#b) try and fuck with the fabric of the universe AGAIN

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 19: Daddy Issues

Summary: Your pack is back home, but things aren't quite as good as you try to make them seem. Some truths get revealed, while others remain in the dark.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,337 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, angst, PTSD, flashbacks, nightmares, '09 Ghost's backstory, mentioned abuse/child abuse, still pretty heavy emotionally, language, finally some of the comfort after the hurt, plenty of fluff

A/N: This stupid fic making me cry again. I may have lied about this one not being quite as heavy as the others...it's still pretty heavy, but there are some sweet moments in there too. There is a bit of a time jump in the middle, it's roughly a week long or so. Not much, but it does cut ahead a bit just for the sake of plot and moving things along. Also yeah, I got it done earlier than expected.

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You’re warm. Sweat has begun to form in the creases of your body. You’re wrapped around something solid, something contributing to the intense warmth. The smell of leather and eucalyptus fills your nose as you nuzzle your face against soft fabric. It sends a shiver down your spine despite the heat, your eyes fluttering open. You’re staring at a blurry mass of black fabric, your brain beginning to catch up as you become more and more aware. 

Leather. Eucalyptus. Something distinctly alpha. 

Fuck. 

You’re spooning Ghost. 

He has to be asleep, otherwise he would never let you get so close to him. He would have shoved you off, pushed you back towards Johnny, who you’ve traded places with in the middle of the night. You must have gotten too hot sandwiched between the two betas and tried to escape somewhere cooler. That led to you spooning with Ghost, not that he’s much cooler than the betas. 

You can get away before he wakes up, remove yourself from his personal space before he realizes and forces you away. Avoid the shame and embarrassment of his rejection, his anger at you for crossing that boundary, even just in your sleep. Despite the fact you know that boundary is there, despite the fact you did it unintentionally, you’re not sure you could handle such a rejection right now, even from him. 

You slowly begin to withdraw your arm from around his middle, sliding it back towards your body. If you go slow enough, you should be able to untangle yourself from around him without waking him and avoid a confrontation. 

A quiet gasp is pulled from your lips as his hand wraps around your wrist, keeping you from moving. 

“Don’t.” He says quietly. 

Your heart is thudding in your chest as he tugs your arm back around him, keeping you where you are. Your exhale is shaky as you slowly relax, pressing your face against his back again. You’re not sure what to do. You were expecting him to push you away, get up in disgust and leave because you got too close, you pushed past the barrier he had placed around himself when it came to you. A barrier that got let down only while you’re training, then it’s put right back up as soon as you’re finished. Now here you are, spooning him after sleeping in the same room, the same nest. 

You wouldn’t have taken him for being a little spoon type. 

Your eyes begin to droop again as you lay there, breathing in Ghost’s scent. It’s like a comforting blanket, lulling you into a sense of relaxation, of safety, something you haven’t felt in days. For the first time your mind is quiet, not panicking about what happened, or what could happen. You don’t have to worry about your pack now, because they’re here with you again. 

You drift off to sleep again for a while, sleeping soundly in the cocoon of safety your pack has provided for you. 

You wake a while later, sticky with sweat. Your back is pressed against Ghost’s, and there’s something draped across your face. You push it away, blinking your eyes open. Johnny has starfished across the nest on his back, his mouth open as he snores. He’s stolen your bear, one arm holding it against his chest, and the other arm had been what was draped across your face. Kyle is curled up on his other side, having moved from the middle to the far side of the nest. John is missing, making your brows furrow. 

You push yourself up to sit, the air in the room almost like a sauna. You rub your eyes, trying to blink away the sleepiness. That might have been the best sleep you’ve gotten since your heat. It was likely the exhaustion taking its toll, paired with your brain finally being able to relax while surrounded by your pack.

You feel like you could lay down and sleep for another ten hours. 

You’re warm, though, sweat causing your clothes to stick to your skin. The blankets have all been kicked to the end of the mattresses, likely ditched early on in the night. You wiggle out of your sweatpants, kicking them off the end of the mattress as well, leaving you in a baggy shirt that you think is Johnny’s. 

You feel suddenly exposed sitting there, your eyes flicking around the room as a chill runs down your spine. John would have noticed if something was out of place, but he could have just brushed it off as you in his room. He had given you permission to be in his space while he was gone, if you needed to. One of them would have noticed if things were out of place in their rooms. Ghost would likely notice, since you haven’t been in his room at all. 

You lay back down on your back, staring up at the vent on the ceiling. The cover is in place, and no matter how hard you look, you can’t see a camera hiding in the gaps. It doesn’t ease your worry any as you stare up at it, wishing you had your phone so you could at least try to look for one. Though, perhaps it was better you didn’t have your phone with you. You hadn’t been brave enough to pop it open and look for anything strange hidden inside, though you wouldn’t even know where to begin to look, or what to look for. 

You should tell them. What if someone is watching you right now? 

You flinch as John appears in the doorway suddenly, five water bottles tucked against his chest. Your skin is crawling from the thought of someone watching, someone listening in on such a private moment with you and your pack. You hadn’t even thought about it last night, the stress and your fear had taken over your mind. You push yourself back up to sit as John passes Ghost a water bottle, handing one to you as well. You unscrew the cap as John places the other bottles on his desk. Johnny and Kyle still asleep, unaware of the world. 

Unaware of the danger. 

A cold shiver slips down your spine as you gulp down the water. What if someone had entered the barracks last night? You weren’t in your room, and the door wasn’t locked. Anyone could have just walked in and put up cameras again easily. 

One of the guys would have heard someone snooping around, right? You were so out of it you likely would have slept through one of them getting up. What if they were also so exhausted from their deployment they could have slept through someone breaching their space as well. Did Ghost lock the door last night? You can’t remember. 

“Alright, sweetheart?” 

Your head snaps up to where John is leaning against his desk. His brows are slightly furrowed as he stares at you, and you realize you’ve been projecting your scent. With them gone, you didn't have to worry as much. You could stink up a room without a care. It just meant more protection for you. Now that they’re back, though, you have to be more careful. You can’t just go panicking over nothing, not that you should have to panic while they’re here. 

That’s their job, right? Protect the omega? 

They can’t protect you if they don’t know there’s a threat in the first place. 

“Yeah.” You say, gulping down more water to think up an excuse quickly. “Thought I might be dreaming for a moment, that you didn't really come back.” 

John approaches you slowly, kneeling down on the end of the mattress with a quiet sigh. He has to be sore after their deployment. You can tell just by the way he’s holding his shoulders, by the stiffness in the way he moves. You can’t even begin to imagine the kinds of things they did, the kinds of things they went through over the last week. 

John takes your hand, pressing it against his chest. He’s warm underneath the shirt, and you can feel the steady beating of his heart under your palm. “We’re real.” He says, his thumb gently stroking the back of your hand as he holds it against his chest. “We’re really here.” 

You stare at his hand where it covers yours. You’ve seen it before, many times. Scarred and rough with calluses. His knuckles are dry and just slightly bruised. Did he punch someone? Or maybe he hit it against something else. 

His hand moves, snapping you out of your thoughts. You fight the urge to flinch as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin. “You’re thinking too much.” 

You swallow thickly. “Well, I didn’t have much to do this last week besides think.” 

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “We’ll try to make life more interesting for you, then.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s get these two muppets up for breakfast.” 

He pushes himself back up to stand, staring down at Johnny and Kyle, still sleeping. You shift onto your hands and knees, crawling over to Johnny before swinging a leg over to straddle his stomach. You lean forward, planting your hands on either side of his face, his breath catching as he begins to wake up, sensing a disturbance. You stare down at him, watching his eyes flutter before they crack open. The haze of sleep leaves his blue eyes, clarity coming back to him quickly as his lips begin to lift in a grin as he stares up at you. 

“Didnae expect tae wake up to such a sight.” He says, voice thick with sleep as his hands come to rest on your bare thighs. “A beautiful woman on top of me? I must’ve died and gone tae heaven in my sleep.” 

“Even better,” You say, leaning down closer. “Because I’m real.” 

“That ye are.” He says, slowly dragging his hands up your legs, pushing the shirt up as he goes. 

Ghost pushes himself off the mattress, leaving the room so quickly he nearly knocks his shoulder against the doorframe. A frown pulls at your brows as you watch him go, slowly pushing yourself back up to sit on Johnny’s stomach. Guilt starts to well up in you as you stare at the empty doorway. You hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. 

“Don’t mind him, kitten.” Johnny says, pushing himself up to sit, sliding you backwards into his lap. “He’s still miffed he didn’t get a greetin’ yesterday.” 

“Oh,” You say, blinking in surprise. You hadn’t even thought about greeting Ghost in that moment. You had been so desperate for your alpha, and then swept up by the betas, it hadn’t even crossed your mind to acknowledge Ghost. “I didn’t-” 

“It’s not yer fault.” Johnny says, wrapping his arms around you. “He hasnae been the most...open with ye. It’s his own damn fault for it.” 

“Oh, well, I’ll be sure to give him a big hug when he comes back in.” You say. 

“Please do.” Kyle says, rubbing his eyes where he’s laying next to you. “I’ll pay to see his reaction.” 

All three of you burst out laughing, Johnny pressing his forehead against yours. “Missed ye, kitten.” 

“Not as much as I missed you.” You say, pouting. 

Johnny chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. His hands slide to your hips as he presses another soft kiss to your lips, and then another. 

“Let me get in on some of that.” Kyle says, pushing himself up to sit. He grips your chin in his hand, turning your face to his before pressing his lips to yours. 

His kiss takes your breath away, deeper and more passionate than Johnny’s had been. You hum against his lips as Johnny’s grip on your waist tightens. 

“Christ almighty.” Johnny breathes, staring at you and Kyle as you kiss. 

“Alright, you three.” John says as the air in the room starts to turn musky with arousal. “Let’s feed our omega first before we get too carried away.” 

Kyle pulls away from you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“Can we...eat in here again?” You ask, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s shoulders as you turn slightly to look up at John. You had almost forgotten about his presence, caught up in the attention from your betas. The thought of him watching the three of you has a different kind of thrill racing down your spine. 

“Of course.” John says, bending down to kiss you. 

Both Johnny and Kyle groan at the sight of their pack alpha kissing you, Johnny’s cock twitching in his boxers beneath you. You press a kiss to Johnny’s cheek after John pulls away from you before pushing yourself up to stand. You stretch your arms over your head, the shirt riding up a bit, giving both Kyle and Johnny a good view of your legs. The musky scent of arousal intensifies in the air as they stare at you, Johnny licking his lips hungrily. 

“Alright, get out of here you cheeky little minx, otherwise they’ll never get out of bed.” John says, gently guiding you from the room. 

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you leave John’s room, stepping out into the hallway. It’s much cooler outside of the room, goosebumps forming on your legs. You have half a mind to go back to your own room, but you find yourself unable to even approach the door. Memories of the fear and your panic come flooding back, the thought that someone might have snuck inside, someone might be waiting for you in there snapping to the front of your mind. It’s a ridiculous thought. Someone would have noticed if there was an intruder, if there was someone who shouldn’t be inside creeping around. 

Your gaze flickers from your door as Ghost makes his way down the hallway, his clothes changed from what he’d been wearing to sleep in. You bite your lip as you stare at him, meeting his gaze. Perhaps it's the fear driving you forward, or maybe you’ve gone slightly crazy in their absence, but you find yourself approaching him, making him stop in his tracks. 

He eyes you as you approach, your steps quick as you try to avoid chickening out. Your mind is repeating Johnny’s words over and over in your head, an explanation for Ghost’s behavior yesterday, and obvious annoyance at you and Johnny this morning. You wonder if he’ll take it as a threat as you get closer to him, if he might snap and defend himself. He’s completely still, not even his chest moving. He’s watching you like a predator watches its prey, waiting for your next move. 

It’s like hugging a tree as you wrap your arms around his waist. He’s stiffer than a board as you hug him, resting your face on his chest. Leather and eucalyptus and musk all float around you as you press close to him, his scent enveloping you in a hug, even if his body doesn’t follow suit. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice rumbling deep in his chest. 

“Hugging you.” You say, tightening your hold around him. You’ve been this close to him before in your training, but this feels different. “I’m sorry for not greeting you on the tarmac. I wasn’t really thinking clearly at that point.” 

He lets out a quiet sigh, something you probably wouldn’t have noticed if you weren’t so close to him. You can imagine it’s a sigh of exasperation at Johnny for spilling about his feelings. “It’s fine.” He says, awkwardly patting your back. “Don’t know why you would have wanted to.” 

“Well, you are part of the pack.” You say. “That should be enough reason.” 

You nuzzle your face against his chest, his scent going straight to the back of your brain. Your omega wants to roll in it, cover herself in it until it’s all you can smell. The intensity of his scent has something in your hindbrain purring, the sound rumbling through your chest. 

Ghost puts his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back from him. You blink up at him blearily as your mind begins to clear a bit with the distance. “At least put some pants on before you completely lose it.” He grumbles. 

A small smile tugs at your lips before it falls at the thought of having to go into your room. You turn to face the door, your vision almost tunneling as you stare at it. You don’t want to open it. You don’t want to go in there. 

“Ghost?” You say quietly before he can walk away. 

He turns to look at you, his eyes squinting just slightly as he frowns. “What?” 

“Will you...will you open my door for me?” You shift your weight, knowing he’s going to want a reason, an explanation for your behavior. 

He turns fully to face you, shoulders squared as he slowly approaches, suddenly on the defensive. “What is it?” 

You shake your head. “Just a feeling.” 

He steps between you and the door, wrapping his fingers around the handle before he swings it open, scanning the inside. His shoulders relax just slightly and you let out a breath of air. There’s no one inside. No one’s waiting for you. No one broke in last night. 

He takes a step back before turning to you. “Nothing.” 

You let out a sigh of relief, staring into the space that was once your nest, your safe place. You can feel Ghost’s eyes on you, waiting for an explanation for your behavior. You can’t tell him the truth, despite how easy it would be. You could confess right now, admit to what happened, what you did, the mistake you made. You could drop to your knees right now, beg for forgiveness for what you did. 

“It was hard...while everyone was gone.” You say. It’s not a lie. Not entirely. “Made me uneasy, being alone here. Kept thinking I was hearing things.” 

He doesn’t believe you. You can see it in his eyes. He knows your lying, he knows you’re withholding the truth from him. You aren’t, you just aren’t giving him the whole truth. You had felt lonely, you had been on edge even before General Shepherd arrived and your room was bugged. Being alone was hard. Harder than you thought it would be. It would have taken its toll on you, even without the stress of your space being invaded multiple times. 

You should have told someone. You should have called Dr. Keller right away. You should have never opened the door in the first place. 

“Thank you.” You say, slipping past him and entering your room. 

He stands there for a few breaths, watching you warily as you open your closet, looking for something to wear. You ignore him, acting like he’s not there, but you can’t hide the squaring of your shoulders, the stiffness of your movements. You’re not sure you could resist if he pressed, if he tried to force you to tell him. You’d spill immediately, even without him using his alpha against you. 

The thought has another chill racing down your spine. 

Your omega is on edge as you change with the door open, not caring as the guys move around, getting dressed to head out to grab breakfast for everyone. You hate how inconvenient it must be, but you still don’t think you could handle being in the mess. Not yet. Not so soon. You’ll have to eventually, otherwise they’ll think something is up, happened, and then they’ll start questioning. 

You couldn’t handle an interrogation. Especially not their disappointed and angry faces when you confess to what you did, the mistakes you made, how you allowed someone to walk in so easily. How you left so easily with a stranger. They’d never trust you again. 

They won’t trust you if you keep things from them either. 

They have to know. They have to know General Shepherd came to base and talked to you. They have to know about you meeting their superior while they were away. A high ranking General couldn’t just be on base without someone knowing, and why would he hide it? He had come to check in on your progress and how you were settling in with your pack. He would have included your pack in that questioning as well, right? Besides, there has to be cameras everywhere on base. Someone would have seen you and let them know. 

There’s no way they don’t know about it. 

You stand in the doorway of your bathroom, staring at the cabinet where the broken cameras and recording devices are hidden. They’re broken, you ensured that. They’re hidden away, buried under enough stuff no one could find them unless they were purposefully looking for something. 

You let out a breath, trying to relax as you finish your morning routine. It’s over. There’s nothing that can be done now. All you can do is try to move on, try to mend the fraying bonds with your pack, heal the sense of fear and unease surrounding your safe space. 

Maybe Dr. Keller could help. You could admit everything to her, everything that happened while she was supposed to be watching you. If you had just gone to her office that afternoon, perhaps things would have been different. She would have known, but that wouldn’t have stopped the cameras from being put up. It would have just made it easier for them. Maybe they might have finished the job properly, and you wouldn’t have even known. Even if you had called Dr. Keller, what kind of argument could she have made against a Commanding Officer? 

If you told Dr. Keller now, she’d tell your pack. She’s promised to keep everything between you confidential, but would something like this be an exception? Would she tell your pack anyway because she thinks it’s the best course of action to help you? 

You want to cry. Tears are welling in your eyes as you stare in the mirror. You hardly recognize yourself. You look tired, strung out, sickly almost. Are you not, though? Is that not how you feel? You know omegas can get sick from stress sometimes, if it gets to be too much. You don’t want to get sick. You don’t want to be more of a burden than you’re already being. They have to be so tired after their assignment, and here you are making things harder for them. 

“You alright, love?” 

You jump, letting out a shriek as you whip around to face the door of your room. Your heart is racing as you slap a hand over your mouth, staring wide-eyed at an equally surprised Kyle. You let out a breath, slowly lowering your trembling hand as you try to calm yourself. It’s just Kyle sneaking up on you. Not a stranger. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He says, brows pinching in a frown. 

“‘S okay.” You murmur, turning off the light before leaving the bathroom. “Was lost in thought.” 

“The others left to grab food.” Kyle says. “They’ll be back shortly.” 

You nod, trying hard not to make your trembling too visible, or give any hint at your discomfort. “Okay.” 

You stare at him as he leans against the doorframe. He hasn’t entered your room. He’s still standing in the doorway. The thought has a lump forming in your throat. Your bonds have frayed so much he doesn’t even feel comfortable entering your space anymore. There’s a wall up again, and you’re only forcing it higher and higher. 

“Come on.” He says, holding his hand out to you. “Let’s go to the rec room.” 

You take his offered hand, letting him pull you from your room. The door clicks closed behind you as you let him lead you down the hallway and away from the place that’s become fuel for your nightmares. 

Kyle sits down on the couch, pulling you down on his lap. You wrap your arm around his neck as he wraps his arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth and scent. 

“I’m sorry for startling you.” He says softly, bringing your other hand to his lips so he can press a kiss to your wrist. 

“It’s not your fault.” You say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Been on edge since everyone left.” 

“I bet.” Kyle leans his cheek against the top of your head. “We’re here now. We’re gonna fix that.” 

“What happens when you have to leave again?” You ask. 

“You won’t be alone again, that’s for sure.” A different voice says. 

You nearly jump out of Kyle’s lap as John appears in the doorway of the rec room, Johnny and Ghost right behind him. Kyle’s arms are the only thing keeping you steady as your heart nearly beats out of your chest. You’re not sure how much more you can take, intentionally or unintentionally. 

“I spoke with Kate this morning.” John says as he sets the food he’s carrying on the coffee table. “We’re going to do everything in our power to avoid having you left alone again. At least one of us will be staying behind with you from now on.” 

Your brows pinch a little. Is that why he had been absent from the nest earlier? You’re not quite sure what to feel. On one hand you’re relieved at the thought of not having to be alone again, but on the other hand, you don’t want to disrupt their lives, their jobs. You wonder just how hard he had to fight to even get Kate to agree to something like this. 

You also feel a bit afraid that they know, they figured out what had happened and that’s the reason they don’t trust to leave you alone again. You’ll make another stupid mistake or another risky decision that might cause you actual harm next time. 

