belly full, before Tim pulls him down on the couch and lets Dick lay against his chest, between his legs to sleepily float while watching God-awful B-movies.

It’s the most relaxing weekend he’s had in a while.

Dami sneers at Tim, arms crossed over his chest, the expression on his face begging Tim to try to deny it.

The third Robin however, is looking over at Dick with horror that the big secret is finally out in the open.

“Th-that isn’t– it’s not–” Tim fumbles desperately, “he’s been my big brother forever, that’s it!”

“Tt. Grayson may be painfully oblivious, Drake, but the rest of us are detectives. Even Todd knows of your feelings and he rarely even comes to the Manor!”

Tim’s soul literally leaves his body.

Dick blinks, completely taken back, mouth open without anything coming out.

Damian raises his eyes skyward and prays for patients dealing with these two. “What I am saying,” he tries, he really is trying here, “is that you two must cease and desist this pointless–” vague hand wave– “pining for one another. It is getting to the point of absurdity. I demand you two either discuss your need for one another or take this ridiculous mooning elsewhere. The rooftops of Gotham is no place for this,” another hand wave, “utter nonsense.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry, subtly backing away to be closer to the Ducati’s waiting for tonight’s ride. He’s pretty sure he has enough energy left in his shaky knees to hop on one and be the fuck out of the Cave before his face literally bursts into flames.

But, well. Dick was Batman.

His strategic retreat is stomped into the ground by acrobatic leaps and a very well done joint lock to keep him from immediately taking off.

Dami scoffs at them on his way up the winding staircase. He stops Pennyworth on the way and turns the butler to return back into the Manor proper, citing those two needed time to figure themselves out.

After several weeks under deep cover, Nightwing wearily hacks into Titan’s Tower and makes his way through the maze of hallways until he hits a hidden panel.

Tim is sleeping on his desk, only one empty coffee mug at his workstation. Even dead in his boots, Nightwing can take a second just to look, just to sigh, just to enjoy how much every inch of this boy is his.

He journeys down the hall, flips the bed covers up, carries his sleeping partner in and tucks the blankets around him, a quickly there kiss to the top of messy, too-long hair. A shower in Tim’s perch literally makes everything in life a little less awful and exhausting, not enough for him to do much more than crawl in bed against Tim’s warm body and snuggle up close.

He gets breakfast in bed and blue-violet eyes looking at him with fondness rather than awe, gets coffee flavored kisses and a slow-paced back rub that continues down to his thighs and calves and feet. Later, he gets a date night in a nice restaurant and a sweet San Fran club scene for dessert. He gets to let loose and hold Tim’s body against him, to play them both until the gazes are intense and the low key UST between them makes other people on the dance floor give them space.

Witty banter is a primary weapon against megalomaniacal bad guys of any flavor. For some former Robins, it’s an art form.

Over the years, they’ve cultivated their dip and distraction to bounce off one another like a well-oiled vigilante machine.

It should have been a standard take-down because it’s not one of their more dangerous, deadly villains. It’s not one of the Rogue Gallery baddies. It’s not one of the mobster families, not one of the super powered groups come to call. It’s not someone with hordes of thugs and deadly science waiting to take them down.

It’s a simple B&E, just Nightwing talking it up to draw gunfire while Red Robin is creeping up from behind to get the last laugh.

It’s one of a thousand times they’ve done this.

It’s a guaranteed win.

It’s the last hour of patrol before they get to go back to Red’s penthouse and snuggle together, eat and show, probably have some fantastic sex before passing out.

The .45 shell, however, cuts through the suit, between armored plates.

Going after the running baddies is automatic, taking them down, zip ties, and viola. They’re ready for GCPD to pick-up, all kinds of gift-wrapped.

When N finally realizes Red isn’t with him, isn’t answering comms, isn’t waiting for him on the roof, he goes back inside. He hits up B for a ride in the big car in case he missed –

– anything.

The pool of blood around Red Robin is more than he can afford to lose, and Nightwing has been in the vigilante life for over twenty years, has been official with Red Robin for a little over two, has personal experience on how his Baby Bird can take a mostly-fatal beating and still keep moving. He’s seen Tim come close with the Clench, with horrifying injuries, with any of the many bad guys they fight holding him hostage.

Nightwing has seen him perform literal miracles.

And tells him so the entire time he’s got Red Robin up in his arms, carrying him through Gotham’s skyline to the waiting car, falling in with Red on his lap when the familiar hatch slides back, the tourniquet already applied before he even shot a grapple. The struggling pulse is enough of a concern to get it together.

And even if they all gather to strip off the suit, and now it’s on to get vitals back to an acceptable range. Even if the Bats cry overhead, even if the equipment is top notch in the Cave, even if Dick is still talking the whole time, and Alfred is keeping a cool head and Bruce is gripping a hand and Damian is standing at the ready to hand implements and Cass is biting her thumbnail while she hovers and Steph is moving from empty space to empty space around the gurney –

The consistent beep of the flatline cuts through it all.

The Titans make it for the service.

Each of them make a point to hug Dick for as long as possible, holding on tightly.

Bruce is silent and stoic, a little boy again when he has to watch someone else he loves being lowered into the cold, unforgiving ground. Another Robin taking a piece of his heart to the afterlife.

Steph is red-eyed, a ghost moving around to individual circles, listening to stories she might not have known.

Cass grips the coffin with bruised knuckles, her whole body wound tight as a string ready to snap. She doesn’t move the entire service, is already convinced leaving him to his own devices caused this whole thing. She doesn’t blame the thugs or Dick or Bruce. She blames the boy that never understood how much it all means.

