#the trick is stepping back and stopping answering those particular asks

[not-poignant]

Hello. Do you get frustrated by questions from readers whose answers are in the text, but the readers didn't read the story carefully?

Hi anon!

It really just depends. I would say the vast majority of the time, no! My stories are long, and it makes sense that sometimes people would want to check in about a detail. Also sometimes folks ask about worldbuilding in ways that are fun to reply to, and pretty respectful. Like, 99 times out of 100, I love getting questions about stuff in the story, even if it's stuff that's been covered in the story before.

But there are some ways I don't enjoy it? And that's when someone sends me like... 20-40 questions in back-to-back anons of which most are answered in the story multiple times. Or when they do it very 'emotionlessly' so I have no idea if they even like the story (because not everyone does, and not everyone asks questions in good faith), because I'm just getting repeated questions, no feedback, no appreciation for the time I put into answering (it can take a while to respond to asks that are about worldbuilding or writing details!).

And to be fair, a person doesn't have to appreciate it! I'm just aware that I appreciate my time, and believe it's valuable, so if I find that someone's asking me say...5 questions in a day that are all answered in the text, I should probably be just spending my time somewhere else. Maybe they're skimming the story because they're reading it really fast, or maybe they struggle to pick up subtext, but my job is to write the story, and not to be an encyclopedia for folks who just throw questions at me with nothing else as context (it can feel a bit like an interrogation!)

Thankfully this is rare, and I generally realise it's happening pretty quickly. Honestly I think the biggest issue there is simply that people forget that like, I am a...person. I have full and busy days, I have the writing as my main job that involves writing, editing, etc. I have friends and family. I have a dog to look after and a cat. I have my hobbies. And I really love answering asks, but there comes a point where it feels like someone forgets I'm a person and starts thinking I'm like a question-answering-machine with no feelings.

It's super super rare, and they might just be excited that they can go to the author of something and get actual answers, which is not actually what happens in most of media / reading. And that's exciting for me too, until I feel a bit like the other person might not even like the writing very much, certainly not enough to be paying much attention, and might even be asking questions to catch me off guard, or to trip me up.

But like I said, it's rare. It happens maybe twice a year like this, and when it does I'm mostly frustrated that it takes me so long to see the pattern and step back.

The rest of the time I love it, and don't find it frustrating at all!

[silverflqmes]

What about playing with oikawa, atsumu, osamu, kuroo and akaashis hair? Like...just pulling them on top and stroking their hair would be the most comforting shit ever😴

໒⦂ 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖/ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑.

notes. hello anon! thank you so much for requesting, this is a really cute prompt oml<3 i hope i was able to do it justice :’) i wasn’t sure if you wanted drabbles or headcanons so i did a mix, enjoy!

genre. fluff + comfort

ft. tooru oikawa, atsumu miya, osamu miya, tetsuro kuroo, keiji akaashi

tw. implied to be post timeskip, so there might be spoilers if you haven’t read the manga!

gender neutral! reader.

     ➫    𝓞𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗪𝗔   𝓣𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ oh. he loves it so much.

⌗ always happy and willing to have you play with his hair! might tease you at first about it though.. i mean — come on. it’s tooru.

⌗ “see y/n-chan, all those long showers and amounts of conditioner are worth it in the end! fluffy hair doesn’t happen just like that!”

⌗ doesn’t really have a particular position he prefers. but, if there’s an opportunity for him to be able to watch volleyball matches while you play with his hair — then bingo

⌗ makes him sleepy though tbh so you do it when he doesn’t get his ass to bed

“tooru-san..” you murmured quietly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you made your way to the brunet, sliding onto his lap. “the bed feels cold without you.. are you almost done..?”

a chuckle left the setter’s lips as he turned the volume down a bit on the tv before placing your head on his shoulder. “that so? did you really miss your tooru-san that much?” he asked you softly, laughing at the whine that left your lips. it was enough to answer his question. “okay, okay.. i’ll tell you what — we cuddle here for a bit while i finish this set, since this match has two more sets..” he muttered before clearing his throat. “and then we’ll go in our room together, okay?”

you weighed his words, contemplating his suggestion before nuzzling into his neck, loosing a quiet breath. “you promise?”

“i promise.” the brunet confirmed, smiling softly as you got more comfortable on his lap, slipping one hand idly into his hair- an old trick you would use to either calm him down.. or in this case, serenade him.

tooru hummed at the action, aware of your true motives, but he couldn’t complain. he had his most favorite and beloved person in the universe clinging and cuddling him while running their fingers through his hair. and although it made him sleepy, he was on cloud nine.

“goodnight, y/n-chan.” he chuckled once he felt your fingers slow to a stop, rising from his spot on the couch to carry you back to your shared bedroom.

     ➫    𝓜𝗜𝗬𝗔   𝓐𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ he loves it a lot too!

⌗ atsumu is definitely the one to initiate the most in your relationship, so whenever you approach him first — oh, his heart soars.

⌗ but he teases you for it. why wouldn’t he? his dearest lover wants to be close and card their fingers through his hair!

⌗ “do my ears deceive me, y/n-chan? ya wanna play with my hair?? hold on lemme get my recorder so i can keep this on file-OW! DON’T PULL!”

⌗ playing with his hair honestly calms him down really easily, especially when he’s on edge from a game, argument with osamu, or whatever else might be bothering him in the moment. it just resets him a little :’)

“you okay, ‘tsumu?” you asked upon stepping into your shared flat, doggy bag in hand. “samu asked me to bring you this when i went to onigiri miya today after my shift.” you added softly, joining him on the sofa. “everything okay?”

the blond looked over at you for a moment before letting a huff out, shaking his head. “don’t wanna say. yer gonna think it’s dumb.” he grumbled back, sinking more into the couch while you blinked.

it couldn’t be that bad, right?

a sincere smile crossed your lips as you petted his head gently. “come on, ‘tsumu. you can tell me anything! i promise i won’t laugh or think it’s dumb.” you assured him, placing the food down before patting your thigh.

for a moment he looked you up and down, then at the food. perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to tell you.

he let out a breath before lowering his head onto your lap, feeling your fingers weave through his hair in such a soothing manner. he could never tire of it, and somehow, it made him less reluctant. “i was playin’ switch with shoyo-kun and bokuto-kun, when this tiny ass spider suddenly crawled onto the table and freaked the shit outta omi-kun.” an exasperated sigh. “so he took his cleaning solution and started sprayin’ all frantically.. which got onto the joycons.” he confessed, pointing to the envelope on the coffee table. “so i have to send them for repairs, meaning NO SWITCH THIS WEEKEND.”

silence.

“y/n-chan..?” he called out, looking up to see you shielding your mouth — from laughing. “YER LAUGHING?? TRAITOR!!”

“I’M SORRY I’M SORRY PFFT-”

     ➫    𝓜𝗜𝗬𝗔   𝓞𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ he likes it a lot! he’s on the neutral side with physical affection compared to atsumu, but doesn’t reject it lol

⌗ whenever you ask he’s always happy to oblige, loves feeling your hands in his hair, anyway. it relaxes him and just feels super good in general.

⌗ honestly takes him back to lunch time in high school under the trees, just laying on your lap while you ran your fingers through his hair.

⌗ doesn’t really say much when you play with his hair, he’s just got his eyes closed while you do it or is watching the cooking channel with you.

⌗ “should i make this for dinner tonight, or too much?” the answer is and always will be yes, because this man’s food is just<3

“hard day at work?” osamu asked from the kitchen, feeling your arms around his waist as you nodded against his back.

“something like that.” came your low sigh, followed by an annoyed grumble. “my boss gave me this really tough manuscript to edit.” ah, of course.

“did they now?” he asked, to show he was listening, and you hummed in agreement.

“sure did. i don’t get it, samu. they’d publish this piece of shit work, but not my story?? it’s preposterous.” you grumbled, pouting when your lover let out a laugh. what was so funny anyway? “hey!! don’t laugh! i’m genuinely irked by this!”

“sorry, love.” he chuckled a little, sliding the vegetables into the curry he was preparing before turning to kiss your head. “didn’t mean to laugh, just thought ya sounded a little cute there.” he responded, and it was true. you did sound adorable to him. “but you’ll find the right publisher someday, the world’s just not ready for yer book to destroy the market.”

you were reluctant at first with his words, but gave in, anyway. it was osamu miya, your everything. how could you possibly resist? “i suppose, i can wait a bit longer..” you agreed, albeit begrudgingly. “but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook!”

the gray eyes male rose a brow before turning the knob on low. “that so? well, what would i have to do to be off the hook?” he asked, placing one hand at your waist while the other cupped your cheek.

a grin spread across your lips before you slipped your fingers into his hair. “i think you know the answer to that.” and that he did.

    ➫    𝓚𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗢   𝓣𝗘𝗧𝗦𝗨𝗥𝗢   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ this man is so for it, he’ll literally be smirking like a cat who wants petting.. might even purr ( or moan ) as a joke..

⌗ you could honestly ask him whenever or he might just even approach you half the time tbh cuz he’s not even worried about getting his hair messed up ( i mean.. that bedhead is unmoving )

⌗ doesn’t really mind the time or place, but prefers being in bed since he can lay his head on your chest while you play with his hair; it’s just easier and more comfortable lol

⌗ “cut me some slack y/n-chan, i worked super duper hard today.. the all star team sure is high maintenance!” — says this when he was literally doing nothing but laughing his ass off from the sidelines while hajime was scolding all of them ( tooru and atsumu.. ) over an altercation.

⌗ once your fingers slide into his hair, tetsuro is not moving. got a shift today at work? you’re calling sick. got plans with your friends? consider them cancelled.

“oh?” tetsuro rose a brow, noting the ds in your hands, which had his suspicions rising. “dare i ask where you got that from?” he inquired, taking up the vacant spot on the bed as he leaned over your shoulder.

your eyes barely lifted from the screen as you hummed, directing your character to a save point before looking over at your lover with a smile. “i think you might know the answer to that already.” you laughed, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “kenma let me borrow it for the week.” just as he suspected.

a hum left the cat eyed male’s lips as he got comfortable in his spot, scooting closer to you. “i figured as much.” he mused, draping an arm around your waist. “think you got room for one more on your chest? or is that reserved for video games only?”

you rose a brow at his response before letting out a laugh. “is that pettiness i detect, tetsu?” you asked, snickering further before letting out a breath. “i suppose i can make room for tonight..” you drawled out, turning off the device before placing it on your nightstand to charge.

a feline smirk etched onto kuroo’s lips as he wrapped his legs around your waist, moving his head to your chest as he closed his eyes. “perfect, that saves me the bribery.” he snickered out, feeling your fingers card gently through his hair as you scoffed, but smiled anyway.

➫    𝓐𝗞𝗔𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗜   𝓚𝗘𝗜𝗝𝗜   ୨୧   ˎˊ˗

⌗ i don’t think he would mind it honestly, but at first he might be a little confused as to why you would want to play with his hair — or more like he wonders what enjoyment you might get out of it — and now i’m overthinking😐

⌗ anyway, if you do ask him, he will allow you to play with it! he’d never say no to you, as he wouldn’t want to deny your happiness.. and might be a little curious himself

⌗ “are you sure this is gonna help, y/n-san? it seems a little too simplistic to rid me of my — oh.” it was needless to say he took his words back immediately.

⌗ once he realizes that he enjoys it, it’ll become your go to if he’s ever super stressed or having one of his mini anxiety attacks ( those two manga panels resonated sm with me )

⌗ likes to have his head on your lap while you run your fingers through his hair ( might read too as you do it ), it’s very relaxing<3

“keiji?” you called his name softly, lifting your head off your pillow to find a male silhouette kicking off their shoes at the doorway. “it’s late.” you told him when he stepped into the dim light of the tv, frowning a little. “i was beginning to worry..”

“i know- sorry for missing dinner with you.. tenma-san wanted me to stay longer to try and figure out the direction of the new chapter he’s writing.” akaashi sighed out, sleep evident on his visage. he’d been working hard on finishing the chapter for three days now to meet the deadline, but it was taking a toll he hadn’t quite acknowledged yet.

but you did.

“keiji..” you murmured quietly before patting your lap. “come, lay down for a bit.. you’ve been working really hard, so you deserve to give yourself some time to relax.” you told him, smiling a little. “at least the chapter is finished so you can rest for a little without worrying of what needs to be done next.”

it was true, the turquoise eyed male knew it to be true, but he just couldn’t relax.. he kept thinking back to it, if what he done was good enough to be published for the public to see. the last thing he wanted to was let tenma down after all and —

“keiji.” you called again and he snapped from his thoughts, nodding slowly.

“sorry, sorry..” he muttered back, laying down on the vacant space while he rested his head on your lap. “how is this meant to help, though?”

a sigh left your lips, thinking the boy to be clueless. a few days at the office and he was up in the clouds. “just give it a second.” you told him, removing his glasses before carding your fingers through his hair, massaging him gently.

within a few minutes, he was out like a light.

notes. hi hi, i hope this was what you were looking for! i tried to keep them all somewhat diverse, but thank you again for requesting! some feedback would be much appreciated<3 so feel free to send another ask to tell me your thoughts if you prefer to stay anonymous!

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[themanlykittenkayden]

I’ve finally seen the Tubbo and Cucurucho conversation, and I don’t think we really got anymore concrete answers than we had before

BUT

I think we may have learned a lot about Cucurucho and the way he possibly thinks and how he answers questions.

For example, the question “Can the eggs get their lives back?”. That seems like it should be a simple yes or no question, and it kind of is. No, they have two lives. But when Tubbo changes the question to “So the eggs can’t get their lives back?”, then the answer changes to classified. And when he continues to press “Has an egg ever gotten a life back?”, the answer changes to Yes, Juanaflippa did.

Cucurucho didn’t lie at any point. The trick is that he doesn’t answered implied questions. The implied question the whole time is “Is it currently still possible for the eggs to get their lives back in some way?”, but asking that direct of a question would get a simply “classified” and no elaboration.

However, by asking a lot of similar questions, we got a better glimpse of what the answer might be- there was at least one case of an egg getting a life back, but there’s some kind of law or limitation in place that stops any other egg from getting a life back.

Did the federation change the rule after the court case? Is there something special about the way they went about getting Juanaflippa’s life back that’s different from every other plea? Is there some unspoken limitation on the egg’s lives that we can’t see? We don’t know, and all of those are very different questions, so Cucurucho is never forced to answer them.

Tubbo was absolutely genius for rapid fire drilling Cucurucho with very similar questions because it side-steps Cucurucho’s very particular brand of misinformation and leaves no room for assumptions.

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Barbarian Bat: Part Two

A/N: It is sadly the last day of @nessianweek but I have had so much fun writing lots of fics and reading lots of fics! And I want to thank everyone for reading part one of this silly little AU earlier this week. Hopefully, you all enjoy part two, and I'm hoping to update with part three soon. :)

Previous Part // Next Part // Read on AO3

The trek through the snow is awkward and quiet, Cassian leading the way and Nesta trailing behind, trying to keep up with his long, easy strides. He slows to a stop each time that Nesta’s steps trip up, each time her foot sinks too deep, but he doesn’t turn back to look at her. He merely waits for her to regain her footing, to dig her snowshoe out, and then they continue on through the dark and the mountains of white.

If the entire journey to the spaceship is going to be this way, Nesta isn’t sure how much longer she’ll be able to take before her anger and annoyance really get the best of her. She remembers taking the journey once before, when all the women were given the knowledge transfer so they would understand the language the sa-khui spoke. It had taken almost a day between the spaceship and the main cave that they now call home. A day of awkward silence. A day of this tense energy that’s thrumming in the air between them. A day of her stupid khui vibrating and singing away, the damned thing still not shutting up.

As they walk, Nesta looks around, trying to recognize any landmarks from that previous journey, but everything on this planet looks the same. It’s all endless waves of white, snow reaching as far as the eyes can see in every direction. It’s only broken up by the strange bushes on this planet, by the purple and pink wispy stalks that are meant to be some kind of trees.

Perhaps she’s seen that particular cluster of trees before?

But any familiarity Nesta swears by vanishes as she takes in the rocky cliff face they’re walking toward. Under the pale light of the two moons, the snow covered rocks look especially looming and ominous, like sleeping giants waiting to wake, to rise. It has a shudder skittering up Nesta’s spine, and she hurries her steps enough to stick close to Cassian’s side as he walks parallel to the cliff face.

He makes it about halfway along the cliff face before coming to a stop before some sort of small opening, the abruptness of it almost sending Nesta careening into his back. She scowls and glares at his shoulder blades as she almost trips over her own feet, her snowshoes sinking deeper with her effort to stop quickly. She doesn’t let up even when Cassian finally turns over his shoulder and looks at her again, letting him feel and see all of her ire.

“Stay here,” Cassian tells her before slipping through the opening between the rocks, a cave Nesta realizes. He doesn’t stay inside for long, stepping back out into the night and gesturing with his hand for her to enter. “It is safe.”

But Nesta doesn’t move. She stays rooted to the spot and crosses her arms across her chest. “I thought you were taking me to the Elder Cave.”

“It is too dangerous to travel that far at night. We will rest here then continue the journey at first light.”

“How do I know you’re even taking me to the Elder Cave? That this isn’t some trick where you pretend to go along with what I want.”

Cassian’s eyebrows dip low at the accusation, his mouth pinching as he crosses his own arms. “Do you not trust me?”

“No,” Nesta answers matter-of-factly, unable to stop her scoff even if she wants to. “Human men, those weird green alien men, the basketball head alien men, even giant blue alien men… you’re all the same. You’re all just men.”

It’s more information than Nesta means to share, a part of herself that she hadn’t meant to hand over so easily. She’s never been good at any type of openness, any type of vulnerability. She’s always preferred claws and masks and armor. Snap and snarl now, and no one will ever ask questions later. Push someone out the door, and they never have the opportunity to leave.

But Cassian has always seen through her every defense, her every wall, ever since she stepped on this godsforsaken planet. She feels it now as Cassian’s eyes sweep over her frame, stripped bare, every crack, every nick, every bruise to her soul on full display. It’s as though he’s cataloging her every expression, tucking each reveal from her away.

“Give me their names, then,” Cassian finally speaks.

“What?” Nesta whispers, blinking in confusion.

Cassian steps closer to her, the breeze carrying with it the heat that always seems to radiate from him, the scent of low burning embers and what Nesta has always sworn was pine. He’s close enough that Nesta has to tilt her head back to continue to meet his gaze, a fire practically blazing across his expression. His hand reaches up in the space between them, a whisper of his touch skating along her cheek, before he seems to think better of it. His fingers curl back into his palm, hands settling into fists at his sides instead.

“Give me the names of these men that have hurt you, and I will find a way to hunt them down, to shatter every bone in their bodies for ever laying a finger on you.”

The declaration has Nesta swallowing hard, even as her traitorous heart skips a beat between her ribs, even as her khui starts singing again. “Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

“Then I will make a promise that I can keep. I will never hurt you, Nesta. I swear it,” Cassian says, pressing a hand to his chest, to where his own khui answers.

He says the words with such conviction, with such earnestness on his face, that Nesta doesn’t know how to respond. Words tangle on her tongue, clogging the back of her throat and battling with the emotions swirling like a storm in her chest until all she can do is try desperately to breathe around them. There’s no stopping that cold and cruel voice whispering in the back of her mind, digging its claws in with doubt and hesitation. Even if she wants to believe him, even if she wants to speak those words, she’s been burned too many times. She knows exactly how this will play out in the end. So she merely presses her lips together, wraps her arms tightly around herself like that will help hold herself together.

Cassian sighs softly at her extended silence. “If it will make you more comfortable, I can stay outside the cave for the night.”

“I thought you said it was dangerous. Snow-cats and all that,” Nesta reminds him before chewing at her bottom lip and turning away from his piercing gaze. “It’s fine.”

Before she can change her mind or take the words back, she ducks down and steps into the cave. It’s certainly small, clearly meant to just house a single hunter for the night. There’s a designated area for a fire, and when Nesta squints through the dark, she spies a few supplies like fuel and spare spears tucked neatly along the far wall. The way the walls seem to press in around her has Nesta’s hackles raising, especially when Cassian steps inside just behind her with his tall frame and wide shoulders, but she takes a deep, steeling breath, refusing to give in to those swirling shadows within her.

She spots where Cassian set down their packs, and she cuts across the small space to them, more than happy to have something to do with her hands. She unties her furs from her own pack first, unrolling them out across the cave floor and straightening them how she likes. She chances a glance over her shoulder, watching as Cassian strikes flint to start a fire.