Kyle eases you off his lap and onto the couch beside him. Johnny sits on your other side, squishing you between them as a tray is passed into your hands. You don’t feel very hungry as you stare down at the food, but you know after a meager dinner last night, you need to eat. You won’t be doing you or your pack any favors by being hungry. 

It’s quiet in the rec room as you eat. It’s almost eerie how silent it is, aside from the occasional scrape of silverware on the trays. You begin to float back into the time when they were gone, the haunting silence that had settled over the barracks in their absence. Everything had seemed so still, not peaceful, but more like the very walls were holding their breath. 

Perhaps it was in anticipation for what was to come. Perhaps somehow the very walls knew they would be beached, the safety they once promised would be upended. 

Or maybe you’ve just gone crazy. 

You shift forward on the couch, careful not to tip your tray over as you grab the remote from the coffee table, turning the TV on. 

“Finally! I couldnae handle the silence much longer.” Johnny exclaims, letting out a relieved sigh. 

The corners of your lips pull up in a smile as you pass the remote off to him, letting him search for something bearable to watch on early morning TV. You’re glad at least you weren’t alone in your distaste for the silence. You curl up closer to Gaz, reminding yourself that it’s not a dream, that they really are here. They really did come back. 

Now you just have to move on and put the nightmare of what happened behind you. 

As the days pass, things begin to return to normal. The guys start their normal routine of training and running drills almost immediately. To avoid being stuck in the barracks alone, you ask to go with them, blaming it on the distance and your need to be clingy still. At first you were afraid someone would take advantage of the barracks being empty again, but every search has come up empty handed. No more cameras, no more recording devices. 

Whoever it was who planted them must have given up, or perhaps the risk of doing it with the entire pack back on base was too high. 

Despite this fact, you spend the least amount of time in your room as possible. Even when you can’t go to watch them train or run drills, you spend your time in John’s room, or in the rec room. At night you rotate between John, Kyle, and Johnny, opting to sleep with them over spending a night alone in your room. 

As you discussed, you begin seeing Dr. Keller twice a week. You’re not quite sure what she told John to convince him it was necessary, but whatever it was, it hadn’t given away any of your secrets. It probably hadn’t taken much to convince him to say yes, given your current state and his worry about you. 

You know he’s worried. You can see it when he looks at you, like you might snap if he stares too hard. You’ve seen the way his hands twitch when Johnny holds you too tightly or gets too rough in his affection, like he’s worried you might shatter.

It’s reassuring to see the distance has not just affected you. Johnny holds you tighter than he used to, Kyle stands closer to you like he’s trying to fuse you both into one. Even Ghost has started hovering closer, using his hands to steer you and guide you when you’re around others that aren’t part of your pack. 

You’ve started eating in the mess again, knowing you can only avoid it for so long before they’ll start getting suspicious and asking questions. You still feel paranoid, being around the other soldiers on base. You can’t help but be suspicious that it was one of them that planted the cameras, that it was one of them that tried to get into your room that night. Who would willingly breach such sacred ground and invade an omega’s space like that, you couldn’t even begin to guess.  

Sure, some of them still stare at you, but most of them now ignore your existence. You’re no longer a spectacle, not after a few weeks on base, not that you’re a claimed omega now. 

That won’t stop some alphas. 

Going up against your pack, though? That would take one hell of a cocksure alpha. 

Just like the one that invaded your safe space. 

It had to have been an alpha. Sure, that beta soldier had entered the barracks, but to go so far as to put up cameras and try to come back and get into your room? That takes a special kind of audacity, something only an alpha could possess. 

So life has gone back to normal, or at least as normal as it can be after what happened. 

The return to normal hasn’t all been good, though. Your nightmares have returned, coming on quickly as soon as you began to settle into routine again. The real nightmare has passed, so now your mind has to plague itself with nightmares that have already happened. Things that can’t even hurt you anymore. 

You start avoiding sleep again, despite your work with Dr. Keller, too afraid to risk having a nightmare in front of one of them again. The last thing you need is to have to spill about your nightmare. You might not be able to stop and wind up spilling about what happened while they were gone too. 

Unfortunately, things don’t work that way. They never work that way for you. 

Someone is screaming. Your body feels like it’s being constricted by a snake, crushing and painful as you’re clutched desperately against your mother’s chest. She’s the one that’s screaming, the sound hurting your ears. Your face is pressed against her shoulder, into the softness of her sweater. It’s the pink one, the one she made. Her favorite. 

There’s knocking coming from somewhere, a door handle jiggling. It’s locked, but you can hear someone trying to get in, multiple people based on the voices from the other side. You don’t know who it is. You don’t recognize any of them. You can’t even make out what it is their saying, if they’re saying anything at all. The voices sound more like the unintelligible roar of monsters, the ones you used to be afraid of as a child. 

Everything is muted by the blood pulsing in your ears, drowning out everything but the jiggling of the door handle. Someone’s trying to break in. Someone is breaking in. You can make out the thuds against the door, the desperate attempts to get inside, to get to you. 

The arms around you tighten, pressing your face harder into the soft yarn of the sweater. You inhale the familiar scent of brown sugar and vanilla, the scent surrounding you and enveloping you in a sense of safety. Nothing can get you. Nothing can hurt you. 

That’s not true, though. You know it’s not. 

There’s a bang as the door is finally forced open, the screaming getting louder as footsteps enter the room. You’re shaking, trembling in your mother’s arms as she clings to you desperately, just like you used to cling to her when you thought there was a monster under your bed. 

The monsters were real, you realize as you desperately cling to your mother, just as tightly as she’s clinging to you. 

Hands grab at you, claws digging into your skin, tentacles wrapping around your body, trying to pull you from your mother’s grip. You can hear her pleading, begging, screaming at them not to take you, not to separate you. You’ll never see her again if they manage to pull you from her. They’ll take you away, hide you away, keep you from the warm comfort of her embrace. 

You let out a scream of your own as you’re yanked from her grasp, your arms reaching for her as the monsters pull you from the source of your safety and comfort. The last thing you see is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door slams in your face. 

A scream tears from your lips as you’re pulled from sleep suddenly. You’re falling, hitting the tile floor with a thud. Your shoulder cracks against the unforgiving floor, making you yelp. The blanket has tangled around your legs, rendering you immobile from the waist down. 

The frantic pounding of boots on the floor meets your ears, seconds before the four members of your pack are sprinting into the rec room. Their faces look just as frantic as their steps had been, concern laced with fear laced with worry. You hadn’t even realized they’d returned already. They had been at their afternoon drills while you stayed in the rec room watching TV, slowly succumbing to the exhaustion that’s been plaguing you. 

“What is it? What happened?” Kyle asks, moving to step forward but John beats him to it. 

“Fell off the couch.” You say, pushing yourself up to sit, wincing at the pain in your shoulder. There’s tears sliding down your cheeks despite you fighting the remnants of your terror and pain from the nightmare. 

“I think there’s more to it than that.” John says, kneeling down in front of you. 

You want to confess everything. How you haven’t been sleeping well for weeks now since your heat, how you keep having horrible nightmares about your past, what happened while they were away, how the nightmares have returned. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at John, the tears sliding down your cheeks as you give up trying to control them. Guilt plagues you as you stare at the worried face of your alpha. He just wants to help you, he just wants to take care of you, but he can’t if you’re keeping things from him, if you’re lying to his face. 

“I had a nightmare.” You say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You clutch your arm to your chest, trying not to move your shoulder too much. 

John lets out a quiet sigh, his fingers lifting to press against your shoulder, feeling around the joint. You wince as he hits a tender spot, the pain sharp, but not horrible. You’ve certainly felt worse things. 

He turns to the others behind him, all of them staring at you with equally worried looks on their faces. “Get me an ice pack.” He says before turning back to you. 

He lifts you off the floor, placing you back on the couch before untangling the blanket from around your legs. Johnny grabs an ice pack as Kyle moves to sit next to you on the couch, draping his arm across the back, projecting his scent to try and help you relax. John sits on the edge of the coffee table, staring at you. Despite the worry still present on his face, his eyes are sharp. You can’t help but feel like you’re suddenly in an interrogation. They’ve done this before, probably many times, though likely not as gently as they are now. You’re terrified still at the way they shift so easily into the mindset of a soldier. You can’t even imagine what it would be like if they were serious in their interrogation of you. 

“How long have you been having nightmares?” John asks as Johnny takes a seat on the other side of you, passing you the ice pack. 

You press it against your shoulder, trying to keep your thoughts straight. You have to try not to spill anything, try not to confess to all of your sins, all of your stupid mistakes now. Your gaze drops to your lap, avoiding the looks of the two alphas staring at you. Ghost has moved to stand behind John, his arms crossed as he watches the exchange. You can feel the pressure of their gaze, the sharpness of it digging into your skin like knives. 

“A couple weeks.” You admit, unable to even think of a lie. You don’t want to lie now, not with them staring at you so intensely. They’d know. They’d be able to tell before the words even left your mouth. “Since my heat ended.” 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding sleeping?” John asks. 

You wince at his question. Of course he noticed. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been trained to notice weaknesses in others, gauge the capabilities of his men. Of course he’d notice you’re more tired than usual, not sleeping quite as much. He probably even knew all the times you woke up in the night when you slept next to him.  

You nod, still staring at your lap, too afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He breathes, almost sounding upset. 

You’ve made a mistake in keeping this a secret. You regret it as soon as you hear the emotion in his voice. He thinks you don’t trust them, he thinks you don’t trust your alpha. You need to tell him. You need to tell him everything, but the fear keeps you paralyzed. How much more upset will he be when you confess that you kept such a major event from him, from all of them? 

A quiet sob leaves your lips as you sit there, terrified of the reprimanding you’re sure to get. The shame burns hot in you, the reminder that you’ve disappointed them. You’ve let them down and now they won’t even trust you to tell them anything. 

“We’re not mad at you, sweetheart.” Gaz says, shifting his arm so it’s wrapped around your shoulders, his thumb brushing the hand that’s holding the ice pack to your shoulder. Johnny shifts just slightly closer to you, both of the betas projecting their scent around you, trying to cocoon you in their comforting presence. 

“I just want to know why you felt it necessary to hide something like that from us.” John says, his voice softer than it had been before. 

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You find the words spilling out before you can stop them. Maybe it’s the exhaustion or the fear or your brain finally getting tired of holding everything in. This is your moment to let out a little steam, to finally release some of the pressure that’s been building. “My nightmares are nothing compared to the ones you all probably have and it’s stupid and I shouldn’t even be having them, it’s been years since the last time I dreamed like this, and I don’t even know why they’ve come back now.” 

“No nightmares are stupid.” Ghost says, stepping up closer to the coffee table. 

“We’re here to help you.” John says, leaning his elbows on his knees. “We can’t do that if you don’t tell us what’s going on.” 

Guilt burns through you at his words. He’s right. You should be honest with them, tell them everything. They can’t help you, they can’t keep you safe even from the things that plague your mind if they don’t know about them. 

“What are the dreams about?” John asks, blue eyes boring holes into you. 

You feel small under his gaze, like you're a child again, facing down your father after doing something wrong, after making a mistake. You have made a mistake, though. You’re facing the consequences of your mistake right now. 

“The day I left for the institute.” You say quietly, voice hardly more than a whisper but you know they heard you in the silence of the barracks. It feels threatening, like the walls are silently vowing to tell the truth if you don’t. 

Your pack shifts a bit at your words, sharing looks amongst themselves. They have to know what it’s like, or at least heard stories about the trauma of being pulled from your pack to be taken to a strange place, surrounded by others just like you. 

“What happened that day?” Ghost asks, staring down at you. 

You can feel his gaze piercing into you, screaming the silent threat that you’re going to tell them, no matter how long they have to sit here and wait. You don’t have a choice anymore. You have to tell them. 

You’re warm. The ice pack pressed against your forehead does little to soothe the burning under your skin. You’re thirsty, the two empty plastic bottles on your nightstand were not enough to ease the dryness in your mouth. 

Hands shift the ice pack, pressing it against your cheek. Your mother is there, seated next to your bed diligently. She’s crying, tears sliding down her cheeks, quiet sniffles breaking the silence in the house. 

“I’m sorry.” She whispers, bringing your hand to her lips. “I’m so sorry,” She apologizes, as if it’s her fault, as if she brought this onto you. 

She gasps quietly as the door opens, her back stiffening as your father enters. His face is stern, mouth almost twisted with disgust as he stares at you. It feels wrong, having him invade your space. If you’d had the energy, perhaps you would have been brave enough to protest his presence. 

“Come on.” His voice is gruff, worn down from years of smoking and yelling. “Get up.” 

“No, please-” Your mother attempts to reason with him, but he won’t have it. 

“Shut up and sit down.” He snaps at her, and she has no choice but to sit back and be silent. His voice has something tingling in the back of your neck, almost like a warning. There’s nothing you can do, though. You’re far too weak. 

He moves to the side of your bed, grabbing your arm and pulling you up from the comfort of your blankets. The ice pack falls from your head, your skin prickling with warmth almost like it hadn’t been there in the first place. Your brain is sluggish as you try to comprehend what’s happening, your legs giving out as you’re forced upright. You can’t get your body to work, you can’t even force yourself to behave. You want to crawl back under your blankets and lay there for the rest of eternity. 

You whine as you’re dragged from your room, knees knocking on the floor as you attempt to get your feet under you to ease the pain in your shoulder. Your father drags you into the living room, two people you don’t recognize standing next to the front door. 

“Please, please don’t do this!” Your mother pleads with him, right on his heels as he drops you in a heap in front of them. He catches her before she can rush forward to you. How you wish you could have her arms around you again, holding you and comforting you in your confusion. 

“Enough.” Your father snaps at her, looking down at you with disgust. “She’s no daughter of mine.” 

You blink up at him, the words seering through the haze, registering in your foggy mind. Tears gather in your eyes as you stare up at your parents, your siblings watching tensely from the living room as the scene unfolds before them. 

“No, no!” You cry as hands close around your arms, lifting you from the floor. “Mama!” You scream, trying to fight them as you’re pulled from your home, your safe space, your family, your pack. 

Your mother is yelling, fighting against your father’s hold around her, but it’s useless. He’s stronger. He wants this, so no one is going to stop him. She’ll pay later for her actions, her disagreement with him. You won’t be here to see it, though. You’re leaving and you won’t be coming back. 

The last thing you see as the cool air outside washes over your feverish skin is your mother’s grief stricken face before the door closes, locking you out forever. 

You’re dragged into the back of a van parked in the driveway. Two men in uniform climb in behind you before the doors are slammed shut. You curl up in the corner, sobbing uncontrollably. You want your mom, you want to be back in the safety of her arms, the warmth and comforting softness that only she can provide. 

One of the men approaches you, a needle in his hand. You whimper in fear, pressing further back into the corner as he gets closer to you. He forces you down onto your stomach, the pain brief as he injects you with the sedative before he moves back to take his seat. You curl up in a ball, quietly sobbing as the drugs begin to work, your vision going hazy before you’re forced into unconsciousness. 

“I woke up hours later at the institute.” You say, wiping at the tears streaming down your cheeks, but it does little against the cascade of tears falling from your eyes. “Never saw or spoke to my family again. They didn’t even try to reach me, and I know my dad was the reason why. He hated me as soon as I presented.” 

“Fucking hell.” Ghost breathes, hands curled into fists at his sides. You can smell the intensity of his scent above everything, the burning ozone of anger rolling off of him. It makes you wince, even though you know it’s not directed at you. 

“That’s why he wanted to send you so quickly.” Kyle says, his arm tightening around you. 

“How did he get you into FIOT so soon after your presentation?” John asks. 

You shrug your good shoulder. “I don’t know. I didn’t even know he’d be sending me, much less so soon until it was happening.” 

“Christ,” Johnny breathes, gently taking your hand in his. “No wonder yer havin’ nightmares, kitten.” 

“I haven’t had this nightmare since I arrived at the institute. They started there, lasted a few weeks while I adjusted to being there.” You sniffle. “Haven’t had them since, until now. Dr. Keller says it’s because I finally feel safe enough to process the trauma of it happening.” 

John sits up a little straighter. “Is that why she suggested seeing you multiple times a week?” 

You nod. “We’re working on it. I asked her not to tell you, because I did plan on telling you eventually.” 

“I’m glad you told someone, at least,” He says. “And I’m glad you finally told us too. We might not be able to stop the nightmares, but at least now we can help support you in whatever way you need.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” You say, squeezing Johnny’s hand slightly. He was the only one that knew you were having nightmares, but you hadn’t even confessed to him what was going on out of fear he’d tell the others. 

“It’s alright, sweet girl.” John says, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m glad it finally came out and now we can help you.” He wipes the tears from your cheeks, his thumb brushing your skin gently. 

The moment is broken as your stomach growls impatiently. It’s past your normal dinner time, your confession having kept you longer than you thought it would. You hadn’t gotten in your afternoon snack either, your body having chosen to nap instead. 

A small smile tugs at John’s lips. “Hungry, love?” 

You nod. “Yeah. Didn’t get my snack.” 

“We’ll go get some food and bring it here, how does that sound?” He asks. 

You nod. “Yeah. That sounds good.” 

He pushes himself up to stand, his knees cracking as he does. You fight the urge to say something, squeezing Johnny’s hand tightly. 

“I’ll stay.” Ghost says, still looking at you. 

John looks down at you and you meet Ghost’s gaze for a moment before nodding. John presses another kiss to your head, Johnny and Kyle pressing kisses to your cheeks before they get up, leaving the rec room to get dinner for everyone. 

Ghost moves from his spot on the other side of the coffee table, sinking down at the end of the couch. You fight the urge to stare at him in surprise. You’re not sure you’ve seen him sit anywhere but in the chair the entire time you’ve been here. 

It’s silent between the two of you for a few moments, aside from the occasional sniffle from you. You wipe the remaining tears from your face, removing the melted ice pack from your shoulder, tossing it on the coffee table. This feels very familiar to you, this position. You’ve been here before, back when you punched the asshole alpha who insulted you. 

“My dad was a real asshole.” 

You turn your head slightly in surprise when Ghost break’s the silence suddenly. He’s not looking at you, his gaze distant, far away. You know that look well. You’ve seen it on him before, and also on a few omegas at the institute. You’re sure it’s graced your face as well many times. 

“He was a trad alpha, real piece of shit who couldn’t control his anger. Took it out on all of us. My mum, my brother, me.” He scoffs. “Mum took the brunt of it, but Tommy and I faced our fair share of it too. He used to bring dangerous animals home and taunted us with them. Made me kiss a snake once. He did all kinds of horrible things to us.” His voice softens a bit in a way you’ve never heard before. You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, not even when he told you about his own nightmares. “I’ve never wanted an omega, because of the things my dad did to my mum. I never wanted a pack either, but...maybe something deep down in me did because I said yes to this whole experiment.” 

The silence hangs heavy between you for a moment. You’re not sure what to say, or if you can even manage to say anything in response to what he’s just told you. You had no idea what his life was like growing up, except that he was also a purebred. 

“I was always too afraid the cycle would continue, that I’d turn out to be another piece of shit, just like my dad.” He says. 

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit.” You say, your voice cracking a bit. 

He huffs out a breath. “Thanks.” He stares down at the coffee table, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Did your dad ever hit you?” 

You shake your head. “Never directly. He got rough sometimes, grabbing us, squeezing too hard, yanking us around. He never stopped my brothers when they got too rough, though. They liked to wrestle, and I wanted to join because I wanted to spend time with my cooler older brothers. Sometimes they’d forget I was smaller than them and I got hurt a couple times. He never reprimanded them when it happened. I think he enjoyed it more than anything. He mostly just yelled a lot.” 

“Trad alphas only speak the language of yelling and violence.” He says. “If my father wasn’t screaming at us, his fists were getting the message across. Sometimes he’d do both at the same time.” Ghost shakes his head. “Real pieces of shit, trad alphas. Makes me sick, the kinds of things they believe in.” 