Duke Thomas is back in Gotham, taking leave from the Outsiders to be here for the family that took him in after the Joker drove his parents insane. He hovers in the doorway to welcome mourners, direct them toward the book to sign-in, talks about Tim Drake with regular humans and other metas in disguise, accepts condolences with his throat tight and his eyes watery. He makes sure Dick has a bottle of water after the first hour, pats Damian’s shoulder, grips Bruce’s arm, weaves an arm around Cassandra’s back to give her a squeeze, obediently looks at the old pictures of Tim on Steph’s photo roll when she’s overcome and has to see that smile again.

In the back, Jason Todd wears dark shades and a clean black suit. Roy Harper is beside him, a hand on the broad back to keep him grounded, to keep the Pit rage at bay. If anyone knows how far Tim and Jason had come over the years, it’s the former Red Arrow. If anyone knows how much agony Jason is in at this moment, at another fallen brother, another Robin gone, if anyone had held the Red Hood while he screamed and cried and broke the utter fuck down, it’s Roy Harper.

Damian Wayne hovers right by Grayson’s side, silently supporting his first Batman, his first brother. Whenever Dick’s eyes start going hazy, glazing over, Damian gently grips a wrist to bring him back, allows fingers to lace through his own and tolerates the tight squeeze that obviously assists in grounding the oldest Robin.

(Later when the night is crowding grief-stricken Wayne Manor, Damian will be the one to open Grayson’s bedroom door, lift the covers to crawl in behind him, to wind both arms tightly. He will be the one to take the onslaught of grief, to be soaked in tears and snot, to listen to the broken, hoarse voice, to make soothing hums that ultimately mean nothing.)

Alfred Pennyworth quietly talks with the funeral director about the arrangements. Of course Master Timothy would want to be laid to rest with his parents, and the family appreciates all the support and ease of process as the deceased was an important part of the Wayne family.

When he gets a phone call, he firmly verifies the name on the tombstone is Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne Grayson.

Exactly four days after the service, the Flash is staring at him helplessly, gripping Nightwing’s arm tight, “please, please, Dick, don’t do this. You can’t think this is the answer!”

He can barely hear Wally with the absolute destruction going on around them, the machine they’d inadvertently stumbled upon (which is a lie, Nightwing had been looking for it and the Flash basically caught him red handed).

“You know you aren’t going to be able to stop me.” Standing between the glowing portal and Wally, debris from overhead crashing down on them at intervals, Nightwing is at his peak stubborn, “no matter how fast you are.”

“You don’t understand what’s going to happen,” Wally yells desperately as the vacuum starts pulling at Nightwing’s other arm, pulling him into–

–the Speed Force.

“You don’t have the lightning, Dick, you won’t be able to get yourself out, and I won’t have any way of tracking you!”

The small smirk as the machine’s panel starts going haywire, lights blinking and readings off the charts, makes Wally’s heart clench hard in his chest, makes him try to dig in his heels, makes his stomach tremble.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve already done this, Wally. And I’ll do it as many times as it takes until I change everything.”

The pellet Nightwing palmed before the Flash grabbed his hand goes off the same time the machine hits the highest ratings and a low boom is followed up with an intense swirling suction, pulling the heroes closer to the portal’s surface.

The light grenade goes off without a hitch and the Flash has no choice but to let Nightwing go.

They’re laughing like assholes as they climb through Timmy’s penthouse windows.

#dicktimweek2021 #dicktim #dick grayson #tim drake #sad times #time loop #winter writes #my ficlet

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shorkbrian · 4 years ago

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Mirrors

Prelude - Haha Hi I've never done anything quite like this or this long (like 5k bich) but I am THORSTy and I’ve been sitting on these asks for so long I’m so sorry. ALSO to the ppl sending me the sweet gentle asks about my blog guess what??? I would D I E for you legit I read one of them this morning I almost teared up. I haven’t cried (Except for like (TW) s*ui*ide cry lol those don’t count) since like??? last year?? no joke.

ANYWHO idk how to write a praise kink so I went with like, insecurity? but then Kiribaku likes makes the reader just melt cause they keep praising her and they bring it out during nasty times and she's GONE yeeted off the earth it makes her so hot and wet lol.

Pairing - Kiribaku X Reader

Prompt -

Warnings - NSFW!!!! Dirty talk, my best effort at a praise kink, mirror stuff, ummmm mentions of kidnapping. DUB-CON big time, maybe technically even noncon cause reader DOES NOT want it but has just. resigned herself to being a plaything.

Music - https://youtu.be/STO4-8vkG0U

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“What the fuck did you just say?”

You couldn’t meet Bakugou’s eyes. HIs gaze was so intense, eyes so passionate and fierce. You were so embarrassed, aware of Kirishima’s gaze fixed on your form from where he was seated in the armchair.

“I-I…….. don’t like it…. when you talk like that….”

“Fuckin’ what?” Bakugou barked, his brows knitting in confusion.

“What do you mean, baby?” Kiri stood, moving to sit next to Bakugou on the couch so he could see your face.

You wiggled around uncomfortably in your spot on the floor, where you were kneeling between Bakugou’s feet. Kirishima had made some comment, something about how pretty you looked being so sweet for Bakugou. You were literally just sitting there, but Kiri thought you worthy of praise

“It’s not true…… I’m not-my body doesn’t look nice and I just….. every time you guys say stuff about me, all I can think of is how bad I look.” It was hard to choke out the words, your face flushing red as your eyes filled with tears. You were so embarrassed, having to explain your insecurities to your kidnappers. It was bad enough that they dressed you up in slinky outfits, booty shorts and thin shirts that were almost see-through. You hated it, hated the way it made you feel, hated the way it made you look. It was humiliating.