An orangey glow flickers to life in the cave, casting shadows and shapes across the walls and floor. The firelight bounces off the dark strands of Cassian’s curls, his hair pulled back and tied off with a leather strap. It draws emphasis to his horns, to the plates and ridges on his arms and the way they shift along with his flexing muscles. Nesta finds herself tracing the dark colored lines and swirls across his blue skin, Cassian one of the few sa-khui with tattoos.

As if he can feel her attention on him, Cassian turns his head, meeting her gaze. Nesta is quick to snap her own head back around, swallowing down the heat threatening to creep up her neck, the way her heart skitters and skips for a moment. She grabs for Cassian’s pack to distract herself, untying his furs and laying them out in what little space remains of the cave floor.

“You should try and get some sleep,” Cassian’s voice breaks the quiet. “If we want to leave for the Elder Cave at first light.”

Nesta knows that he’s right, so she takes a moment to tug off her boots and her various outer layers of leathers, damp from the cold and the snow, and rests them near the fire so they can dry. It leaves her in just the long, loose leather tunic she wears beneath, her legs exposed. She can feel Cassian’s gaze on them, goosebumps prickling across her skin in the wake of his attention, so she quickly slips beneath her furs.

She burrows deep into them, tugging the furs up and around her shoulders as she turns to face the cave wall. Nesta has never done well in the cold. Back on earth, she always kept her thermostat higher than most during the winter months, always had plenty of blankets on her sofa to pile on when she curled up with her books.

And of course now she’s stuck on a planet literally covered in snow.

Even with the furs wrapped tight around her, even with the heat of the fire, Nesta can’t help but shiver. She nearly jumps out of her skin when another layer of furs is gently placed atop her. She cranes her head enough to watch Cassian move away and back to the space where she had laid out his own furs earlier, her lip finding home between her teeth.

“Won’t you be cold now?” Nesta dares to ask, fingers toying with her now extra furs.

“I will be fine. I have slept in worse conditions,” Cassian dismisses, getting comfortable against the cave floor. “Go to sleep, Nes.”

Nesta sighs softly but she rolls back over and tries to get comfortable herself. She watches the way the shadows flicker and dance across the stone of the cave wall from the fire, and tries to focus on emptying her mind. This whole night has already been bad enough, and the last thing she needs is another round of nightmares to make things even more awkward between her and Cassian. She squeezes her eyes shut and keeps her breathing a steady in and out, in and out, until finally the blissful darkness sweeps her away.

~ * * * ~

Nesta blinks her eyes open slowly, sniffling softly as she rubs at them and tries to reorient herself. It takes her a moment to remember where she is, to remember the events of the previous night. Resonating with Cassian. Making the trek to this hunter cave. She presses a hand against her chest, but her stupid khui is surprisingly silent.

With a quiet huff, Nesta sits up, rubbing at her arms against the chill. A glance around the cave tells her that the fire has banked to just embers. It also tells her that she’s alone in the cave, Cassian nowhere to be seen. That fact has Nesta frowning, and she scrambles out of her furs, grabbing her now dried clothes and yanking them back on. She heads for the cave opening and the privacy screen still in place, her anger already beginning to spark at her supposed escort being MIA.

“Ho,” Cassian’s voice sounds from outside, and Nesta freezes. That’s the greeting the sa-khui use with one another, which means…

“Ho,” another voice answers, followed by the sounds of footsteps in the snow coming closer.

“I am surprised to see you out on the trails so early,” Cassian comments.

“I wish that I came with good news,” the other sa-khui explains. Azriel’s voice Nesta realizes. “Rhys is furious. He has accused you of stealing the human female to force resonance.”

Shit. That’s definitely not good news. Rhysand had made it very clear to the tribe about how the women who had crashed on the planet here were to be treated, had set very firm rules and very strict punishments. If he thought Cassian had kidnapped her, that meant he could banish Cassian from the tribe. And it would be all her fault. Guilt churns in Nesta’s gut, and she squeezes her eyes shut to try and fight off the wave of sickness.

Cassian lets out an annoyed huff. “I did not do that. You were there.”

“I know. Luckily, when I told them what had happened, how she tried to leave on her own and you tried to stop her, that you went with her to ensure she was safe, Feyre was not surprised. She said that her sister would do something like that, and many in the tribe agreed. They do call her the stubborn one. The scary one.”

“Do not call her that,” Cassian all but growls, his tone fierce.

Azriel lets out a pained gasp as though he’s been shoved hard, a moment passing before he speaks again. “I am sorry, brother. I know that you have a soft spot for her.”

“She is hurting. It is very clear. I do not know why no one else can see it.” Cassian sighs, his voice dropping quiet enough that Nesta has to lean even closer to the privacy screen to hear him. “I just wish to help her.”

His words, the unwavering sincerity of his tone, they have Nesta’s chest tightening, her traitorous heart skipping between her ribs. None of the men back on earth ever spoke of her like that, least of all when they thought she couldn’t hear them. She’ll never forget the words she overheard in school. The words Tomas would sneer with his friends behind her back.

Cassian barely even knows her, and still he defends her, still he declares how he wants to help, and he says it all without an ounce of doubt, without any hesitation. It has something suspiciously like hope threatening to bloom and take root within her, tying like a golden thread tighter around her heart and flooding warmth through her veins. Nesta tries to swallow hard around the feeling, around the way it thrums and purrs.

She realizes too late that it’s actually her stupid khui thrumming, realizes too late that the sound gives away the way she’s practically pressed up against the privacy screen and obviously eavesdropping. She scrambles away and to the other side of the cave, knocking her elbow back against the stone wall in her haste. She slumps down to the floor, curling her knees up tight to her chest as if smothering her khui will make it shut up.

“Do not worry,” Cassian’s voice startles her, and she snaps her head toward the cave entrance just in time to watch him slide the privacy screen back into place behind him. “I have made Azriel swear not to tell anyone about our resonance.”

“Thanks,” Nesta mutters; although her khui starts singing anew. Whether touched by the gesture or in protest, she’s not sure.

“But Rhys and Feyre have demanded we return right to the main cave when we are finished at the Elder Cave.”

“Okay…”

Cassian opens his mouth as though he intends to say something more, an emotion passing across his expression that Nesta can’t quite pinpoint, but he seems to think better of it. With a shake of his head, he settles near what remains of the fire, placing the quill-beast in his hand down in front of him. He tugs a knife free from his belt, skinning the small animal with practiced ease and slicing the meat.

“I’m not hungry,” Nesta tells him when he places a few pieces on the meat atop the embers to cook.

Cassian’s grip on his knife tightens, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I do not believe you. You need to eat, Nes.”

“You said we would leave at first light for the Elder Cave.”

“I will not escort you until you have eaten something first.”

“Fine,” Nesta snaps, turning to yank her furs close enough that she can begin rolling them up. “I don’t need you anyways. I never asked you to escort me. I’ll go to the Elder Cave by myself.”

“Good luck finding your way,” Cassian drawls.

When Nesta finishes securing her furs to her pack, when she finally turns to look at him again, Cassian is smirking. It’s a challenge if she’s ever seen one. They both know she doesn’t know where she’s going, both know she’d just end up wandering aimlessly through the snow. It has her bristling, has her eyes narrowing as a scowl twists across her face. With a frustrated huff, she tosses her pack to the side.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re annoying?”

Cassian’s smirk morphs into a full blown grin at the retort, and he picks up one of the now cooked pieces of meeting, holding it out in offering. “Not nearly as much as since you have come into my life, but do not worry. I like it.”

Nesta snorts, but she scoots closer to take the meat. “You like when I insult you?”

“I like this game we play. I like the way your eyes blaze. The pink that floods your skin here…”

Cassian’s hand reaches up between them as though to demonstrate exactly where he means, but his fingers just barely brush the skin of Nesta’s cheek before he freezes. Just that single, simple contact has a shiver skating up Nesta’s spine, has her breath hitching in her lungs. She can’t tear her gaze away from his, from the way his glowing eyes seem to bore straight through her. She swears she can feel the energy crackling in the space between them, just as surely as she can hear both their khuis singing away.

But Cassian seems to jolt back to himself, clearing his throat awkwardly and dropping his hand back down to his side. He turns his attention away from Nesta, focusing back on cutting the rest of the quill-beast meat up and popping the pieces into his mouth. Nesta nibbles on her own piece of cooked meat, trying to will her still thundering heart to calm.

“That sort of makes you a creep, you know,” Nesta finally comments. “Noticing all that. It’s almost like you admitting to watching me all the time.”

The comment draws a soft laugh from Cassian, and he offers her a sidelong smirk. “I cannot be blamed for always wanting to watch you. You are the most beautiful female I have ever seen.”

“Wow,” Nesta drawls sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “Does that line work on all the females you’re interested in?”

“The only female I am interested in is you.”

The words have Nesta swallowing hard and she tosses her last remaining bite into the fire. “I’ve eaten now. Are we going to the Elder Cave or not?”

Any good natured teasing between them, any hint of returning to the way things were before their resonance, it crashes around Nesta in the blink of an eye. Cassian’s smirk falls away, his entire expression hardening again. He shoves his knife back into his belt with enough force that she winces, but he pushes to his feet and begins to move about the cave, using snow to put out the embers of the fire and grabbing his and her packs.

Nesta can do nothing but pull back on her cloak and boots, can do nothing but follow him back out into the snow and biting wind. The two suns shine high above in the sky, but with their small size and pale light, they provide almost no relief against the cold, and Nesta wraps her arms tight around herself, just barely holding off a shiver. If Cassian notices, he doesn’t say anything. He shoulders both of their packs, letting out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a grumble, and then they’re off.

If Nesta thought that their trek the night before was terrible, it’s nothing compared to the rest of the journey. They hike in silence, Nesta trudging through the snow just behind Cassian. By the time the Elder Cave comes into view, Nesta has never been more happy to see that stupid spaceship, her chest heaving from the steady exertion. Cassian pauses just outside the large, main door and ramp that acts as the entrance, his shoulder tensing for a moment before he lets out a breath.

“I will wait out here for you,” Cassian offers, not even meeting Nesta’s gaze. “I am sure you do not wish for our khuis to give away our resonance.”

“Good idea,” Nesta murmurs quietly.

Nesta offers Cassian one last look, but the sa-khui male keeps his gaze firmly on the line of trees around them, his arms crossed over his chest. With a soft sigh, she walks up the ramp and steps inside the large main room of the spaceship. She finds just Jurian sitting around the fire, skinning what appears to be a hopper. He looks up when Nesta enters, but doesn’t say anything. There’s always been a strange, almost unsettling, wildness to Jurian, especially since he spent so little time with the main tribe. It has Nesta keeping her distance rather than stepping closer.

“Is Vassa here?” Nesta asks, refusing to back down from the way Jurian’s eyes narrow, the sa-khui male still slow to trust anyone outside his mate.

Jurian still doesn’t say anything, but he lets out a quiet grunt and turns his eyes toward the door that leads deeper into the spaceship. The meaning is clear enough. With a quiet thanks, Nesta heads through the doorway and into the winding hallways. She steps around holes in the floor, making sure to give a wide berth to any crumbling walls and crushed doors, and follows what sounds suspiciously like someone singing a Taylor Swift song.

When she turns around another corner, Nesta finally locates Vassa, the redhead toying with the wires of some sort of panel in the wall. Vassa pauses what she’s doing when she hears Nesta, but her friendly smiling of greeting morphs into a confused frown when she glances over Nesta’s shoulder and finds the rest of the hall empty.

“Nesta? What are you doing here? Did a whole group come?”

“Just me,” Nesta explains, raising her chin and straightening her spine. “I came to use the medical machine.”

Vassa’s eyes sweep over her, confusion growing. “Medical machine? For what?”

“That’s none of your business. I just need to use it, okay?”

“Well, if it was working, which it isn’t, I would need to program it to do what you need.”

The world seems to stop spinning beneath Nesta’s feet, everything crashing down around her as she swallows hard. “The medical machine isn’t working?”

“It started smoking the last time I tried turning it on, so definitely wouldn’t recommend climbing in there,” Vassa explains with a shrug. “I might be able to fix it, but it’s probably going to take awhile since I don’t exactly have a manual handy, so if you need something super urgently? Not happening.”

Nesta lets out a quiet, defeated scoff, closing her eyes and tilting her head up toward the sky. This can’t be happening. This cannot be happening to her. She’s not sure what sort of grievances she must have committed in another life, why the Mother has apparently seen fit to issue this sort of punishment, but it’s clear the gods are laughing at her now. Bile starts to claw its way up her throat, and she swallows hard around it, shoves down the panic threatening to well up in her chest. With trembling fingers, she pulls out the IUD from the small pocket in her clothes.

“Is that…” Vassa starts, leaning closer to see. She glances up at Nesta’s face, as if looking for confirmation, before letting out a bright laugh. “Come on. Your periods can’t be that bad that you need an IUD still. Our khuis help with that now. Besides, that was probably keeping you from resonating. Now you can have a hunky alien husband like Jurian.”

“So what?” Nesta snaps, her temper beginning to flare at this turn of events. “You won’t help me then?”

Vassa sighs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. “I can try and fix the medical machine, but just know that it probably won’t make much of a difference. Our khuis are living organisms, remember? Now that it knows how to push your IUD out, it will just do it faster the next time.”

Nesta hates that she’s right. Hates that it’s a fact she’s been pointedly ignoring since she first realized what had happened back at the main cave. A fact she’s been running from since she resonated with Cassian. But there’s no more running, no more denying, and there’s certainly no reversing it.

Vassa keeps speaking, her lips moving as she says something else, but Nesta doesn’t hear a word of it. She doesn’t hear anything over the ringing that takes up home in her ears, over the rushing and pounding of her blood. She clenches her hands into fists, her nails biting into the skin of her palm, but it does little to help ground her. Already, she can feel herself spiraling, falling down beneath the crushing waves until it hurts to breathe, until she’s sure that she’s going to drown and no one will hear her scream.

It’s like an out of body experience, like being on the outside looking in, as numbly, Nesta turns on her heel. As she walks back through the winding halls of the spaceship. As she walks out through the entrance and into the sun and the snow beyond. As she walks and walks and walks. She doesn’t know where she’s going, where she will go, but Nesta knows one thing with absolute certainty.

She needs to get out.

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[mamawasatesttube]

‘straight on til morning’ is so delicious and mesmerising, thank you so much for it!! i’d love to hear about your writing process/tips & tricks if you don’t mind!

thank you so much!!! i'm so happy to hear you enjoyed it!!! :D

as for my writing process... man. im one of those guys who can't write anything longish without outlining. like, A Lot. i also do all my outlines by hand in a physical notebook because that's just what scratches my brain itch nicely and makes the story marinate better in my head!

sotm started off as me going "NOBODY has written a proper long story about kon's knockout and tana trauma?!?!! NO ONE?!?!?" (well, there was one i saw, but it hadnt been updated in like. 5+ years and hadn't really gotten into the meat of it yet iirc.) it sort of manifested in my mind as two distinct images: 1) kon looking at the glint of light off the rim of a teacup while trying not to cry + asking dick grayson what to do, and 2) kon asking clark why he wasn't a child worth protecting.

my first step with a longfic is always to take those initial images, throw them onto a plot diagram, and then fill in the spaces in between. the og one for sotm looks like this!

after that i go flesh out each point further and develop scenes per chapter. like, here you can see each chapter's basic plot points, but then as i got to each chapter i'd further flesh it out a Lot in the notebook, with as much detail as i could think of. for example, ch5's outline and notes look like this:

when i outline, i tend to try to imagine both the general vibes for a scene and specific dialogue notes, because i like sorta having guidelines for how to steer the scene as i write it. otherwise i tend to get pretty indecisive as to where it's going, and then i stop writing to think (or overthink) about what should be happening.

so when i do get a new idea and deviate from the outline i actually go back and rework the entire thing dhfjkds!! this happened in sotm, when i decided i wanted to add an extra chapter and focus more also on kon's career crisis, especially as it relates to his realization that OH, he's traumatized by tana in more ways than he knew. so i went back and outlined and fiddled with the last leg of the plot further:

and ... yeah that's about it!! i work pretty much In Order on everything i do, so it's: outline, outline some more, write the chapter, outline the next chapter, etc.

...also i'm not gonna lie i did partly just use this question as an excuse to show off some of my pretty pens. i am so weak for pretty pens. connoisseur of gelly rolls in particular. <3

ty for asking!! i hope this shed some light on it/actually answered what you were interested in, it was a fun writeup to do :)

[fivedayslater]

Part 21: Listen to Law

Dinner and a Murder: A Mr. Prince Mystery Masterpost

“Okay,” Sanji turns back to Law, “What do you know?

Law’s eyes dart between the two of them, but eventually land on Sanji. He gives him a hard stare as he begins, “When people lose one sense, it’s common for the others to heighten to compensate. I wasn’t able to see during the blackout, but I could hear even better as a result.”

“Sure,” Sanji nods, “I’m familiar with the concept.”

Law drums his fingers across the cover of his book, “During the blackout, I went to the hall to check if we had umbrellas, in case someone had to go outside.”

“Yes,” he nods again, slower this time as he wondered just where Law was going with this, “I remember.”

“While I was there, I heard two people enter the lounge. One was Ace, I could tell by his footsteps, more specifically his cane. It gives – gave – his footsteps a particular clang whenever it came down. The second one,” his eyes slide to Zoro, “Was Zoro.”

Sanji's heart stops in his chest, everything inside of him freezing as Law’s words send him reeling.

“What?” Zoro growls as he takes a threatening step forward.

“I’m just saying what I heard,” Law shrugs as he leans further into the couch.

Did Zoro do it, did he kill Ace? Has he just been stringing Sanji along this entire time to cover up his murder? Is Sanji stupid enough to fall for the same exact trick again?

“How could you tell?” Sanji asks, his voice coming out much more soft and vulnerable than he intends to.

“Luffy only wears flip flops, and that makes a distinctive patter,” Law casually explains as his attention turns back to Sanji, “Usopp has a very recognizable shuffle to his steps, if you know what to listen to. Nami,” his eyes dart away for a moment, “she was wearing heels, and those clatter with each step.” He nods at Zoro, “Which leaves either you or Zoro. However you say you were in the ballroom during the blackout, and Usopp confirms you never left, so it could have only been Zoro.”

Could it be true? Could Zoro have been in the lounge during the blackout? Could Zoro have…?

“That’s a lie,” Zoro says, grabbing Sanji’s shoulders and turning him so he can stare him in the face, “Curls, Sanji, he’s lying. I wasn’t in the lounge.”

“Where were you?” He asks softly, the words barely escaping his lips, “Where were you during the blackout?”

“I…” Zoro’s hands squeeze his shoulders, but his face is steady when he answers, “I don’t know. It was dark, and it’s hard to find your way around when you can’t see. But I didn’t enter the lounge. I didn’t enter any of the rooms.”

Sanji wants to believe him. He’s surprised by how much he wants to believe Zoro didn’t do it.

But can he? Zoro is still a suspect in Ace’s murder. No matter how he feels about him, he can’t forget that.

“I didn’t do it,” Zoro says, his eyes going wide, pleading with him, “You believe me…don’t you?”

[dnangelic]

She leans over the railing of the bridge. Over, over, maybe too far for comfort of anyone else. As if trying to take a closer look at something, or in her ways trying to gain some new perspective. There's ducks floating by on the water. Oshidori, she recognizes. And along with them, a couple pedaling a boat at leisure. Present scent of roses caresses her nose. This town sure makes itself picturesque. Anyone getting off at the wrong stop after impromptu nap could be fooled into thinking they'd stepped into someone's dream (bar any odd encounters). “what do you think makes a place be considered romantic?”

@kirakiras

even if his arms are leisurely crossed , he still watches her with a curious stare . would it have been any use to warn her ? to remind her to be careful and not to fall clean , head-first into the river , scaring the ducks with an inelegant splash , terrifying the laughing love-bird pedalers ? maybe the answer was somewhere in there , too . in the poetics of it all : find something beautiful and try to keep yourself from getting a closer look .

he himself was , after all , a self-proclaimed king of decadence and sensuality , an ever-proud deity of both swoony loves and collected hearts , reasons that he imagines might have contributed to kimiko's own choice to ask him . yet all that meant was that at his truest and most tragic , not even he could ever resist . sometimes his ilk fell right into the river ; sometimes they were pushed , sometimes they leapt , and sometimes they flew , because romance was opposite and outside any sophisticated philosophy , or else its very own to swear by --- utterly devoid of law but not bereft of particular sense .