“I’m sorry about what happened to you.” You say, fishing for anything to follow up his confession with. Nothing feels right, nothing feels like enough. 

He shrugs. “It happened. It’s in the past. He died a few years ago. Left nothing but a stain behind.” 

“What happened to your mom and brother?” You ask. 

“Tommy got into drugs for a while, but he cleaned up and got married. Mum lives with him now. Still doing well.” He says. 

You’re surprised by his words. You’ve always heard that omegas don’t last long without their alphas. But what if their alpha was an asshole? Is the relief of their death enough to scrub out the grief of losing your alpha? 

You stare at the side of Ghost’s head, your heart thudding in your chest. You feel sorry for him, but at the same time, you’re grateful he shared this with you. You have much more in common than you thought you did with the giant aloof alpha. Maybe, perhaps, this can be a way for the two of you to grow closer, maybe you finally have common ground that you can share with him to get him to open up to you more. You know he wants it. The revelation of his disappointment at your lack of greeting, and the fact he let you hug him is enough to tell you he wants something more with you. It might never breach the realm of romance or even a casual fling, but you can’t deny the bond is there. You can feel it, the tugging in your chest as you look at him, the butterflies in your stomach when he puts a hand on your back to steer you through the crowd in the mess. 

You want him to want you. You want him to open up, to peel the layers back and bare his very soul to you. He’s already started. This confession is the beginning of that kind of bond between you. That he trusts you enough to tell you this makes something flutter in your chest. 

If only he knew you were keeping something worse from him. 

You could tell him. Confess to him right here, right now. Spill it all in this sort of mock confessional, this mock therapy session between you. He’ll be mad, but perhaps after everything that’s transpired today, he’ll be lenient. You’re not sure you could say the same about John, though. 

“Ghost, I-” You start but he cuts you off. 

“Simon.” 

“What?” You breathe, blinking in shock as he turns to face you. 

“My name. It’s Simon.” 

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[cattatoir]

I think I have unpopular Sandman takes bc I'm usually on his side

[ssinboo]

Midnights To Come

summary: After finding campus heartthrob Kim Mingyu absolutely butchering his trousers trying to fix the hole he'd busted in them, you offer his your sewing abilities. As retribution, he thinks that nothing is more fitting than his ultimate mission: getting you laid.

or

You and Mingyu spend an unforgettable night together.

pairing: University!AU - Popular!Mingyu x Unpopular!F!Reader, reader does read on the thicker side? Nothing specific.

word count: 6.8k (30~ minute read)

warnings: protected sex (finally), fingering (F rec), drinking, partying

a/n: Thank you so much for the love <3 This is mostly inspired by Taylor Swift's older music lol I'm starting a new job soon, so I'll be mostly MIA for march and perhaps april TT

Kim Mingyu was the ex-boyfriend of a friend’s friend’s cousin, unforgettably handsome with the sort of beauty that belonged in Hollywood. A very tall glass of gorgeous with an incredible personality to boot, that’s why everyone adored him. He was majoring in business to follow in his father’s footsteps but was a star at football and made sure no one would forget just who was the best lineman on their amateur team. 

And you’d met once or twice, briefly. Definitely not enough for him to come even close to becoming acquainted with your existence, but more than sufficient for him to leave his mark. He was a campus Idol, a guy you admired for his popularity and his way with people.

It was at a senior’s party your friend had dragged you to, that you met again. You were quietly searching for some solace in an empty room upstairs, when you saw him fiddling with his pants – It was hard not to notice his large frame struggling with a pair of jeans in the dark bedroom corner.

Being quite fair, at first you believed he was relieving himself, carnally. That was a puzzling sight as horrifying as it would be— I mean, the man had lines of women throwing themselves to be his, why would he just jerk off?  And then, you noticed the stapler he was using to completely butcher the fabric in a desperate way to fix the large hole. 

“Oh my God, just stop!” You exclaim, not being able to watch such abuse any longer. He was known to wear brand-name goods and just the thought of high quality fabric being assaulted by staples made your skin churn.

You, however, had totally forgotten to announce your presence. 

Mingyu jumps, falling off the bed in a split-second, clashing into the carpet with a thunderous thump. Eyes blown wide like a moose in headlights, he stares at you from his half-down half-on-the-bed position, suddenly, completely aware of his nakedness.

“Oh- Fuck–!” He exclaims, stumbling off the bed and pulling the jeans to cover his brand-name boxers.

“OH!” You also seem to realise how inappropriate it was to simply barge into his intimate moment with the stapler. “I’m sorry!” You yell from behind your palms, eyes tightly shut. 

“...No problem?” It sounds more of a question than anything. I mean, it was the polite thing to say when someone says “I’m sorry” however, there was a problem. 

“Do you need any help?” You ask, still muffled and hidden behind your hands. Mingyu has no idea on how to reply, he is familiar with those words, especially coming from a lady, but this scenario is totally different from the sexy ones he’s accustomed to. “I’m a seamstress,” Your brain urges for an explanation, as to make the situation somewhat less awkward.

He seems to be content with that. “You are?”

“Yes!” You turn around, fishing around your purse for a small sewing kit, pink plastic box with teeny tiny everything. “I have some needles and thread.” 

“Oh, thank God!”

That’s how you find yourself sitting on some stranger’s bed with a half-naked Mingyu – You’re carefully patching up the seams on his jeans while he sits cross-legged with a pillow between his legs. 

Who would’ve known that years into University, your closest call with a boy would be such a weird scenario. Sitting with the campus heartthrob as you stitch up his busted trousers. What a story to tell your friends. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” He breaks the awkward silence, reaching out his hand; He then realises you are occupied and takes it back.

You tell him your name, eyes glued to the intricate detailing on the garment.

“Are you new here?” He asks, curiously studying your face.

“No,” You mutter, holding a needle between your lips so you can inspect your stitches. 

“How come we’ve never met?” 

“We have.”

Mingyu adjusts himself, leaning closer, “No”

“Yes?” 

“No!” 

“You dated my friend’s friend’s cousin,” You explain, though it doesn’t help.

“I’ve dated plenty of friends’ friends’ cousins’,” Mingyu half-chuckles, practically patting himself on the back for that one. 

You roll your eyes, “We met once or twice, nothing major.”

“I would’ve remembered you.” 

“You didn’t,” Laughing, you don’t even notice he’s taken offence to his own forgetfulness.

“I don’t forget a pretty girl,” It is said as a matter of factly, a worldly known truth of sorts.

“You haven’t.” 

“I forgot you, apparently,” Mingyu is more frustrated than you’d expect – Than anyone would expect for such a laid back guy.

“I’m not pretty, though?” 

Oh, he is furious at such a statement, “What?! Of course you are. You are a solid 7.5, no joke, dude.”

A solid seven point five? Wow. Coming from anyone else, that could be taken as an offence, I mean, what about you made them go so high up the scale yet not even give a full number? But you were talking about THE Kim Mingyu.

That not only tickles your ego in the right spot, but does get a good laugh out of you. Mingyu laughs along, not fully grasping the humour of it, but enjoying the sound of your giggles. 

“Thanks,” You smile, pulling out your scissors to clip the last of your thread. “Here, it’s done.” 

He widens his eyes, “So fast?!” 

With a nod, you put everything back in your pocket kit. Mingyu excitedly inspects his trousers and his jaw falls open once he can’t locate where your repairs are. 

“It’s perfect!”

You smile, “Great!” 

“Wow. You are some kind of sewing genius! Thanks! You saved my life”

Mingyu proceeds to rant about how great you are and how amazing your skills are and you should totally work with sewing – you are, and that you should make clothes – you do. All because you are just that good – from a small repair. 

You were happy with just helping him, seeing it as a finished mission, ready to pack up and head home but he would not have that, oh, no. Mingyu was laser focused on repaying your kindness – he said he hates owing people so you had to accept.   His manner of retribution? Partying and maybe, if you got lucky, getting you laid. It was his mission now.

So he dragged you downstairs to meet his inebriated friends, all surprisingly welcoming and not nearly as douchy as you’d expected – Soonyoung was especially keen on having you accompany him on the dance floor. Even drunk, his abilities surpassed any of your own and he absolutely demolished the floor with his intricate choreo. 

Seokmin pulled you from the dance floor to join him on a cheesy karaoke battle, the one feat no man can accomplish being as stone-cold sober as you were. His usually impeccable vocals suffered under the alcohol and strained over high-notes. So you just plucked the first poor soul you saw in the crowd to substitute you as Seokmin’s duet.  

Stumbling through the crowd and away from the karaoke, you finally find Mingyu, giving him “Help me” eyes. He laughs softly at your predicament, stumbling from his friend’s shoulder to wrap his arm around your neck — his exaggerated stature almost sent you crashing down. 

“Come on, no one caught your eye?” He slurs his words, wild tongue running over his pretty lips, classic red solo cup dangerously dangling from his long fingers. You can see from up close the drunken blurriness that glazes his pretty eyes with unhinged impulsiveness.

You chuckle, remembering his goal was to set you up for a “Hot date”. 

“Not at all. But I had fun.” 

“Whaat?!” He whines in frustration, stepping forward so you’re facing each other. His arm is still heavily draped over your shoulders. “You didn’t have fun!” 

“I did!” You argue.

“No…” Mingyu pouts.

“I did! I promise,” Offering him a smile, you await his response. 

“Have a drink with me?” 

God, he was a pro at puppy-dog-eyes. With pouty lips, glistening under the remnants of his drink and sparkling eyes with furrowed brows. 

“I don’t– I don’t drink,” You’re so upset with the idea of disappointing him and his adorable pout though he barely pays it any mind. 

“Then we can do something else! Come on!” 

“No, Mingyu–!” 

But he’s dragging you away from the party, placing the edge of his cup between his teeth so he can snatch his coat from the hangers on his way out. You’re stumbling under his weight and hurried steps, but the night air feels so refreshing after the stuffy frat house you practically forget his intentions. 

The house behind you thumps under the song that blasts through its brick walls, colourful LEDs flashing from open windows. The front yard feels almost completely separate from the party inside, a world apart from the drunk atmosphere that holds the stifling rooms. 

Mingyu drags you toward the pavement and standing before his car, you feel your stomach drop once you see him press the button to open the door. 

“Mingyu– You– You’re drunk. You can’t drive,” You stumble over your words, nervously fidgeting with your clothes, even if you left right now, would he still drive?

“I won’t. You’re sober,” He says as a matter of factly and you hadn’t even considered driving this insanely expensive sports car. 

Mingyu opens the driver’s door and stands there, gesturing for you to get in. A true gentleman. With a relieved breath, you do. 

It’s a convertible – Of course, it is, no other car would fit his personality as well. The chassis is coloured a blinding firetruck red and the rims are a polished silver, it’s so clearly well-maintained you feel nervous about driving it. The leather seats smell so vividly of his cologne, woody and fresh.

Mingyu closes your door and jogs to his seat, he jumps over his door with ease, settling onto the beige leather seat with a soft thump.

“Here’s ignition, turn signals, speed and all that,” He leans over and points to each item. 

“Is it stick?”

“Nah, I had it modified, it’s completely automatic.” 

“Wow, disappointed in you… I thought you’d drive stick like a real man,” You tease, leaning over to check the height for the seat – It’s obviously too far back so you adjust it forward.

“Too busy getting my dick sucked to worry about changin’ gears,” He sticks his tongue between his teeth, leaning back with a proud smile. 

“Oh, god,” You groan, “Should I be touching any surface on this car?”

“Nope.”

You laugh.

After putting on your seatbelt, you look over and notice that of course, he’s not wearing his. With a roll of your eyes, you lean over and pull the seat belt over his chest. Mingyu would’ve flinched had he not been tipsy, his eyes linger on your body over his, how your left hand holds the belt at his chest while your right hand fiddles with the lock. 

And you have such pretty long lashes that flutter along your cheeks as you focus on finding the clip for the belt. A soft furrow between your brows, you’re sighing and biting on your lower lip; He notices the pretty shade of red that you wear.

But you’re already done and it’s clipped on with a satisfying click. 

“Driver’s rules, shotgun shuts his mouth,”  You say before he can protest the safety measures.

You smile so brightly, happily turning back to the wheel, excited over this incredible machine that lays in your hands. More than the alcohol in his bloodstream, your joy is intoxicating.  

And the car comes alive with a satisfying roar, you feel the soft vibrating from the wheel course up your wrists. For you, following the speed limit felt perfect, the wheel turned so smoothly and the pedals felt the perfect height. But the little devil on the passenger’s seat kept egging you on to go faster. 

Caving to his wishes, you take the highway out of town, breezing through asphalt with no sight of other cars. The confidence that such a smooth ride gives is true, you feel yourself steadily increasing the speed much to Mingyu’s satisfaction.

The wind in your hair, caressing your face with the exhilarating night air, the thrilling constant hum of such a potent engine working to your heart’s content. Nothing could beat the constellation of artificial lighting that lit the night scenery, every building held its own collection.

“Where should I go?” You ask, suddenly remembering you’re supposed to have a destination, your eyes absolutely glued to the road. 

“Somewhere nice,” Mingyu hums, thinking for a second.

He leans back, his left hand is carelessly draped over your headrest and you can feel his fingers fidget with your hair so unconsciously. Any of his go-to destinations were made for getting hot and heavy, which wasn’t the goal tonight; He wanted to repay you for helping him out and you hadn’t shown any interest in… other manners of payment. So it left him with only one option. 

“Take a left next turn,” He says, leaning forward to dig through the glovebox. 

Mingyu finds a pair of sunglasses, putting them on despite the very obvious lack of Sunlight. He offers you a spare set, and though you’d love to enjoy wearing Prada sunglasses that probably cost more than your entire net worth, you also enjoy seeing anything on the road. So you push them on top of your head, pushing your hair back. 

Somewhere along the deserted road, Mingyu grabs the AUX cord, connecting it to his phone and going through his very generic musical taste. But the atmosphere is so perfect you can’t help but enjoy the bubblegum pop blasting from the dashboard. You even sing along. 

It’s a comfortable silence, filled with Pop music and laughter. 

You drive for almost an hour under his strict directions, until you reach a dirt road. There’s an alarm blaring in your mind, realising that you’re far from civilization, in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. I mean, serial killers were always described as charismatic, right? 

Making a deal with yourself, you decide that if he does anything even remotely suspicious you’re running the car off the road. You’ll die, but he’ll go with you.

Against your anxiety, however, he tells you to pull up at a clearing just ahead and once you arrive, there’s no doubt on why he chose this place.

From atop this hill, you can see far into the city, its blinding lights nothing but tiny stars on the horizon, the noise pollution of a bustling metropolis is totally gone and replaced by the calming murmurs of nature. Before he can even say anything, you’re leaving the car to admire such a view. 

The moon is full, a pale veil over both of you, standing in the starry sky as the queen, ruling over her stars. The light caressing your body with the warmth of the perfect Summer night.

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, leaning against the hood of his car. 

You can’t help but to briefly admire the picturesque scene he paints with his playboy aura and Hollywoodian beauty, leaning against this straight-out-of-a-movie convertible. He has this side smirk, knowing this breathtaking landscape can’t be topped by any of your past experiences. 

“It’s…” There aren’t words you can find to describe such a view.  “I– Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”

He visibly relaxes, as if he was waiting anxiously for your opinion, “It’s my favourite place.”

“I can see why,” You laugh, joining him, though you have a little trouble stabilising your butt over the hood.

“Everything feels small when I come here,” He explains. 

Turning to face him, your stomach is filled with annoying little butterflies that flutter around and tickle your insides with foolish thoughts. 

His moonlit profile is somehow prettier than his beauty in any other lighting, his perfect nose and high cheekbones and his eyes, God, his eyes. They hold in their dark orbs, all of the stars and worlds, in its ethereal shine. 

You hum, prying your gaze from him before your brain gets any outlandish rushes of dopamine and creates unattainable ideas. 

Mingyu leans back, his lanky body hitting the windshield, his eyes stare up at the stars. At this moment, he wishes he knew constellations from the top of his head, then maybe, he could impress you with his astronomical knowledge. 

“You look like a movie star right now… I feel like I’m in a movie,” Joking, you lean on your elbow, unconsciously following his body with your own. 

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” He asks on a spur of the moment.

You laugh, “When I grow up?”

Mingyu realises what you meant by your question and laughs along, “You know what I meant.”

Though you’re caught aback, there’s not much thinking to be done, “I want to design clothes.”

He hums, “It suits you, I think.” He didn’t know you that well, but it seemed fitting.

You chuckle, “You?”

Mingyu lets out a long sigh, leaning on his elbows to stare up at you, “CEO, I guess.”

“Have you always wanted to be a CEO?”

His lips press into a thin line and he hesitates on how much he should tell, throwing caution into the air, Mingyu decides to open up. “I honestly… Don’t want to.”

You furrow your brows, “Won’t you take over your father’s company?” 

He nods, “That’s what I should do.”

“Then what do you want to be?”

It’s such an innocent question and in all honesty, sort of childish almost? Something you would ask a small child and just agree with whatever they come up with. But it’s something he was never allowed to question.

“I… Don’t think I know.” 

You hum, “You could be an actor,” It’s a bit of a tease as much as it is the truth. 

Mingyu raises an eyebrow, sitting up so he can face you properly. You have this soft smile on your face that holds so much warmth for a stranger like him, it almost feels undeserving. 

“An actor?” He prods. 

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You just have the vibes for it… Living a thousand lives in just one, I think you could play any character really well. Plus, you have the looks. I always told my friends you have a face that belongs in Hollywood.” It comes out so naturally, you barely realise what you’ve said until he’s staring at you. “I– Sorr–”

Mingyu smashes his lips into yours. 

You squeak, but don’t shy away from his plush lips. 

His left hand reaches for your jaw, fingers softly tracing your cheek with certain hesitancy but you lean into his touch so willingly he can’t help the bubbling feeling that comes to life deep in his belly. 

When your lips part, you feel the night breeze caress the parts of your body he touched and you find your body misses his warmth. 

Your brain simply can’t function. 

In your brilliant academic journey, romance had never been an aspect you entertained. You quickly learned at thirteen that a fairytale story only happens to cute girls with nice hair and pretty bodies. And not the one repeatedly being used as the butt-end of a cruel joke. 

Mingyu represented everything you would never have; A popular, rich guy with amazing hair and looks out of this world. And he was nice, too. Took time of his day to hang out with you and to repay what had been an instinctive action; help out someone. 

It could only have been a mistake, right?

Mingyu, noticing the dread that paints your pretty face, can’t help the cold shiver that takes over his body, “I… I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine! I won’t tell anyone.” You reply all too fast.

“What?” He blinks a couple of times, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, I won’t ruin your reputation…”

He practically jumps from the car, standing in front of you, “Say it again.” 

You look up, his towering height has never once been intimidating, until now, “...I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“No, what the fuck do you mean ruin my reputation, why would kissing you ruin it?” His voice possesses such anger you couldn’t even think he was capable of. But you feel yourself getting upset, how long will he torture you with this? Do you need to say with all words how undesirable you are?

“Because no one in their right mind should be seen with a girl like me!” You blurt out, feeling his anger seep into your body.

“A girl like you?” He huffs in disbelief. “A girl that indulged me, was nice to my friends and let me drag her to the middle of nowhere?” Mingyu leans forward, caging your body in between his arms. “ A pretty, kind girl, who helped me without asking anything for it? What kind of girl, tell me.” He orders, his voice in a low, hushed tone that tickles your nose when he speaks.

Speechless, you’re sitting there, face to face with a guy that genuinely shows interest in you, told you you’re pretty for the nth time tonight and has the most kissable lips you’ve seen. 

His jaw is tight with anger, almost as if he’s got a personal vendetta against you self-hatred, but your stupid lustful brain can’t focus on anything but the sharp cut of his jaw, deep veins bulging from tanned skin. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, so quietly you think you hallucinated it. But it’s very much true. 

He looks so irresistible, half-lidded eyes staring at your lips while he bites his own. 

“Please,” you exhale, melting into his body when he leans forward. 