“Well that’s a bunch of bullshit. I don’t go around saying shit unless it’s true.” Bakugou glared down at you. He seemed angry that you would even have that view of yourself, the foot resting on the floor by your hip beginning to tap in agitation.

Kirishima scooted closer so he could reach you, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. “We mean what we say. You’re beautiful, such a good, obedient little girl for us.”

“No, no - please don’t say that kind of stuff!” You were getting worked up now, tears falling freely as you hugged your arms around your body. Kirishima shared a look with Bakugou, the two men quickly deciding to drop the conversation and move on to something else.

“Tch, whatever. C’mere” Bakugou patted his leg, prompting you to shuffle out of your kneeling position and onto his lap. You would rather not, but you knew what resistance would result in, and you’d prefer not having to nurse a sore bottom and mild burns for the next few days. Bakugou wrapped an arm loosely around your waist, tugging you closer to him on his lap. Kiri still petted your hair, pressed up against the blond man’s side as he smiled at you.

“It’s fine baby, calm down. Maybe one day you’ll see what we see.” Without leaving any room for you to argue, Kirishima planted a quick smooch on your forehead before rising from the couch. “Do you two have any preferences for dinner? I was thinking we could order something from that yakisoba place, remember Bakugou? The one Mina recommended.”

“Yeah, go for it. They have any spicy shit?”

Tuning them out, you swiped at your tears, trying to reel yourself back into a steady emotional state. You feel so weak these days, both physically and emotionally. Being held captive by the two men had worn you down, made you prone to teary outbursts. You held no control - your daily routine dictated by the men from the first day they had snatched you from your home. You were reluctant to obey, had even fought them at first, but you quickly realized it was easier (and less painful) to just do what they wanted.

Fighting was useless.

——

Weeks had passed since your little outburst. Unfortunately, Bakugou and Kirishima weren’t willing to give up praising you every chance they got. You had an inkling suspicion that they had upped the amount of comments they made about you ever since that day, enjoying watching you squirm and your face go bright red. It made you blush, yes. Made your heart beat a little faster, made you flounder for words if you were in the middle of speaking. But you just felt….. shame when they praised you.

They lauded you for your obedience, how compliant you were for them. Kiri would ask you to sit down and wait at the table while he answered the door (“don’t make a sound baby.”), and you did. Bakugou would have you sit in his lap while playing video games, and you tried you’re best not to squirm. It made you almost feel sick inside, how quickly you had adjusted to being their “good girl”. You just wanted to please, didn’t want them angry at you.

What really made you blush was when they would strip you down, bend you over the nearest surface. They’d be fucking into you, fondling your body while whispering compliments in-between kisses. You never felt “beautiful” nor “delicious”, no matter how many times they told you otherwise. It was especially humiliating when one of them would take you on the bed, the other watching. You always wanted to hide, shield away your body from their prying eyes, but they never let you.

You just didn’t get it, didn’t understand what they saw when they looked at you. Staring into the bathroom mirror, all you saw were your imperfections, your insecurities. It was shameful, pathetic. You felt entirely unworthy of the attention and love you were being showered with.

——

The boys had seemed more… energetic today, Kirishima almost seeming to bounce with each step, Bakugou smiling gently at you. It made you nervous. It made you even more nervous when Bakugou took his leave, giving both you and Kirishima a quick peck on the lips before going out the door. It was a weekend, and you knew that both men didn’t have work today. You tried asking Kirishima where Bakugou was going, but all you got out of him was a laugh and “Don’t worry about it! He’s gonna do a little bit of shopping.”

Well, at least that eased your mind a tiny bit.

You didn’t have much time to dwell on it though, Kirishima herding you into the basement. It was the their home gym, filled with weights and machines that kept the two men strong and fit, and you weren’t usually allowed down there. If you were, it was because both of the men were present, and they could watch you while they worked out (you knew that they liked showing off for you, even if they didn’t admit it.).

But today Kiri wasn’t going down there to work out. Once the two of you made it down the steps, Kiri was pulling an exercise bench over, instructing you to lay down on it, belly up. You did what he said.

“‘Kay, I’m gonna go upstairs to get some stuff. I want your shorts off by the time I get back, alright baby?”

You nodded.

Sighing, you shimmied your shorts down as he left. You never had to worry about underwear - they never let you wear it unless you were on your period. You knew vaguely what direction this was going in, and had already resigned yourself to getting fucked silly by the redhead. It was practically useless trying to resist.

When he came back, you were surprised. He had rope and…… a Hitachi. That was new. In the short time you’d been living with them, you had gotten used to their habits when they fucked you. Neither man was too interested in toys, preferring to stimulate you manually, so this was an unwelcome surprise.

“Mmhm, you look so sexy baby.” Kiri kneeled down next to you, before peeling apart your thighs. He grinned at you, shark teeth flashing, before snatching up the Hitachi wand, pressing it directly against your pussy. You didn’t like where this is going.

He didn’t turn it on, instead reaching for the rope that he had brought down. The redhead began wrapping it around your thighs, lifting your legs to encircle them with the rope. It took a few minutes, which were tense, silent as you watched him work. He made sure to also circle the rope around your hands and torso, anchoring your arms by your side. When Kiri was finished, you were trapped, unable to move your legs, to even simply part them an inch. The Hitachi wand was still directly on your pussy, snug and unmoving. It rubbed against your clit, making you bite your lip at the delicious friction. Kirishima gave you a flashy smile, turning to ruffle your hair. Distantly you noticed he didn’t have a shirt on.