--- it made his wait-and-longing feel even more absurd .

any place could be beautiful , and therefore , any place could be romantic . what was beautiful simply was , if only to him , just as human beings and their lives were . wouldn't he have stolen away the very earth were he able to fit it into the palm of his hand , just as he might have the sun or the moon , and all of the stars ! instead , his palm shifts cautiously to the space behind kimiko's back . he doesn't dare to touch her , but he does ready himself to catch --- just in case .

it's as he watches her watch the rest that he thinks to give her an answer . ' ... life , ' he quietly admits . ' company . if it's a place , then it should come down to having someone to share it with . ' it came down to who . love and peace could find its way even in the midst of the worst winters or in between graves , could creep into the thin spaces between held hands and pressed lips . it did not matter that azumano was a place like a dream , a live-portrait , compared to the neon-steel likes of tokyo or dotonbori .

' if you keep someone sentimental with you , then anywhere does the trick . ' but this was , perhaps , a secret reserved for only those who cared enough to turn privy to it . the majority were born with senses ; sight and smell and sound , yet not everyone used them to their fullest : to find the sort of thing that could make their hearts beat .

' you aren't exactly the swoony type , i've noticed . ' though , observant , beyond a doubt . ' ... so , what do you think , mimiko ? there are other definitions , the broadest being anything that makes you feel . i've shared a little of my feelings , but i'm still curious over yours --- does a place like this , ' with its roses , its lazy rivers and lily-pond waters , its cobblestone streets and picturesque bridges , and him , ' does any of it feel romantic to you at all ? '

[royal1asset-if]

Snippet 6

The time has come for Conrad to have his own very snippet and I can't believe that it took me this long to construct and finish it.

But nevertheless I hoped that you my Readers enjoyed the story of our "Owl".

Without further ado, the story.

(MC's POV)

Your breath is shaky and the air is heavy on your lungs, the moon light's peering through the castle's windows. You're in the Mage's Division and on a quest of your own that you hoped to accomplish before this day ends.

Walking towards your destination, steps filled with worry and uncertainty. Rubbing your hands together filling the chilling night on your skin and teeth clattering due to the cold. Frankly, it's not really cold maybe it's just the trick of your mind but still you can't remove this dread on your mind.

The diffuculty of this quest out rivals the basilisk, mad wizards and other sorts of evil that is plaguing the land. No! this is the most terrifying so far, you can say that you're looking into the jaws of death and threathing to swallow you whole if you don't tread carefully.

Continuing forward, your hand slides down to your pocket seeking comfort on one particular object. Finally your skin came in contact with something rectangular and furry. Fishing out the box, you stopped on a window where the moon's light can illuminate it's contents.

You gently pushed the lid open and the diamond glint under the light. "May the Gods help me for the trials that is to come!" you murmur.

Setting your attention back to the ring, you have no idea to which Conrad's liking when it comes to this types of things. Come to think of it, you still have no idea his likes and dislikes. Everytime you ask him over dinner he just shrugs and looked at you with those impassive eyes. "What I like don't matters, what matters is yours." he says gently but there is no emotion in his tone.

Is it Love? or Is his ways of showing that he cares for you? Nevertheless, he assures you that he is happy with your company and shows it by showering you by food and gifts. Some of the gifts that you received cost very expensive and you still don't know where got the funds.

But you don't pry any futher because you know the reply that you get from him. "My love for you has no bounds!" you remember his voice crack and for a moment you saw a man vulnerable but only a moment.

Closing the box and pocketing it once more and continue walking, you will know his answers and saints be damned if you will not receive it not. Other will say that your too imposing in regards to this matter perhaps so but to you this will serve as your guarantee that Conrad which to live a life with you.

The two of you been dating for a very long time now and till now you don't know where the both of you stand, you can't read Conrad due he holds his cards deep to his chest. With every step you take, new thoughts will enter your mind. "Will he say yes? "Does he really loves you or is this all just a façade?" "You still don't know a single thing about him, is there really a connection between the two of you?

And another and another until your mind is heavy with questions pilling one over another. You tried to answer every question in your mind but alas with every question you answer 2 will take it's place. So deep in your thoughts you have to do a double take becasue you just missed your destination.

Crushing and digging the questions that plagues you right now into the deepest corner of your mind, these is no time to be distracted right now and you can't afford to make any mistakes.

Both of your future hangs on the balance and this will be the deciding factor, you have heard many times that love is the foundation of any relationship. You agree with this notion but then again what good is a foundation if it's not reinforced or cemented. And this the solution that you have think of to your problem.

Appoarching the door bedgrudgingly, you slowly reached for the knob. Having second thoughts if you shoud go down on this paths but the die is cast and sooner or later you will have to asked for Conrad's hand. So no time like the present is what they say.

Pulling the door open and immediately spotting a annoyed figure sitting on a chair. "Oh it's you!" Conrad looked at you shrewd, maybe guessing what are you still doing up at this time of hour.

Closing the door and gulping, there's no turning back now you have reached the point of no return. Steeling youself and approached closer towards your future husband. "Is this business or pleasure?" he eyes you closely and trying to read your intentions.

Why is it so damn hard? Such say it and be done with it. Surely you will not die right? Then why can't you form the words? You feel your mouth moving but no sound is coming out. "Look MC, I know you have tried weird ideas in regards to progressing our relationship but I suggest you cut to the chase!" his eyes narrow and you know that the longer you prolong this, the less chance you will have to confess.

"Look Conrad, I have something important to tell to you." you sigh and hands shaking.

"I can see that but I think you can speak while I'm working!" he begins to return his work.

"Please, it's urgent!" you blurt out and moving a little closer towards him.

(Conrad's POV)

You dropped down your instruments and looked at MC, you can see that their eyes plead you to listen and give your attention to them. Hearing MC says it's urgent or it's an emergency is not foreign to you. Being the King's agents has it's hazards and injuries is always certain to come.

But this time is different, the way MC pleads you is different. It sounds like desperation and fear, this is the first time you heard them like this. Honestly, you're distraught to what news will MC deliver to you but you masked it under your stoic eyes and face. It's not rationale for emotions to take over logic and you will not repeat that mistake ever again.

"Very well, you have my full attention!" you sit straight. "Please have a set." you gesture at the chair.

"No, it's better I do this kneeling down!" they got on one knee.

Your brain shut down for a moment, as if the world freeze for a moment. You know where this is going, MC is gonna propose to you but why it came as a surpirse to you. Surely, you knew that this ritual will arrive is just a question of when?

"Conrad, we have been dating for a while now and I can say pretty much that our relationship is very deep and profound!" they pause and gathering their breath.

"But I feel like I want us to be more than that, I want us to be more than a couple!" they looked to you intently and you feel their gaze is peering to the very deep of your being.

"I want us to start our own family, this life is small and fleeting and I want that before I die I have at least confess and proposed to you."

"So will you marry me?" they await your answer with holded breath but instead of giving a answer, you return a their question with your own.

"Why me?" you asked that question to MC but more like to yourself, your mind is on automatic now and is not functioning properly.

"Because I love you Conrad!" they shout resolutely.

"No, I mean is that." you paused and searching for the right words, your thin ice now and you must delicate, a skill that you found to be lacking.

"Besides love, Why me?" you repeat and await their answer.

(MC's POV)

Conrad watching and seating straight, waiting you to give him a reason why of all people you chose to propose to him. Is love not good reason enough? But you know Conrad too much, he is still trying to see the logic and sense in all of this. "Truthfully, I found you to be interesting when we first met!" you stop and looking for any reaction from him, as expected you found none.

"And everytime you dismissed or shun me out, I took it as a challenged and up till now everytime I look behind the past I can't help but chuckle. Thinking how I managed to capture your heart, when you turned many so down!" you look at the window behind Conrad and seeing the moon.

"But the past is behind me, I'm here in the present and I want to secure a future with you by my side!" you smile and felt a tear dropping.

Conrad stood up and approached you, looking you down and still wearing his stoic mask. Then what he did next surpirsed you, he hugged you closed and tightly. "Yes, My asnwer is yes!" he whispers behind you but to you is a shout of victory.

The two of you stayed like that for sometime and Conrad break off the hug, he helped you up to your feet and you noticed just now how your knee is sore for staying in that position for a long time. "I apologize for ruining the moment." his voice is low like a whisper.

Your hand goes to your pocket and fetch the box which holds both of your future. "It's alright and I have an idea how you make it up to me!" you offer the ring to him and Conrad offer his hand to you.

(Conrad's POV)

Metal sliding on your finger, this feels like alien granted you have wear rings in your past time but this one is different it feels heavy with promises and responsibilities. But your happy to feel the weight of it's metal and the cool of iron on your skin. "C'mon let's have some dinner!" you snapped your hands and decided to close up shop.

"Where? restaurants and shops are closed at this time of hour!" they state the obvious.

You walked towards your cupboard and procure the necessary ingredients for your dinner. "That's why we will be having it here." you grinned and tilting your head playfully.

This is not like at you at all and a feeling that your great for, you feel free and light as a feather. I's been a long time since you feel this open and bare and feeling you want to continue when your day marriage will arrived. "A cook, your full of surprises!" MC walked nearer to you and pulling you close.

"Control yourself MC!" you chastise MC for their hands is starting to roam in uninvited places.

"Why have dinner when we can devour dessert!" they give you peck on the lips.

"I don't want to upset your stomach!" you say in a sultry voice.

"But I can agree to the appetizer!" you pull MC very close and deliver a fiery kiss.

The night is spent cooking dinner and having plans for the future. Such as; Where the wedding be held and what day? What kind of house will be built and what type? How many children the two of you will have? But the two of you decided that questions can wait and that it's the time for dessert.

Both of you take time and turn tasting but what? Well, let's leave that to your imagination reader ;) But I can say that the delicacies were Sweet, Delicious and above all Passionate.

[faydingrain]

Kai Hale

A puff, and Evie's candle flame vanished.

"I remember that!" Daisy said.

Enzo huffed, muttering, "Whoa…the student council is serious…"

“Darn right!” Ayan chimed in, knowing Miss President purposely left out particular details for the sake of the gathering.

“How did you know what kind of curse it was?” Fuyuki asked.

“I had already investigated other possibilities, and I’m familiar with these sorts of things,” Evie answered.

“How so?”

“I’ve dealt with them in the past. And, teachings from my mother’s side.”

Intrigued, Fuyuki spared further questions for later and nodded.

“Well, that’s my tale. I believe it’s your turn now, Kai.”

“Alrighty.”

***

Crisp October air chilled a young Kai Hale’s exposed skin. It was a good day for a walk—perfect for the always hoodie-clad freshman.

Since his enrollment in RVS, he had yet to check out the forest beyond the lake. There were all sorts of rumours amongst the upperclassmen, from ghosts of the people murdered there to cryptids to literal demons running amok.

So, of course, he had to check it out. It's not like that shit was real, so what was the big deal?

Sauntering past the serene lake waters, he continued somewhat with a purpose. Part of him wanted to find something horrifying (“Ooooohh, I’m aloooone! Whatcha gonna do about it?” kinda thing), but another just wanted to enjoy the nice early-evening out. Leave thine tricks for a later dumbass walking all alone in the dark, secluded woods.

His eyelid twitched, and he paused. He dug at his eyelashes for the offending thing, and removed what looked and felt like a small, fine string. Spiderweb, huh? It was that time of the year, so the little hatchlings would likely be out.

Is that the best this forest ‘s got?

A tsk, and he shook the web free.

Far enough in the forest, it grew more and more difficult to see. Which…he found weird. Despite the falling sun, there should still be enough open space for it to be illuminated a little more.

He found himself squinting a short distance further. Which, was a good thing, because a large, sticky string smacked him in the face not long later. His body recoiled, arms flailing to get the junk off of him. 

Wait, why was that string of web so huge?

He furiously shook the clingy crap still on his arms, instinctively searching for the offender.

…Nothin’.

In the pit of his gut, an uneasiness welled up, but he shoved it back down. His feet took off across the dirt again.

Until another web snared him. In another fit of spasms, he managed to shake the stuff off, but not without itching to smash the dumb bug (pardon, arachnid) responsible for this.

His head whizzed around. Where was it? Where was it?

He took another step.

And that was all he needed to find it.

Looming above him, its abdomen larger than an SUV and legs stretching probably the length of a charter bus. The hairy demon sat atop a large, well-made web shielding the sky.

His eyes searched literally anywhere else. Dangling spider threads guided his eyes to even more large webs, and even more gargantuan spiders.

A scream caught in his throat. He turned to run back, but one of the beasts had already blocked his way, and was spinning a new web across the path.

The minute he found another opening, he bolted that way.

You’d think that’d be the end of it, right? But no. You’d be dead wrong.

Once he found a clear-enough route, he believed himself to be on the path to freedom. But, with the area rapidly growing darker and darker, he hardly noticed the wall of webbing until he crashed right through it.

A growl-yelp escaped his mouth as he skid to a stop, twirling in violent circles to rid the webbing from his hair, his mouth, his eyelashes, scraping around his neck. In the midst of his flailing, the spider he must have disturbed slowly emerged atop the branches, squeezing through an opening and skittering his way.

Fuck the stupid webs! He finally screamed and sprinted away through the blackness, hurtling through trees until he finally saw those serene lake waters in the dim light again.

He collapsed onto his knees and gasped for air. Then, like a fool, he glanced behind him.

Whereas there was nothing but a regular forest before, webs upon webs now claimed the space beyond the water. Hairy legs and fangs shifted amongst the sheets of webbing. Octads of sinister eyes peered at him just out of their reach.

He raced back to his dorm.

Scaretober 2023

Brisk Wind on a Dark Trail

Midnight Moon

Gargoyle's Watch

Cold Stones in the Fog

Spirits Rising

Haunted House

Witching Hour

Bubbling Cauldron

Candy

Eyes

Spider Silk

Feathers

Tail

Scales

Fangs or Talons

An Offering of Blood

Dark Ritual

Spook Scary Skeletons

Carnivàle Morte

Still-Beating Heart

Sharpened Blade

Mask

Looming Shadows

The Devil's Hand

Monster

Reflection in the Mirror

Rusted Chains

Stitches

Precious Jewels

Incantation

Halloween

Epilogue

[wandering-soul-1993]

This story comes with a ⚠️ MASSIVE trigger warning ⚠️ for child illness. I dealt with one of the most traumatic experiences of my life this week that resulted in the death of a baby. Writing is how I cope and how I process. This is rough, and I probably missed a lot in editing, but I gave it a happy ending. This story is how I wish things would have ended. Also, I chose Armand for this one because (correct me if I'm wrong) I think there's a scene in Devil's Minion of him giving money to trick-or-treaters; I thought he'd be a good fit. I don't mean to offend; I don't mean to hurt anyone. I'm simply trying to understand.

------

RELIEF

At first he thought the crying was coming from inside his mind, though why he would imagine an infant’s cry, he had no idea. Armand stopped in his tracks; Daniel kept walking, only realizing he was alone when he reached the corner. When Daniel turned back, he saw Armand staring up at the whitewashed façade of the hospital. The red EMERGENCY sign lighting up almost an entire parking lot and spilling out into the street.

“What are you doing?” Daniel asked, coming back to stand next to his maker.

“Don’t you hear it, Daniel?” Armand asked softly.

“Hear what?"

“The crying.”

Daniel turned his attention to the automatic doors constantly sliding open and shut. “I hear a lot of crying; it’s a hospital.”

Armand shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “It’s a baby.”

Daniel cocked his head. “Yeah…” he answered, unsure of what was happening. “I hear a lot of babies crying. They’re born here, you know.”

Armand turned his large brown eyes to his minion. “I’m not talking about those babies, Danny. I’m talking about one in particular.”

Daniel sighed. “Well, you’re going to have to point them out for me, because I hear an entire nursey of squalling little offspring.” He crossed his arms.

“Very well,” Armand agreed, and rushed inside the emergency department.

Daniel didn’t have any time at all to make any attempts to persuade him otherwise. Even as a vampire, he almost had to break into a run to keep up with Armand’s lightening speed. They were moving too fast to be seen, Armand effortlessly dodging and weaving between patients, doctors, and visitors while poor Daniel was left dancing some kind of uncoordinated ballet to keep from bumping into anyone.

When they reached the elevators Armand paused long enough to smash the up arrow, leaving Daniel to jump between the closing doors. “Where the hell are we going?” he demanded, slumping against the wall.

“You said you wanted me to point the baby out,” Armand told him. “That’s what I’m doing.”

The fourth floor was painted some of the brightest colors Daniel had ever seen. Blues, greens, reds and yellows created a surprisingly comforting atmosphere while recognizable cartoon characters waved and pointed visitors towards the patient rooms. They past the Hundred Acre Woods, Micky Mouse’s Clubhouse and the island where the wild things are on their way towards this mysterious crying that Daniel still hadn’t heard. He knew better than to say anything, though. Armand was beyond determined to show Daniel this child, though what Armand would do next, he wasn’t sure.

He stopped so suddenly that Daniel nearly ran into him. The door had the most uninviting clown taped to it, but damn it they tried their best. Armand pushed the door open slowly, making sure the hinges didn’t creak.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Daniel asked, looking up and down the hall.

Armand didn’t answer, only stepped completely inside the room. Every monitor known to man must have been hanging on the wall, each with it’s own individual line that connected to a tiny body lying motionless in a hospital crib. The poor thing couldn’t have been a year old, at best, and her breathing came in shallow, hurried gasps. The heart monitor was either racing or plummeting. Across the room, curled up on the small, brick-hard couch, were two adults Daniel assumed were the girl’s parents. They stirred in their unrestful sleep, clinging to each other desperately.

Armand approached the crib and stared down at the pink swaddled bundle for a long time. Daniel stepped closer as well. The top of her head was wrapped entirely in bandages, iodine stains visible through the hair. Her blue eyes hung half-opened and lusterless. Daniel realized that she really wasn’t breathing on her own, a machine was doing that for her; it seemed like these machines were doing more for her than she was on her own.

The pain in the room was palpable, the stress tangible. Daniel’s Mind Gift wasn’t entirely developed yet, but he was able to surmise from the parents’ dreams that this was an accident; a horrible and unfair accident—one that only God himself could orchestrate and execute—had left this poor little human in the state she was in.

Daniel glanced back at the sleeping parents. “What happened?” he asked, but Armand only shrugged. “What are you going to do?” He wasn’t sure if he’d get an answer for that either.

He didn’t answer in words. Instead Armand pushed the blanket down, away from the baby’s face, exposing a chest full of sticky monitor pads and wires, the little lungs blowing up and deflating mechanically. Armand brushed the baby’s cheek and she twitched. “It’s alright, little one,” Daniel heard him say. “I’m going to help you.”

“You’re going to what?”

Armand didn’t look up at Daniel, but somehow he knew Armand’s expression was telling him to shut up. He stepped back from the crib and the other vampire, keeping an eye on the parents who were beginning to stir. Whatever Armand was going to do, he better do it fast. Daniel turned back to the crib in just enough time to see Armand prick his thumb on one of his fangs. Daniel gasped and covered his mouth. “Are you seriously doing what I think you’re doing?!”

“Just a drop or two,” Armand said without looking up. “She’s only a baby.”

“Are you crazy?” Daniel was beginning to panic. Who in their right mind—vampiric or otherwise—would give a child this dark blood? Armand of all people should know how that scenario ends.

Armand pushed the intubation tube out of the way slightly, making just enough room for his thumb to swipe against the baby’s tongue. She swallowed and almost instantly began to cough. Daniel gripped his hair with both hands, threatening to rip it out. They’d killed her; they’d killed this baby and they were going to be caught and experimented on and that was the end of it. Armand, calm as ever, simply stepped back and took Daniel’s hand. Together they watched as one monitor after another stopped blinking; all of them stopped beeping. The heart monitor steadied itself and the oxygen intake number began to rise. The baby, however, was still coughing profusely.

“I don’t think she can breathe on her own with that tube in,” Daniel said, though it was only a guess based on something he’d seen on one of those doctor shows. Armand looked up at him for the first time that night in alarm, his eyes begging for Daniel to fix the situation. At first, Daniel wasn’t sure what to do, but then his eyes fell on the bright red call button on the wall. He pushed it and immediately a light out in the hall above the door began to flash. “We need to get out of here; I just called for medical staff.”

They had just enough time to slip out as two nurses came flying into the room. Daniel and Armand stayed pressed against the darkened wall, listening to the commotion. The parents were awake now, and they were demanding to know what was going on with their daughter.

“I—I don’t understand it. She wasn’t going to last the night,” one of the nurses was saying. The mother began to cry hysterically. “No,” the nurse continued. “That’s what’s so amazing. She’s stable now. Go get the doctor; he’ll want to see this.”

They watched the second nurse disappear around the corner only to return minutes later with a tall, dark-skinned man. “What do you mean she’s stable?” he was asking as they ran.

“Her numbers,” the nurse panted. “I can’t believe it.”