You were never a woman of action, preferring when others make the move, but in this moment you have this newfound confidence, meeting his lips halfway, crashing into a fervorous kiss.

It’s nothing like your first, you feel the heat emanating from his body, scorching hot seeping into your skin, burning every nerve it touches with fervorous want. 

His tongue is in your mouth, anxious and exploring and he is humming against your lips such an intoxicating melody that for a second, you’re a stranded sailor falling for the voice of a siren and dipping into the arms of unimaginable beauty.

Saliva drips from your connected lips but he refuses to end the kiss, no. Because you taste of cherry flavoured hard candies, provocatively luscious with a delicious aftertaste that can only leave you longing for more. 

He parts the kiss, leaning back and practically tearing his varsity jacket from his body. You’re watching closely as he lays it behind you, over the car.

Right hand moving to your waist, Mingyu pushes forward until you’re laying on the hood, so pretty. Your body is still finding his, your chest leaning forward so you can mould into his warmth, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, closer, closer. 

You’re breathless, eyes trained on his every move with such incredulity as if you believed you were in a dream, hallucinating every moment so far. 

He can feel every curve of your body pressing tightly against his. It’s evident the effect you’re having on him, blood boiling in his veins with unadulterated desire.

There has never been a moment in his life where he genuinely cared to go slow, to show his passion and intent; Every partner of his had been as much into the act as he had been. 

But you, you’re so fragile and every moment he spends in your presence feels so ephemeral, he can not help the panic that rushes into his body to make it worth it, to make every second last.

His lips trace along your jaw, saliva coating the path he trails down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. And his lips are so gentle and enticing, with their sugary kisses that you lean into because you’ve never felt something so wonderful. 

He nibbles and kisses on your exposed skin, teeth grazing across the teeniest bit of cleavage showing from your borrowed dress. So far, you had done an amazing job at keeping the sounds he elicited from leaving your lips, however this once, you couldn’t hold the breathy mewl that escapes. 

Mingyu freezes, eyes slowly rising up until they meet your face. 

“Oh my god, do it again,” He huffs against your sensitive skin.

“W-What?” You ask.

“That sound you just did, god, you sound so fucking hot,” And he slurs against your chest. Not because of alcohol, no, he had sobered up on the windy car ride, but intoxicated on the effortless warmth that you exude. 

You lit a flame on his chest that burns incandescently with nothing but greedy lust, burning its way through his body with an unfathomable hunger that could only be satisfied by your sweetest moans. 

He struggles with the buttons that decorate the cleavage of your dress, trying to undo them and seriously questioning his soberness when they do not separate.

“It’s got a zipper,” You admit, but he looks so relieved. 

Mingyu leans back, pulling you by your hand until you crash into his chest and he can finally reach the back of your dress. You’re breathing so heavily against his skin, your soft hands grazing along the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair; He can hardly focus on the task at hand. 

His right hand runs under the skirt of your dress, clawing at your flesh with heavy hands, almost as if he wanted to hold you fully in his touch. Toying with the band of your panties, he sighs, watching your chest heave at the contact.

You pull your dress sleeves off, letting the fabric bundle around your waist, though you can’t be arsed to properly take it off. Mingyu does not mind at all, no, he’s absolutely hypnotised by the sight of your tits.

Shoving his face onto your cleavage, he’s pulling you closer into his body by your hips, sucking love bites on your unblemished skin. Leaving a trace of him that would last longer than your moments together, a mark of momentary possession that allowed his brain to indulge.  

And you’re contaminated with his boldness, clawing at his shirt with relentless anticipation. You suddenly have this peculiar urge to feel his skin on yours, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. 

Mingyu smiles against your skin, finding your hands that touch him fervently, wrapping his fingers around yours. And for a brief moment, you feel as though you might’ve wronged him, but he pulls your hands to wrap around his neck as he finds your lips again while his hands are pulling on the hem of his shirt.

The kiss is only parted once, when he pulls the white shirt above his shoulders and discards it somewhere across the soft grass; completely unimportant at the moment. 

And god, Mingyu is divinely sculpted with defined pecs and hardened abs that tense under your touch. You sigh at the dreamy sight of his tan skin completely exposed for your viewing only. 

He relishes in the adoring look you exhibit, eyes dripping wholly in an exquisite hunger you’ve never felt before; And he coerces this scandalous reaction from you with pride. Your hands are eager to touch him, so you do. You run your fingers down his supple skin, fingernails grazing in teasing lines. 

Smoothing out your hands up his chest, you find his neck and pull him toward your lips, wanting to feel his bare skin on yours, stealing his heat until your bodies are running at the exact same temperature.

His hands, large and calloused from playing professional sports, lay heavy on your thighs. Mingyu pulls at the waistband of your panties and takes a second to lock eyes with you, guaranteeing your approval. 

You can only hope you’ve got the good pair of underwear on. 

But it doesn’t matter, because he pulls it off at once, discarding it above his shoulder to fall somewhere along his shirt. 

Your dress is bunched up around your waist and you should’ve felt more embarrassed to be completely exposed before him but Mingyu looks at you with such reverent eyes, taking every inch of abundant flesh with care. 

“Fuck–” He groans, eyes glued to the spot between your legs. You can’t even close them in an attempt at modesty because he is standing right there and not going anywhere. 

He runs a slender finger across your slit, breathing heavier at the sight of moisture that pools along the lips. 

When you bite your lower lip, unknowingly coquettish and staring at him all bright eyed and pleading, Mingyu let out a strained sound that could barely be classified as a groan. 

“Can I?” 

His finger dances around your slit and he looks unsure. You nod with a soft “Yeah.”

Nothing like anything you’ve felt or done before.

That’s the only way to explain the feeling of having his long finger prodding at your hole with gentle movement. He soon joins another one, stretching you out with delicate scissoring motions, he’s not focused on making you cum, he wants to prepare you for him. 

And that very thought makes your stomach tighten in anticipation. 

You don’t even realise when your hips are thrusting against his hand, matching his pace. And you’re definitely not thinking when you ask in a gasp:

“A… Another one–”

Mingyu stills. 

“You don’t fuckin–” He leans forward, forehead flushed to yours, uneven breath tickling your sensitive lips. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me, babygirl.” 

You feel your body consumed with an unstoppable amount of confidence, knowing the grip you hold over Mingyu at this moment, you’re dizzy with power.

“Show me, then,” The lazy smile that finds your red stained lips is a sight to bear.

He smirks, knowing he will make you eat your words soon. 

As he pulls his fingers from your cunt, there is a thick string of arousal that coats his skin in a sinful glaze. With a confident smirk, Mingyu 

But he doesn’t expect when you lean forward, letting your tongue run all over, cleaning his fingers and tasting first-hand the pleasure he brings you. 

Oh, fucking hell. 

Mingyu could’ve cum right then and there. 

You’re giggling as he fumbles with his belt, he wishes he could’ve stopped to appreciate such a sweet sound, but he was way too horny to think about anything other than plunging his cock into you at once. 

When the night breeze hits his throbbing erection, Mingyu shivers.

You’re chewing on your lower lip, equal parts excited and terrified at his sheer size. He is large. And fat, with bulging veins running down his length and a thick head that’s trickling with pre-cum. 

“Oh my god.” 

Mingyu cowers at your gasp, “What?”

“You’re huge, fuck.” 

Oh, your praise runs straight down to his erection. His chest puffs out with absolute pride.

“Do you have a condom?” It was a silly question when aimed toward Mingyu, of course he did. He always does. 

He fishes out his wallet and pulls a fresh packet, tearing the foil apart with his teeth and pulling the pre-lubed rubber. Mingyu is about to roll it over himself when your hands find his. 

“Can I–?” You ask and he almost sighs. 

He watches you with bated breath. You’re delicate, small hands quietly rolling the condom over his seemingly unending length until you’ve reached the base. Your fingers linger in curiosity and he can’t help but to find it adorable.

Properly protected, Mingyu grasps his length as you position yourself better on the hood, legs wide open, dripping in anticipation. Oh, you couldn’t fault his desire to tease, could you?

Running his tip over and over your drenched core, he groans. You’re clenching around nothing, hands fidgeting with the bunched up fabric of your dress. Mingyu has a stupid confident smirk on his lips, watching you squirm at his minimal touch. 

“Mingyu!” You whine when he brushes against your clit. Reaching your right hand, you claw at his heaving chest. He doesn’t budge, however.

“What?” He plays dumb, toying with your hole. 

“F-Fuck me? Please…?”

Fuck seven point five, you were a ten, a twenty, a one-hundred, no fucking numbers could quantify your allure, no. You could charm your way out of any crime if you pursed your brows and pouted your lips like this, smeared red lipstick painting your soft skin, saliva dripping down your chin so indecently. 

And your hand was still, caressing his stomach, like a succubus ready to pounce and devour him like a five course-meal. Consume him whole, body and soul until he has nothing left to give. He would let you have him, any way you wanted, you just needed to say the word.

Just needed to let his name fall out of your pretty lips in a breathy gasp and he would be at your call. 

Mingyu enters you slowly, stretching out every millimetre of your walls with a burning feeling of fullness.

“Fuck–” He groans, “Relax for me, baby.” 

You take a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as much as your brain allows at the moment and he takes the chance to stretch you out further, hips pistoning forward. 

Mingyu feels the pleasure seep into his body in one fell swoop, dissolving in his bloodstream, filling his lungs with heat. You’re snug around him, clamping down on his sensitive erection, pulsing alive and throbbing. 

“Are you in?” You ask, not risking looking down and disappointing yourself at the remaining length. Mingyu is hovering just inches above you, hand taut on the hood, using every bit of restraint imaginable to not pound you into tomorrow.

“Just a little more,” He breathes out, head coming to rest on the crook of your neck as his hip comes to meet yours.

He allows you a moment to let the stretch lessen, to allow your discomfort to slowly morph into pleasure. And soon, you’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders, his almond eyes have completely surrendered to the dark gaze of lust, devouring you alive with their insatiable hunger. 

“You can move now…” You breathe out, fingers tangling around his silky smooth hair. 

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smiles against your lips, hips finding themselves a languid, slow and torturous pace until you’re begging for more. 

The way his body feels against your is something unforgettably wonderful, every curve of his torso giving into your own, every inch of you filling into the gaps of his in an imperfectly perfect little puzzle.

With every thrust, you’re pulling at the roots of his hair, gaining yourself sharp hisses from Mingyu. Though he enjoys the tugging, leans into your scratching, presents his lips to you with total eagerness.

He fastens his movement, thrusting into you with sheer fervour. His hands are exploring your body, kneading at abundant flesh with excited fingers that leave trails of crescent moons shapes along your skin. 

Out here, in the middle of nowhere, caressed by the breeze and the moonlight, you’re whispering his name in an unanswered prayer, letting the syllables dance around in your tongue before you let them slip away into the starry night sky to be forgotten. 

You’re clenching around him with pleasure, feeling the knot in your belly tighten and tighten. 

“Feels– So good,” Mingyu hisses against your kisses, hips not stuttering even once. 

Brain an absolute mush, you can’t find any words to respond other than strained moans.

“So– Fucking good…” Nuzzling along your jaw, he grazes his teeth on your neck, painting your skin with love bites.

“I–” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He doesn’t even need you to finish your sentence to know what you meant.

“Yeah? Me too– Let go, baby.” 

Digging his hands into your hips, Mingyu hurries his thrusts, hitting your sweet spot again and again until you’re melting in his arms, singing praise of his name with your candied voice and luring him into his own orgasm. 

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a harsh kiss, hips slowing down as he comes undone, tainting the condom with heavy spurts. 

You’re both gasping in complicity, blanketed in the summer night.

Once the condom is discarded, Mingyu lays by your side and pulls you into his heaving chest. You both lay there in comfortable silence, letting the orgasms fade out into strained sleepiness. 

“Will you promise to remember me?” You ask, watching the twinkling stars that lay before you two.

“Where did that come from?” Mingyu chuckles. 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is a soft whisper that dissipates into a shaky, hesitant breath, “Do you promise to remember me?”

He laughs, but your eyes hold such urgency, he can not ignore the human need to sympathise with your woes. “...Why– Why do you say that?”

“Because…” You sigh, “Because I’ll remember you, – this,” Hands vaguely gesturing toward your conjoined bodies, “For the rest of my life… And I’m afraid even a decade from now, you won’t be able to recall my name or what I look like.” 

It’s serious, it’s a concern that has plagued your mind since the moment you laid down. However, Mingyu can only focus on the fact that you’ve assumed the two of you won’t see each other again, ever. 

Leaning forward, his slight smile does nothing to hide the clearly confused look that is plastered across his handsome face, “It’s like you plan to disappear. We’ll see each other again.”

You shake your head, “What are the chances, Mingyu? We’re just… Fleeting seconds in centuries. What are the chances alumni – Not even from the same major, – will meet again?”

“What if we promise to meet?” Oh, he’s absolutely set on it, but you find it adorable; this fervorous intent on defying the hands fate has laid before you.

“Then, what happens when we’re bored of each other?” You chew on your lower lip, but he discards your argument. 

“That might not happen,” He points out.

“We’re too different. It defeats fate to force it,” You sigh.

Mingyu doesn’t have an answer right now, but he’s seeking one with furrowed brows and pouted lips.

“Remember me like this, no wait–” You run your fingers through tangled hair in an attempt to fix the messing he’d done before. “Done. Like this.” You flash a smile, posing your body in the best angle it has, to construct the perfect memory.

But Mingyu sees your flustered cheeks, smeared lipstick that leaves behind a stained trail of hot red over swollen-kissed lips. Sleep hazed eyes that gaze at him with such warmth, that hold a longing he wouldn’t be able to grasp for another decade. You liked him, you truly did. And that’s why you would never allow your memories of him to be tainted by the grasps of time. 

You’d forever remember his dorky smile and dad jokes, his clumsy hands and warmth.

And Mingyu doesn’t realise it yet, but he would forever remember you as someone who marked him forever. To disregard the cards you’re dealt, make your own memories, remember it all fondly. 

Maybe in a couple years, you will have a wild dream about this very moment, a fuzzy memory that leaves behind a nostalgic smile that will follow you for the day, reminding you of this perfect feeling. You’ll look back with wistful thinking of the good days. 

And will keep it close to your heart.

Where it belongs.

You thought about it often the day after, but days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. And a decade later, you found yourself having a dream about the distant memory, and the sweet nostalgic feeling accompanied you throughout your routine. 

After university, you had found a simple job in your area that sufficed the need for experience and filled the empty stop in your resume. Though it was far from fulfilling. There was no creative liberty allowed and you often found yourself overworked and constricted by tight deadlines. 

The dream of your own line had yet to die, however. That’s why you had volunteered for such a demanding gig: designing for a historical movie. Luckily, your resume had allowed you a good position, overseeing the wardrobe and designing the pieces that would be forever captured on film.

The main character, a pretty young thing with curly hair, was extremely excited to work with you and almost cried when she saw the dresses she would be wearing. 

Today, you would be fitting for the lead male role and designing him some characteristic James Dean style clothes. Your assistant led him to your office while you were gathering your materials. 

When you enter the room and you’re met with those gorgeous almond eyes, you can’t help the stupid smile that finds your lips.

“This is the lead actor, Kim Mingyu,” Your assistant explains. 

“Yeah, I know,” You laugh. 

He stands up, a charming smirk plastered on his pretty face, “Hey.”

Your assistant looks at you with a puzzled look, “You know each other?”

Mingyu nods. 

“Yeah, I never forget a pretty face.” 

[aerynwrites]

Cherished

Alpha!Halsin x Omega!afab!Reader

A/N: Had this horny thought in my brain. Wrote it. Here you go. Lol. First time writing for this universe (A/B/O) so i apologize if anything is off - I didn’t lean into it as heavily as I probably could have but I still think you all will enjoy! <3

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY. Smut, PiV Sex, vaginal fingering, making out, semi-rough sex, marking, creampie, unprotected sex, cock warming, implied past abuse (not detailed), reader has trauma, but Halsin is there to help. Love confessions, after care, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort.

The medicinal smell sets a knot of panic bundling in your chest as soon as you open your pack. 

With little grace, the contents are spilled onto the floor of your tent as you upend your bag hastily, shaking the fabric until every last item is before you, and the delicate tinkle of glass fills your ears. 

No, no, no! 

Your mind screams in panic and utter despair as you spot the broken vials peeking out from the green cloth they’re wrapped in, the fabric tinged a darker shade as the solution soaks it. 

You quickly unwrap the precious items, fear ballooning in your throat as tears well up behind your eyes.

It’s gone. All of it. You’re entire supply of suppressing elixirs, soaking into the fabric that was supposed to protect them, rendering the solutions useless. 

Fuck.  

You should have been more careful. But then again, how were you supposed to know a simple tumble on the road would be enough to damage the goods in your pack? They’ve been through far worse with them on your person and it’s been fine.  

Until now. 

A sob breaks out of your chest as you stare at the shattered glass, and you search desperately through the carnage for just one unscathed vial, uncaring of the nicks the sharp shards leave on your finger tips. 

You can make one vial stretch until you reach baldur's gate. It would be hard, it might not work but it would be something.  

You won’t make it to the city on nothing. Not undetected. And you refused to let anyone find out the truth.

With palms pressed against your eyes in an effort to push away the tears you try to take deep steadying breaths. Between those and the blood roaring in your ears, you don’t hear someone approaching your tent until a fanilair shock of black hair pops through the entrance flap. 

“There you are, we need help setting up-“ 

Shadowheart’s words die on her tongue just as her eyes fall onto you then the mess on the floor, her nose twitching almost imperceptibly. 

It seems like slow motion as her eyes widen slightly, and she steps fully into the tent, closing the flap behind her before coming to crouch before you. 

You hurriedly try to wrap the broken evidence and shove it in your bag despite knowing the action is futile. 

Shadowheart reaches out, grabbing your arm gently. “What are you doing with suppressant elixirs?” She asks, voice lacking the accusing quality you expect.

Avoiding her eyes you shrink into yourself, readying yourself for the inevitable. “Why do you think?” You whisper, clutching the balled up cloth to your chest. 

Shadowheart is silent as she thinks, and panic surges forward full force as you reach out to take her hand in yours in a vice grip. 

“Please, you can’t tell anyone,” you beg, shocking the former sharr worshiper. 

She shakes her head, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Was that all you had left? Do you have any more?” 

You swallow thickly and shake your head no. “That was it. I don’t…I won’t make it to the city without it. And I… no one can know. I’ll…I can leave and travel ahead or try and find a secluded place to wait it out before meeting you all outside the city.” 

The words fall from your lips before you really think about them but…it could work. You know the side effects of stopping suppressants, and despite wanting to keep this part of yourself hidden, you couldn’t risk being around this many alphas when the medicine left your system. No way. 

Sequestering yourself is the best way. 

Shadowheart looks at you, shock evident on her features. 

“Are you mad? Do you know what happens when you quit usuing supressants? The effects are brutal when weaned off of them the correct way. Stopping like that-“ she snaps her fingers. “No. It’s going to be excruciating.” 

You can’t help but bristle at her tone, that all to familiar alpha authority slipping through. The exact thing you knew would happen if they found out what you are. 

An omega.  

You pull away from the woman, frowning as you start to shove items into your pack once more.

“I don’t need you telling me what to do. I’m the one who has dealt with this my whole life, not you.”  

The woman reels back at the venom on your words, eyes softening. “I wasn’t trying to tell you what to do, I just…I’ve seen it before. You won’t last, you need-“ she bites her tongue, as if afraid her next words will scare you, but continues after a beat of silence. “You’ll need someone to help you through this. You have to know that.” 

“No, no!” You stand up abruptly, hands clenching at your sides. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need some - some alpha, to come and use me before casting me aside,” you spit, turning back to your pack again, desperate to busy yourself so you don’t lose yourself to panic. 