“Alright babe, we’re gonna have some fun while we wait for Katsuki. You know what this is?” He tapped the wand nestled between your legs.

“It’s…. It’s a vibrator.” You managed, throat suddenly dry.

Kirishima seemed to beam even brighter. “Yeah! I’m gonna turn it on, let you have your fun. But you gotta tell me before you cum, okay? Think you can do that?”

A quick nod from you and the vibrator buzzed to life between your legs, Kirishima not in the mood to dawdle. Your back arched off the bench at the sensation, the pleasure quick and intense. Kirishima stayed kneeling beside you, watching you writhe as he changed the speed of the wand.

It didn’t take long for you to cry out, “Kirishima, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!”, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body. It made your shirt stick to your chest, accentuate the heaving of your breasts as panted. Right before you orgasmed though, Kiri flipped the off switch, the vibrations cutting off and leaving you hanging. Your eyes shot open, confusion furrowing you’re brow.

“Wha-Kiri? What?”

The redhead smirked, pressing a hand to your tummy to prevent you from moving against the wand, desperate for more stimulation, desperate to orgasm.

“Not yet baby, not yet.”

He patted your stomach soothingly as you stared up at him in confusion. You had been so close! Why have you tell him when you’re going to cum, only to rip that away from you??

A minute passed, then two, Kirishima still rubbing his big hand across your tummy. It was meant to be soothing, a soft gesture, but it only heated your skin, made pleasure thrum in your veins. When you had sufficiently calmed down, chest no longer heaving, Kiri reached down and flicked the wand back on, chuckling at the way you desperately ground against the rounded head of the toy.

“Mm, desperate little baby, aren’t you?” He was kissing your neck, letting his tongue slip out to lick at the skin there. It set you on fire. Reaching the high of orgasm came even quicker this time, spurred on by your movements and determination to cum. If you didn’t tell Kirishima when you were about to, he wouldn’t be able to stop you. So you stayed silent, circling your hips as best you could, leaning into the hot kisses being pressed to your throat.

All of a sudden, the vibrator clicked off, Kirishima’s hand on your tummy once again.

“Thought you could get away with that one? You’re so cute.”

You felt like screaming, yelling out your frustration. He knew your body too well, could feel the hitch in your breath as you prepared to orgasm, felt your fingers tighten, clenching around nothing. He had stopped the vibrator right as you were beginning to feel it, the wave of pleasure. It was frustrating.

You could hardly believe you were thinking this, but you couldn’t wait for Bakugou to get back.

——

It was torture, having your orgasm slip away from you time after time. Kirishima was having fun, groping your chest, leaving sloppy kisses along your neck and collarbone. He liked seeing you struggle, almost at the point of begging and pleading with him in your need to cum.

He had been edging you for a while now, you didn’t even know how many orgasms he had yanked you away from. Kiri had just stopped you once more, turning the vibrator off and holding you still /right/ as you felt yourself letting go. You wanted to scream, on the verge of tears. But then Kirishima was glancing at his phone, stuffing it in his pocket before standing so he could untie you from the bench.

“Bakugou’s back, we’re gonna go see what he brought home for us!”

You could barely think straight, wincing when Kiri removed the vibrator pressing up against your pussy. You were drenched, pussy wet and red and puffy, your own slick covering your thighs. Kirishima helped you to your feet, guiding you into your shorts. You were too out of it to do much, simply letting the man guide and push and lift your body as he pleased. When he pressed up against you to pull your shorts snug over your hips, you felt his bulge through his shorts, poking you in the stomach. You suppose he’d been waiting for relief too, just the same as you.

Kirishima helped you totter up the basement stairs, then guided you towards the bedroom, hand on your waist. You stumbled through the door, eyes immediately focusing on the giant mirror leaned up against the wall. How had Bakugou even gotten it through the door?

“Damn Kiri, you’re really worked up.”

Bakugou was sitting on the bed, unlacing his shoes. Kirishima chuckled, hand leaving your waist so he could go sit beside the blonde.

“Me and her both man. Had to hold myself back, she was making such raunchy sounds.”

Their attention turned to you, both men smirking as they eyed you, Kirishima still with a prominent tent in his shorts.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ bet.” Bakugou smirked.

Kirishima stood, stepping languidly around you until he was at your back, broad chest pressing up against you.

“I mean, look at this -“ a hand cupped your mound, making you jump. You were still sensitive from being denied so many times, even the slightest touch had you twitching. “ - she’s fucking dripping.”

It was true, the crotch of your shorts soaked with your juices. Kiri rubbed his index finger against the seam, pressing it up and against your clit. You shuddered, hand flying up at grasp onto his arm. It felt so good, you hated his touch, didn’t want his hands on you, but oh, your body liked it.

Kirishima pushed you forward, fingers still teasing you through your wet shorts. You gasped when you were pushed face first into the bed, bent at the waist. A hot, blunt hardness rubbed up against you, Kiri’s hand still cupping your mound.

“You’re being such a good little bitch, letting us do whatever the fuck we want to your stupid little cunt.”

You lifted your eyes, saw Bakugou smirking down at you as you were rocked gently by the force of Kiri’s humping. The blond was palming himself over his jeans, but your attention was quickly shifted when you felt your shorts getting ripped down, off your body.

“Step out.” You obeyed. Kirishima was hungry, lustful - voice deeper and serious now - no trace of his signature lightheartedness. He always got like this this when he was excited. Your head was wrenched to the side, cheek mashed against the bedspread, large hand pressing and holding you in place. Belatedly, you recognized you were facing the mirror leaned against the wall, could see Kirishima’s bulk behind you, his shorts already pulled down to reveal his hard cock. If you hadn’t taken it before, you would be scared. He was thick, blunt and girthy - not to mention a considerable length. The tip was flushed red, almost purple, shiny with leaked precum and almost swollen.