Daniel leaned closer to the door trying to catch bits and pieces of the muffled conversation. It was a miracle, one of the nurses said. It couldn’t be explained by medical science. The baby wasn’t meant to see the sunrise, she was that far gone. In the next moment they heard the little girl’s crying as the tube was removed from her throat, followed by the harrowing sobs of relief from both her mother and father. The medical staff stepped out, telling the family they would be back to make sure the baby’s vitals were still good and her stats were holding. Each of them, Daniel saw, was just as dumbfounded as the next.

“You knew that would help, didn’t you?” Daniel whispered. Armand only smiled. “You know that was a good thing you did. Maybe you’re not such a devil after all.”

Armand chuckled. “I’ll always be a devil, sweet Danny, but only to those who want me to be.”

[nights-legacy]

Between the Two - TodoBaku x Reader

Main Masterlist MHA Masterlist

TodoBaku x Reader (meaning Poly Relationship. Don’t like? Don’t Read. 😋)

Fluff and little Angst

Warnings: Nothing but Soft-ish Bakugo ahead 🥰

3300 words

+Two amazing men and one hard decision. Or is it? On a training mission, things go awry, leaving you and Todoroki badly injured. Bakugo is beside himself even if he won’t admit it. You have had a crush on these boy practically since the Sport’s Festival but never had the courage to speak up…or pick one. Turns out that isn’t the case at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Having feelings for two people at the same time is hard. Especially when one is an aloof, cold personality and the other is loud and short-tempered. Yet, I couldn’t help but fall head over heels with both. I didn’t have the guts to even thinking about confessing to them. Plus I wouldn’t be able to choose between the two. It didn’t help either that they didn’t get along with each other. Plus Bakugo and Todoroki wouldn’t go for a simple girl like me and I don’t think I could handle the rejection.

“Well fuck.” I heard Bakugo groan as we got off the bus. The three of us walked away and the bus drove off. I gulped as I watched it drive away, now alone with the two boys.

“How many places does UA have for training?” I asked out loud.

“Quite a few it would seem.” Todoroki answered. Bakugo scoffed as we walked for a few minutes. We had been taken outside the city limits to a river valley area for survival and reconnaissance training.

“Come on, we’re not here for small talk.” Bakugo growled. Todoroki looked at me and shook his head. We traveled in silence as we ventured towards the coordinates. I looked down at the GPS as we took a short break in a little grove. Bakugo was leaning back against a tree, foot propped up and Todoroki was kneeling, looking off in the distance.

“According to this, the mark is about…” The GPS in my hand glitches out. I tried to get it to work before it short circuited in my hand. “Ah!” I dropped the device and pulled my hand to my chest. It was stinging and numb in places.

“What happened?” Bakugo was in front of me in less than a second. He grabbed my wrist and brought my hand into view. I hissed as he touch a particular tender spot.

“The GPS short circuited in my hand.” I said. Todoroki came up and looked over my shoulder at my hand. “I did see that the mark was a few miles that way.” I pointed and took in big breath. I looked down at the GPS and toed at it. A cold sensation came across my injured palm. I gasped and saw Todoroki’s right hand over mine.

“Hopefully this helps.” He said. I nodded. Bakugo had picked up the device in the meantime. As we started walking again, a chill went up my spine. As if we was being watched. I stopped and scanned the woods around us.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Bakugo called back to me.

“I feel like we are being watched.” I said glancing at the two. I could see their guards go up. I went back to scanning the area. I froze when I saw a figure half hidden behind a tree. I met their eyes and saw a sadistic smile creep onto his face. “Shit!”

“Hope you’ve lived a full life because I’m about to end it.” The figure stepped out and I saw a sword grow from the wrist down. I got into stance as he got closer.

“Heh! You think you can take us down?” Bakugo yelled. I looked over my shoulder at the two boys. Todoroki was in fighting stance while Bakugo was just standing there un-phased. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Come at me, child!” The man said and broke into a run towards us. The sound of popping and the drastic changes in temperatures behind me told they ready. I activated my quirk and we charged forward.

~Time Skip~

Turns out there was more than the one man out here with us. There was at least a dozen other low level villains that accompanied him. We came out on top but not without a few injuries. I stumbled as we came to a small beach grove. I fell to the ground when my leg gave out.

“Shit, L/N are you alright?” Bakugo asked strained as he helped (carried) an unconscious Todoroki into the grove. He had a bad wound on his left side that was bleeding profusely while I just had a significant cut running down my right leg. Bakugo was relatively unharmed save for a few small cuts and bruises.

“Yeah, worry about Todoroki.” I motioned to the boy before I pulled myself across the ground to lean back against a tree. I maneuvered my leg carefully to set it down straight out. I watched as Bakugo set Todoroki down to lean back on a rock. He then pulled at the top of his hero costume to get to the wound.

“Crap.” Bakugo said under his breath. He pulled out his transmitter to try and contact the teachers but it was busted. All of ours were. He threw it to the side in annoyance.

“They were thorough, weren’t they?” I said with labored breath. He looked over at me and his eyes darted to my leg before meeting my eyes. I could see worry and near panic in his. A gasp drew both our attentions. Todoroki was coming too.

“What happened? Where are we?” He mumbled, trying to sit up.

“Stay down, Icyhot.” Bakugo lightly pushed him back down. They shared what looked to me a tender look. I cocked my head to the side in wonder and shock took over me when Bakugo reached up and cupped Todoroki’s cheek. He then ran a thumb across his cheek.

“Guys?” I said tentatively. Bakugo pulled away and cleared his throat, going back to Todoroki’s wound. Todoroki’s eyes landed on me with relief and concern.

“Are you alright, L/N?” He flinched but didn’t look away from me. I saw his gaze look over me and linger on my leg. I moved my other to interrupt his sight. He looked up at me disapprovingly before cringing as Bakugo removed pieces of debris from his wound. I flinched at the sound he made, biting my lip and looking away.

“Damn villains.” Bakugo growled. I closed my eyes as the pain in my leg got worse. I zoned out as the other two conversed quietly and Bakugo tended to the wound. I don’t know how much time passed until a hand on my shoulder pulled me out of my daze.

“Hey…” I greeted. He reached up and held my face in his hands. He looked over me. Concern was laced with his features.

“Anywhere else but your leg?” He asked. I shook my head. He nodded, taking one hand off my face to move the torn fabric around me leg. I cringed as the fabric drug over the wound, letting out a broken cry. “Shh. I know.” I felt his thumb trace my cheek. He was looking over the wound carefully when the last of my adrenaline drained from my body. I closed my eyes.

“Y/N?” I heard Todoroki but it sounded like he was far away. It got to the point where I couldn’t hold my head up, so I let it drop into Bakugo’s hand. “Y/N!”

“Hey, hey, hey. Stay with me, L/N.” I heard Bakugo beg and bring his hand back up. “Stay awake. Please.” His voice cracked.

“Bakugo, what’s going on? Is she alright?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” He was trying to get me to respond but I didn’t have the energy. “Come on, stay awake for me baby, please! Come on baby!” I think my mind was playing tricks on me because I swear I heard him say baby.

“Baku…Todo…” I passed out to the sound of them yelling for me.

I woke up with a groan and a throb in my leg. I tried to move but only flinched in the process. There was also a weight across my back that seem to keep my in place. I forced my eyes open but thought I hadn’t for a moment, it was so dark. My eyes adjusted to the dark, picking up on the moonlight that lit the area. The weight move across my back and I looked over to see Todoroki asleep and holding me into his right side.

“Huh…” I looked around and saw Bakugo sitting on a rock a few yards away. He was staring out over the river and gently tossing rock into the water. “Bakugo.” His head shot my way before he was up in a flash and running over.

“How are feeling? I know there isn’t much we can do for the pain but is there anything I can do?” He asked in a whirlwind. I reached out for him and he grabbed my hand tightly, bringing it up to his face. “I feel so useless right now. Both of you are hurt pretty bad and all I can do is…is sit here.” He sat down hard.

“You’re not useless, Baku…” I shifted and tried to sit up. He reached forward and helped me. “You’ll never be useless to me.”

“Me either.” Todoroki said quietly behind me. We turned to look at him. He reached his hand out and Bakugo gripped it tight. I looked between them and saw that tenderness again. A pang went through my chest. I pulled my hand away from Bakugo and looked away from them. In the corner of my eye, I saw his head whip towards me.

“Baby?” I stopped breathing for a second before slowly looking at him. I thought my ears were playing tricks on me earlier but now, I’m not so sure.

“Baby?” I whispered, looking at the two. They shared a look before those tender eyes I saw earlier were turned on me. The breath caught in my throat again.

“Yes, baby.” Todoroki said. He reached up and cupped my cheek. “We’re both in love with you. We have been for a long time.”

“It was a problem at first since we both wanted you. We fought more than usual and tried to do anything to put the other down.” Bakugo explained. He looked down ashamed. “But then we realized it was getting us nowhere. We also realized our feelings for each other.”

“So we coupled while also tried to think of a way to confess to you.” Todoroki said. I had seen Bakugo give a face of confusion before rolling his eyes at Todo’s terminology. “We knew it was a long shot that you would accept us both.”

“Since it’s not normal. Three people together?” Bakugo picked up where Todoroki left off. He tsked before looking down at our hands. “A long shot. More like impossible. We just wanted you to know…”

“Hey, hey.” I interjected when I realized where he was going. They looked at me surprised and expectantly. “Don’t go deciding what I think on your own.” I took a breath, looking out over the water. “I have been in love with you too. Both of you. For so long but I… I never said anything because I thought there was no chance that either of you would go for me.” It was silent for a minute.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Bakugo chuckled. I looked up at him. I saw nothing but love and admiration in his eyes. I turned to see the same in Todoroki’s. I bit my lip trying to hide a smile but couldn’t. I smiled wide while laughing a little.

“We wasted a lot of time didn’t we?” I looked up sheepishly. They smiled and looked at each other.

“Nothing we cannot make up.” Todoroki said running a thumb over my cheek. I nuzzled into his hand. Baku’s grip tightened on my hand. I looked over at him. He was looking at us with a soft smile.

“I like the soft side of you.” I whispered. He chuckled before giving me a playful look.

“Yeah? Well it’s only for you two.” He said. He reached up and cupped the back of my neck. He leant forward and kissed my forehead. I felt a kiss on my hand as well. I looked at my two boys before I noticed Todoroki flinching.

“How is your wound?” I asked. He looked down at his side.

“Could be better but I’ll live. Bakugo did the best with what he had, for the both of us.” I nodded and reached to push hair off his forehead. Baku got up and walked away. I finally looked around us. Only now did I realize that we were lounging against some sort of cabana. I looked at it before looking at Bakugo.

“What?” He was walking back with our water canisters we had. “I wasn’t going to leave you out in the open. Looked like it was going to rain and I didn’t want to deal with you being sick on top of injured.” He retorted. He handed us our water bottles and went to look at Todo’s wound.

“Definitely not useless.” I said. He glanced up at me before looking away bashful. Todo lifted Baku’s head by the chin before giving him a sweet kiss. I giggled at the blush that went across Baku’s cheek. His eyes darted between us.

“Shut up.” He growled under his breath. We both bit back a laugh. I shifted to get more comfortable. A tug on my leg caused me to freeze in pain.

“Ah.” I squeaked, gripping onto my knee. A hand immediately found purchase on my back as I heard shuffling.

“Careful, don’t move to much darling.” Todo said softly. Baku knelt in front of me. He helped me move back to where I was leaning on Todo’s uninjured side. I set my head back on his shoulder and he pressed a kiss to my temple.

“You’re hurt worse than me yet you’re comforting me as if you weren’t.” I felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“You’re leg is worse than you realize darling. Bakugo thinks they nicked your Achilles tendon.” My eyes widen in realization.

“Shit.” I said.

“Yep.” Bakugo said. He sighed before looking behind him. “I need to go and get Aizawa. There isn’t anything more I can do then make sure you’re comfortable. Damn. But I don’t want to leave you two here on your own with those shit head still out there.”

“Bakugo. I can still use my quirk and so can L/N. We are not entirely defenseless. Plus we don’t have to build a fire. I can keep us both warm. We’ll be okay for a time.” Todo assured him. Baku wasn’t completely convinced. “We’ll be okay. We are well hidden. Now go, just be quick and quiet.” Baku rolled his eyes at the last part.

“Fine. If I come back and find you two worse, I’ll maim you myself.” We laughed but agreed. He pressed a kiss to both of our heads before he was gone.

“Be safe.” I whispered.

“Don’t worry, darling. It’s Bakugo. You know how he gets. No matter reckless he is, gets the job done.” I shook my head in agreement before relaxing into him. He tightened his arm around me. “Rest now. He’ll be back before you know it.”

“Alright.” I slipped into an uneasy slumber.

The next time I woke up, I was in a bed. I groaned at the pulse that went through my head. I reached up and rubbing my temple. A hand gently pushing mine aside before taking over and also carding their fingers through my hair. I opened my eyes slowly to adjust.

“Good morning, darling.” I heard Todoroki whisper. I looked up at him. He was sitting next to the bed, leaning on his forearm. He was smiling down at me.

“Morning.” I said before nuzzling into my blanket. A soft groan caught my attention. I looked down the bed to see Bakugo asleep in what looked to be the most uncomfortable position ever. I giggled.

“Ridiculous, isn’t he?” Todo said chuckling. I nodded before turning on my back to sit up. A small pain came from my leg. I whimpered. “Careful. You’re leg still isn’t healed. You were to worn out for Recovery Girl to heal it properly.”

“How about you?” He leant back and lifted his shirt without hesitation. I blanched at his brazen act.

“Same situation but she was able to heal it to a better point.” I nodded, eyes lingering on his abs. I looked away as he let go of his shirt. Bakugo moved as he seemed to be waking up. He stretched, arms extending to full length as he looked around. His eyes landed on me.

“Hey baby. How are you feeling?” His raspy, morning voice sent a chill down my spine. He scooted closer and set a gently hand on my right leg.

“Better but my head is killing me.” I said, closing my eyes.

“I’ll go get Recovery Girl.” Todo said. He stood and leaned over to kiss my head. He walked behind Baku and gave him a peck too. Baku smiled and stood to switch seats. He pulled Todo’s chair even closer and leant on his forearms. He looked at me tenderly. He reached up and began rubbing my temple.

“I’m glad you’re okay. That you’re both okay.”

“Thanks to you.” I sighed and closed my eyes again. He started humming as I dozed. After a few minutes of this, two sets of footsteps walked back towards us. I lazily turned my head and saw Todo with Recovery Girl in tow.

“Hello there sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“My leg is throbbing lightly and I have a headache.” I shifted a bit and groaned. “Other than that I am sore.”

“As to be expected.” She hopped up on a chair and leant over the bed. She looked over me before activating her quirk. I cringed as her lips pulled away from my head but I felt better. She ran a few more test on both Todoroki and I before she let the three of us leave.

“Well that was an experience.” Baku said exasperated. I chuckle but agreed. I saw Todoroki nod. After another few minutes of walking, I stopped in my tracks. It only took a few seconds for them to notice and look back at me.

“Where do we go from here?” I said, looking at the pavement.

“What do you mean? We are heading back to the…”

“Not that Icy Hot!” Baku interrupted. It was silent for a moment.

“Oh.” I smiled at the boy’s coyness. He could be clueless sometimes. “Darling. I thought we made it clear by now. We both want you, very much.”

“I know that but…” I looked up at them. “Where do we do with that? Are we just friends? Are we more? Like a poly? Or are we…”

“Babe, babe.” Baku came up and held my face. “We can be whatever you want us to be. If you’re not ready right now to a take a step into a relationship with us, we can wait. If you want to take this so and start out with little stuff, we’ll do that to. If you want to jump right in, we’ll catch you.”

“It up to you.” Todo stood next to Baku. He replaced one of Bakugo’s hands so they were both holding my face. I smiled and reached up to hold their wrists. I thought about it for a moment before I launched myself at them, wrapping my arms around their necks in a hug.

“I don’t want to go slow but I don’t want to jump right in either. So something along the lines of a medium speed? All I know is I want to call both of you mine.” I felt their arms wrap around me and hold me tight. Todo rested his chin on top of my head and Baku nuzzled my hair. I relaxed into their arms, delighted I didn’t have to choose between the two.

Tags: @spicy-therapist-mom @dxnaii-rxse

[live-the-fangirl-life]

By the Light of the Moon

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Ghostly Stroll

Walking through a graveyard on Halloween, what a cliché. Happy Spooktober

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Warning: Potential Crying, Mentions of Death

1358 words

*******

The moonlight shown through the cloudy sky, reflecting in the small puddles left on the paved, damp road.

Aelin liked stepping in those puddles.

She would huff a laugh every time her boot fell in the shallow water, creating rippling distortions to the light before it calmed and mirrored the moon once more. She liked the feeling of the stray droplets of water splashing against her foot.

Rowan didn’t comment, simply shook his head fondly and rolled his eyes with each passing puddle.

There was a chill in the air as a soft, crisp breeze blew through the trees. Aelin listened to the rustling of leaves—the ones that were left anyway, seeing as most had already turned shades of crimson, ochre, and toffee, before blanketing the ground.

As a particularly strong gust of wind lifted strands of Aelin’s blonde hair, now shimmering in the moonlight, Rowan reached across with the arm not entwined with hers and gently tucked it behind her ear.

She smiled at the gesture and leaned closer to her husband, savoring the feeling of her shoulder pressing into his and smiling again as he turned his head to kiss the top of her head.

“This is nice.” She said quietly, “don’t you think?”

“Which part?” he asked, facing her and meeting her blue and gold gaze.

Aelin didn’t answer him right away, instead enjoying their peaceful stroll along the empty road. She pushed a stray silver lock back from his face. “The breeze.” She smiled as sounds filtered from houses out towards the road. “The echoes of strangers telling stories. The smell of a fire and roasting marshmallows.” Aelin caught and held Rowan’s gaze. “Walking this beautiful night with you.”

They kept walking, not in a hurry to get anywhere but just enjoying each other’s company. “It is nice, Fireheart. It’s the best time of year.”

Aelin smiled again as she caught the faint sounds of children giggling as the last, straggling trick-or-treaters collected their candy before returning home. She squeezed Rowan’s arm, keeping pace with him as they strolled farther down the road, enjoying the fresh October air.

“My favorite.” She agreed.

They walked along the familiar road for a while more before the houses disappeared and gave way to a large plot of land housing graves, tombstones, and mausoleums.

Aelin turned to grin at Rowan, and he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“It’s Halloween.” She said as if that was question and answer enough. He supposed it was, but Rowan raised a brow, and she rolled her eyes before amending, “Halloween, All Hallows Eve, Samhain—the sentiment’s the same. But we’re here,” she looked toward the graveyard for a long moment before insisting, “we can’t not go in.”

“Walking through a graveyard on Halloween,” he muttered dryly, but followed her lead as they passed through the creaky metal gate. Its not like he would say no to this, or to her. “What a cliché.”

Aelin snorted and met his amused stare with her own. “You say that like we don’t do this every year.”

The front of the graveyard mostly held newer burials, all polished headstones and fresh flowers. The farther back they walked, the older the dates on the stone became. The organization also became more haphazard the further back they roamed. Near the gate the plaques and stones had been lined up in neat rows, but as asphalt turned into cobblestone turned into grass-covered paths, the headstones were placed at odd angles and spaced at random.

“Hmm” Aelin contemplated, halting in front of a new-looking stone and glancing at the dates.

“No, not again, Fireheart.” Rowan groaned, knowing his wife too well.

“I’m going to say that this woman died at the ripe old age of eighty-seven while posing for a tastefully nude portrait.”

Rowan rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little vulgar to make up outrageous stories about the dead?” Then he snorted. “And how would that even kill her?”

Aelin raised a brow at him even as his lips quirked up. She steered them down another aisle. “Are you saying that because you actually think that?” Her tone made it obvious she didn’t believe it. “Or are you upset because you know you couldn’t come up with anything more interesting?”

He scoffed as they landed in front of a stone with slightly older dates. He glanced down at Aelin who was watching him expectantly as if to say show me what you’ve got. He glanced around, making sure one no one else was within earshot.

Occasionally, Aelin and Rowan would spot another person or sometimes a small group of people walking through the graves or staring solemnly at a particular headstone. They would nod in acknowledgment and share a brief, understanding look.

Not seeing anyone, he begrudgingly focused on the plaque and said, “Let’s say that this fellow lived his life in the circus and had an unfortunate fire-breathing accident.”

Aelin laughed, her eyes sparkling as they continued to make up stories.

They kept walking. Every now and then they would hear a bird flying across the grounds or the wind whistling through the trees.