Shadowheart doesn’t let up, concern evident in her voice. “What about Halsin, you two seem cozy enough and I know he’d probably be more than eager to help-“ 

You straighten up at this, turning to face her once more pack clutch tightly in your hands. “No! Shadowheart, please!”  

Halsin… 

She’s right. You two have been closer that usual, this journey to the city doing nothing but bringing you closer than you already were. You’ve both flirted and touched and danced around your feelings for weeks now but this… 

No. The thought of him finding out, and it changing the way he looks at you. Changing his feelings or making him see you as this… thing - to be used and then tossed aside…

No, you can’t bear the thought. 

With fists clenched tight, you stand your ground, trying to assert the title of defacto leader you’ve taken on. 

“Just stay here. I’ll be…I’ll be fine, I promise,” you pause, thinking. “There’s an abandoned house we passed earlier today in our travels. It was back before the waterfall. I’ll be there. If you get to the city and more time has passed than normal then…you know where to find me.” 

The woman’s lips settle into a thin line, arms crossing across her chest. “You’re denser than I thought if you think we’re traveling on without you. Tadpoles be damned,” she reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I’ll make up some excuse for us to make camp here for a while. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll come find you myself.” 

Relief floods through your veins, and before you can think better of it, you step forward and wrap her in a tight hug. 

“Thank you. Truly I…I don’t deserve your kindness, not after keeping this from you.” 

Shadowheart shakes her head as you pull away, her hands resting lightly on your arms. “I understand a thing or two about not being forthcoming about certain aspects of your past, but…” she trails off, eyes flirting away before coming back to yours. “I do not think those around us will treat you the way you expect. I wish you would give them a chance. Give him a chance.” 

You sigh. “A chance to what? Take advantage?” 

The woman smiles sadly. 

“A chance to show you that they aren’t as terrible as you assume they will be.” 

———

Shadowheart has helped you pack the rest of supplies you’d need. Food enough to last a week, some fresh water, although the old house looked to be by a stream so if you run out you can get more. 

She was still reluctant to let you leave, but after one last assurance she eventually did. 

Which leads you to where you are now, exhausted and weary as you try to set up a makeship living situation in the abandoned house. It was early evening when you left camp, having seen the structure earlier in the day of traveling.

It took you hours to back track and the sun has long set, your only light being from the few candles you have lit and the moon streaming in through the crumbling roof in the corner of the dilapidated home. 

But you are making quick work of the space, having moved any broken furniture to the back corner of the room and pulling any spare blankets beneath your bedroll in an effort to make a more comfortable bed. 

You can do this. Hopefully the effects will be minimal and pass in a few days. Shadowheart said she would work on trying to get more suppressants for you, and then you could return like nothing ever happened. 

Right?  

You scoff slightly, trying to shove away the reality that settles in your mind. This is going to suck. And when you do make it through, the likelihood of having suppressants available is slim. 

The truth will come out one way or another. A thought you choose not to wrestle with tonight in favor of crawling into your bedroll. 

Consequences can wait. Right now you just want to sleep, to hide from the torment that is to come. 

———

Pain . 

It’s the first thing that registers in your sleep-addled mind, ripping away the last tendrils of slumber as a crushing ache pulses in your stomach. It radiates outwards, making your very bones groan in protest as you curl in on yourself, the discomfort nearly blinding as you try to orient yourself.  

The next thing you notice is the heat, like fire licking at your skin as you shove yourself out of the bedroll, moving to settle on top of it instead. The air, despite it being barely dawn, offers no cool reprieve against your sweat slick skin. Your clothes stick to you, plastered to your body as if you’d just jumped into the nearby river. 

Another cramp seizes you, but this time another feeling accompanies it. A feeling that has become a stranger to you since taking the suppressants. 

Need.  

Bone deep, soul crushing, need floods through you, your core throbbing with it and calling out to the one thing that’s not here. 

No. You don’t need him.  

You don’t need an alpha to help you, you refuse to need him. You’ve done this your whole life by yourself. You can do it now. 

But can you? That little voice in your head asks, that voice behind your baser instincts, the one you’ve kept hidden for so long. 

It’s been years since your last heat. The suppressants effectively wiping away anything and everything that made you an omega. And now…it’s as if all of the things you’ve held at bay have come crashing down. Showing you what you are, as if saying ‘ here I am. You can’t run from me.’ 

You shake your head. Mouth dry, tongue thick as your mouth parts on a broken sob. 

Gods, help me.  

———— 

Time passes in flirting bouts of consciousness. Night gives way to dawn before you succumb to unconsciousness - only to wake again worse than before, but this time with sunlight streaming through the broken windows. 

The fever never abates, and you manage to reach the meager few feet to wretch your water skin from your pack, downing the contents entirely in one go. But it does nothing to ease the ache or the heat beneath your skin. 

So you give in. Naively hoping your own touch will help the need subside, will satiate something within you. 

It take more effort than you expect to peel your pants from your legs, every touch to your feverish skin making arousal shoot through you, adding to the slick already coating your thighs. The fabric pulls way wetly from your damp skin until you finally toss them to the side, in favor of sliding desperate fingers beneath the waistband of your underwear. 

As finger slide through your wetness, the relief is there. But barely. No matter what you do, no matter how many fingers you use it barely touches the ache in your core. Like a quick summer rain on a forest fire…it offers no relief. 

But you keep trying, tears slipping down your cheeks as the first, the second, the third, orgasm rips through you, leaving you exhausted but no where near satiated. 

Sleep claims you then, when the sun is starting to set once more. 

You have no idea how much time has passed the next time you wake, the hours passing in a haze of lust and pain and tears. 

You come and go from consciousness, feeling as if your body is both shutting down and just starting up at the same time. 

Has it been hours? Minutes? Days? 

Time doesn’t seem to exist in this small house in the woods. Until finally some semblance of lucidity comes to you at the same time as an all too familiar scent floats in on the breeze though the windows. 

Halsin - no, you shake your head. 

Alpha. 

Fear shoots through you at the same time the primal instincts do. The baser part of you craves him - urges you to go to him. But the fear is stronger. The fear of the past - of those who used you. 

The fear wins out. 

You all but leap from your bedroll, your knees buckling beneath you as you do, your heat having taken most of your strength. 

You struggle agaisnt it as you stand, hearing a faint call of your name just as you manage to grasp the edge of a nearby table and push in in front of the door. 

He calls your name again, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep the moan from falling from your lips. 

Go to him. He’s yours. He’ll help. Go to him. Go to him. GO- 

“No!” You shout, pressing yourself against the table, “Halisn go . Away ! Please…” 

The last word comes out on a sob, unable to contain everything roiling within you. Your need, your fear, your utter love for the man outside. It’s too much. 

You hear a gentle thud on the door, as if he’s pressed his forehead to the other side, his hand pressing to the wood. 

“I only wish to help. I promise, I did not come with any other intention.” 

His words are muffled by the door separating you, and you push yourself harder against the table at your back, the edge digging into your spine. 

“H-how did you find me?” You ask, fighting for every word agaisnt your foggy mind. 

It’s quiet for a moment until he finally speaks. “Shadowheart came to me this morning asking if I had any knowledge of healing herbs or elixirs for…for heat.” 

You let out a shaky breath. You want to be angry. Angry at your friend for betraying you. Angry at the situation. Angry at yourself for getting you here. 

But you’re just tired. You’re tired and exhausted and in pain and you don’t know what to do. 

“ Please,” Halsin begs, a sound you’ve never heard fall from his lips before. “I only wish to ease your pain. To help in any way I can. I will not touch you if you do not wish. I swear it on the life the Oak Father granted me.” 

Clutching the edge of the table is the only thing keeping you upright, your nails digging into the wood. 

“I don’t..you can’t control it. They never can. I know…I know what will happen.” 

The words are quiet, so quiet you don’t know if he can hear you. But he does, and his voice is gentle and kind, and everything you've ever wanted to hear in a situation like this. 

“You are wrong,” he says plainly. “I do not pretend to know what you have suffered at the hands of other alphas, but I know they can be cruel. I just…I hope you know me well enough - trust me enough to know I will not be the same.” 

Fuck.. fuck! 

You don’t give him a verbal answer, instead you just barely manage to move the table away from the door in order to open it. You watch with bated breath as the man on the other side visibly flinches, no doubt being assaulted with the scents and smells of your untamed heat. 

You watch, fingers clutching the edge of the door as he stills, shoulders rising with a deep breath as that all too familiar golden sheen rolls over his body. You almost move to slam the door closed again, but stop short when the magic fades away and his eyes flutter open, showing you hazel instead of that druidic gold you’ve seen before. 

He gives you a small smile, and the motion eases you somewhat, that fear slowly creeping away. You move aside to let him in, and he enters slowly, taking in the room before his eyes fall to you as you close the door. 

He takes a step closer then, but slowly, giving you time to  move away or ward him off if you so wish. 

You don’t. You can’t.  

That need inside you is still there and it’s stronger with him this close. Begging you to pull him closer, to have him touch you, to have him make it all go away. The effort required to refuse these needs is worse than the pain you’ve been feeling since you left camp, and you want nothing more than to give in. 

So you stay still as he approaches you, holding one hand up to press gently against your forhead, eyes widening as he feels the heat coming off you in waves. 

Gods… his touch is like a soothing balm against your skin, and you can’t stop the whimper that leaves your lips as you all but melt into him, gasping when he pulls away. 

“You’re burning with fever,” he says, concern lacing each syllable as he reaches for you again, this time not touching you but letting his magic free as his eyes fall closed. 

You wait with bated breath as the magic golden glow hovers in the air in front of you, lighting his palm as small yellow tendrils reach for you. 

It’s over in just a few moments, and the room is cast in the dim glow of the dusk once more as Halsin looks over you worriedly. 

“When was the last time you ate? Drank?” 

You shake your head, trying to remember, but the only memories that fill your mind are muddy and confused. 

“I don’t…I don’t know. When I left camp? I drank water not long ago..I think,” another cramp rocks you where you stand, and you would have crumpled to the ground if not for the two strong hands that catch you. “I don’t know, everything is hazy I can’t remember.” 

Halsin inhales sharply, brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “That was days ago,” he looks around, gently leading you to your bedroll when he spots it, urging you to lay down. “You must eat. I will fetch more water from the stream close by and then I will see what I can do to ease your pain.” 

With those simple instructions he’s gone as fast as he appeared. And the arousal is back as strong as ever. But you try, you try to do what he said. Managing to pull the rations from your pack and nibble at an apple and some dried meat. You almost finish by the time he’s back, a bucket filled with fresh water in his hands. 

He approaches you once more, movements still slow and cautious until he’s kneeling at your side, refilling your waterskin before offering it to you. 

You sit up moving to drain the contents like last time, but he stops you, tugging at the skin gently. 

“Slow. You will make yourself sick if you take it all in one go. Take your time,” he says, tone gentle. 

You try to listen, but between everything buzzing around inside you and the desperate thirst you just now notice, it’s a herculean task. But you do it, not only to avoid making your situation worse but because some part of you, that tiny voice in the back of your head…it wants to please him. 

You push the skin away, arms curling around yourself as another wave of pleasure rolls through you at the thought. You double over, laying on your side as your knees come to your chest, desperate for the discomfort to stop. 

“Halsin, please…” you beg, unashamed to finally admit you need help. “Do something, I can’t take it anymore.” 

You can hear his breath hitch and are assaulted by a faintly sweet smell. A calmness washing over you, offering the only brief respite you’ve had in days. 

He’s trying to calm you.  

You can’t find it in you to care. Relishing in the only relief you’ve had since you’ve left camp. But you know it won’t last, and that thought alone is enough to make tears spill over once more. 

Halsin shushes you quietly, voice soothing as he hovers a hand over your shoulder. “Don’t cry, my heart. I will do everything in my power to help you, I swear it.” 

You nod, trying in vain to wipe away the tears. 

“Please, hurry.” 

As soon as the words leave your lips, you see the faint glow of magic once more, feel it reaching out for you as Halsin slowly moves his hand down over your body then up once more. 

It takes him longer this time, and the relief you felt just moments earlier is already starting to fade away. You nearly cry out when Halsin withdraws from you, frustration costing his features as muttered curses fall from his lips. 

“Those suppressants are a poison,” he finally says, his words venomous. “An affront to nature as it was designed.” 

Shame fills you as he speaks, joining your already muddled emotions. “I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper, voice broken.

Hazel eyes snap to yours, lips set in a fine line as he shakes his head. “This is not your fault,” he assures you, voice firm. “Society has spread the lies that you, omegas, are something to be claimed and taken rather than cherished and treasured as the oak father intended. They made you afraid, fearful of who you are. Pushed these things upon you so you could hide-“ a low growl slips past his lips, as he cuts himself off. 

He pauses, shoulders falling as he lets out a sigh before looking to you once more. 

“These elixirs are beyond my comprehension. The medicine runs deep in your veins I…I know of no natural remedy or spell to counter its effects.” 

Dread settles deep in your belly at the realization that you basically have two options at this point. You can either wait out the symptoms and hope the fever doesn’t harm you or…give in to the need. Something that doesn’t scare you as much as it did at first, but something you still don’t know if you can trust. 

But you want to. You want him to touch you, to hold you, to do all of the things you’ve imagined him doing. But you want him to want it too. Not because of some biological drive but…because he desires you. 

And maybe…maybe he does. Who else’s could come all the way out here? What other alpha would have resisted touching you this long? You can think of no one else. Anyone else would have given in by now, you know it’s as excruciating for him as it is for you. 

So why is he here if not out of care for you…out of love ? 

Another tremble runs through you as you sit up, eyes searching his own before you speak. 

“Can you just…hold me? I just need, something, anything and I -“ you pause as another cramp takes your breath away. “I understand if you don’t want too - or think it would be-“ 

Gentle hands on your cheeks stop you in your tracks, and once again you practically melt into his palms, his touch the only thing providing any relief. 

“It would be my pleasure, my heart.” 

You sigh in relief, hands immediately falling to the hem of your shirt, the still damp material uncomfortable against your skin. You watch as Halsin reaches for his own vest before hesitating, eyes flitting to you in a silent question. 

Once your shirt is discarded and you’re down to your small clothes you give him a small nod, reaching out to him instead this time, fingers tugging at the lacings of his clothing. You try to focus, try to push past the lust fogging your kind. But it’s harder the closer you are to him, noticing every minute detail of the man in front of you. 

The way his breath hitches as you untie the laces and he helps you tug the article off his body. His scent assaults you as he does so. The way his muscles ripple beneath his skin as he reaches for you. The heat rivaling your own wafting off his skin in waves as he pulls you close to him before bringing you both to lay on your makeshift bed. 

He completely surrounds you, the smell of pine and the earth and something so subtly sweet it could only ever remind you of him. His arms tighten around you as you press your cheek to his chest, the light dusting of hair tickling your skin in the best way as his chin rests atop your head. 

The longer he holds you to him, the more relief seeps into your bones, that tormenting ache dissipating ever so slightly. But it never leaves completely, still tugging at the edges of your mind and making your fingers twitch from where your hands rest against his back. 

You can’t take it anymore. The need too great, your desire finally winning out as you pull away just enough so you can look up at the druid. He gives you a pained smile, clearly holding back the same what you are, and that’s enough to finally make you take action. 

Before the alpha can process your intentions you have a leg thrown over him, rolling until you sit astride his hips. Your hands brace against his chest as he looks up at you, brows drawn together in confusion. 

“What are you-“ 

You cut him off with hands against his cheeks, thumbs brushing his lips as your eyes travel over his face. 

“I want this,” you finally say, voice barely a whisper in the night. “I want you, but I-“ you have to bite back the tears that clog your throat. “ Promise me. Promise me you’ll be here when we’re done. Promise me you won’t leave when you’ve gotten what you want. I can’t…my heart can’t bear it.” 

Shock crosses Halsins face, followed quickly by what you recognize as a firm resolve and finally…the softest look you've ever recieved. He reaches up, taking one of your hands in his own to press a gentle kiss to your palm, then to your wrist before finally tugging you down so you’re chest to chest, your nose brushing his. 

Before you can blink, strong arms wrap around you, holding you to him as he flips you both over, your back now against the blankets as he hovers over you. 

“You are not so easily cast aside, my heart.” He tells you, voice full of reverence. “You plague my thoughts both waking and sleeping. Your taste lingers on my tongue each time we kiss. You’ve captured my entire being, heart and soul,” he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips as tears slip from your eyes. “I will be here when you wake this day, and every day to come. I will cherish you as you deserve, as all those in the past have failed to do. If you will have me.” 

Words fail you in light of the poetic ones he whispers to you. So you do the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for days. Leaning up your press your lips to his, nearling crying out at the utter relief that washes through your veins when he returns the action, lips meeting yours in frantic eagerness. 

You pull away but his lips never leave your skin, trailing down as you reach up to thread shaking fingers through his bronze locks. 

“ Please,” you beg, desperation hanging on the simple word. “Touch me, I can’t take another moment without it. Without you.”  

Halsin is quick to oblige, his hands moving over you in a hurried rush. He rids you of your underthings before divesting himself of his own clothing and sinking to press fully against you. You can feel the hard length of him pressing against your hip, and your back arches instinctively into him, desperate to feel more of him. 

Halsin groans, unable to stop the way his hips thrust against your own, one hand falling down to take your hip in a bruising grip. 

“You do not know what you ask of me,” he warns you, voice low. “I have craved you for a long time, my heart. Once I start…I do not know that I will be able to stop until I know you are mine.” 

You shake your head, reaching up to tangle your hands in his hair as your legs move to wrap around his waist. “I don’t want you to stop,” you beg, “make me yours, please.”  

The need inside you is burning at an all time high, reaching a crescendo you didn’t even know possible as you lay beneath the powerful alpha above you. You know he could do whatever he wanted to you, with or without your permission. But you know he won’t, which just adds fuel to the fire in your veins. 

You want him. You want him to claim you and make you his, a feeling you’ve never had before. You’ve been hiding your whole life, but now, laid bare before him…You're no longer afraid. 

As if sensing any residual fear seep from you, Halsins lips crash against yours once more, wasting no more time. You feel his hand trail between you both, fingers touching you where you want him most. 

You cry out against his lips as his fingers slip through your arousal, teasing your entrance before coming back up to rub rhythmic patterns against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“You’re so wet for me,” his voice is husky next to your ear, almost a growl as he senses your complete and utter need. “Are you…Do you think you are ready?” 

It’s a genuine question, born both from actual concern but also impatience. You can sense he’s already holding back, willing to do whatever you need in order to not hurt you, but also wanting desperately to sink himself into you fully. 

You nod your head, you’ve come so many times since you’ve been here, your legs are sticky with your slick. There’s no way you couldn’t take him. 

Your hands scrabble at his back, pulling him closer to you, your thighs squeezing his hips firmly. “ Please , Halsin,” you beg, voice a pathetic whimper.

He needs no more encouragement. You feel the head of him slide through your wetness before he’s sinking into you at a pace that is both soothing the ache within you and also stoking the flames. 

A keening sound rips itself form your chest as he settles against you, and you expect him to wait, to be ever the gentleman and hold still for much longer than you can take right now. 

But to your shock and utter relief, Halsin does no such thing. He starts a firm and fast pace, his hips retreating before thrusting back into your own, filling you completely each time and driving the breath from your lungs. 

Gods he feels so good. It feels right. There is no pain, no discomfort, just the feeling of being so full it somehow completes you, as if Halsin was made just for you. 

My alpha.  

Halsin growls, head dropping to the crook of your neck, nipping at the delicate skin as his fingers dig deeper into your thighs. 

“Yes, I’m yours, little omega, and you are mine.” 

His words nearly shock you from your pleasure, not realizing you had said your thoughts out loud. And he…He called you his omega. Usually being referred to by your biological designation would anger you, make your fists clench and that all too familiar black anger build in your chest - but now…

The way he said he is yours. Giving himself to you and simultaneously calling you his own…it made stars burst behind your eyes, your orgasm crashing over you so suddenly it steals your senses from you. 