“Look at yourself in the mirror baby, you see that? How nice you look, all obedient and ready to take my cock? Such a good, sweet little girl.”

You looked so tiny compared to the redhead, the man having to bend his knees slightly to rub the head of his cock against your pussy. You tried not to moan when he focused it on your clit, rubbing it rapidly over the nub. “Kiri - please……Aah! Let me - lemme cum..” You whined.

“God, you’re so perfect, you know that?” He breathed out a laugh, still rubbing the head of his blunt cock over your clit, hand still forcing your head to the side, making you watch his movements. You almost wanted to cry - being teased and denied for so long. You just wanted to cum, wanted to get this over quickly so you could go shower.

Normally seeing yourself in a mirror was something you’d try to avoid, not favoring the way you looked. But now, you were mesmerized, watching through the reflection the way Kirishima’s red cock pulsed as he finally, finally slipped it into your opening. You choked on a moan as he slowly stretched you out, feeding inch after inch of his wide cock into you. In the mirror, you saw him tip his head back, groaning low in his throat when he finally bottomed out, fat balls pressed flush against you.

“Fuck, oh god, feels so good. You’re so good, can feel your pretty little pussy trying to milk me.” He leaned down, warm chest plastered across your back as he whispered in your ear.

“You really want this, don’t you? Such a gorgeous baby, so sexy and hot and perfect.”

The man didn’t start out slowly, he never did. He was aggressive, unrelenting as he thrust his fat cock into you over and over. Your legs were shaking, the pleasure making you weak-kneed, your tongue lolling out of your open mouth, unable to quiet your moans. Kirishima’s pace was frenzied, excited, animalistic as he chased his own pleasure, the sound of his skin slapping against your own filling the room. It was incredible.

His dick hit all the right spots, pressing you closer and closer to your orgasm. If he didn’t let you cum this time you were going to cry. Your could hear the lecherous, sinful sounds of your pussy squelching, milky juices getting everywhere. It coated his dick, was covering your thighs. You could feel drops of wetness being flicked everywhere on every thrust, the wet, fast slaps of his thighs against you making your stomach clench even harder. The hand in your hair pulled up slightly, wrenching your head back in order for Kiri to give your a quick, desperate kiss - full of teeth and spit. He had hardly detached from your lips before he was mouthing at your back, spitting out filth as he did so.

“Shit, I love you so much. Wish I could be inside you all time - see how easily your body takes me? You were made for this, such a filthy little baby. Always look so tempting, always wanna fuck you, fill you up, make you squirt.”

His words were getting to you, as you were forced to watch him pounding into you, hips snapping and tensing in an animalistic fashion. It was too much - the pleasure, his crude words, the visual of seeing yourself getting fucked, worshipped. Your eyes closed, clenching shut as you moaned over a particularly satisfying thrust. Kiri didn’t like that. The hand not holding your head against the bed slipped underneath you, immediately finding your clit, pinching at it viciously.

“Open your eyes, keep watching or else I stop.”

You wailed, eyes flying open. Kirishima was smiling, still kissing sloppily at your back as he began playing with your clit.

“You always look so tasty, can’t tell you - Fuck! - how many times I think about fucking your brains out during the day - shit, you’re so good for me.”

HIs hips stuttered as he rammed forward, signaling he was close. He wasn’t the only one - your hands clawing at the bedspread, your hips moving and twitching as you tried to grind yourself against his hand, his cock slamming into you. His big hand rubbed you just right, and it sent a pang of sizzling pleasure trough your body. A broken cry left you as you finally orgasmed, hot, shaking, senseless. Thank god.

The wild twitching of your pussy as you rode out your high triggered Kirishima’s own orgasm, the man burying his face between your shoulder blades as his own hips twitched wildly, humping his cock into you as he released his seed. He was cursing, saying something, but it was muffled by the skin he caught between his teeth, making you squeal as you felt hot cum shoot into you. It took a minute for the man to slow down, thrusting through his orgasm and into the aftershocks, milking and prolonging both of your pleasure. It felt so good, so right. You were so high from the endorphins that you couldn’t even think to remember how wrong this was, how you didn’t want any of it.

Pulling out, Kirishima watched his cum begin dripping out of your cunt, pushing himself away from your back as he stood, chest heaving, body glistening with sweat. You were barely able to keep yourself up, still bent over the bed, legs wobbly and arms jelly. A separate set of hands pulled you to the side, and you let yourself be manhandled, pulled and situated in Bakugou’s lap, his chest to your back.

You had forgotten about Bakugou.

His jeans were off, along with his boxers. His shirt was gone too, thrown somewhere on the floor. The blond ripped at the shirt still plastered to your chest, the fabric giving in easily to his strength. You couldn’t bring yourself to care as it shredded right through the middle, freeing your tits. It’s not like it hid anything anyways.

“Jesus, that was so fuckin’ hot, watching Kiri pound into you like that. Look at yourself, leaking everywhere like a damn hose. You like having Kiri’s cum sliding out of your soggy little cunt?”

His chin hooked over your shoulder and he directed your gaze forward.

There was another mirror.

It was leaned up against the far wall, allowing you a perfect view of your sweaty, debauched body as Bakugou spread you legs, hooking your knees over his own so he could force your thighs even further apart. Oh god.

He was hard as a rock, moving your body around on his lap so his dick pressed up against the outside of your pussy, cum still escaping from your hole. You were exhausted, body limp and pliant - you didn’t know if you could go another round.