“Ooh here’s an older one.” Aelin glanced at Rowan before nodding, “this one accidentally shot himself with a cannon.”

Rowan snorted, “how does one shoot themselves with a canon?”

“I don’t know,” she rolled her eyes, “maybe it failed to fire, and he went to check on it and suddenly boom.”

They meandered through the aisles and slowly watched as the stones became rougher and covered in moss, the words etched into them barely legible.

The clouds had cleared and now the sky was filled with the light of the fading moon.

This far back into the graveyard, neither Aelin nor Rowan could make out the entrance from which they came.

But that didn’t matter. Not as Aelin kept her arm hooked through her husband’s while they turned down another row of ancient, long-forgotten tombstones.

Rowan stopped walking and felt Aelin press herself closer towards him.

“What do you think about these?” he whispered; voice barely audible above the low wind.

Aelin squeezed his arm. “I think,” she whispered just as quietly, “they lived a long, happy life and forever thanked the stars that they found each other.”

The stones were old. Rounded corners from age and layers of moss were identical on the pair of faded headstones. And even though the letters had long since faded, the inscription was something neither of them would forget.

Go Rattle The Stars. Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius & Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius. To Whatever End.

They stood quietly for a long moment. Their humor replaced with a calm serenity.

“How long has it been, Buzzard?” She whispered. “I lost count ages ago.”

A lie. Aelin knew exactly how many years had passed—how many anniversaries, how many holidays, how many celebrations; how many children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren; how many Halloween nights she and Rowan had made this same trek through the graveyard.

“Too long, Fireheart.” he murmured.

She held his hand even tighter. They didn’t speak again, relishing in their companionable silence and the comfort of simply being with one another, until the moon had almost fully dipped beneath the horizon.

Aelin faced him, a fond smile growing as she placed a hand on his cheek. He still looked as handsome and young as the day she’d met him, despite them having grown old together long, long, ago.

“Until next All Hallows Eve,” She promised.

It wasn’t a thing to feel sad about, nor angry or frustrated. It simply was.

She wasn’t sure how it happened or why, but she and Rowan found each other every year on this night, and she would thank the universe for letting it be so.

“Until next year.” He held her waist as she wound her arms around his neck. Rowan leaned down to press his forehead against hers. “To whatever end, Aelin.”

“To whatever end, Rowan” she raised herself on her toes to kiss him.

As the last glimmers of moonlight disappeared, Aelin Galathynius and Rowan Whitethorn faded away once more in a ghostly whisper.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111

[hoe-imaginess]

a helping hand (or two) | dabi

Dabi x fem!Reader

summary: Dabi is suffering from an aphrodisiac quirk. Now he’s got a dick that just won’t quit, and you have to take care of it.

word count: 10.4k

contains: almost dub-con, handies, bjs, dick riding, dirty talk, slight violence, a very stubborn Dabi who has to be restrained 

a/n: self-indulgent & vaguely crack-ish. my idea of an aphrodisiac includes an overload of the five senses bc...idk I wanted to play w/ descriptive prose. my kink is describing Dabi’s horniness in paragraphs ok. meaty intro before the smut, hang in there

⤰⤰⤰

Dabi entertained the alley-dweller’s angry outbursts with sadistic patience. The man yelled at him, threatened him, boasted of all the ways in which he was going to make Dabi suffer for attacking and underestimating him—

Then, finally having decided that the fodder was no longer amusing him, the flame-user extended a glowing palm in preparation to finish the job. 

When you read the intention in Dabi’s movement, you fidgeted where you stood and calculated the risk of opposing him. 

“You can’t just keep burning everyone you don’t like,” you said, calculations made, deciding that you might as well attempt to be a voice of reason while you were paired up with him on this job. 

It was a voice he happily ignored. The white-hot glare of his palm smoldered into the bursting blue of his flames as they lit up his fingers.  

“Says who?” 

Trash was trash. If you couldn’t see that, then oh well. Folly on your part for thinking the tedious task of recruiting didn’t require this sort of disposal; what better to do with underwhelming candidates than permanently remove them from the talent pool? You shouldn’t have tagged along if you weren’t prepared for his methods. 

When the alley-villain realized that Dabi’s patience for his empty, arrogant threats had been spent, his dirt-stained face colored with fear, and his wild eyes darted in every direction of the alley to seek refuge from the imminent flames. He started to plead—which Dabi found grimly amusing given that the man had been spouting insults about his patchwork skin just moments before—then he shrank back against the alley wall, sinking to the ground in fear.

“The more bodies you leave the easier it will be for the police to track us.” You’d taken to your persuasions again, fruitless though you knew it was. 

“And?”

“And you’ll be compromising the entire League.”

“If all you’re gonna do is complain then you don’t have to tag along, ya know.” He spared a glance your way, with that drolly exasperated look on his face he always gave when he felt you were speaking out of turn. 

But his diverted attention proved costly: the alley-dweller suddenly went berserk, and was rushing at him with a final, rogue desperation to escape. 

The charge, surprisingly swift as it was, was also uncalculated, and Dabi narrowly side-stepped to avoid a blow. With an indignant sneer, he rounded his hand and kindled his flames anew: no more games, it was time to kill. But before he could retaliate, the lunatic was on him again, barreling toward him. 

Though fatally seared by the sudden discharge of flame that Dabi released, the derelict’s bulk was still sufficient to topple into Dabi and throw him off balance. He might have fallen from the impact if not for the way the man gave a wailing, pained shriek and threw himself away from the flames. 

Torched and agonized as the man was, his mounted attack hadn’t been a complete failure: though Dabi’s flames had mostly protected him, there was an unmistakable sensation of damage in him which left him suddenly rigid with alarm. 

Had he been wounded?

He looked down at himself, saw no injuries from which the bodily distress might have been roused. After a few moments the distress was gone, and he decided it was just adrenaline. Then, there returned the enervated frustration. 

“Trash,” he muttered indignantly, glaring at the steaming heap of the man, who’d stumbled over a litter of aluminum trash bins and capsized with them onto the ground. He wasn’t moving. But he was still whole, and not the pile of burning ash he could have been, should have been, now, after that little effrontery—

Your arm was on him before he could pursue the murderous thoughts. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, inspecting him carefully. 

Instantly and fiercely, he shrugged away from your touch. 

“Fine,” he grunted out, straightening and stiffening his limbs to convince himself of it. But that odd feeling was still there, burgeoning slowly at the sight of the man’s body fuming on the ground, at your own body standing so close to him. “If you hadn’t been running your damn mouth—”

“Sorry,” you conceded, more concerned with his demeanor than with defending yourself. In all likelihood he didn’t even realize how ruffled he looked. “Did he… are you hurt?”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted firmly. 

While you stared at him in doubtful concern, an energetic heat crept up his spine. Slow, like an insect bite bringing its stinging warmth to a crawl over his skin, skin both scarred and unscarred alike. 

There was a smell, then, when he took his shallow breaths: something sweet, like lingering perfume, or fragrant incense—

Fairly quickly he realized the smell was coming from you, and glared at you in puzzled indignation, like the fact that this scent was yours and that he could smell it now—why could he smell it so profusely now, when he hadn’t before? What the hell?—was somehow offensive. Worst of all it smelled damn good. Had you always smelled that good?

“...What is it?” you asked carefully, not quite able to place the look on his face, but considerably unnerved by it, nonetheless. “Dabi…?”

Your voice—it held such particular tones that he hadn’t before noticed until now, as though he’d been deaf to what you really sounded like; how sleek and enticing your words were when they came out of your pretty mouth. 

Oh, and your mouth: lips parted fretfully in preparation for another concerned inquiry on his well-being, objectively innocent but suddenly, and infuriatingly, looking very much like they were tempting him for a kiss. 

Then when your pink tongue came to wet your lips in anxious trepidation, that too he saw as a maddeningly teasing gesture that made his hands feel hot. Then it was his feet; then his whole body. 

He began to fidget where he stood. 

Then, at the sudden onset of warmth in his head, he slid over to the alley wall, a splayed hand against the brick keeping his balance while he hung his dizzy head low. 

“What the hell,” he muttered to himself woozily. 

“Dabi?” You went to inspect him cautiously. You couldn’t see his expression through the curtain of black that had fallen over his face, but you knew something was amiss. “Are you okay?” you asked again. 

“I’m fine,” he huffed out, and you’d been oblivious to his hoarse breathing up until the moment you stopped in front of him. 

“Dabi,” you begged his attention now that his eyes had closed shut, his features pinched. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes, dizzied by the heat, began to play tricks on him. Even behind the closed lids he saw sparks flying, and swirls of white-hot passion dancing.

When the heat in him turned to a near-burning sensation, he opened his eyes and stared down at his body. Was his quirk activated? he thought confusedly. Or was the heat that licked his skin just a hallucination: flames that failed to consume him wholly? What the hell was happening? What was this—

The heat finally centered—mortifyingly—between his legs, and what had been confusion before was now full-blown bafflement. 

“Dabi,” you were saying again. 

The sound of your voice inflamed him not in aggravation, but something else. 

“You don’t look good,” you said. The way his breath had thinned to long, rough pants put anxiety in you. “...I’ll call Kurogiri.” You fished your phone from your pocket with the intention of doing so. 

A grunt was his response; he couldn’t coherently pick his words. Then, the anticipation of your voice again, on the phone, speaking in those tones and that sweet melody, made him shudder.

“No,” he muttered. 

You looked at him, the phone to your ear, the line ringing. “What?” 

“Don’t,” was all he could say, lower this time, almost in a growl. 

“But Dabi, you—”

Suddenly, at the thought of hearing your voice for even another second, the fire overtook him. 

First he slapped the phone from your grip. Its screen broke against the pavement and the voice that answered the call—too late, you thought fleetingly—stuttered on the line. Then he slammed you against the wall. 

Winded and bewildered, it took you several seconds to find your bearings. In that time he’d pressed against you, his breath so hot and so angry that it flushed perspiration over your skin. 

Gaping, your lips trembled. “Dabi, what—” 

“Shut up,” he seethed quietly, teeth baring. 

You recognized the wild look of violence on his face, but the lust in his hazy eyes wasn’t anticipated. Nor was the erection you felt pressing against your leg. You stared wide-eyed as the sinking realization came over you.

In desperation you pushed at him; he pushed back, corralling you against the wall even harder. 

The air was knocked out of your lungs, and with it, a dying protest, “Wait—”

He clamped a too-warm hand over your mouth, and pressed his face against yours. His forehead on your own felt feverish and sweaty; his eyes, like blue-burned coals, pierced into yours. You could smell the heat smoldering off of him. 

He loosed a shaky, unhinged breath. “Shut. Up.” 

Unthinking, your hand tugged at the one on your mouth, inadvertently digging into his staples. But his wild passion lent him a worrisome insensitivity to the hurt, and his other hand was going for your waist, squeezing into your shirt and wrenching you impossibly closer against him. 

The pain which erupted from his compromised staples only fanned the flames of his arousal. He didn’t know why. Of course he fucking didn’t. He didn’t even know why his body was moving the way it was: rutting against you, seeking friction for his aching dick. 

His mouth went to your neck but applied no kisses or intimate caresses; he just pressed against the skin and breathed in pants. He put his free hand to your breast, the movement not a calculated one, more like he was seeking leverage to his imbalance. The stuttering beat of your heart was palpable under his palm. 

"Fuck,” he sputtered out angrily, disoriented, and dug his fingers into your chest. You moaned behind his palm, both in shock and pleasure. 

All he needed to hear was the latter. 

The sound made him hiss a low and dangerous curse, and when he peeked his head back up, his pulsing eyes shone with something beyond just lust now: pure hunger. 

Just as he moved his hand away from your mouth with the intent of crashing his own against you in a bruising kiss, there was a sound behind him. 

In the back of his mind he recognized it: Warp Gate. 

Kurogiri, and possibly someone else, had answered your call for aid. 

Dabi utterly ignored it. 

It had nothing to do with him. 

He was only concerned with the heat. All he felt was the heat; all he saw was your lips: parted in dumbfoundment, dry, and begging to be wetted by his tongue–

There was a commotion, and then an angry voice that Dabi distantly recognized as Shigaraki’s. 

Then a blow to the back of his head took everything away.

⤰

A subtle transformation had overtaken his body by the time he woke. 

No longer was the heat excruciating, but it was still there, nevertheless: a curling medium beneath his skin which he felt the instant consciousness came back to him. With it, the dizzy ache in his head and the haze in his eyes. Then, finally: his limbs refusing to move when he tried to stretch them. 

At once he realized he was back in the bar, confined in a chair, with people gawking at him from all sides. 

He blinked his vision back to clarity, then scowled. “The hell?”

“Do you remember anything, Dabi?” That was Kurogiri somewhere to his left. Looking, Dabi confirmed his usual station behind the bar. 

Delaying an answer, the flame-user glanced around. Not all of the League was there, he saw. Besides Kurogiri, only Shigaraki and you were audience to the spectacle. 

You tried to avoid his harsh eyes when they landed on you, when they flitted across your features as if in an elaborate struggle to put pieces of a disoriented puzzle together. Solved, apparently, as his memory came back, his confused scowl worked into a realizing frown. 

“Shit,” he muttered in annoyance. 

Shuffling uncomfortably in the chair, he surmised it was rope binding his wrists behind his back, and his ankles to the chair legs. But the movement also brought attention to the hot pressure in his gut. 

Or at the least, he thought that’s where it was—until he glanced down and realized that despite the abatement of the wild heat, his erection still peeked proudly underneath his jeans.

Now he was scowling again. 

“What the hell,” he spat out, and suddenly, with his frustration flourishing, the heat was returning in slow order. 

He cursed under his breath. He looked up and glared at the first onlooker he set his eyes upon: Kurogiri. 

“Get me out of this shit.”

“I can’t do that,” the man replied regrettably. “When I came to retrieve you from the scene we had no choice except to put you down when you refused to listen. Given the nature of the quirk that you’ve been struck with, we have to take precautions until we know it’s out of your system.”

Dabi listened with steely suspicion. “What quirk?”

“An aphrodisiac—” You almost bit your tongue once you’d started, because the quick and fierce glance he gave you suggested he wasn’t entirely happy with you, and even less happy to hear your voice. 

“It’s an aphrodisiac quirk,” you stated, more calmly now. 

Dabi blinked, brows knotting in concentration. Spoken plainly that way, it seemed absurd, stupid. 

He scoffed dryly. “You’re joking.” 

“Really fucked up this time, didn’t you?” came Shigaraki from a spot at the bar, his arms crossed. “Serves you right, searching the alleys for trash. I told you to stop doing that shit.”

“Fuck off,” Dabi spat. “How was I supposed to know the guy’d have such a stupid fuckin’…” 

Dabi tsked and shuffled uncomfortably in his chair again. The bitterness he felt for his confinement was quickly gaining, and so was the returning arousal. A sweltering, uncomfortable warmth on his skin made him hyperaware of his flushed face, and he could practically feel the sweat teeming on his unscarred flesh. 

“I’m serious,” he muttered, glaring at Shigaraki. “Get me out of this.”

“So you can go ape shit again? No. It’s disgusting.” 

“I’m not gonna do shit, relax.”

Dabi was aware then that focus was being pulled in the room, pulled directly to you: the victim of his unbidden arousal.

With a roll of his eyes, he huffed a frustrated breath and gave you what might have passed for an apology, if he’d even bothered looking at you. “My bad, and all that.”

Shigaraki’s arrogant snort derailed whatever amendment you might have transpired to make. 

“You’re lucky the guy was still alive when we got there—barely,” your leader went on. “Told us a bit about what to expect from you in the next few hours though, once we promised we’d let him go.”

Dabi gave him a flat look of doubt. 

Shigaraki scoffed. “Didn’t keep that promise, obviously.” Then he was scowling behind Father. “I don’t like having to clean up your messes. Shouldn’t have to finish off your fodder for you. You can’t even do that right, can you?”

Dabi’s frustration was in full bloom now, despite reason persuading him against it; he’d gathered enough at this point—at the expense of his own body—to know that agitation of any kind would feed the quirk’s effects. 

Heat pooled low in his stomach when he demanded again, “Let me out of this shit right now or I’m gonna get mad.”

“Supposed to be a 24-hour thing unless you take care of it, to put it plainly,” Shigaraki responded.

“I assumed as much. So get me outta this shit and I’ll fuck off for a while.”

“Nah. Don’t need you going and causing a scene somewhere because you don’t know how to keep your pants on.”

You could feel the conflagration of tension in the room. Maybe it was Dabi’s quirk, maybe it was the alley-dweller’s mixing with it, making it dangerously palpable. Regardless, Shigaraki’s snark seemed to bring Dabi’s attention back to his body, to the insufferable bulge between his legs that demanded relief.

“This is stupid,” he declared bitterly, and tugged on the knots tied at his wrists, the throbbing heat in his lower-half lending itself to his quirk as it activated in licking flames along his arms. He was tired of this shit. He lost his temper all at once. “You’re damn crazy if you think I’m just gonna sit here—”

Then there was blue flame torching the back of the chair, blackening the rope which bound him and making the tethers frail enough to tear apart under a strong tug. He was freeing himself. 

From there, it all happened relatively swiftly. 

As he went to work on the binds at his feet with newly liberated arms, Shigaraki was in a conniption of angry protests, and Kurogiri fluttered nervously between taking action or remaining an onlooker. 

Then there was you, probably the least equipped to do much of anything to alleviate the situation, but nevertheless skipping to your feet the moment the chaos ensued. There was arguing, cursing, insults—then your voice, attempting to wedge some conciliatory reason into the room.

It did the exact opposite. 

Dabi had apparently forgotten of the trigger in your voice that sent his body into a frenzy. When you spoke up, your voice just loud enough to cut above the rest of the uproar, his aspiration to free himself tapered off as his sharp eyes honed in on you. 

His arousal came back with a vengeance; in his pants, his dick twitched angrily for relief, and that frenzy took over his thought process again. 

His flames burned the rope at his feet and he came at you, so close, so very close, not knowing why he was doing it but only that he needed to touch you—

You were frozen on the spot. But Shigaraki was reaching for something along the bar, and Dabi’s world went black again soon after. 

⤰

When he woke this time, his rope bonds had been replaced for something cold and metallic, something stronger to withstand the vehemence of his flames. Even the chair to which he was bound had been swapped for something sturdier than wood.

“You fuckin’ serious?” he spat out, even before his vision had centered. He knew where he was, and why he was there. No need for context clues. 

“You gave us no other choice,” Kurogiri amended carefully, the black vapors that composed him flitting about anxiously. 

“Told you that you’d lose it,” Shigaraki said, anger having replaced all his snarky tones of condescension from before. “You’re like a damn animal.”

Dabi hissed and put his head back, feeling the soreness at his nape from consecutive blows. If he weren’t so presently occupied with the curl of heat welcoming him afresh, he might have simmered on the idea of burning his relatively recent—but entirely disagreeable—boss to a crisp when this was over. 

Then for the first time Dabi realized you were absent, and glanced around as if in search of you. Good, he thought, when he confirmed that you were missing. You just... complicated things. 

“I’m fine now,” he insisted, as placidly as possible as if to give stock to his lie. The respite had done nothing for the arousal harassing him; the longer it having gone unsatiated, even in unconsciousness, making it all the more demanding. 

Mellowing his urgency to a non-existent degree was almost impossible, however. Dabi knew the way the soles of his shoes twisted and flattened restlessly into the ground below was anything but inconspicuous. 

“Just warp me outta here, Kurogiri,” he implored. 

“No,” Shigaraki answered. “Shut up. Consider this a lesson. No more rummaging for allies in shithole parts of town. This is what happens when you go dumpster-diving for recruits.”

“You want me to burn this place down?” Dabi threatened, testing the strength of his bonds. A flicker of blue teased along his jawline. “‘Cause I got no problem doing that.”

Shigaraki shrugged. “Sure. You’ll just burn up with it, since you’ve got no way out of that chair.”

He knew it was true, and worked his jaw. “For all you know the damn guy was lyin’,” he said as a final act of contempt, and gave his leader a leery, side-long glare. “And this shit might not go away on its own.”

“Guess we’ll have to see, won’t we?” 

Dabi sneered. Foiled, but regardlessly frustrated by the truth of it, he put his head back with an angry sigh and resigned himself to an attempted calm. 

⤰

You’d lingered in the bar’s back rooms for the better part of an hour before emerging. 

Shigaraki had instructed you to make yourself scarce, but you were drafted to stay by some guilty—and admittedly curious—sentiment. 

It was awfully unfair, you agreed, to keep Dabi chained up like he was—even in spite of the danger he posed under the quirk’s influence. But you must have overlooked that danger when you decided to slip into the main room where he was being held, long after you had been assured that Kurogiri and Shigaraki were gone. 