Blood rushes in your ears, your eyes clench shut, and you can feel the faint rawness in your throat as you cry Halsin’s name. 

Halsin doesn’t still as you come, only slows his thrusts as he works you through your high, grunts of pleasure brushing against your skin as you clench around him, your nails dig into his skin so hard you’re sure there will be evidence of this encounter for days to come. 

Warm lips press beneath your jaw, and you turn your head up willingly, silently begging him for more. 

“Are you alright, my heart?” 

His voice is soft, but strained, and it’s only then that you realize he’s still hard, thrusting haphazardly against you in an effort to satiate his own needs but not overwhelm you. 

Warmth blooms in your chest at his words and actions. No one has ever asked you that in the past. They just took and took until they were stated and then left…

You give him a small nod, pushing back at the tears burning at the back of your eyes. “Yes I-“ your voice croaks weakly. “I’m fine, I - I’m more than fine.” 

Yet even as you speak, you can feel that all to familiar burn spread through you once more. Your release had soothed the ache momentarily, but it’s back, slowly seeping back into every limb, your core churning with desire once more. 

Another whimper escapes you, as you turn to nuzzles Halsin cheek. “ Gods, it’s still there,” you cry, frustration painting your words. 

Halsin hums low in his chest, turning to press a gentle kiss to your temple, uncaring of the sweat beading there. 

“It may take a while for your body to get rid of the suppressants,” he says softly. “It may be several days before it is completely out of your system.” 

He must see the way your eyes widen, feel the way your breath hitches, because he soothes your worries with a kiss, pressing his weight into you in an effort to comfort you. 

“Do not let that worry you,” he says, hands sliding up your thighs until they rest on your waist. “The need will lessen with each passing hour, especially if spent with someone else.” 

You hear his unsaid meaning. The need will pass with each release, like an overflowing bucket being emptied a spoonful at a time. Shakily, you nod, accepting his answer before letting out a whine when he pulls away from you. 

A momentary stab of panic shoots through you, as he separates himself from your sweat slick skin, leaving you achingly empty as he pulls from you with a hiss. 

You reach for him blindly, only just now realizing how dark it is. Halsin arrived as the sun was already dipping below the horizon but now it’s nowhere to be seen, the last rays of light slipping away sometime earlier, leaving the small room lit with nothing but weak candle light. 

Halsin is nothing but a large dark mass in the poorly lit room, but you reach for him all the same, practically melting into him when his hands meet your flesh once more. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures, lips pressing to your forehead as his hands settle on your hips.

He urges you into a new position slowly, lips never leaving your skin as you settle onto your hands and knees, fingers digging into the blanket below you as he kisses over your shoulder and down your spine. 

His hands move in the opposite direction, moving from the crook of your hips, up your sides before brushing over the swells of your breasts, gentle teasing stiff peaks between his fingers as he finally leans over you. 

Your head falls forward as his lips brush your ear, your need burning anew and more fiercely than before at this new position. 

“Is this alright?” he asks again, and for the first time tonight his careful consideration makes a tiny flicker of frustration burn in your chest. 

For the first time since you can remember you’ve never been more than alright. But now - needy and vulnerable and displayed for him… 

You groan, pressing back into him as his hands slide back up to your waist. 

“Yes, I’m fine just, please!” Desperate need and desire flair up in you so violently it nearly makes your hips buckle, the only thing keeping you upright being Halsin’s firm grip. 

“Please, alpha, take me.” 

Calling him alpha, you presented before him, the sent of sex and sweat and heat, in the air…It’s all too much for the both of you. 

The man behind you lets out a feral growl, and if this were any other man you’d be slightly afraid of what he’d do. But now…Utter excitement and arousal spread through your veins like liquid fire as he enters you in one swift thrust. 

He was deep before, touching you in places you’d never felt before, but like this… You nearly choke on the scream of pleasure that tears from your throat. You drop your face into the blankets beneath you, stifling your sounds as Halsin continues his brutal pace. 

A hand leaves your hips as calloused fingers slide beneath your jaw, pulling you up from the blankets just enough to turn your head to the side. His grip is firm but not ungentle as he leans down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. 

“Do not hide from me,” he says, teeth tugging at your bottom lip before he pulls away to nose at your cheek. “I wish to hear every sound you make. I want to hear my name fall from your lips, I want the Oak Father himself to know who you cry out for.” 

A particularly hard thrust, the harsh grip on your hips, and his unusually filthy words make you come for a second time, obeying his demand to not hide your noises. 

Your fingers dig into the soft fabric beneath you, and as Halsin continues his movement within you, you’re afraid you might tear it to shreds. 

Gods… you can feel everything. Every vein, every ridge, every inch of him inside you. All of your nerve endings are on fire and you’re so sensitive you don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain pulsing in your core. 

And for a moment it seems like Halsin isn’t even close to reaching his end despite him already driving you to your third release. 

He presses down into you, one arm wrapping around your hips to keep your semi-limp form pressed to him as his other hand slides up to tangle into the hair at the base of your neck. He doesn’t pull harshly, instead he presses you further into the bedroll and covers beneath you, arching your back in a way that makes him hit impossibly deeper, reaching the end of you. 

“Oh, fuck, Halsin!” you cry his name in pure ecstasy, as he fucks down into you, taking you and claiming you just like you wanted. 

You feel it when his hips start to stutter, can hear his breathing grow even more ragged than it already was, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts turn more shallow. 

It’s like you can sense his hesitance, and before he can ask the question you know he wants to ask you find yourself answering.

“In me,” you practically sob, pressing your hips back into him. “Come in me, please…” 

He lets out a sound you can’t even identify, something close to a sigh and a cry of relief as he falls over you. His chest pressed flush against your back as he braces himself on one arm beside your head. 

His head falls next to your own, lips pressing against you as his teeth tease the skin at the crook of of your neck. 

You can feel him hesitate, pulling away until you reach up to tug him back down. 

“No I- do it,” you beg. “Please I…I love you - please, do it.” 

Part of you is panicked when he hesitates at your words, but it’s fleeting as Halsin’s teeth dig into your flesh. You cry out as he breaks skin and your third release washes over you, bringing Halsin over the edge with you. 

His breath is hot against your skin as he moans, hips snapping into yours as he spills into, stilling as he slowly brings both your bodies to the ground. 

His entire weight is settled on top of you, and you can't find it in you to care. In fact, you crave it. The feeling of him caging you in, his sweat slick skin against your own as he laps lazily at the new mark on your neck. 

Eventually he turns, nuzzling at your cheek until you manage to turn to let him capture your lips in a kiss. It’s a slow, sensual thing. His tongue reaches to slide against your own as his arms move to slide beneath your body. He rolls you both onto your side, keeping you connected as he curls himself slightly around you, holding you against his chest. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down, back to your neck hovering over the mark of his bite before placing one last kiss there. 

For the first time in days you don’t feel the creeping burn anywhere. The first true relief you’ve felt truly settling over you as you relax back into the body behind you. 

His arm sits snugly around your waist, his fingers tracing gentle patterns into your skin and up under your breasts before repeating. 

“Are you…” He trails off for a moment. “Did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head, turning to try and catch his eye over your shoulder, chest swelling with adoration when you see the concern flickering in his gaze. Your hand falls down to cover his own, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“I’m perfect,” you assure him, pressing a kiss to his lips before settling into him again, fingers tracing absently over his arm around you. 

“I…” Now it’s your turn to think about your words. “I’m sorry. If…what I said was - uncalled for.” Your words are stuttered and unsure. 

You don’t want to apologize for what you said, because it was the truth. But you also don’t want him to feel obligated to return your affections just because of what transpired. 

Sensing your inner turmoil, gentle fingers settle beneath your jaw, turning you to look at him once more. His brows are furrowed as he gazes down at you. 

“Does it hold truth?” he asks simply, no accusation or frustration present. 

You nod, reaching up to card a hand through his hair. “Yes I - they were true. I do…I think I’ve loved you for some time now but…” 

His eyes soften. “You were afraid.” 

You nod, eyes falling away from him in shame. But Halsin doesn’t let your feeling last long, he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek before resting his forehead against your own. 

“I must admit that I feel the same,” he says, voice a mere whisper. “You have taken my heart in your hands and held it captive in a way I haven’t experienced in my long life. I do not wish to let you go easily.” 

You smile, lips brushing his own as you speak. “Then don’t,” you say, reaching down to tug his arm tighter around you, “I’m yours. I meant that too.” 

Halsin sighs in what you assume is relief, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder as he adjusts to hold you closer to him as you relax in his arms. 

“And I am yours,” he tells you. “Now, sleep. This is far from over, but I will be here when you wake.” 

Earlier, the thought of it taking days for the suppressant to work from your system made fear grip your heart. But now…

Now there’s just a warm syrupy feeling that settles deep in your belly as you take his advice and let your eyes fall closed. 

Because with Halsin…you know you have nothing to fear. 

[aliveinacoffin]

A Difference In Fate

You knew Miguel had been hiding something from you, you just didn't know what. Stupidly, you thought the best of him.

TW: Agressive Miguel lmao

You weren't meant to find out.

Miguel wasn't sure for how long he'd hide it from you. Maybe a month, a year, forever. It didn't matter.

He'd only known you for a short amount of time, but he knew he was too late when he started to worry about what you thought about him. When Miguel told you about what happened to Gabrila and that universe, he felt a deep shame he'd never felt before. Yes, he lived with the guilt that came from destroying an entire fucking universe and all the billions of innocent people inside, but he was also terrified that you'd leave him because of it.

When you didn't, after a night of tears and shame, he knew he'd never let you go. Even if it killed him.

Which is why he lied, when he had that meeting about Miles that you had missed, he lied and said that it was nothing.

When you asked why Lyla wouldn't give you a rundown of the meeting, he lied again and said it must be faulty in her coding, and that the files couldn't be recovered.

Sure he felt guilty about lying to you, but he more so felt a sense of anxiety about when you'd find out, not if.

Another thing Miguel loved and appreciated about you, was that you were incredibly acute and intelligent. Nothing ever went past you when it came to people or plans. You always quickly noticed the small details or came up with new strategies.

That, and that you were just incredibly fucking lucky.

___________________________________________

"So, what do you think about that last meeting?" Peter B. Parker from Earth 616B asked you, catching you off guard from the paper you were reading. His tired eyes and five o'clock shadow seemed worse than ever. He seemed to be having a rough day since the whole morning he had been mostly silent, like there was a weight in his mind holding him down to drag him to the depths of hell.

"Oh, I didn't make it. What was it about, anyway?" You shrugged, spider mask pulled up to your forehead to take a bite out to the 'Original Spiderman Burger'

He stared at you for a bit, blue eyes watching your movements. "Did Miguel not tell you?" He asked, genuinely taken aback at your lack of knowledge of the situation.

You chewed quickly, covering your mouth while trying to answer as fast as you could. "No, and he still won't. I want to know! Was it about something embarrassing?" You laughed, grabbing your drink.

"It was about the anomaly." Peter said, voice curt and timid.

You raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior, usually, you and Peter easily bounced off one another, both your jovial and rather silly personalities perfect companies for each other. To see him being so quiet with you was worrying.

"I got that man, just tell me, I don't bite. My teeth aren't as sharp as Miguels." You elbowed him, smiling like you would a timid cat. You took another drink to try and give off a relaxed aura, but inside your heart was picking up with his lack of relaxation.

"It's-the anomaly is the kid I talk to you about all the time. He was never meant to be a Spider-Man. We're not allowed to interact with him in any way until we figure out a way to find a solution." Peter said solemnly, turning to hunch over his uneaten food. His own masked burger staring back at him.

You scoffed with liquid in your mouth, swallowing before giving out a barking laugh. "What does that even mean? Not meant to be Spider-Man, who's meant to be Spider-Man? It just happens, it's luck not fate." You grumbled, face screwed up half in disbelief and half in genuine confusion. Suddenly you jerked up in shock, and quickly turned to the older man.

"Isn't he the kid that made you want to have a baby in the first place?" You placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, feeling his cold shoulder through the soft fabric of his suit.

"Yeah." Was all he said, a grave look on his face.

You tilted his shoulder at you, and watched his eyes slowly move over to your kind face. "Hey man, don't worry about it. Miguel seems tough, but on the inside, he's just a big softie. Trust me, I'd know. I sleep with the man every night. We'll figure it out, alright?" You reassured him, smiling brightly at him.

Peter looked down again and hit his fist on the counter. "Yeah, you're right. It always works out in the end, huh?" Peter's voice was strong like all the hope he had lost was now found and stronger than ever.

___________________________________________

"It's kind of sad, you know? Like, it wasn't his fault he wasn't supposed to be Spider-Man." Pavitr Prabhakar said, hands deftly working to fidget with his yo-yo.

Both your guy's hair swayed softly in the warm Mubattan air. You played with the bottom of your spider suit feet. "Yeah, sounds like he's just a kid."

"Well, I'm sure it'll figure itself out, after all, we're all Spider-People right? Everything is great!" Pavitrs voice got fainter as he whipped away, probably going off to swing around Gayatri's neighborhood.

You looked off into the sunset, eyes squinting at the bright light of the sun. Still, you basked in the warmth as you sat, just pondering and mulling over your feelings over the whole situation.

You liked Pav, as you've all started calling him, his happy-go-lucky and glass-half-full personality was infectious, and he was overall just a joy to be around.

It made you have a gut-wrenching bad feeling, especially since he hadn't had his canon event yet. You wished there was a way for him to just be happy and be Spider-Man without the life-altering loss that came with it.

___________________________________________

"That's the price you have to pay when you become Spider-Man." Miguel said later that evening, sitting at the table while he filtered through emails, videos, and reports.

You came over and kissed his head, swiping away all the red screens taking over your shared table. Instead, you replaced his work with food, more specifically asada quesadillas.

"Okay sure, but he's just a kid y'know? Like, he's barely able to drive a car and now has this duty to protect a whole ass city. Let alone deal with an unbearable loss that would break a full gown adult." You challenged, staring at your boyfriend across the table. You had brought up your feelings about Pav and how the guilt of his misfortune weighted you down.

You still haven't told him that you know about the kid. Miles. For some reason, a part of yourself told you that you should. That you should hide that knowledge because for some reason a part of you thought he'd be upset. No, knew he'd be mad.

"It's the fate of the universe." He sighed, eating his food as if the whole conversation was boring.

"But what does that mean? Doesn't fate bring in the idea of gods or goddesses? A higher power saying this should be the way? And what about destiny? Then doesn't that bring in the question of whether or not it's real, let alone that we have to abide by those rules?" You started, rambling about the subject. This whole situation seemed wrong, like Miguel's ideals weren't quite right. You knew Miguel was intelligent, insanely so that he created his own AI and created a multi-diversional portal travel and created a society within his universe to combat world-breaking enemies.

Still. Something about this was wrong.

Miguel growled out your name, dropping his food on his plate to stare at you so intensely it made you gulp. He clenched his fists on the table, obviously trying to hold back his anger before he spoke to you.

"You know what happened to me when I tried to break the rules. God or not, things happen for a reason." Miguel said, eyes lowering to try and continue eating.

"What about us? We're from different universes, yet we live together, and we're dating. Are we fate? Or are we pure coincidence?" You asked, trying to get him to explain in a more logical reasoning like you know he's capable of.

Miguel slammed his fist on the table, rattling the dishes placed down and you. "Can we drop this? This conversation is going nowhere." He was getting angry, you could tell. But still, something in you nagged and ate away at your soul.

"Yes, perdón amor." Your eyes fluttered down, and you gulped away the hot stinging of your throat.

"I'm sorry hermosa, but you know this is the only way." Miguel offered, holding his hand out across the table to reassure you.

You met him halfway, and smiled at him shakily. Still, you didn't believe him.

___________________________________________

"He was your friend?" You asked curiously while you went over the blueprints for the watches. You wanted to customize yours further, so you invaded Lyla's security, (asked pretty please), and now were trying to see what changes you could make.

Gwen Stacy was behind you, arms crossed while she looked to a wall, dissociating. "Yeah, and I can't see him at all even though I want to. So badly." She sighed, tired eyes looking down. You looked back to her, offering a sad smile.

"We'll figure it out honey, I'm sure."

"Why are you dating Miguel?" She suddenly asked, and at those words, you whipped around and gave her an incredulous look. Your hands on your hips with a disbelieving smile.

Both of you looked up to see Hobart walking in, sauntering over to your workstation. "Hey." He nodded up to both of you, immediately going through your files.

Both you and Gwen greeted him before you turned your attention back to the girl. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're just so nice and understanding while Miguel is...well Miguel." She said, exasperation filling her voice.

You laughed, brushing her off. "Hes not that complicated, just rough around the edges, I promise."

"What do they say, love is blind?" Hobie spoke up, eyes hyper-focused on the watch details.

"That's not applicable to this." You waved him off. Walking over, you put both hands on Gwen's slim arms, giving them a grounding squeeze. "Everything will be fine, we just need time to figure out a solution to this problem yeah? Miguel and everyone else has been aware of this problem for a while, it's just now it has a name!" You smile, trying to uplift the depressing mood.

"Yeah, and his name is Miles Morales, a sixteen-year-old kid." Hobie said, his hands drifting down from whatever he was doing with his watch.

You sighed, hanging your head down before you walked back over to your table. "Thank you for the optimism Hobie."

"You're welcome." With that, he walked out.

___________________________________________

That conversation went the same with Jess and many other members of the spider society, saying that 'taking care of' Miles would be for the greater good.

But what is the greater good? What good were the protecting? Apparently, Miles's universe has been doing fine so far, what's so wrong with that?

Apparently, his whole existence was flawed.

At the end of that day, when everyone either went home or started a night shift to find out where Miles had gone, Miguel returned home.

When he opened the door, he half expected you to be at the table or living room searching for Miles for him, to be directing people, or actively searching for him with Miguel. Of course, he knew you really wouldn't be.

Miguel only returned home to check up on you, after everything.

The whole time you had stood back, and without his knowledge helped Miles escape Miguel's wrath. But he didn't know that.

The front door creaked open, and Miguel was greeted with a dark and quiet house. The only light that was seen was the yellow light of your shared bedroom down the hall.

When he closed the door and silently crept in his own home, he could hear quiet sobbing coming from the room

"Amor?" He peeked in his room, fully stepping in at seeing your hunched-over form. Basically in the fetal position, sitting at the edge of your bed you had your hands on your head.

You looked up, and when he saw your face he immediately stepped back. Rage still filled him, but seeing you made him completely break down.

Your face was one of pure fury, an anger so deep and true it morphed your wet face into something unnatural. Your hair was wild and messy, your face also covered in small scratches form god knows what, and your knuckles were white from how hard you were clenching them.

"What the actual fuck are you doing here? Don't you have a child to murder?" Your snarled mouth pulled back to show off your teeth. Even though you didn't have fangs like him, doesn't mean a bite from you wouldn't hurt.

Instantly, Miguel snapped back. "Don't you dare-"

"No, shut the fuck up. What the fuck was that? Who even are you?" You asked, standing up to your full height.

"I was-am stopping an anomaly from destroying the entire multiverse. I'm saving-" Miguel's voice was raising by the word, his large build hunching over to try and intimidate you.

"Don't talk about him like he's not a child! Don't act like you're not hunting down a literal child? What is wrong with you?!" You screamed, voice raw from the running and crying you'd done all day.

"This. This is what I didn't want to tell you! You don't understand the gravity of the situation! Pinche-" He started, eyes glowing that sparkling red you had grown to love after the long three years you'd known Miguel.

Now they just disgusted you.

"I knew! I've known this whole fucking time! But I trusted you to know what to do, because I love you, and I know you're so smart. But this? I-i can't-" You turned around, hands shakily typing frantically into your watch.

"Lo siento, lo siento preciosa, no quise gritar-" Suddenly Miguels voice was filled with sorrow, and he reached out to hold you in his arms. The same arms that held you, cradled you, strapped you down, and lifted you up.