Bakugou didn’t care.

A harsh slap had you crying out, a sharp “Ah!” Filling the room. Bakugou slapped your slit again, and you tried to curl in on yourself, protect yourself from the abuse on your sensitive pussy. The blond slithered a hand around your chest, reaching up to grip your throat lightly.

“Stop that. Fucking look at this shit. See how sloppy your pussy is? Everytime I do this - “ He delivered another quick slap, and you writhed on his lap, which caused you to push against the hard cock nestled between your thighs. “ - You let more cream out.”

Without saying anything more, Bakugou shoved the hand not around your throat under your thigh, lifting you up just enough so he could slip his dick into you. HIs cock was less girth than Kirishima’s - it was about the same length but a more manageable size. He had been jacking off while watching Kiri fuck you, so his length was already coated in a layer of his spit and precum. That, combined with the cum already drenching your insides, meant he met virtually no resistance as he thrust up slowly.

You writhed, the hand at your throat and at your thigh keeping you steady in his lap. Kirishima was on the floor, leaning his back against the bed as he watched the two of you in the mirror, still panting and calming down from his intense orgasm.

There wasn’t any time to adjust, to ask Bakugou to wait, you’re too sensitive to go again! He was more relaxed than Kirishima, more controlled and languid in his thrusting. He rolled his hips, bouncing you gently in his lap as he forced you to keep your head straight, despite your efforts to turn away from the mirror showing your own reflection. You looked absolutely filthy - face flushed, tits bouncing, Bakugou’s hard cock drilling into you. You couldn’t help but moan, the sight stirring up something, some heated feeling inside your tummy.You liked watching them fuck you.

“Goddamn, every single time feels so fucking good. Shit, shit shit shit - it’s like you were made for us!”

He sounded so gleeful, so truthful. You unconsciously clenched around his length, feeling tingly as his thrusts ground deep, hit every single spot that made a sweet zing of bliss race through your body.

“Ah, ah fuck, you finally get it? You see what we’re fuckin’ on about when we say you look so damn delicious? Shit, I wanna take a bite outta you, so juicy and ripe and fucking perfect.”

Bakugou was out of breath, his voice deep as he growled at you. You grabbed at the arm around your chest, his thighs, his hair - anything to anchor yourself as his balls papped against you. You could hear someone moaning, whining and sobbing, was that you?

Kirishima had recovered, moving to kneel between Bakugou’s and your own spread legs. “Bakugou, you two look so good together.” That seemed to spur the blond on, his thrusts speeding up as he grunted. You screamed when you felt a wet muscle swip at your clit, looking down to see Kirishima grinning up at you, his tongue hanging out. On each thrust, he was licking at Bakugou’s cock, and then at your clit right above him, making you wiggle and spasm as you tried to escape the intense sensation.

“Kiri, Kir- stop! Stop, please I can’t! Stop, stop stop stop!”

You were pushing at his head, albeit weakly, but you were trying to move him away, becoming frantic as the combined efforts of the two men overwhelmed you, had you throwing your head back against Bakugou’s shoulder and gasping. Bakugou snickered, before plunging his tongue into your open mouth, stealing a kiss. You whined, scrabbling at his arms, Kirishima’s hair, trying to get away but simultaneously trying to bring the two of them closer. It felt so /good/, you didn’t even have the words to describe how heavenly and lascivious and filthy you were feeling.

“Hah, you’re so wet, you hear yourself? Sloppy girl. Taking me so well, shit, so goddamn good.”

You could indeed, hear yourself. On every thrust of Bakugou’s, your pussy squelched, greedily sucking him in. It was absolutely filthy, hearing your juices and Kiri’s cum sloshing together as Bakugou shoved his cock into you, again and again. You could hear Kirishima slurping at your cunt with fervor, could tell by the slick sounds and rhythmic movement of his arm that he was frantically jerking himself off as he lapped at the point where Bakugou’s hot flesh met your own. It was hot, not only in temperature.

“C’mon baby, let it out, let me taste you. Wanna see you clenching around Katsuki’s cock like the good, sweet little girl you are.”

Kirishima’s words hand you reeling, and the second his lips went back to attacking your clit, you were gone. It almost hurt, how tense your muscles became, squeezing an agonizingly delicious orgasm out of you. Bakugou felt you release, his thrusts speeding up as Kirishima kept his tongue out, laving at Bakuguo’s cock as he hammered into your clenching cunt. You were crying, twisting In Bakugou’s hold as you were quickly overstimulated, shrieking as you were left with no respite.

It didn’t take long for Bakugou to cum, spurred on by your writhing and tears, the way you were begging and pleading and sobbing, imploring the men to stop. With a guttural moan, the blond gave on last thrust, shooting his seed into you, hot ropes of cum filling you up. Kirishima was still licking around Bakugou’s cock, catching the cum and slick that squeezed it’s way past the cock plugging you up.

You shivered, relaxing against the hard chest behind you as Kirishima eventually stopped lapping at you, his own arm still. He had cum again at some point, pumping his cock into his own fist. Bakugou pressed a gentle kiss behind your ear, panting hotly against the shell.

“Fuuuuuck-“ he whined out “- that was amazing.”

“Mhmm.” Kiri hummed his agreement, slowly standing. The redhead flopped down on the bed, crawling up to sprawl out on one side, head resting against a pillow. Bakugou slipped out of you with no warning, your sudden gasp as you felt wet drip out of you making him chuckle. He maneuvered your lax body onto the bed, next to Kirishima, before pressing himself up behind you, trapping your body between the two men. You were too tired to feel gross, to mind the wet slide of your thighs as you shifted into a more comfortable position. Kirishima threw an arm around your waist, leaning up on his elbow to hover over and across you, stealing a kiss from Bakugou. Then he was stealing one from you, wet mouth connected to your own.