His back to the door, Dabi didn’t glance over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. It seemed he was sour enough not to offer greeting, and preferred to be left alone in his turmoil. 

He especially didn’t want your company, which he made clear by way of a harsh frown when you came into his peripheral. 

He tsked and readjusted uncomfortably in his seat at your arrival. “The hell do you want?”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Never been better,” he muttered. 

You were aware of how he avoided your gaze, and couldn’t know whether it was in an effort to stave off the arousal your presence had so viciously wrought before, or because he simply didn’t appreciate your company. The latter seemed just as likely as the first, though neither stopped you from taking a seat in one of the room’s couches so you could sit across at him. 

Your eyes were trained on his face, on the agitation creased into his expression. It was almost indecipherable under his otherwise cold demeanor. Clearly, the quirk was still in effect. If his tried composure wasn’t enough, there was a subtle tent in his pants that hadn’t gone away, not since its first appearance hours ago, you imagined. 

You didn’t realize you were ogling until he noticed. He tsked. 

“Take a picture,” he offered spitefully, immediately dissuading your eyes away from him. 

“Sorry,” you let slip, embarrassment flushing your cheeks, and in response he only lulled his head back again and shut his eyes. 

All was silent for a while, and might have remained thereby, if not for the way that the curt apology brought back the weight of guilt you’d felt to see his sorry state. 

“And I’m sorry for bringing you back here,” you spoke up. “Or at least, sorry that I called the others. I didn’t realize you’d be held up like this–”

“Stop talking,” he muttered. 

Mouth opening, then closing again, you almost swallowed down your next words. But again, they refused to stay unspoken. 

“I wouldn’t have called them,” you insisted, “if you didn’t—if you didn’t come after me like that. I was confused.”

No response. Only another uncomfortable shuffle in the chair while his eyes remained shut and his mouth a thin line. 

They’d put his hands in a sort of metallic sleeve since you last saw him, to discourage any more pyromania, you guessed. Though they weren’t visible, you could see how his arms shifted, how his tendons worked, and could imagine his fingers flitting anxiously inside the restraints. 

“Is… me being here making it worse?” you chanced to ask. 

He scoffed, and finally gave you his attention. “What?” Then, fully understanding your train of thought, rolled his eyes, and resigned them shut again while he relaxed into the chair. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but that dumb look you got on your face all the time isn’t exactly alluring.”

You frowned, and it was almost with cross touchiness that you argued, “But you came after me—”

“I’m guessin’ the point of the quirk is to make anything look fuckable.  So don’t flatter yourself.”

Despite all your caution, you couldn’t help but give the man a sour look. “You’re rude.”

He shrugged, the movement impeded considerably by his restraints. “Whatever. Anyways, you just gonna sit there and watch me? I’m not exactly in the mood for company.” He moved in his seat again, fighting the heat between his legs the best he could. “Unless you’re gettin’ off on my suffering and what not. Kinda twisted of you, if you ask me. Didn’t peg you as the type.”

“That’s not it,” you insisted quickly. “I just wanted to…well—”

“To what? Check in on me? Nice of you. But you can fuck off now.” 

A sudden twitch in his legs took the tension from the repartee. You looked down at the limb as he did. 

The burning heat in his veins took away practically all control he had of his extremities, rallied them into unconscious servants of the damn quirk until they were twitching, then relaxing, then twitching again.

You noticed this, too, and though his efforts to conceal the struggle were commendable, they left you in a state of shame, as if it were you bound in the chair with your arousal on display. Seeing someone so normally composed as he was in such a state was distressing, and admittedly, absorbing.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and let your rampant thoughts form to words. “Will it go away if you…”

“If I what?” Then once understanding, the smallest of smirks twisted his scarred lips. “Rub one out? How the hell am I supposed to know?”

You ignored the heat that dropped down your spine to hear him say it so unabashedly. “I don’t have the key to your locks,” you explained. “So I couldn’t let you out even if I wanted to.”

He gave no response, just looked away from you again. 

And here now was the adrenaline pulsing nonsense out of you, making you think crazy and debauched thoughts that would in any other situation be put down immediately by rationale. 

“But…”

He glanced at you when you tapered off. “But?”

Your silence annoyed him, now that he was interested. Before he could hound you to continue, you sputtered out your proposal:

“Do you want me to do something about it?”

He looked at you, an eyebrow raised, as if demanding clarification. But you had a resolute feeling that he was toying with you by choosing silence. 

“You know what I mean,” you asserted. 

The blank, cold stare you received in kind made you wonder if he actually did know what you meant. Maybe he didn’t understand—

“No,” he then said. 

The defeat you felt was utterly uncalled for, you knew. But you felt it anyways: a wash of humiliation plummeting down your body and swelling up again in frustration. 

But you let it be, knowing anything more you had to say would probably earn you tenfold embarrassment. 

Twenty minutes must have passed—though he wasn’t counting, and he wasn’t so sure that the affliction in his body wasn’t twisting his sense of time—each entailing another dredge of painful heat in his groin that worsened the longer his arousal went unattended to.

All the fail safes he’d practiced in his adolescence to ward off unwanted arousals were utterly useless now. He might as well have been on cloud nine when he filled his head with repulsive concepts: the smell of antiseptic, the smell of fish—fucking disgusting fish—even images of roadkill and dead bodies, putrefying and blackened. 

The thoughts themselves were off-putting, as promised, but it wasn’t thoughts at all that fueled his libido: it was a completely physical and natural arousal. 

Even shuffling his legs around, as meager of friction as it gave, made his hips inch forward in search of more when the fabric of his jeans teased his hard cock. It was fucking humiliating. 

He looked at you. You were too occupied searching the floor for an answer to your anxieties to notice the way he studied you.

You weren’t bad looking, he decided. Not that he’d ever really thought of you that way before. Not thoroughly, anyways. In this little group of delinquents he’d surrounded himself with—a grand mistake on his part, he thought, especially during times like these—you were the only fuel he had for his imagination on nights he needed to let off some steam. 

There was no intimacy behind it, no real passion for you that extended beyond the time from when he shoved a hand into his jeans, to when he was cleaning thick ropes of cum from his knuckles afterwards. 

You were only ever given credence in his brain then, when he was giving his cock hard and angry tugs to the thought of you on your knees for him, or against a wall with his hand curled around your throat, and sometimes bent over his knee while he spanked your ass raw (a more recent daydream now, ever since that time a few weeks ago when you’d bent down in front of him to pick something up off the floor).

Suddenly aware of an alarming change in his body, he paused his thoughts to immerse himself back into his too-hot skin again. 

He felt a wetness against his swollen cock, and after squirming covertly, frowned, realizing with loathing that the stickiness chafing his briefs was pre-cum. 

He stubbornly decided that it was just an inevitable response to his body’s raging war with arousal, and not—not at all—because he’d been thinking of you. 

Letting his body endure until his pants were dampened with pre-cum was an unwanted solution. Or even worse, until the sensitivity in his cock went haywire and even the tiniest of movements might make him cream his pants. 

A frustrated breath whistled out from his nose and he grit his teeth. Goddamnit. This was fucking stupid. 

“Fuck,” he said aloud, shaking his head as if to condemn the words he was about to say, knowing how they would haunt his ego later, “Fine. Come here.”

You glanced up, and, unable to fulfill the request with your mind suddenly racing, simply stared. 

That insipid look of failed registry on your face irritated him, and he scowled. “Are you deaf?”

“You want me to—” A sweep of your eyes down to his crotch elucidated what you were too hesitant to say. 

“You offered,” he reminded you, and decided that in order to make this even a fraction less humiliating, he’d need to emphasize your culpability. “Kinda been thinking it’s your fault, anyways. If you hadn’t been such a dumbass back there I would’ve finished the guy off like I wanted to. But you were too busy spouting your nitpicky bullshit.”

There was a guilty look on your face now, like you’d been considering the accusation in your own time. Now having it confirmed, you were more susceptible to the reasoning, and even more willing to rectify yourself. 

Still, you struggled to swallow down hesitation. “You’re sure that you want me to—”

“You’re gonna start pissin’ me off if you get all shy,” he said, trying as hard as his dancing nerves would allow to keep the desperation out of his voice. 

Since yielding to the ludicrous idea, his body had apparently taken up a premature celebration at the thought of your hands on him. His balls were tight and his dick was throbbing hard enough to make his legs tense with each pulse. 

“I just want to make sure,” you insisted. “I mean, if you really–”

“I’ll make it easy for you then. Either get over here, or piss off.”

He was relieved, pleased, and somewhat amused when the hesitation left you and you obeyed. When you came to stand idly in front of him, he glanced up, watching your confusion. 

Your eyes flicked from his face to his crotch, where the dim light of the room caught the curve of his hard dick pressing against his jeans. 

“You gonna stare at it all day?” he asked. 

You looked at him. “What do you want me to do?”

“When you offered to do something about it I assumed you already had some ideas. You need me to give you an instruction manual?” 

Your silence frustrated him again, and he tsked, glancing away from you as the reality of what you two were doing finally set in. 

“Take it out,” he muttered. 

So you did, reaching numbly down and carefully undoing his pants. The bulge that awaited underneath his jeans gave you pause. You stared at it, and a shot of adrenaline pumped through you when it twitched in his briefs, as if feeling your eyes ogling it and begging you to give it attention.

You tried to clear your conscience. This was Dabi, Dabi who treated you with such disregard that you sometimes wondered if he even knew your name; Dabi, who was letting you even breathe next to him without trying to scorch you.

A trickling, somewhat fatally comedic thought entered your mind: was he going to light you ablaze the second you touched him? Or maybe after, once you’d relieved him, as a way to permanently silence you against ever speaking a word of this to anyone?

Shivering at the morbidity of your own creation, you reached for his briefs and pulled them down carefully until his cockhead showed itself, pink-hued and shiny with an excess amount of pre-cum. 

You worked a hand underneath the briefs instead of exposing him completely, thinking he might want some semblance of modesty during this. Your convictions were rattled from their mounts when your fingers wrapped gently around the tip of his cock and gave a firm squeeze. 

In response: silence. 

You’d thought with how viciously his arousal had seemed to harangue him that he might give a stronger reaction: a moan, a sigh, a grunt, maybe even an audible breath. 

He just stared at you, looking as utterly bored as he usually did.

Then your fingers decided to retreat, and the sound you’d been displeased to be robbed of came finally as a frustrated grunt when your grip left him. 

“Seriously?” he huffed, staring at you. The irritation left its first but considerable split in his composure. The rest was quickly chipping away. He couldn’t pretend to be aloof about this for much longer. “You got cold feet now?”

“That’s not it.”

“What then? Never seen one before?”

“I don't know… how you want it,” you explained. 

“The hell does that mean?”

“Do you want me to use my hands?” you clarified hesitantly. “Or…” 

The little huff of derisive laughter that fell from his open lips made an eerie picture of his otherwise blank face. 

“Or what?” he taunted. “You got something else in mind? You been dyin’ for a taste of it or something–”

“No,” you finished, and that flustered look of anger on your face was pissing him off again, instead of amusing him like it might have under another context.

“So then cut the shit and do whatever.”

With a frown you went to your knees, unwilling to get further embroiled. 

When you started to stroke him, more pre-cum squeezed from the tip in generous pumps. You didn’t bother asking him how hard or fast he wanted it—you started hastily, hand gliding quickly over his cock, urgently enough that pre-cum eased the motion and made wet, sharp sounds with every stroke. 

His knee twitched like he’d been checked for reflex, which you took as encouragement to keep going despite his loyalty to silence. 

The veins along his dick pulsed needily and you swore you could feel the throb under your palm. The throb became more palpable as time went on. You thought you were doing well. But apparently not. 

“Harder,” he muttered, not a minute after you’d started. 

You glanced up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, but instead had shut his eyes in concentration. It looked to you as though he was trying to find the pleasure in your pace—which was apparently too soft for his likings. 

You did as instructed, nevertheless: you tightened your grip a fraction, fingers curling and making your strokes face slightly more resistance as they worked more pre-cum from the red tip. 

Another twitch in his leg, then a deep exhale that ended in a shiver; you saw his toned stomach shudder with the motion beneath his clothes, and fleetingly considered inching his shirt up a bit more out curiosity: how far did the burnt skin go down his body?

But then he was grunting, and breathing more stiffly than before. You thought that was another sign of a job well done, when his eyes peeled open and looked down upon you with such emphasized frustration that you realized you were not, in fact, meeting his standards. 

“Harder,” he demanded again, more rigidly this time. Despite the command, your hand slowed. For that, he frowned at you. “Can barely feel that shit. You gotta do better than that. I like it rough.”

A flush of humiliation put purpose back into your rigid fingers, and you were moving your hand again, albeit slowly as you tested the new grip, this time with such purposeful pressure that you were tugging his dick now more than stroking it. 

“I thought it might hurt,” you started meekly.

“It doesn’t. Keep going.” 

You did, picking up speed again. The adrenaline put some more initiative into you, and you made a purposeful attempt to drag your thumb down hard on his swollen cock with every jerk of your hand. 

A croaky hum from his throat brought your attention to his face; his eyes watched your hand stroking him with fuzzy scrutiny. 

“Yeah,” he breathed thinly, his eyes fluttering closed again, finally satisfied. “Just like that.” 

That made your chest tight with excitement and your legs fidget beneath you. Your own arousal was wetting the inside of your thighs by now, but you were able to ignore it momentarily in favor of serving his.

At some point his hips stuttered up to start meeting your hand, but in a much slower rhythm than you were stroking; lazy pumps up into your grip. Every synchronic motion when you jerked up and his hips rolled down, there was an amazing tightness on the head of his cock that made his breath catch every time. 

You decided on using both hands (he was big, unexpectedly big, so much so that it was staggering and you decided you would think about that later when he wasn’t filling your palms so generously) and started twisting your grip in time with your strokes. It was then he finally loosed a low and breathy groan. 

Then his hips were pumping into your hands roughly, fucking himself in slow but hard thrusts—so hard that you had to steel yourself and tighten your grip to keep from getting bucked off. 

Another low moan from his throat. “Shit…” Then, when a surge of confidence urged you to quickly run your tongue along the head of his dick, his breath caught in a hard grunt.

“Shit,” he hissed out, and spread his thighs wider, pushing them up eagerly in demand that you give him more. 

To the best of your ability you tried, spreading your tongue underneath the head and rapidly swiping it back and forth. That got his hips stuttering, and his body jolting in its confines. 

“Fuck,” he bit out. “Yes, fuck.... Just like that.”

Without prompting your lips came into the fold, closing tightly around the tip and sucking in time with the hands that fisted his cock until you were lavishing every inch of him in some way. 

The feeling alone was ridiculously good, but watching you made his jaw go slack and mouth open as he panted. Maybe it was just the stupid quirk making him delirious, but you looked a hell of a lot hotter doing this than what his fantasies had led him to believe. Fuck. You weren’t half bad. 

A particularly hard thrust into your mouth had one of your hands slipping loose, and his next thrust, unimpeded by the length of one your fists around him, shoved his dick to the tight heat at the back of your throat.

He grunted hard, “Fucking shit—” Then arched up quickly, jumping at the opportunity to sink his cock deeper. 

Without a pause to steady yourself you had little choice but to oblige, and his cockhead shoved in, cramming itself against your hot tongue, pumping farther back inch by inch. 

The hand still jerking him off covered what your throat was too inexperienced to swallow down, and the rhythm of your tight mouth and vice-like hand made him moan deeply. 

But it might have been too much, and a strength lent to him by the quirk’s desperation made his hips lift off the chair forcibly, driving his cockhead to the very back of your throat until you were sputtering and choking. 

“Fuck.” It made him dizzy with pleasure, and he shut his eyes to keep them from rolling as he frantically pumped his hips upwards to get you gagging on him again. “Yeah, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

But then you were pulling off completely with a gasping breath.

His eyes opened, wild with exasperation. “The hell–”

You coughed wetly and started to plead, “Don’t choke me–” 

“Fine—fine. Hurry the hell up.” His hips jutted up impatiently in search of your mouth again, his swelling cock bouncing and twitching urgently. “Put that fuckin’ mouth back on it right now—” 

You obeyed, and his hips shuddered down into the chair, following the motion of your lips as they tightened over his length—only to start thrusting up into the hot and wet cavern again once his cockhead hit the roof of your mouth. 

It was like a fire had been kindled underneath him and was rapidly boiling all his thoughts to a vapor. It was stupidly good, so damn hot and tight and wet he couldn’t remember a mouth on his cock ever feeling this amazing. He wished his hands were free so he could fist them into your hair, so he could push you down more, get you gagging and sputtering on his cock. 

His eyes squeezed shut, face flexing with occasional twitches. His lips pulled back into a desperate grimace and long, shaky breaths whistled out through his clenched teeth. 

With his vision released of the sight of you on your knees, his mind was free to give the hot wetness on his cock another name, and he instead imagined that it was your pussy he was shoving into, gripping him nice and tight. 

He felt his quirk stirring underneath the pleasure; every vein in his body warmed at the mere thought of shoving into you raw, and until that very moment he hadn’t itched to break through his constraints like he did now, hadn’t wanted to be free of them so he could wrestle you to the floor and fuck you like he needed to. 

You were doing something particularly creative with your tongue on the underside of his cock, and a full body shudder brought him back to present. He watched you in your task: your eyes were shut tight in concentration, your brows furrowed as you struggled to accept his dick while it rammed against the back of your throat. Even your hand’s grip on his cock was a little tighter, he noticed appreciatively. 

It would have been fucking fantastic: a real goddamn sight to see that he might have honestly applauded you for later—if he wasn’t suddenly so absurdly enraptured with his fantasies. 

Dabi wanted more. Something deeper and hotter, something to bury his cock into and relish the velvety grip, something he could ravage and fuck away the ache in his body—

The thought of pounding his dick inside of you suddenly encompassed all other thought; it wasn’t a notion his frenzied mind would let remain as a fantasy. He wanted nothing else. Your mouth on his cock, your throat curdling around him, choking on him in a way that made his legs shake...

It was all insufficient now. He needed to be inside of you. As soon as fucking possible. 

“Shit,” he spat out. It was a curse different from the others, not breathed on arousal, but frustration. 

You looked up at him, and read him to be just as disgruntled as he sounded. 

“This ain’t doin’ it,” he said, and slowed his thrusting hips, which was a more hard-fought task to complete than he imagined; he may have been getting greedy with his fantasies, but his cock was still more than happy to use your mouth as a warm sleeve.

When you slipped off, you must have been giving him one of those dumb looks he hated, because he frowned. 

“You hear me?”

You nodded, licking the wetness from your lips as you caught your breath. You were lightheaded. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, and you swore you would smell the smoky salt of his skin on you for days. But now there was more? 

The heat pooling in your thighs demanded your attention again, and you fidgeted on your sore knees. “Well... what do you want me to do–”

“Sit on it.”

You gawked at him. “Sit on it?” 

That got him smirking just a little, his tongue peeking out to wet dried lips as he slowly panted. He cocked his head. 

“Worried it won’t fit?”

Your body surged with wild ambition. “That’s not it, but—”

“Bet you’re nice and tight, but you can work it in. I’d offer to stretch you open a little, but my hands are tied.” He flexed his fingers and arms in his binds for show, then grinned to see how flustered his words made you. “Besides, looked like you were enjoyin’ yourself. I’m sure you’re wet enough.”

God why couldn’t he shut up and let you think for a second? The teasing was horribly nauseating; his voice even worse, spoken with his smirk seeped into it. You realized the very sound of it would probably make you shiver now in all the wrong ways after this, even in casual conversation. 

“I… don’t have condoms,” you said by way of reply. 

He shrugged, the gesture lacking his usual languor now that he’d been worked up without release. “Me neither. They’re annoying.” 

He noticed you were frowning at him, and scoffed. “What, not on the pill?” He didn’t wait for a response; maybe that was the heat making him forgo on better judgment. “Well, guess it’s a good thing they got me pinned down, then. You’re free to pull off when I’m about to bust.”

The way in which he spoke it made your stomach queasy, and the first true lick of doubt ruined your mood as you stood up. “Fine. Just… tell me before you’re about to.”

He grunted in response, inwardly absorbed with impatience. 

You took off your bottoms and pushed your panties—yes, very wet, you confirmed—down, then hiked a leg over and climbed somewhat clumsily onto the chair.  

Only when you’d awkwardly positioned yourself over him did you notice that his eyes were fixated down below, where your hands steadily worked his dick against you. A raspy sigh passed his lips, and it was then you noticed his body teeming with eager spasms. 