"Stop, just stop." You sobbed, quickly opening a portal to god knows where, just anywhere but here-

Miguel called out your name, and you turned around to see his eyes piling with tears. His face twisted into the most pained face you've ever seen, his fangs popping out of his lips, his mouth pulled back to a vicious snarl, and his eyebrows furrowed down so deep he grew another crease in his forehead.

You looked down to hold back another sob, shaking your head while walking closer to the portal.

You didn't even glace back at him when you left.

[weebsinstash]

Every day I get closer to writing the "You vs YouTwo trying to steal your identity in the Spider Society" fic (which, the fic even has a name as I slowly build it, I'm calling it Imposter Syndrome because, you know, 1 Reader is starting to get depressed and feel unneeded even before YouTwo comes along and 2. Well. It's self explanatory)

But anyways I keep thinking of all of these dramatic interactions and scenes (shit I was listening to John Mulaney stand up just to write dialogue for Peter Porker, for funsies) where, thinking of either Reader being kicked out of the Spider Society and such, and them having to literally hunt you down and search for you, but. What if YOU came to them?

It's been like 3 months since you "died" after the Society mistaking you for your double and removing the dimensional watch that kept you tethered down, and there's a palpable air of depression. Spiders go to the training room you used to teach your classes in and leave flowers and mementos and share stories of their times spent with you. Maybe they even do something fucking dramatic like set up a memorial, like a plaque with your name and photo or something, but, something to help remind them to be wary of who they bring into the Society and appreciate the ones they have and so on so forth, and also like I imagine there were Spiders who were so attached to you that this entire incident makes them leave the Socety for good (like maybe Hobie equates the way you were exiled to fascist tyranny and hates Miguel more than he already does for letting it/helping it happen, for example)

But, anyways, months later, but not too terribly long for them to stsrt to forget about you, just enough time for the guilt and depression and the longing to marinate, and some Spiders are hanging out in the food court, Peter B and Jess and some of the others managing to drag Miguel out of his lab to eat and be around other people because he's just been holing up by himself almost 24/7 since you "left". Dude's a fucking mess, man, you can literally just look at him and see the dark circles under his eyes, the unwashed hair, the body odor because he fucking lives in that suit, and half the cafeteria is wondering if he's about to start crying into his stupid silly ass Miguel burger and

*FWOMP*

Some loud ass undescribable noise as the fabric of the universe suddenly shifts and, you glitch right back in and slam down on the floor besides their table. The entire room freezes as they literally had no idea you were still alive as you scramble to your feet, the first thing you notice being the food as you DIVE for Miguel's burger, snatching it right off his plate and beginning to absolutely devour it like literally gobbling that shit as the man amd everyone else is AGHAST. You've lost a significant amount of weight (like, an unhealthy amount for the time that has passed) and you're covered in bruises and scratches with tears and holes all over your suit. Your hair has knots and tangles and your Spidey suit is beyond dirty with a raggedy jacket and a tattered backpack on your body. You've just been constantly bouncing in and out of different dimensions, ricocheting all over the place this entire time, which made it hard for you to eat, sleep, bathe, do just about anything normally. One minute you're trying to swipe some food from a market because you have no money, the next you're glitching again and you're lost in an apocalyptic wasteland, or a thick jungle, or even places where shapes and colors don't operate the same as we can even comprehend it

You're constantly dropping the food because your hands keep glitching but you're clearly obviously starving, and Pavitr hands you his chai to help wash everything down, but you still pick up several beverages on the table and absolutely chug them as your friends are just stunned into silence, still in shock, quickly morphing into all kinds of different emotions. Joy you're still alive, horror and pity for your current state, guilt and anguish that all of them did this to you. Jesus, have you even been able to drink water? Like if you didn't have Spider powers you probably would have died by now and it's easy to see you're weak on your feet

And from here I see two options and I'll go with the less exciting one first:

Reader is so fucking hungry and malnourished and weak that after the Spiders make room for you to sit at their table and eat their food, you being just genuinely so fucking worn down from constantly not being able to eat and sleep properly, that you basically show up, eat the entire table's worth of food, and all but fall into a food coma right then and there because this is like the first time youve been able to sit and mildly relax for WEEKS, like here comes Spider Plushie for the save like he's trying to slide across home base, loyally stopping in front of you and directly under your head as you just kind of, slump forward, the little guy making the perfect pillow as he keeps your forehead from smacking against the table, and you're just, like O U T out as Miguel cradles you in his arms because, oh my god he thought you were gone forever, and he won't let anyone else touch you as he marches you straight to, wherever the fucking doctors in this place are

But option TWO: suddenly you pause your gorging as some burps rise up in your chest and you suddenly have some calories pushing enough energy to your brain that you finally look around, like REEEEALLY look around. The entire room is dead silent, some starting to cry with joy and relief, others still stunned, many looking absolutely confused, and your eyes eventually meet with Miguel's. He doesn't look quite as run down as you, but WOW is this one sad haggard looking dilf, and you blink at him for a minute. And then look around. And back at him. And around. And to him

And your expression morphs into something so fearful as you force out a nervous laugh, "oh, wait, it's... you guys..." And the second everything clicks for you, you're IMMEDIATELY TAKING OFF, and despite your weakened state you actually make them really work for it because wow that adrenaline kicks in as you for your life because you're thinking "shit they still think I'm the fake and they'll kill me this time if they get their hands on me" when in actuality Miguel is getting his ass on the intercom system ordering all available units to stop you so they can put a bracelet back on you so you aren't lost again, which i mean it is but isnt even a yandere thing at this point, youre literally going to die without some sort of dimensional tether. But during the chase Miguel realizes you aren't using your webs, and you're actually not nearly as fast as he's seen you before, and he realizes with a broken heart, oh Jesus you're literally too malnourished to produce your organic webs within your body, or a lot of it, anyways. You must REALLY be in bad shape

And I imagine like, the chase comes to a halt, not when they catch you, but when your physical exhaustion finally catches up to you. Sweetie you barely ate anything for the last several days, suddenly gorged on a whole spread of food, and then started sprinting and jumping and climbing and parkouring on shit. You HAVE to stop running because you're literally getting sick and VOMITING, like, your former students and fellow Spiderpeople and of course Miguel are hot on your heels and they all pause and give you space because you're literally having to throw up in a gutter with sweat pouring down your face and entire body developing the shakes as, oh no, you feel your strength leaving you as you can't even hold yourself up, collapsing onto the ground, barely conscious as something scoops you up with the gentleness of handling glass, your eyes unable to stay open as you whimper things. "Please don't kill me... I'll leave... I'll never come back..." before you pass out

Miguel has you immediately checked by doctors while the staff have to limit the amount of people trying to come and see you (because, uh, there are a ridiculous amount of Spiders invested in your wellbeing) and only he's in the room as the medical team details your current state. Severe malnutrition, sunburns, broken ribs, a finger or two in crudely-improvised splints, telogen effluvium aka temporary hair loss from illness/extreme stress, you're probably starting to come down with a cold of some sort, potentially something dramatic like pneumonia.

You sleep for like several days straight while hooked up to IVs and fluids because your body just needed to heal THAT badly. By the time you wake up you feel like you're rising from the dead, your entire body aching and heavy, taking minutes to blink yourself awake to take in your new surroundings. You've got a private medical suite that's pretty well-secured, and when you try to scratch a sudden itch on your nose, you feel a weight on your wrist after going to move your arm. Oh, it's another kind of watch, although this one doesn't have nearly all the features and buttons of the first one, and when you keep rotating your wrist over and over, you can't seem to find the latch to take it off, because, well, there isn't one

Miguel is already in the room with you, either having been working on a laptop or just legitimately sitting there watching you sleep for an unknown amount of time, even if its completely dark in the room. He's gotten himself all cleaned up and back to normal and looking like his old self again but he's honestly not even sure what to say to you. Emotions aren't really his strong suit? Where does he start, apologizing for this whole mess or promising it will never happen again?

The only guarantee for now is that you will NOT be leaving Nueva York again, or even so much as leaving his SIGHT, so long as Miguel doesn't want you to, and trust me, after being tricked and having you ripped away from him, to see you in such a vulnerable sad state because of his own actions when all he wanted was to protect you, he's got a whoooole lotta things he wants to do and talk to you about. First and foremost? Vowing that he's going to make everything up to you, starting now, by being your most devout protector

[savventeen]

OOH IF YOU'RE STILL TAKING ASKS FOR THE TROPE THING can i get vernon and like you two are assigned partners on an art project but he's awful at art LMFAO okay thank love you xx

JJ BELOVED HI HELLO I AM FINALLY GETTING AROUND TO THIS <333333

okay first of all i LOVE this idea skfjllkdfl this would definitely be a fun, comedic, romcom nonsense fic hehehe

i'm picturing this being set in like, a fucking calculus class and this project is the professor's way of trying to "bring more creativity to the sciences" or whatever. and vernon's just like. 'dude. how on earth is making a collage...sculpture...thing... supposed to help me learn calculus???' no one in the class really gets it either, since they can just, you know, do the math without having to create anything. but whatever, a little arts n crafts never hurt anyone [spoiler alert: it maybe hurts someone *cough*vernon*cough* a little at some point]

anyway, vernon ends up being partnered up with reader who, thank god, actually has an idea for what they can do for their project and also talks like someone who knows about art. in fact, they seem really into art and like, super pumped for this project. which is great! except, they're also really cute? and like, they're maybe kinda sorta the person he's been lowkey crushing on from afar since last semester???

and because having a crush sometimes makes you say/do stupid things, he tells reader that he can totally help with the art portion, easy peasy. [narrator voice: it was not, in fact, easy peasy] queue montage of the week leading up to when they're supposed to meet up again: - vernon desperately watching all kinds of youtube videos trying to learn how to Art™️ - him walking into a Michael's and just being so lost and overwhelmed that he just. has a bit of an existential crisis in the fabric section - he somehow manages to accidently cut himself with a pair of scissors while trying to do some kind of papercraft thing and has to go to the nurse's office. - his roommate (let's make it chan for funsies) is convinced that he's having some kind of mental breakdown "hyung, i don't know what to do, he's just staring at a pile of children's playdough like it holds the secrets of the universe. or maybe like it killed his pet goldfish. i don't know, he's just being weird."

all of this leads up to when reader and vernon meet up again to present their 'prototypes' of the art part of the project so they can decide which they like better and then start actually working on it. reader is already at the cafe they agreed to meet at, and vernon (sleep deprived and already overly caffeinated) walks up to where reader is sitting, drops his sad attempt at art on the table, and blurts "i lied about being good at art because you're really cute and it broke my brain a little bit and i'm actually really, really bad at it. i'm so sorry." and then he fucking WALKS AWAY because he's a LOSER and you were extra cute today and his brain is still a bit broken and reader ends up having to chase him down the street, his shitty attempt at art clutched in one hand, to tell him that it's fine, they can handle the art part as long as he does his fair share of the math

"and like. maybe i could, teach you? sometime? if you want to learn, that is. and i'm not the best artist, but i've taught some summer camp classes before, and—" / "wait, you'd really wanna do that? after seeing how bad at it i am?" / "well... it means i'd get to spend some extra time with you outside of school, so... yeah"

vernon of course readily agrees, and they start going on little art dates together (and yes, they're Date dates bc vernon finally gets his shit together and asks them out) and they get a solid B- on the project bc while reader is great at art, turns out neither of them are the best at math rip </3

[send me a person and a trope/au and i'll tell you what kind of plot i'd write for them]

[puddicure]

I feel like I’ve made this post before but I will make it again: I fucking LOVE scifi fashion, especially OLD scifi fashion.

I definitely love old B-movie and pulp-style “future fashion” the MOST, obviously, because I am just Delighted by visions of the future that are “contemporary fashion with garbage glued onto it,” but even higher budget movies can be so incredible when they allow themselves to have fun.

The challenge in trying to emulate the feel of “old scifi” as a design direction is that there are so many flavors of scifi, and each one landed on what is now considered Iconic because that’s what they had the budget for.

Some of the most iconic outfits of the broad genre are literally space crew uniforms, with utilitarian designs suitable for mass production and for visual clarity. These are usually inspired somewhat by irl military uniform design, and utilize color blocking and clean lines. This shares DNA with a lot of the design direction for anime and animated series in the genre, which benefit from simpler outfits and designated character colors. These all aim for being evocative- quite literally, Iconic- and succeed so well that they become can shorthand for the genre as a whole.

Similar in aesthetics is pulp pinup scifi, which falls between Iconic Designs and “10 minutes into the future bullshit fashion.” A lot of the time it’ll just be space bikinis, (or more accurately, space crop tops+sexy cutouts) but sometimes, like with Barbarella, you’ll get multiple outfits that are basically go go dancer outfits/fetish wear with chain mail/armor thrown on top, which is a very classic pulp look.

Then you’ve got my favorite, which is “10 minutes into the future bullshit fashion,” a prime example of which is in Back to the Future 2, where wearing your clothes inside out is trendy because you can see the designer labels (which, frankly, is brilliant commentary on Brand Fashion of the day, and also justifies the BS of “why are most of them wearing normal clothes”), and the rest of the future fashion is just “junk glued onto normal clothes, weird layering of statement pieces, stuff made from novelty fabrics, and sometimes someone will look like a space marine cyborg for no reason.” It’s a ton of garbage thrown together, and it rules because it reminds me of irl street fashion the most.

Space fantasy/space opera, on the other hand, tends to lean into extravagance, taking cues and employing silhouettes and concepts from haute couture and runway fashion. (Think Star Wars Prequels, Jupiter Ascending, and frankly, a lot of of the Miss Universe National outfits)

(Sidebar: This, in my opinion, is what most clearly differentiates the visual development of the original Star Wars trilogy from the prequels, beyond just the use of CGI; A New Hope HEAVILY took inspiration from westerns (black hats and white hats, Han Solo’s vest, etc), whereas the prequels and Padme’s regalia was all EXTREMELY space opera.)

The most boring versions of future fashion to me (which is, unfortunately, where Hollywood has seemingly landed on as “this is is what the future looks like,”) is “Bladerunner-Style Punkless Cyberpunk” (neon orientalism and trench coats) and “Apple Store Chic” (all white/black, smooth, minimalist, sometimes with Tron Lines if they’re feeling spicy)

I’m not saying it can’t be done WELL (Tron Legacy had a lot of fun sharp silhouettes and color coding to add interest to the Apple Store aesthetics), I’m just saying that it’s less fun than a guy wearing a 10 gallon hat with a headlamp glued to the front.

Anyway, TL;DR, please make the future weird again. I think the TikTok girlies gluing plastic fish to their outfits are the first step to a new and hopeful future.

[llycaons]

fic number 4 from this author: another comedy romp of questionable canonical integrity. so in this modern AU wwx and lwj are fabulously wealthy and famous, meet each other mundanely, don't recognize each other, and then assume the other is tragically poor. their attempts to keep their wealth hidden from the other so as to not make him feel bad lends itself to really excellent comedic lines and situations, and as usual with this author the wx is kind of a chemistry-laden romantic friendship that just eases into getting together, which I find quite nice and comforting. it really isn't very faithful to any canon themes, and while I like the wwx and lwj, they're kind of ooc due to being disgustingly rich and out of touch and self-centered and such. also the in-universe rpf was annoying. but! worth a read imo even if I won't be reccing. link here. especially funny lines below

There’s so many options,” Wei Wuxian says as they wait in the line. He’s studying the menu. “Lan Zhan, what are you getting?” “This place is known for its burgers,” Lan Wangji says, a fact he’s acquired through a quick google search. “It seems appropriate to try their speciality.”

lwj and wwx both are only familiar with upscale restaurants so lwj panicked and asked his agent (wen qing) to give him a list of cheaper places so she sent him to a fucking mcdonalds

Lan Zhan has known poverty, and Wei Wuxian’s fake apartment shows that he can relate to that.

sobbing. IT'S FAKE

Wei Wuxian suddenly thinks that maybe a ‘strict upbringing’ is code for ‘my family was super poor and we didn’t even have enough money for food or shower gel or saunas, let alone something fun’. His heart breaks as he imagines Lan Zhan as a child, a streak of dirt artfully smudged across his hollow cheeks, his second-hand clothes dirty because his parents couldn’t afford to do laundry.

SAUNAS???

"Mingjue is on a business trip at the moment. But I’m certain Uncle would have no objections to his presence. He would, after all, fit right in.” “Wei Ying is also on a trip,” Lan Wangji says. “Oh? And who paid for his ticket?” Lan Xichen asks, in between eating his rice.

lxc got burned once by meng yao and now he's SUPER classist???? this, lwj taking movie gigs because he's greedy (for money), and wwx not knowing what a fundraiser are all kind of push towards this not being super in-character but again it's super funny so I don't mind too much

"I assumed the lack of table manners would be a comfort to Wangji. I hear that rules of etiquette have not yet reached the lower classes.” Lan Wangji, who has once seen CEO and millionaire Nie Mingjue eat a barely-cooked steak with his bare hands, says nothing

a. CLASSIST. b. one of the very few times in this fic I say 'oh that IS kind of like the situation in canon because....with the sabers....and the comparison to wwx...and the unfairness in demonizing wwx...yeah

"Go, go, it’s fine, no one cares,” Wei Wuxian says, dragging him out of the bathroom by his sleeve. It rips, but that’s not Wei Wuxian’s fault. The fabric was clearly flawed.

and this! refusing to take responsibility for things! writers tend to go really far in the other direction bc in canon there was so much he genuinely did wrong but also so much he was blamed for and so much abuse and trauma that went along with the blame but for very little things like this...yeah I can see it

On stage, Lan Xichen has launched into a talk on the emotional labour of helping the working class, and how every single person in this room tonight is a hero.

jesus christ lxc

[inkykeiji]

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

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

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

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needy little bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

Three months earlier

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

You aren’t supposed to be here.

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

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

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

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

“Whadda we have here?”

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

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

Dabi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,”

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

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

“Okay,”

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

“Something funny, princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, I’m glad,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So. Food?”

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to touch them?”

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

“Keigo—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

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

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

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joyrides.

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

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

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

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

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

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

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

Yes, he hid it well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this—this becomes a habit.

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of it mattered.

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

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

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

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

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

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

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

“To-Todo—”

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

“Your coa—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He isn’t good for you—”

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

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

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

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

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess, I…”

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

“You’re overreacting—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they aren’t.

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

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

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

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

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

“Marginally—”

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

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

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

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

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

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

“You don’t understand—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never thought he would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   ✰          ✰          ✰            

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

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

“He hit me,”

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

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

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

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

[rcksmith]

Be good — Five Hargreeves.

Requests: “can i get car sex w/five and lots of praise kink tyyyy 💖💖”

“Hi! Could I request smut prompts 11, 22, and 29 as well as fluff 40 for five hargreeves? Ty!”

Smut prompts:

11. “She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but i bet behind closed doors she’s latex and whips.”

22. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

29. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”

Fluff prompts:

40. “Come cuddle.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope you guys like💖I decided to compile these two requests, since they were the same energy and they prompts connect to a central plot. I added all the elements that were asked for individually, and made sure that all ideas were respected and written down. Good reading.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves / Fem! Reader.

Warnings: explicit smut, degradation, dirty talk, bad words, fluff.

— — — — —

Part of Five thought it was absurd to feel this way, so wrong. You were young, so young, with an adventurous face in your 20s and bright eyes. Full of life and with such a loose spirit. You had that cool breeze with a free soul, a bright smile and, holy mother of God, you had a body that would be the reason why he would be banished from paradise.

There was something about your youthful innocence that clenched Five's teeth, that made him clench fists to control the urges to touch you at any time. This irritated him deeply.

You were so... so... sweet.

So fucking sweet. From your summer dresses, your delicate mouth, doe eyes and silky hair. You looked like a fucking princess and Five wanted to destroy you for that. You didn't look real. It looked like it came out of a fairy tale and it hit something very deep in Five. Oh, he was burning in a very dangerous fire.