You didn’t fight.

When he flopped back down, you breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like you could finally relax as the two men stayed silent, all three of you exhausted, fucked out.

This was only the tip of the ice berg.

If you knew how often and intensely the men intended to fuck you near the mirrors, you would probably pass out. They just wanted to show you what they saw in you. It had been two of the strongest orgasms you had experienced in a while, but there was no way you’d admit it was because of their praising and insistence on making you watch yourself getting railed by them.

For now, you let yourself drift into a comfortable doze, let the heat of the two bodies caging you in keep you warm, keep you trapped.

Why bother fighting?

There was no escape.

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peaceoutofthepieces · 3 years ago

Text

Here’s what I have done of that other fic I started. I want to make it a much longer one-shot, and I will if anyone likes it. It’s based on this post that has stuck with me for ages, but I only really started thinking about recently.

~^~

Lucas didn’t know what to expect.

Realistically, he didn’t think his parents were suited to this type of responsibility. His dad made the indisputable point that they could do with the extra money. Lucas didn’t bother telling him that might not work out if the student left them within a week. They could barely take care of their own child, and yet they thought it was a perfect idea to bring another into the house.

Well, not exactly a child. He couldn’t decide if that fact was better or worse. Lucas got along fine with people; he had a good group of friends, and most of their classmates liked him. He could mesh with people he had just met at parties or the skatepark or even school. Acquaintances were easy to make. People his age didn’t really scare him.

Maybe he didn’t have the best confidence around pretty boys. But none of them scared him as much as Kes, and Kes was his best friend, so he thought he was probably doing pretty well in that case, too.

He wasn’t sure how living with someone else his age (and a stranger at that) would be. His confidence and his comfort levels were feeling low. Someone from another country, someone that he’d have to live with and go to school with and exist with on a very regular basis—that was a little frightening. That had Lucas feeling unprecedented levels of stress in the week before the exchange student arrived.

It didn’t help that they ended up being the most beautiful boy Lucas had ever seen.

~^~

Lucas could admit on sight that Jens Stoffels was one of those pretty boys that left him tongue-tied and sweaty-palmed any time he was forced to interact. Which, considering their situation, happened to be quite often. On the other hand, he didn’t want to admit that Jens Stoffels scared him more than Kes. (But Lucas was starting to think he most certainly did.)

He had been standing in the hallway, lingering awkwardly, when his father had opened the door for the first time. He caught sight of the tall boy with the dark hair and sharp jaw and instantly felt his breath catch. He watched the boy stumble through a greeting, a clunky mister-and-surname hello that was met with a too enthusiastic response of, “Please, call me Hugo. You must be Jens.”

Lucas didn’t have the strength to tease his father that of course, this was Jens, they’d been expecting him for the past month. He was too busy staring to do much of anything else. He had no right, in the moment, to tease anyone.

Then Jens’s eyes met his, and Lucas watched him falter.

Then Jens smiled, and Lucas was gone.

Hugo took it as a reminder to beckon his son forward and urge him to take Jens’s bags. They both ignored Jens’s protests, which trailed off rather abruptly when Lucas’s fingertips traced the back of his hands when grabbing the handles.

Lucas didn’t think he imagined the way Jens’s breath hitched as he glanced up at the boy, but he didn’t know what to do with it. The moment went ignored.

“Hey,” Jens greeted, low and hesitant, and Lucas realised he was scowling.

It was easy to soften his expression in the face of Jens’s nerves, but it was harder than he expected to smile. The horde of butterflies in his stomach and buzz of static in his head left him able to do little more than nervously lick his lips and nod. “Hey.”

“This is Lucas,” his father introduced him, as oblivious to his son’s state as ever. “He’ll show you to his room. We have your bed already set up, and he cleared some space. I hope you really don’t mind sharing.”

Jens offered Lucas another smile, wider than the first. “No, I really don’t mind.”

~^~

Jens took in the bunk beds with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He glanced over at Lucas. “I thought you were an only child?”

“I am.” Lucas gestured vaguely. “It’s for—we changed it.”

“You went out and bought bunk beds?”

Lucas couldn’t help but smile slightly, now. “Well, I didn’t, no.”

Jens’s cheeks reddened, and he shifted the bag he still held onto to his other hand. “You know what I mean. Your parents.”

Lucas shrugged. “Another separate bed wouldn’t have fit. It doesn’t—you don’t mind, do you? I’ve been sleeping on the bottom, but we changed the sheets so you can take whichever—“

“Cool,” Jens cut him off, tossing his bag onto the top bunk and then hoisting himself up onto it. He barely avoided knocking his head into the ceiling. He raised his brows at Lucas. “Cosy.”

“Seriously, you can take the bottom.”

“I certainly can.” Jens nodded his agreement, and the glimmer in his eyes made Lucas shuffle on his feet. “But if it’s where you’d rather be, I won’t argue.”

Lucas stared at him for a moment, then realised he was doing it and quickly dragged his gaze away as Jens became more amused. He cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said loudly, ignoring Jens’s grin. “Cool. I can, uhm, show you the rest of the house, if you want.”

Jens nodded and lithely took two steps down the ladder to the floor. “Cool,” he repeated.

~^~

Dinner was a less awkward affair than Lucas expected. His mother was doing well and seemingly intent on proving it, brushing off Lucas’s offers of help and glaring at his looks and questions. He could tell Jens adored her instantly, and seemed more comfortable referring to her as Tess than he was using Hugo. Lucas had to admit, though, that his father was also on his best behavior, and Lucas himself was probably the most awkward person at the table.