Awkwardly, you sank down onto him, staring between you two the whole time and watching his thick length press tightly inside. 

The binds on his feet jabbed sharply against his ankles as they shuffled for leverage, desperate to rut up into the tight heat that welcomed him—but your legs resting on his thighs kept the movement to nothing but shallow thrusts. 

Whatever this fucking quirk was had a ridiculous effect on his sensitivity. You felt good—fucking amazing, even—though he couldn’t decide if that was just the quirk deluding him into thinking your cunt was the best he’d ever had, or if it really was: if you really were just that fucking incredible. 

Normally he would have managed that with stilled hips and practiced control; just sat back and enjoyed the ride. But shit it took a monumental effort not to fuck up into you, especially with how damn... slow you were going. 

Your pussy was gripping him so nicely, and that tight look on your face as you seated yourself onto his lap, accepting him fully and staggering from the size of him, was thrilling. But when you finally started to move your hips, you were going about it so cautiously, so boringly, that his patience all but thinned in a matter of seconds. 

“Could you go any slower?” he muttered. 

The words guilted you. “I thought it might… hurt?” you explained.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not in pain, dumbass. I need to cum. Which ain’t gonna happen if you keep this up.” He shuffled his legs, widening them so he could better press up into you. The pressure made him grunt, and you shiver. “C’mon, you were putting on a real good show before. Ride me like you mean it. I know you can.”

And there it was again, the words and the voice that threw repose out the window and made you all the more eager to see this through. 

With arms linked around his neck you started to roll your hips. He didn’t seem to mind the contact, helpful as it was in balancing yourself on his lap. 

You weren’t entirely surprised when the first sighs and grunts came from your own lips. Every time you thought a new angle of your hips or a quick thrust of his own had finally hit that one pleasurable spot inside, you would sink down harder on his cock and gasp when his thickness dragged over another. 

It made you go faster, turned the fluid rolling of your hips into quick grinding, then finally when you’d adjusted to his size, a steady bouncing on his cock. 

“Fuck yes...” he muttered, then moaned low, licking his lips; that was what he needed, feeling you sink down over and over, lifting yourself a little higher each time then dropping so hastily that his hips started jutting up to meet you. 

“Shit.” Lolling his head back he breathed heavily, deeply. “Ah shit...”

It encouraged you to circle your hips with every motion, which garnered a throaty growl in response. A string of curses under his breath accompanied it, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, keeping careful of his staples, and moaned along with him. 

Only when you started getting noisier did you think of anything except what you two were doing: what if Shigaraki or Kurogiri were to come back now? What if any of the others decided to waltz in? 

You bit your lip to keep your next few moans low, but you swore Dabi must have had a sixth sense for your timidity, and didn’t at all appreciate the way you were holding back. 

He shifted his hips on the chair in a precise motion, and suddenly his cockhead shoved against the right spot over and over again as you bounced on top of him. All your logical thoughts were fucked into the back burner immediately.

All you could hear was your own panting and the slap of your thighs against his. He would give his heedy approval in an occasional growl or moan, rasping it against your ear. It made you shiver uncontrollably. 

You lost rhythm soon enough and took to grinding again, the chair scraping along the floor beneath you. His thick cock drove you crazy, until you were panting and moaning and whining. If that wasn’t enough to signal an orgasm, he could feel it, could feel your pussy gripping him in a desperate flutter. 

“Oi,” he got your attention, turning his head, his breath thin at your cheek, “You serious? Are you actually gonna–”

And you did, legs stretching and contracting, tightening around his thighs as you came hard. He cursed and dipped his head low when you squeezed around him, panting through the ridiculously good pressure on his cock. 

Your body jerked and shivered in any way it could, anything to expel the white-hot pleasure that shot up your spine and then back down again. You couldn’t breathe, shaking on top of him so violently he was sure you were going to keel over at any second and start convulsing on the floor. 

“Hey shithead,” he snapped after he’d let your shivers die down. Using what little leverage his tied legs allowed him, he pushed his shoes off the floor, bouncing you impatiently in his lap and jarring you back to awareness. You gasped in hypersensitivity, his cock digging against you.

“I’m flattered you like my dick that much,” he went on, your body languid and slouched against him. The heat was nearing again; his cock twitched miserably inside of you, desperate for release and so damn close to getting it. “But you’re not the one in need of attention here, in case you forgot. Keep it up. I’m close.” 

With a moan you pushed yourself up, sucking in breaths of renewal through parted lips. Legs tensing and aching, you tried your best to grind on him again, but the task left you oversensitive. 

He needed to finish, you reminded yourself. He needed to cum, like he’d said. You were sure, so blissfully sure you might be rewarded with more of his unhinged reactions that you forced your muscles to be ignorant to their ache, and started to ride him in earnest.

That was when you noticed it: the heat wracking you wasn’t just your own, it was his. His skin too hot, too hot to be normal, furnace-warm to the touch. 

You lifted your head from his shoulder and peered over at him. His eyes were screwed shut, his lips pulled back into a tense snarl. Perspiration dewed on the portions of his untainted skin, dampened his brows and fell in droplets along his temple. 

You felt his body heating rapidly against yours—the clothes keeping your skin apart might as well have been paper-thin. His chest, rising desperately with heavy pants, was concerningly feverish. He felt it too. 

Fuck, he thought. Not fucking now. 

“Damn it—” he sputtered out, body going suddenly rigid, craning his neck away from you. “Move,” he warned you.

“What—”

“Move your damn head—”

Just as you did, your eyes stretched in shock as flames broke out from his jawline. Their angry blue reflected threateningly in your eyes, made you come to a shivering slow on his cock as the dry heat blistered out over your skin. 

The fire was out in a second, forcefully extinguished with his frustrated grunt; smoke puttered out from beneath his staples instead. He breathed out an angry sigh from the effort of combating his own quirk.

You hesitated to put your hand out and touch him, hovering over his face. “Dabi, your skin—”

“Shut up it’s fine,” he breathed raggedly, turning his head away from you. When was the last time that had happened? Fuck. He made himself believe it was just the quirk. Just the quirk. And not you. Not because you felt so fucking good. 

His legs jolted up in desperation to make you move on top of him. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop—shit—I’m almost there—”

You didn’t know whether to be frightened or exhilarated by the display of fire, but you were moving again regardless, bouncing on his lap for all you were worth until your legs were begging for mercy and your lungs ached. 

He sucked in tight breaths through his teeth, then exhaled them as gravelly moans. You pressed against him, arms wrapped about his frame, ignoring his sweltering skin and abandoning any fear that his quirk might disobey his control again. You bit your lip and whined excitedly when you felt him bow his head against your shoulder and pant heavily against the clothed skin there. 

The heat was fucking blinding now. And it was loud: a numbing and seductive beat in his chest that made his heart stutter to keep up. Every slam of your hips down onto him, and every one of his thrusts up into you in turn, made the heat louder, ache more, and burn.

“Now,” he grit out against your ear, body seizing in warning. In his enclosed binds, his fingers clenched into fists, so hard that the joints popped in protest.  

A whine in your throat was the response. You were ignorant to much else except the wetness making a mess of your thighs, of his searing skin against you and his belt buckle digging harshly into your legs. 

“Right now,” he sputtered hurriedly, hips rising from the seat. All he could do was shove up into you once, violent and hard, digging his way as deep as he could as his balls went tight and fiery pleasure raced up his body. “Right fuckin’ now move, I’m gonna—goddamnit… fuck!” 

He wasn’t prepared for the way you slammed your hips down as you came again with a cry. He stiffened hard, body bowing down into yours as much as the restraints allowed, shoving his face into your neck.

“Holy fuck,” he gasped out, “fuck—” You shivered wildly around him and in an instant he was cumming hard, legs jolting in their restraints, shaking under your thighs. 

“Fuck!” he shouted again, the exclamation muffled against your skin. “Motherfucker—fuck—” His voice puttered off into a series of strained, frantic groans. Unthinking and delirious on pleasure, he closed his mouth around the soft flesh of your neck and bit hard. 

You gasped, tried to wriggle free, but his hips were desperately snapping up into you, effectively throwing off your balance. 

Your hips hadn’t stopped their determination either. They had a mind of their own, rutting fast to squeeze him dry. All the while, he growled hotly against your skin, teeth leaving deep marks, sucking blemishes into the flesh despite all restraint that told him otherwise. 

After the last, hard spurts inside of you, he sank back into the chair, utterly wasted. Little spasms harassed his body and made him shiver weakly. Only his mouth persevered, teeth still digging into the soft flesh of your shoulder.

The pleasure ebbed into raw sensation, and you could feel the marks his incisors left in you, the heated metal of his staples singeing you.

“Dabi,” you stuttered out, a shaky hand coming to push at his forehead in protest. 

It shook him back to reality. He brought his dizzy head back to look at you through hooded eyes, then down at the wound he’d left on your neck. 

Shit, he thought fleetingly, but not very regrettably. That was gonna bruise. 

He put his head back against the chair and heaved, shutting his eyes to dispel the lightheadedness. 

“Told you... to get off,” he muttered. 

You knew it was a mistake you would dwell on later, but you could barely move now, let alone think. 

When you shifted your legs, wanting to move and put some blood back into your limbs, it set off a chain reaction of oversensitive-pleasure; dwindling sparks went off inside you and you shuddered, making him jerk and grunt in tandem. 

“Don’t move,” he chided, his head still bent to the ceiling. “Just gimme a minute... Fuck...” he breathed. “You fuckin’...” He shook his head, in disbelief of the pleasure, even more so that you’d been the one to give it to him.

Then he thought: he wouldn’t need to conjure up fantasies of you anymore when he was getting himself off. He could go by memory now. 

Once he’d regained partial composure, he shifted, glad to find his dick was going limp—fucking finally—inside of you. 

“You got a way to take care of that?” he asked, leaning back and looking down at the wet mess between both your thighs. 

You blinked, hazy. “What?”

“I’m not tryna knock you up just ‘cause you’re too horny to listen,” he said disdainfully. “You on the pill? Gotta get one of those morning-afters otherwise–”

“It’s fine.” You nodded. “Don’t worry.”

It was easier said than done, he thought to himself sourly. But he was having trouble thinking of much else besides how fucking fantastic it was to feel the arousal leaving him in blissful waves.

He took a heavy breath. “Now get off and get me outta this shit.”

“But you might still be…” You wriggled a little on top of him, felt him soft inside of you. It was uncomfortable, but even if you’d wanted to move, your muscles were spent. “What if you’re still… ”

“Still what? Still horny? Bet you’d like that, wouldn't you?”

You wouldn’t let the comment fluster you, and obeyed as a way to prove him wrong, slowly lifting yourself off of him. The ache of your insides as he slipped out was raw and hot and wet, but unmistakably satisfying.

“Let me out,” he demanded again. “Now.”

“I told you I don’t have the key.”

He sighed in frustration, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then go get Kurogiri. Go get someone. And at least be nice enough to cover me up. Don’t want my dick hanging out.”

It was shiny, wet, and red from stimulation. When you went to tuck it back in his pants, it twitched.

“Oi, clean it first,” he snapped.

You glanced around. “With?”

“Whatever the hell’s lying around. Shirt, rag, your mouth.” He scoffed when you put on a frown. “Don’t give me that look. This is your mess on my dick, ya know.”

With barely contained insolence you went down shakily on your knees, ready to go about the particularly humiliating task, when he laughed dryly under his breath. 

“You’re a real slut,” he muttered, looking down on you with a cheeky smirk, “aren’t you?”

That guaranteed your spite, and you stood up just as quickly as you’d gone down, then nudged his still-messy dick into his pants and zipped them closed. 

“Oi, oi—” The wetness squished uncomfortably underneath the fabric and he shifted awkwardly, glaring at you. “You fuckin’ serious?”

“You’ll be fine,” you muttered, turning away from him in search of your clothes, hiding an indulgent smile. 

As you redressed, he sneered and pulled at his bindings. “Don’t get smart with me.”

“Or what?” 

You were too exhausted to wrangle with his temper, or your own self-preservation; you knew it was a dangerous game to tease him. But you couldn’t help it. Your mind was foggy, your body teeming with giddy pleasure. Not to mention, you were free. He wasn’t. And that was remarkably funny. 

Now he was scowling. “You little shit. Letting it all go to your head now, huh?” When you didn’t answer, when he caught a flash of your teasing smile, his frustration started to run rampant. “Not gonna be so funny when I’m out of this shit—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

In response, he just glowered, and despite the front you were trying to put up, it threw an excited shiver down your spine. You were perilously tempted to egg him on, but decided against it.

You pulled your shoes back on and breathed, looking at him with something that resembled soft smugness. “I’ll go find Kurogiri.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ better,” he muttered under his breath, keeping his critical eye-contact with you up until the very moment you disappeared out of his line of vision. 

When he heard your footsteps finally dwindle down an adjacent hall, he let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back. “Fuck.”

The quirk had gone, the heat and arousal with it. 

But what hadn’t gone were the thoughts of you. 

Angry thoughts, confusing thoughts, and most of all, intriguing thoughts.

[archived-kin]

one thousand and one nights with you (is not enough to spend)

note from kin: the title is from that song in twisted by starkid, but that’s about as far as the similarity goes

anyway you’re visionless and basically run a little witch shop in mondstadt, with flowers and cool gemstones and mysterious powders and potions and stuff. albedo gets a lot of his alchemy ingredients from you (also he’s dating you but not a lot of people know that)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn! reader, albedo, plus a surprise venti cameo

pairing(s): albedo/reader

warning(s): i don’t know albedo that well so he might be ooc? also this is so cheesy it’s a little ridiculous

genre: fluff

“I’ll be going now, boss!”

You smile and return your assistant’s cheery goodbye wave as he disappears off into the night outside, freshly-filled coin pouch jingling at his hip. As the door swings shut with quiet click, your surroundings fall into quietude.

The candles keeping the room lit are beginning to burn down to stumps, throwing most of your shelves into shadow. You take a sip from the steaming cup sitting on your counter, then stand up to begin taking inventory and closing up shop.

The silence is comforting after such a long day. You’re not entirely sure what brought on the sudden increase in customers, given that your shop is tucked away in a quiet little corner of Mondstadt that not many tend to linger around. That had been a deliberate choice, and so was the lack of advertising - your speciality is the individual, not the crowd.

Still, you can’t say that it isn’t nice to have the increased income. More profit means better wages for your assisstant - and more Mora to buy even more cool things to stock.

You pass about an hour ambling around your shop, rearranging your products and making sure that everything is in order. Then, just as the bat-shaped clock on the wall chimes one o’clock, the bell above the front door jingles, and you hear quiet footsteps enter.

You don’t pay it any mind at first, instead focusing on rearranging the little bottles of various dusts and extracts on one of the ingredients shelves. A hand settles on the small of your back, and you feel the new arrival’s presence come to a stop beside you.

“We’re out of powdered lizard tail,” You say without looking at him.

A pause. Then a quiet chuckle. “That’s how you want to start the night?”

You smirk. “The night started a good while ago, darling.”

Albedo sighs as you turn to face him, though his soft smile betrays his faux-exasperation. “I did tell you I’d be late today.”

“You tell me that you’ll be late every day,” You reply, sliding one final bottle of powdered crystalfly into place, then move over to sit on your front counter. He follows, settling just beside you.

“I have a lot of things that need attending to,” He shrugs, leaning over and snatching your drink without asking. You shake your head, but let him take a sip from it anyway.

His eyes flicker up to look at you over the rim of the mug. “...though, of course, you’re the most important one.”

You laugh and bat at his shoulder. He doesn’t make any effort to avoid it, eyes twinkling as you smile. “Why not come round more often if I’m so important, huh?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t if I could?” He asks with a scoff, setting down the mug and gently nudging you in the side. “We both have jobs, [Name]. We need to actually do them.”

“Oh, I know that,” You return his nudge and hop down from the counter again. Albedo sighs a little at your restlessness, but follows as you swipe the keys from your drawer and open the door again. “But it doesn’t hurt to take a day off every now and then.”

“I’ve already taken far more in the last month than is reasonable,” Albedo says with a shake of his head, stepping out into the street at your indication and waiting as you shut and lock the door. “Grandmaster Jean will get suspicious.”

“Psh,” You dismiss, waving a whimsical hand about and nearly knocking the sign off of your door. “Why is it that you’re not telling her about us, again?”

“She doesn’t exactly like you,” He says, absently linking his hand with yours as the two of you begin walking aimlessly in no direction in particular. He’s removed his gloves, you notice. “You did set up shop without permission when you first got here.”

“Ah, right…” Now that you think about it, you seem to remember her shooting you a rather nasty look when you passed her in the street last week. Why she continues to hold a grudge is lost on you - after all, you did get the necessary documentation and everything eventually… though, to be fair, the method you used wasn’t exactly legal. “...well, forget her.  What do you want to do tonight?”

“Hmm,” He swings your linked hands about for a moment. “I saw a lot of dandelions growing just outside the walls earlier. Why don’t we go pick some seeds?”

“If you want to pick dandelion seeds, why not ask Sucrose?” You ask as he begins leading you in the direction of the main gate. “She’s the one with the Anemo vision.”

“Sucrose?” Albedo repeats, turning his head to look at you. His irises almost seem to glow in the darkness of the night, brighter than any of the stars above - it’d be unsettling if it wasn’t so beautiful. “Why would I want to go seed-picking with her?”

You raise an eyebrow. “...well, I’m assuming you need them for an experiment, and Anemo-blown sunflower seeds are always far more effective in that area.”

“If I needed them for an experiment, I’d just buy them from your shop,” He shakes his head. “This isn’t an ingredient hunt. This is different - it’s special.”

“Special how?” You question as the two of you walk through the gate. Albedo guides you over to a particularly thick cluster of dandelions just a few feet away, nestled in a lush copse of grass.

“Special… like you.” He cups both his hands around one of yours, the one that he’d been holding just before, and guides it over to one of the tallest plants. “Go on, show me that trick again.”

You laugh a little at his almost childish inflection, but do as he requests anyway. Albedo pulls his hands away from yours and watches as you carefully pluck off the head of the dandelion without disturbing any of its fluff-topped seeds, allowing it to rest on the tips of your fingers.

“There’s no trick to having a delicate hand,” You say as he watches your every move with the utmost concentration. “It just takes practice.”

Carefully securing the little bit of stem left at the bottom of the dandelion head between your index finger and thumb, you slowly raise your hand so that it’s suspended just above Albedo; he ducks his head a little, closing his eyes as you bring up your other hand to ever-so-gently flick the seeds from the head. The seeds drift about in the still night air for a brief moment before landing in Albedo’s blonde hair; their white colour is barely distinguishable against it.

He opens his eyes again as you pull your hands down again, lifting his head slowly so as not to disturb the little decorations you’ve added to it. “...so what did you grant me this time?”

“A good night’s sleep,” You say playfully. “As the seeds are carried away on the wind, so too will all your worldly burdens be blown away.”

He shakes his head, and several seeds are dislodged by the motion, vanishing quickly into the night. “If only it were that easy.”

“Hey, it worked last time,” You counter, sitting down in the grass. Albedo follows suit, reaching out and plucking a dandelion of his own - though with a lot less deftness than you did.

“That wasn’t the dandelions,” He says plainly, blowing lightly on the dandelion and watching the fluff disperse and disappear into the dark. “I just sleep more soundly when you’re beside me.”

You chuckle. “Sweet talker. So you’d sleep like a baby if I was around all the time, then?”

“Perhaps I would half the time,” He answers, smiling in a way that tells you that he knows exactly how sappy what he’s about to say is. “But I wouldn’t sleep nearly as well for the other half. I’d be too busy looking at you.”

Despite already knowing that it was coming, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter slightly at his proclamation. “I could say the same about. Bet you’ve broken a good few hearts with looks like that.”

“Then so be it,” He shrugs, eye-lids falling a little as he gives you a devilish little smirk. “Yours is the only one I care about.”

“When did you get so charming?” You flick him in the nose, effectively wiping off the smug look on his face. “Have you been studying love poems or something?”

“Love poems aren’t really my area,” He says, drawing back and rubbing at his nose a little reproachfully. “But Lisa and Kaeya have been giving me plenty of tips on my… 'romantic endeavours’, as they say.”

“Those two…” You shake your head. Kaeya and Lisa managed to find about your relationship with Albedo almost as soon as he’d confessed to you, though luckily they’d agreed to try not to mention it around Jean. “Have those tips been working?”

“Isn’t that a question for you to answer?” He picks another dandelion and blows it directly at you. “Is your heart being stirred?”

“Not while you’re blowing seeds into my face, it isn’t,” You shield yourself with one hand, pushing it in front of Albedo’s face to obscure his field of vision. “Quit it!”