It was just that, Jens was right beside him, the chairs tucked so close together at the small table that Lucas could feel his radiating warmth. He held himself stiffly in place so as not to lean towards it, and felt silly and uncomfortable in doing so.

“Are you nervous about starting on Monday, Jens?” Hugo asked, cutting through his food with half of his attention.

Tess huffed. “Of course he is. But that’s normal. And he’ll have Lucas looking after him.”

Jens didn’t seem to mind being spoken for. He glanced over at Lucas again instead, and Lucas diverted his gaze, cheeks flushing. He wasn’t, however, overly embarrassed. Jens had snuck just as many sideways looks at him.

“Actually,” Lucas said, then had to clear his throat. “You skate, right? I saw you brought a board.”

Jens nodded. “A little.”

“I was thinking we could go to the park tomorrow. You can meet Kes and Jayden.”

Hugo snorted, and Lucas shot him an unimpressed look. “What?” he demanded.

“No, nothing, nothing,” Hugo said, hasty. “It’s just a funny choice, if your goal is not overwhelming him on his first day here.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “He’ll be fine.” Then, to Jens, “Really, they’re cool. Just a little excitable. You’ll be fine.”

Jens nodded again and smiled, small and secretive. “Sure. You’ll be looking after me, right?”

Lucas smiled down at his plate.

~^~

Lucas still hadn’t fully realised how awkward it would be until they were expected to go to bed. It became fairly obvious when he was standing lost in his own bedroom and Jens started stripping in front of him.

He made a noise in his throat, high and startled, and quickly looked away from sturdy shoulders and lithe legs. He curled his hands into fists and crossed his arms over his stomach, breathing carefully. After a second, he realised standing there like this was probably worse, and forced himself to move to his wardrobe, digging through the drawers for something to sleep in. When he turned around with a worn t-shirt and sweats, Jens was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and staring at him.

“Sorry,” Jens said, curious. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Lucas shook his head. “No,” he tried, then cleared his throat. “I just wasn’t…” He shook his head. “Why would I be uncomfortable?”

Jens eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “Some people prefer their privacy. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He scratched at his arm, then added, “I hope you don’t feel put out. It’s probably weird opening your space like this.”

“It’s weird for you, too, isn’t it? You just got here,” Lucas shrugged again. He was being a terrible host. He was being terribly obvious.

“I mean, yeah. The whole thing is stressing me out more than I expected,” Jens admitted, laughing slightly. Lucas was terrible. “But I guess—I don’t really do awkward? I know we’re supposed to be a good match. So I guess I came with the idea already in my head that we’d be friends.”

Lucas stared at him.

Jens shifted awkwardly and gave a dry, lopsided smile. “But I guess it’s not the same on your side.”

“No,” Lucas blurted. Then, realising how that sounded, rushed to explain himself. “No, I—I hoped we’d be friends, too. We will be. I mean, I still want to be. Friends. You’re cool. It’s just that we only met, and it’s like, right into the deep end. But there’s nothing to say we won’t be friends.”

He was rambling. Of course. Jens didn’t do awkward, and Lucas was being the most awkward person on the planet. That wasn’t the way this was supposed to go.

How was this supposed to go again?

He’d never had a plan to start with, but considering all thoughts fled his mind at the first sight of Jens, he doubted it would have been much help. He was a mess.

And they’d just met.

Despite everything, Jens seemed pleasantly amused by his disastrous attempts at connecting. There was a lovely curl to his lips and an adorable tip of his head as he returned, “Okay. Good.”

He sounded so genuinely relieved, so contented at the thought of Lucas agreeing on his hopes of friendship, that Lucas couldn’t help but smile back.

Then Jens added, “Better to keep my pants on, though? At least until there’s a little more familiarity in place.”

Lucas wanted to die. He was going to die. Why was he so embarrassing? So clueless and so obvious at the same time? This was only the first day.

Jens could be here for the entire year.

“It’s sexist to assume shoulders are only sexual when they’re women’s,” Lucas said, trying to keep Jens’s jokingly serious tone, and quickly realising the response sounded better in his head. And that it probably didn’t seem all that joking, if his cheeks were as red as they felt.

But Jens laughed, and his eyes sparkled, and Lucas was truly and seriously fucked. Jens wiggled his eyebrows, said, “Can’t argue with that,” and pointedly squeezed Lucas’s shoulder on the way past, and oh no, Lucas was truly and seriously gay, wasn’t he?

Lucas mustered a tiny laugh in return, looking over his shoulder to watch Jens go. His sight caught on the still exposed calves, the dimples in the back of his knees, the ends of strong thighs, the curve of—

He whipped his gaze away and took another careful breath, and Jens simply continued down the hall to the bathroom, oblivious. Lucas stripped off his hoodie, recognising that this was the safest time to change, and told himself to get a grip.

Friends, he thought, with another breath.

Cool.

#van der stoffels #vds #vdsweek2021 #wtfock #skam nl #my fics

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years ago

Text

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.”

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?”

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.”

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing.

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.”

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?”

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.”

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?”

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.”

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.”

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #a really fucking long snippet but who's counting #I've missed WIP wednesdays #spooky season is upon us so I'm channeling that #a glimpse at how they handle cases that obviously don't look human #cw blood #cw murder #cw biting #paranormal stuff #sorry it's kind of all over the place but I got to play with Morgan's abilities and that was fun for me #Extraordinary #katyswriting #katyswip #wip wednesday #ALSO I DECIDED ON A POSTING DATE hope that doesn't bite me in the ass later lol

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