He does drop the dandelion at your request, but, unusually, doesn’t give you a verbal response. You’re just thinking that he must be planning something when he suddenly leans forward and kisses the centre of your palm.

You immediately pull your hand back, feeling yourself heat up. Albedo leans forward, cocking his head to the side with a smile. “What about now?”

“You’re insufferable,” is your only reply.

Albedo’s smile turns into another smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m yours.”

“Mine, now? How nice,” You say, still trying to act unbothered. You can tell it isn’t working, though.  “Am I allowed to get a refund if you don’t work as expected?”

“Would you ever want to return me?” Albedo counters. You can’t exactly say yes - that’s both mean and untrue -  so you just sigh and shake your head. He smiles, clearly pleased.

You’re about to say something else when you hear a series of uneven footsteps coming from the gate. It doesn’t sound like a Knight of Favonius on patrol - in fact, it sounds more like a drunkard.

Albedo shuffles a little closer to you as a figure stumbles out of the gates. It’s someone you vaguely recognise by their green clothes - the bard who often plays in front of the statue of Barbatos. He’s holding a bottle that’s already half-empty, and you have a feeling that he’s already had a lot more before it.

The bard looks over at you and Albedo, and while you doubt he can recognise your faces what with both the darkness and the distance, it’s obvious enough that the two of you aren’t just a pair of good buddies hanging out. He raises the bottle in your direction with a hiccup.

“Wonderful night to meet a lover!” He calls, voice ringing so loudly that you’re sure that he just woke up a few residents of the city. “May your relationship last long as the wind blows!”

He doesn’t wait for a response before beginning to stumble his way across the bridge. As he goes, he exclaims to no one in particular, “The air is crisp tonight! Such good wine - what a wonderful city!”

He quickly disappears into the darkness. You exchange looks with Albedo. “...how much do you think he drank?”

“Far too much,” He replies amusedly. “He’ll regret it come morning.”

“And it isn’t too far off now,” You say, checking your pocket watch. “Will you be heading back to headquarters tonight?”

He considers, then shakes his head. “I don’t have anything that’ll need attention tomorrow morning. So, if you’ll have me…”

He doesn’t finish, but you already know what he’s asking. “There’s always room for you to stay over - you should know that by now, shouldn’t you?”

He smiles a little bashfully at that, and nods. “I suppose so… thank you.”

“You might as well move in at this point,” You comment, shifting slightly on the spot and patting at his arm. He holds his hand out obligingly, and you thread your fingers through his. “You’ve left at least three sets of pyjamas over already.”

Albedo opens his mouth to respond, and you shake your head, placing the index finger of your free hand to his lips to shush him. “Yeah, yeah, I got it, Grandmaster Jean’ll get suspicious…”

He blows on your finger to get you to retract it. When that doesn’t work, he pretends to bite at it, which is a lot more effective. “...I will tell her eventually. Just not now.”

“While you’re on the rocks,” You say with a nod, squeezing his hand. He sighs and nods as well. “But I still don’t think she’d fire you over who you’re dating.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t want to get any more on her bad side,” He mumbles. “She’s still annoyed about that floor I melted.”

“Didn’t you tell her that I was the one who made you drop the potion?” You ask, thinking back to that particular day - when you’d learnt that Albedo is very susceptible to your flirting when he’s in the middle of an experiment.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me tattling. Besides, it isn’t like she punished me.”

“Well, you’re basically untouchable at the end of the day,” You comment, lying back in the grass and pulling Albedo with you. “It’s them who need you, not the other way around.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” He says, adjusting himself so that the two of you are pressed flush against each other. “If I hadn’t started working for them, we’d never have met.”

“We would have crossed paths eventually,” You say, smiling coyly when he turns his head to face you. “Though better sooner than later, I suppose.”

“Far better sooner,” He says, returning your smile with a much softer one. “I’m glad we did.”

Another dandelion seed drifts out of his hair and lands in the grass as you look at him. You'll be keeping this one for a long time, you decide. Probably forever. You like him.

You think he likes you, too.

[harryspet]

For your holiday darkfics, I'd like to request an angel reader/demon Steve, with "Your soul is mine", "Oh, did someone get lonely?", and "Remind me why I can't kill the carolers?" -🐇

your soul is mine | steve rogers 

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, demon!steve x angel!reader, noncon, kidnapping

a/n: this was a lot of fun, i hope you enjoy!

In which you’re an angel and a demon named Steve Rogers owns your soul. 

word count: 1.6k 

taglist: @buckysbunny @cherienymphe @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose

A darkness wrapped around you, invading your dream state. You went from imagining a shining sun over a meadow, running with your brothers and sisters to a setting sun and scorched earth. Your eyes snapped open and you found your captor looking at you from across the room. 

“Oh, did someone get lonely?” Steve noticed how you were curled up in your bed, hugging a book and pillow tightly. You sat up quickly, pushing the book to the side and your hair from your face, “You could hold me at night if you wished.”

You had to admit that the body that Steve was inhabiting was quite handsome. He probably chose someone strong and handsome, knowing how far it would get him in the real world. Still, the blonde hair didn’t quite match those black eyes. 

“I’d never be able to sleep with you so close to me,” You said, distaste in your tone, “And you’d probably be miserable showing any ounce of affection.”

Steve smirked, “Who said anything about affection? I imagine sinful things when I think of lying next to you, darling. Rough …. cruel, ungodly things. Your devout leader wouldn’t let you back into his gates after what I’d do to you-”

You looked away, “Stop it, please. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I know, I know, I won’t get a rise out of you. I’ve been torturing angels for two hundred years and I’ve never made one raise their voice. Even if I’m sawing off their little wings, they won’t say a cruel word towards me … it’s quite infuriating.”

You couldn’t help but imagine that pain, like your soul being torn from your body. 

“If I’m no different than the rest then I’m not sure why you keep me around,” Unexpectedly, you saw his smirk falter. He’d been stoic for your entire kidnapping but your words had struck a chord in his empty heart. 

“Your soul is mine,” He said, “And, sadly, that’s worth quite a lot so I have to get a good use out of you. Speaking of, get up and get dinner ready.”

He snapped his finger and the chain connected to the bed frame detached from the collar around your neck. The sigil engraved into the metal was a kind of angel trap which kept you tethered to the house and your powers at bay. You frowned, “You said you’d give me a break for the Holidays.”

“You know better to trust a Demon, I shouldn’t have to explain that,” Steve spoke, sound amused, “And I’ve decided that I want to get into the holiday spirit and it’s in your best interest to be merry and jolly just like me. Up, up, up.”

You stood up from the bed, your white dress falling down to your ankles, and you made your way past him. He followed you down the hallway and to the stairs. The home was old and gothic, decked out in antiques. As you made your way down the stairs, you realized why he was following. 

The house was decorated in red and green, fairy lights, and even a Christmas tree, “So? Do you feel like a human again?”

You didn’t answer immediately as you admired everything. It reminded you of a time that was very far away, “It’s beautiful,” He sensed your hesitance as you worried this was all an elaborate trick, “Why?”

Steve shrugged, “I wanted to see what the excitement was all about.”

“And do you feel it? The holiday spirit?”

He smiled, ignoring your question “I feel like I could go for a delicious Christmas Eve dinner. Get to work.”

+

You were intently listening to the cascade of angelic of voices coming from outside the door. Looking out the living room, you saw them walking along the sidewalk and singing The Little Drummer Boy. 

“Remind me why I can’t kill the carolers?” Steve asked from his chair as he stared down the burning fire. You’d finish dinner moments ago and had resigned to the living room.

“Just let one beautiful thing exist, please,” You looked at them longingly, wishing you could feel the snow, and sing the lord’s praises. Surprisingly, Steve didn’t immediately respond. A while passed and the voices of the carolers faded away and so did your peace. 

He snapped his fingers and you were out of your trance. You turned to face him, his hellish eyes burning holes into your skin, “Let’s play a game, angel,” He smiled. 

“A game?” At first, your thoughts were innocent. You imagined a board game or cards but those thoughts didn’t last long, “I’d rather not.”

“I’m sure you’d rather keep your wings as well.”

You crossed your arms, “Fine.”

“Good girl,” He smirked, “How about a simple game of Truth or Dare?”

“... Do I get to ask you questions too?” Steve’s eyes narrowed at you, “It’s only fair.”

“Right, it’s only fair. Come, sit,” He beckoned you over and you assumed he wanted you to sit on the couch but he stopped you, “No, here, on your knees.”

You paused, trying to swallow your fear. You stepped in front of him before moving down to your knees. You imagined that he wanted to maintain your power imbalance. He couldn’t have you feeling any sort of pride when you asked him truth or dare. 

“Truth or Dare, angel?” He asked, leaning forward, his eyes on your collar. 

“Truth,” You answered, looking up at him.

“Are you waiting for a particular, little boy angel or girl angel to come and save you?”

You tried to hide the emotion in your eyes, “No … not one that you haven’t already killed.” You couldn’t look at his smile without tears brimming in your eyes. He opened his mouth, probably to say something hurtful but you interrupted, “Your turn. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.” 

“Why haven’t you killed me?”

He hesitated which you hadn’t expected. Demons weren’t known for having feelings, Satan had tortured it out of all of them, but you thought you saw a glimpse of something in his eyes, “I enjoy watching you break every day. Usually, I get quite bored of angels after a while. Not you.”

“But-”

“Your turn. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth.”

“You can’t say Truth twice.”

“I’ve never heard of such a rule.”

“I just made it up,” Steve grinned, “Now, what’s a good dare for an angel? I dare you to … kiss me.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “No, please, anything else.”

Your words angered him, “You could kiss something else of mine-”

“Steve…” You tried to plead with your big doe eyes, “I know you think I’m different than the others … I’m not.”

He leaned forward, his hand grabbing your face, and you shut your eyes tightly, “You are. I can see something you cannot,” Warmth spread through your body and you felt waves of darkness and violent pictures in your mind, “Kiss me. I won’t ask again.”

Shaking, you leaned forward, your eyes blinking open. Steve had closed his eyes, waiting for your lips to touch his. His fingers touched your neck and hair. Your lips were soft against his, despite how stiff you were from the nervousness. Steve stroked your cheek with his thumb as he slowly moved his lips against yours. 

He heard you whimper and his anger began to grow. The kiss deepened, and Steve got more rough as he explored your mouth. You grabbed his arm, trying to pull away, and Steve felt the light inside you only for a moment before it was stomped out. 

When you roughly pulled away, Steve knew he’d sunk his talons into you. Your eyes were dark, the light fading away, as you were overcome with emotions. You fell back on your elbows, breathing heavily, before you wiped your mouth, “What … what did you do?”

“You don’t know what happens when you kiss a demon?” Steve turned his head, looking down at you curiously. 

You scrambled away, getting to your feet, though you felt a bit lightheaded, “Y-You took my light …,” You breathed out, “No more games. Stay … please don’t touch me.”

Steve stood up, his shadow draping over you, and you stepped back, “I didn’t take it,” Steve chuckled, “I destroyed it, darling. You’ve been here in purgatory for months, you’re incredibly weak, and you won’t survive with all that good inside you. You need me.”

“I’d rather die.”

“I’d rather keep you around,” You turned to run but he grabbed you by your upper arm, pulling you into him, “Destroying that purity… fucking that darkness into you, that’s what I want.”

That winter night, Steve held you down in front of the burning fireplace. He tasted you in unthinkable ways, giving you a pleasure you’d never experienced, dipping his fingers inside of you. It hurt and you screamed but that feeling didn’t last long. He took his time making sure you were a moaning mess and, by the time, he entered you, you were a wet chasm wanting to be filled. 

He’d thrust into you deeply and watch how your eyes grew darker and darker. You tried holding onto whatever good things you could and, because it was your nature, you still wished for him to be saved. 

Your body was still writhing when he collapsed beside you. You had nothing left to say, feeling great shame for letting a demon pleasure you. “You’ll thank me later … for helping you.” Still, he carried you up to bed that night, leaving so you could sleep without the nightmares his touch would bring. 

Before you closed your eyes, you realized he hadn’t connected the chain on your collar to the bed. Though a dark cloud now surrounded your heart, you thought that maybe some of your light had sunk into him. 

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (15 - Alt Ending)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x dark!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha and Wanda refuse to leave without you.

Warnings: dark themes, gun mentions, threatened suicide, manipulation

A/N: never expected to write this despite it being highly requested, but with me being stuck with Particular Taste and in the mood to write some angst, I ended up doing it. I’m still down to write angst, so I may do another Sad Song Sunday, but I’ll let you know.

Original part 15

-

“You worried us, printsessa, disappearing like that,” Natasha addresses you in a chilling tone as the two of them stop a few feet away from you. “And we’ll deal with that later, after you tell Wesley to come out so we can punish him first.”

“He’s not here,” you tell her calmly. “His only job was to bring me here--”

“And take the tracker out of your leg, which we will be putting back,” Wanda interjects with a stern expression. “Now you can either come with us to the car willingly or we’ll drag you.”

“I won’t be doing either of those things.” You stand slowly, lifting the gun to your temple as you go. “Your only choices are to leave me here and go back to the way your lives were before I came in, or you can let me die. If you take me again, I’ll just fight you every day until you wish you’d killed me yourself. No matter how you manipulate my mind, my true self will never love someone who wants to control me. I’ll tell you how much I hate you for ruining my life every second I’m able, and I’ll kill myself the moment I get the chance to do so.”

You notice the glassy look in their eyes as they face each other, and you knew they were having a silent conversation in their minds. Seconds feel like minutes as they seem to discuss their options, eventually turning back to face you. Wanda is fully crying now, and Natasha seems to be physically holding back her own emotional break.

“Please don’t do this, printsessa,” Wanda chokes out with a cautious step forward. “We just want you to come home.”

“What’s home to you is a prison to me.”

“But it didn’t always feel like prison, right? Remember those days we’d bake together, and watch your favorite movies all day?”

“Or that time we took you to Coney Island for a week straight because you couldn’t get enough of it?” Natasha added and you sighed.

“You don’t get it, do you? I was obsessed with those Coney Island trips because it was the only time you didn’t make me feel like a kid that would get lost if I wandered too far! The only time I felt like an actual human instead of a fucking meat puppet!”

“The moment we decided to trust you a little, you abandoned us!” Natasha yells so loudly that Wanda even flinches. “We’re in Nebraska right now because you couldn’t stand being a good girl and waiting for us to get home!”

“You left me with a fucking babysitter, Natasha! It doesn’t matter that it was someone I actually wanted around. You installed cameras and tried to bug Wesley and me. You put a tracker in my leg! If you trusted me, why did you go through so much to make sure I couldn’t leave? You can’t say that you love me and treat me like you don’t.”

“I’m so sorry.” Wanda’s voice comes out in a whisper as she steps forward again, and you watch her eyes for any hints of red. “I never meant to make you feel so cornered, but you have to understand that I’m an Avenger. I’ve seen what enemies are out there and at one point I was one, so I just wanted to do what I could to make sure you never ended up in the wrong hands.”

“She’s right,” Natasha chimes in, clearing her throat as a single tear slips down her cheek. “I know what lengths some people will go to hurt the loved ones of the other side because I used to do that exact thing. I’d let the world end before I let any harm come to either of you, and I guess I went a little overboard with protecting you because Wanda has a bit of an advantage.”

“I know I’ll never understand what it’s like to do what you do, and to live with your pasts…” You take a deep breath as you feel a lump forming in your throat, and the hand holding the gun to your head begins to shake. “But I do know what love is supposed to feel like, and it’s not this. I shouldn’t have to worry about setting you off because I didn’t agree with something, or waking up from a week-long mind trance because you didn’t want me to fight back.”

“How about we start over?” Natasha offers, glancing at Wanda and turning back to you once she nods. “No trackers, restraints, babysitters or manipulation. Just us getting to know you and vice versa, and hopefully rebuilding the love you once felt for us.”

“Please.” Wanda gives a pointed look toward the gun still pressed against your temple. “I know how upsetting this already must be for you, so please. Let us help you make it better. Let us fix this and hopefully have an even better relationship in the future.”

“We love you, and we agree that we should’ve gone about this in a healthier way. Please give us the chance to make this right.”

“And you promise there will be no more tricks?” you ask, and Wanda nods as two more tears make an appearance.

“Cross my heart--”

“--and hope to die.”

You stand there for what feels like minutes, your gaze bouncing between the two women in front of you, hoping to gauge their level of sincerity on expressions alone. As much as you didn’t trust them because of everything they’d done before, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a part of you that missed those happier moments, and wouldn’t mind starting over to create more. Perhaps it was worth a shot, if they were truly serious about not messing with your mind anymore.

“Okay,” you finally answer, and you notice the relief appear on their faces. “If you’re serious about starting over and doing this the right way, I’ll give this a chance. But you’re going to have to wait a long time before I start to trust you.”

Wanda grins at the two of you as Natasha approaches you cautiously, and you place the gun on the chair behind you before allowing her to pull you into a hug that you melt into surprisingly fast. Your other girlfriend joins the embrace, and her ecstatic giggle is the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

-

“Y/N/N...hey wake up!”

You jump up suddenly, nearly bumping into the person standing above you. After a few moments of blinking to adjust to the bright sunlight, you turn your head to see your cousin sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Wesley?!” you gasp as he grins in acknowledgement. “What are you doing here and why do you look like shit?”

“You know, I’m gonna let that go because it’s your wedding day, but I’ll get you back later.”

“Wait, my what?”

“Jesus, did you hit your head or something?”

“Feels like it,” you grumble as your eyes close for a moment.

“Bachelorette party must’ve been crazy.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” You sigh and face him again as your eyes open. “Did you have a crazy night too or did you come here all bruised up?”

“I got into a pretty bad accident a little while ago,” he answers after a few moments of silence. “I guess I didn’t tell you about it because I didn’t want you to worry, but I probably should’ve said something when I got the invitation in the mail. Which reminds me, it’s time for you to get ready.”

He stands up slowly with the help of a cane beside him and limps out of the room, and a chill washes over you as the door closes behind him. You move to run your hands over your face and pause as you feel a cool metal bump against your nose, and you lower your hands to see a ring on the appropriate finger.

Of course it made sense considering--according to Wesley--you were getting married today, and the ring is exactly what you would want, but it just doesn’t make sense how you got here. As you move onto the bathroom and begin showering, you get hit with flashes of moments with Natasha and Wanda that include the moment they proposed, but it feels a bit more like watching a movie than a memory should. Still, there’s a warm feeling in your chest as you come to terms with the fact that you’re marrying two people that have been so good to you since your relationship was formed.

“Come in!” you respond to a knock on your door as you slip on a robe, smiling as Pepper enters the room holding what seemed to be a dry cleaner’s bag and a small jewelry box.

“Hey there, just bringing your dress.” She drapes it carefully over the end of the bed and faces you while holding the box out to you. “And your almost wives wanted you to wear this.”

You take the object from her and lift the top off, gasping as a necklace is revealed. It consists of a simple silver chain, but the pendant has a spider with a prominent red gem that almost seems to glow as the sunlight makes contact with it.

“Need some help?”

You nod with an appreciative smile as you hand her the necklace and turn around, feeling your smile widen as the cool pendant touches your warm skin. Your fingers run over the spider while you wait for Pepper to secure the chain around your neck, and you face her when she pulls away.

“Thank you. Wait!” you call out as she turns to leave. “I just have to ask...Do you think going through with this wedding is a smart idea?”

“Well, I haven’t been around the three of you much, but I’ve seen the way Natasha and Wanda react whenever you’re mentioned. It’s equivalent to someone finding out they won the lottery, honestly. I also know how much time and effort they put into making this house as safe as possible to put their minds at ease about you while they’re away on missions. In my opinion, I think you’re in good hands here, but I’m also not there for the little things. I’d recommend just listening to what your heart tells you.”

You thank her before she leaves the room, letting her words echo in your mind for a bit before moving to get ready for the ceremony. The dress, you quickly discover, is an exact replica of one you’d seen in a magazine that you loved so much you saved it in a scrapbook for years. How you’d managed to track it down, you had no idea, but the questioning thoughts seemed to fade away a bit once you realized how amazing it felt to be finally wearing it.

“How do you feel?” Wesley asks once you reach the bottom of the stairs, and you loop your arm through his free one as he leads you to the back yard.

“If I’m being honest, I’m super nervous about all this. Everything’s felt like a weird coma dream since the moment I opened my eyes.”

“Hey, you’re about to spend the rest of your life with Natasha and Wanda,” he reminds you quietly, and your gaze shifts away from his joyous expression to the small crowd that begins to stand upon your arrival and Natasha and Wanda smiling at you from the end of the flowery path. 

“It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

-

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