Worst of all, you always knew what you were doing with him. And the way you pretend you don't make him even more angry.

Five remembers the exact moment when he threw in the towel, stopped fighting that insane desire and kissed you as if you were the last glass of water in the desert. And all of this was caused by a trigger so simple, ridiculous to be honest.

He gave up control one afternoon, when you were playing cards with Klaus in the living room, you had just won and got up, saying that you were going to get your phone that you were carrying in another room.

“It's hard to try to be mad at her, she's so cute.” Klaus said to Five, making a gesture in the air that represented pinching your cheeks.

If Five's mood hadn't been bad before, it was bad now. He rolled his eyes, hiding the expression on lips when he took a sip of coffee.

“You should learn from her, who knows" Klaus shrugged “She is so nice and you are... well, you are you.” Klaus pointed to Five's entire body, in a teasing of brother.

The deadly look that Five gave his brother made Klaus laugh even more. God, he was an idiot!

“Doesn't she look like those little movie fairies?”

“Is annoying.” Five rolled his eyes.

“It’s cute.” Klaus defended you “But you know, I think it's just superficial.”

That caught Five's attention, and Klaus realized and started to explain.

“She told me that she likes some more ... crude things, if you know what I mean.” Oh, Five understood “She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but i bet behind closed doors she’s latex and whips.”

So Five was shipwrecked by Images of you. Tied to the bed, in white lingerie, your lips swollen from using that princess mouth of for something else. The giant wave invaded he mind like a ball of destruction, demolishing the entire barrier of self-control he had struggled to build. Brick by brick.

Five wanted to erase those images from his head, to exclude any universe in which you were on all fours for him, begging for more, with that fucking cute voice of yours.

But no matter how hard he tried, Klaus' words brought endless malicious situations that did not come out of Five’s mind.

So that's when he gave up. It was ridiculous to be controlling yourself like a puritan, like a stupid little boy who didn't know what to do.

And Five knew exactly what wanted to do to you.

Then, that afternoon, he disappeared in front of Klaus in the blue flash and reappeared in the room you were in. You must have said something, but Five didn't hear it, or didn't want to hear it. He just walked up to you, put his hands on your waist and kissed you with all the desire that the world had.

He barely touched you and you were already a modeling clay in he hands, sighing with strong touches, with raw kisses, purring like a kitten.

“I didn’t know you were so sensitive." Five whispered against your mouth before he kissed you again.

Five Hargreeves thought that fucking you once would placate that sickly fire that was inside him. But it didn't placate, in fact, it was like pouring gasoline on the fire.

Everything inside him became wilder, more hungry, needy. And that was why he was there, fucking you hard in the car, on an abandoned street.

You moaned loudly, the top of your little red summer dress lowered, exposing your breasts that bounced as you slipped on Five's lap. The air was caustic and pungent, the two of you gasped, sighed, let out toxic and broken moans.

Their bodies clashed as if the world was going to end in that second, and Five did not have the strength to squeeze your hips, pulling you down and up with brutality, pushing him dick deeper into you with every bounce you gave.

“So fucking tight!” He snarled, lowering his left hand to your ass, lifting the fabric of the dress and slapping you.

You contained the cry, pressing your lips against him neck, the tears already burning in your eyes. Five don't slow down the ruthless pace, fucking you with the fury of an animal, as if I've never fucked you before.

“Such a good pussy!” He hand let go of your skin to wrap his fingers in your hair on the back of neck, pulling your face into his, making you receive the moans against your mouth. “I can't get enough of eating you! Good fucking slut!”

You could see the anger, desire, lust and wildness in he eyes. Five wanted to destroy you and, god, you loved it. You let go of that innocent and mysterious smile that left him even more out of control, and Five slapped you down again, but now on your left cheek.

“Don't look like that to me!” He pulled your chin up at him "Otherwise, you're going to get out of here without being able to walk right!"

But it was logical that you did not hear. Truth be told, you were a fucking tease. You liked the game, the hunt, the adrenaline. You liked to play with fire, and Five Hargreeves was not just a flame, but the entire fire.

“Do... do what D-daddy?” You used your best voice, seeing he anger and lust spilling out of he green eyes.

Then you gave that smile again, more neat, more painful and more innocent, and Five snarled like a wild animal that has just come out of captivity. He immediately took you off his lap, taking he dick out of you.

“Go to the fucking backseat. Now!”

You obeyed, going to the backseat and placing yourself on all fours, resting your chest on the seat while lifting your hips.

“You already know how to stand. You are is a little slut, really!” Then a loud slap came on your ass, and you bit your palm to keep from screaming.

“D...Daddy!” You whined.

Five pinned your hair up in a ponytail with he hand, pulling your body back until it was glued and glued to his.

"I'm not going to touch you unless you beg." He snarled in your ear, the hot temperature of he dick an inch from your needy center.

“Please!” You cried “I'm go to be b-good! I promise, daddy!”

“Beg!” One more slap.

“Please!” You rummaged your hips, trying to make any contact. “Please!”

Then Five entered you. Strong, rough, badly and aggressive. He barely gave you time to moan before he started hitting your fragile walls, flooding your eyes with tears that flowed. It was too much stimulation, too much strength, too much desire that made your body want to scream. You and Five had a security password, but you were too horny to want to use it because of the pain.

“So fucking good tis pussy!” Five kept his hand firmly in your hair and the other on your hips, pulling you to his dick. “You have to be a desperate slut to give it to me in the car, don't you?” another slap “Such a needy little slut.”

“Yes, d-daddy!”

Then he continued, relentless. You turned your face to see him, and that was even more of a discharge of electricity between your legs.

Five's coal-black hair was sweaty, clinging to his forehead, with a few droplets running down his firm face. He was without a suit, his shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, exposing his vein-streaked arms, marking the white skin that was covered with a layer of sweat mist.

His green eyes contained all the wildness, fury and lust in the world. He looked like an angry young god. And that took you to the apex.

Five let out a short, husky, sneering laugh at how fast you always came for him, and he increased his movements until he poured the hot liquid as deep as possible into you.

“Your pussy is so good.” He whispered in your ear, slowing you two heartbeat with a few kisses on your shoulder.

Five pulled the suit that was lying on the floor of the car, placing it under you and turning you on top of the cloth, so that the cum dripped on the suit instead of the seat. He watched in lust as the cum poured out of you.

Five pulled the air against his teeth, not controlling himself and leaning towards you, sticking your lips together in an angry kiss.

“You are so hot." You smirked at his comment.

“Where were we even going?” You laughed.

"Home."

You loved how he used the word "home" with you. As if it were the home of the two of you.

“Take a shower and have dinner?” Five nodded, removing a lock of his hair from his face. "And after... we are come cuddle?”

He laughed, shrugging and sticking his lips to yours again.

“If that is going to make you stop talking. Of course, dear.” He grunted playfully on your lips, and you laughed.

God, you loved that man.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

A) thank you for your hard work. This Tumblr is a fucking godsend and you are incredible and also very funny. (B) in the spirit of the reincarnation but with past memories - what if you were reincarnated into one of the Cullens (pick any except Carlisle) the day after they were turned? You wake up and, bam, you're Rosalie the Vampire with her human memories AND your Carnivorous Muffin memories. (Rosalie is an example, any other Cullen vampire works). What would you do?

A) Thank you, I'm very flattered!

B) Oh boy.

Well, I had @therealvinelle break out Torgrim to choose my destiny (or, rather, python's RNG because I was too lazy to run the actual torgrim.py and had very few choices), because I really have no horses in this race.

By the divine will of Torgrim I am to be reincarnated as... Edward Cullen. Damn you, Torgrim, damn you to hell.

(Well, at least I don't get Rosalie's memories of being gang raped, which was apparently a requirement for this ask.

I Wake Up As Edward

I imagine I wake up very confused for a myriad of reasons. One, I am now biologically a man, I wasn't biologically a man ten minutes ago. I'm also much taller and, well, all around different.

Have I also mentioned I am a crystal person, with extremely acute senses, whose throat is burning like wildfire? That's also new.

I also now seem to think I'm Edward Cullen as well as The Carnivorous Muffin. I remember being Edward not too long ago (on my death bed at that) but I also remember... not being Edward. In fact, I remember being a person who knew all about Edward Cullen and had distinct opinions about him.

I'm having the goddamn butterfly dream.

Once Zhuang Zhou dreamt he was a butterfly, a butterfly flitting and fluttering around, happy with himself and doing as he pleased. He didn't know he was Zhuang Zhou. Suddenly, he woke up and there he was, solid and unmistakable Zhuang Zhou. But he didn't know if he was Zhuang Zhou who had dreamt he was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming he was Zhuang Zhou. Between Zhuang Zhou and a butterfly there must be some distinction! This is called the Transformation of Things.

- Zhuangzi

Am I Edward Masen, feverish and hallucinating in my last hours, in a surreal fever world in which I am something called a vampire (but not like any other vampire I've ever heard of) where I also can guess everything that will ever happen to me? Or am I The Carnivorous Muffin lying concussed somewhere?

Who the hell even knows?

I probably want to say I'm The Carnivorous Muffin, Edward's memories don't show him getting hung up on this philosophical nonsense, but then again perhaps Edward didn't previously have access to the resources needed to think like this. Perhaps all of the memories are a fabrication.

Probably after about ten minutes of Carlisle staring at me, looking very concerned, I decide that this is pointless. If my universe is me floating in a tube of green goo, hallucinating this new reality, then there is nothing I can do about it. I might as well pretend my goo universe is real.

I guess I'm Edward Cullen now. Probably. Maybe. It's not important.

What Do You Do Now, Muffin?

Well, I'm assuming I'm still in control here/not warped too much by Edward's memories . For the sake of my sanity in this post, I'm assuming I'm still essentially me. Just, you know, in Edward's crystal body.

Welp, I bum around with Carlisle, that's what I do.

I try to do my best with the diet, don't leave to kill rapists, and try to get by in life. I probably don't push Carlisle and Esme together because I don't actually see that working out for either in the long term. I try to do right by Rosalie and, well, I merrily go along and try to ignore people's pedantic everyday thoughts.

Carlisle probably thinks I'm a very odd person, given that I'm still likely having a bit of an existential crisis/give weird hints of seeing the future now and then, as does the rest of the family but we get by.

I vote we never, ever, go to Forks. Ever. Hopefully, even if they go in the 1930's, they listen to me and do not go in 2005. If they do, I announce that I am going camping for a few years until we make the next move. Don't ask why, it's just something I must do. I'm sure everybody stares, but I'm also sure they're used to Muffinward's ways by now.

They can thank me later.

I'm sure the world is much happier for my actions, though none of them will ever realize it.

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.2)

Chapter II: Exigence

✿ Word Count: 2.6k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Mitsuya POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, manga spoilers, slight angst + smut

“You look so pretty while you’re sleeping.”

The tender voice-- so gentle, so sweet-- it began to echo within his mind. He, at first, had thought he was dreaming but that voice-- oh that beautiful voice, it tempted him so dearly. He began to chase the voice, following it through the mess of his mind, his thoughts, firmly clasping it and--

It isn’t you.

He opened his eyes, closing them instantly again as the light burned them intensely. He waited a few seconds before trying again, his eyes beginning to readjust as the light became calmer and more bearable. He was face to face with a woman-- he couldn’t seem to recognize her. Her voice, her pleasant voice… it had sounded too similar to your own, he could’ve sworn it was you, laying beside him naked with your head drooping over him as you admired him sleeping. Looking closer upon the woman in front of him, he recognized her as one of his classmates and member of his Home-Economics club. It began to come back to him slowly, how exactly he ended up here. It was just the usual after all, sleeping with women to satisfy his needs-- or rather, his suppressed desires.

He happened to only share one class with you-- of course, it was Designer-101. In this class, the professor would instruct and teach you about the most trendy styles going on, or some older styles that were coming back in fashion and how to incorporate them into your works. It was a very intricate class but you both were determined to accomplish your dreams, even if it meant passing this dread of a course. However, as hard as it might be, Mitsuya fully enjoyed every aspect of the course because it was fun to clash styles, colors, and fabrics just to accomplish the final design. He had noticed you took great pride in this class, too, and even incorporated these color schemes into your lighting and filter ideas. While he’d never admit it to your face, his heart fluttered seeing your eyes gloss over your masterpiece and grin, taking a few moments to admire your work. He rarely bothered you in this case for this exact reason, although he couldn’t help the occasional tease, just to see your squirm.

┃ “Y/N, dear, are you alright? You seem to be struggling a little bit with this embroidery pattern.”

┃ “Sorry, Professor! I’ll get the hang of it quickly, I’m sure, just a small obstacle!” You reassured him, giving him the warm smile Mitsuya mourned losing and wished he could see from the receiving end just once more.

Unbeknownst to you, Mitsuya had eavesdropped on the entire conversation table next to yours. You had attempted to choose a seat that was far away from him, but he picked up on that quite quickly and decided, just out of spite, to sit the table directly horizontal from you. Desperately yearning for a small scrap of your attention, he quickly stepped besides the Professor but composed himself before saying

┃ “Professor, if I may… since Y/N seems to be having a rough time, I can help them out. If that’s with your permission, of course, sir.” He said with that bastardly shit-eating smile that made your stomach turn inside out while wrapping his arm around your shoulder. It was the smile that captivated teachers with it’s innocence and purity-- if only they knew that it was the mischievous smile that you were accustomed to seeing after he was done with you.

Before you could offer a rebuttal, your professor smiled genuinely and nodded, thanking Mitsuya before walking off and mumbling how he was such a good kid. As soon as your Professor had made it to the other side of the enormous classroom, Mitsuya turned to you, shit-eating grin beginning to form into a devious smirk as he finally had some alone-time with you.

┃ “Hey baby~” His voice came out smoothly like butter, words falling out of his mouth as if this was the entire script planned out in his head. Little did you know, it was.

┃ “You’re only helping me figure this embroidery pattern out, that’s it, no rebuttals, nothing more. Got it?” You spat harshly, making that smirk on his face quickly turn into a scowl as you once more rejected any flirtatious opportunity he threw at you.

He scoffed, not acknowledging your question with a nod or even the common courtesy of a reply, but he moved off to the other side of the table to grab the needle that was engraved in the cloth you were attempting to sew on. Even though he moved on pretty quickly, your words had stung him deeply, as it made it clear to him any romantic opportunity he had with you had been reduced and diminished into nothing. He placed it in front of you, motioning his hand for you to continue what you were doing before folding them over his chest. You growled, assuming that this was him punishing you for not reciprocating his flirts. However, it ended up being the exact opposite, as he intently observed your stitch, attempting to pinpoint where you were going wrong. Your accuracy was fine, your hands enwrapped the needle firmly but gently as you intertwined it within the cloth and there, he had picked up on what you were doing wrong. He carefully set himself behind you, having his chest press against your back as he wrapped his arms around you to hold your hands. The surprise caught your breath and made it hitch, feeling his ice-cold hands gently coddle your warm ones, balancing out the heat. Catching on to your growing flustered state, he smirked but his voice disguised it perfectly as he explained your mistake to you while beginning to guide your fingers through the cloth.

┃ “Your accuracy, your grip, all of that is perfect, sweetheart. Your mistake is you pull the needle out too early before allowing it to catch proper depth within the cloth. That’s why the final design comes out messy.” He explains, his words sounding almost like a textbook, professional, informative, while also comforting your tensed shoulders with his velvety voice and pet names as he continued to guide your hands until you reached the end of the segment.

Subconsciously, you had begun to relax in his grip, leaning your back into his chest as you finally perfected the technique with little help from his assistance as he withdrew his hands and allowed you to continue without him, setting his hands on the table and caging you in. He took the moments of silence to indulge in the warmth of your back pressing against him, a moment that came so rarely yet drove him insane every time your skin happened to graze him. You, on the other hand-- your mind was far from relaxed. You questioned why he was being so tender with you when he was so rough with you earlier, unprovokingly shoving you to the ground and humiliating you in front of your classmates. You opened your mouth to question him, but reluctantly closed it once you realized you wouldn’t get a real answer if you questioned him. After all, after being so kind the next day he’d return to normal as if nothing happened-- as if there was no spark between you both. He awoke you from your thoughts by placing his fingers below your chin, softly lifting your face to meet his own.

┃ “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe I will, soon~” he giggled to himself, grinning down at you, this time a genuine smile that expressed pure delight.

┃ “What happened to us, Mitsuya?” You bluntly asked, causing him to tense, his smile forming into a poker face as he contemplated your question carefully.

Months-- months ago, you were standing there after school after one of their club meetings next to the campus entrance, waiting for someone as she told him. He offered to wait with you but you told him it was okay-- no, you shooed him off, giving him some excuse as to why he couldn’t wait with her. A little arrow pierced through his lovestruck heart but he nodded and walked away, however he did not leave. He remained across the street hiding in the corner, far enough for her to not notice he still remained on campus grounds but close enough to still see her patiently waiting. He insisted his duty as her club president was to watch over her and ensure her safety, of course, there was nothing special about that. Any club member would do a little spying just to ensure their kohai’s well-being. She was pushing him away, that wasn’t normal, so surely something must be wrong. That was when that little shit Takemichi came along and his mouth fell open, in shock she knew a loser like him. Hanagaki Takemichi did not attend their university, however, he was a part of Toman, which was still growing in power. Takemichi had only joined recently but he had quickly won the hearts of Mikey and Draken, therefore anyone would think Mitsuya liked him too. How far from the truth that statement was-- Mitsuya despised Takemichi. His dumbass couldn’t fight for shit-- no brains nor brawn. During the fight with Valhalla, he was tasked with saving Baji and couldn’t even do so. Thankfully, Baji had survived his stab wounds, although the doctors informed Mitsuya and the others he was very lucky to have lived. On lesser issues, Takemichi also shows no signs of respect-- going as far as to punch the recently appointed 3rd division captain, Kisaki Tetta. What the fuck were you doing with someone like him? He watched your interaction so diligently, taking every note of laughter, smiles, and nods you gave Takemichi until Mitsuya began to feel himself clutching his knuckles so tight they looked like they were about to pop right out of his fists. Was everything you had gone through for the past few months nothing more than a game? Had he misunderstood your feelings-- was there really no spark between you both? The thought of this made his stomach drop, hitting him like a truck. No no, that was clearly the case, there was no other reason why you'd giggle so much around Takemichi, smile at him so fondly, or gaze at him as your eyes began to sparkle whenever he got enthusiastic about whatever the fuck it was he was talking about.

The next thing he knew, he was yelling at you after club hours the next day, shouting about how much of a dumbass you were, and how you failed to pick up on social cues around you. Many other insults came flying out his mouth, hitting you like bricks, piling up and causing the tears to build up. Truthfully, the entire situation was an entire blur to him. All he could remember was the close proximity of your faces as he yanked your chain when you attempted to talk back, which is when he noticed the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to fall if provoked any further. You were released from his grip instantly and in a calm voice, he allowed you to exit, a loud sniffle accidentally slipping out of your lips as you ran out of the room before he could see you cry. He stared at you blankly, reminiscing before releasing your chin from his gentle fingers and backing away from you as he replied:

┃ “I could ask you the same.”

You remained looking at him for a few moments, before deciding it wasn’t worth engaging with him. He watched as you carried your project back to your designated locker, locked it, and put on your backpack before asking the professor if you could leave since it was time to go. Glancing at his watch, he announced class was dismissed and you quickly rushed out before bumping into Hakkai directly outside the door to the left, who was waiting for Mitsuya. You apologized to him instantly, to which he smiled and patted your head. A conversation ensued between the two of you and as Mitusya walked out, he saw the two of you engaging and laughing. It almost identically mimicked the way you acted with Takemichi, innocently smiling and staring at him so adoringly. He envied the comfortability you both shared in your relationship, the air bubbling with chemistry. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s staring until one of his club members taps his shoulder, greeting him and complimenting his outfit.

┃ “Hey, Kashi! Love your jacket, is it new?”

Now he’s here, back at his place with one of his kohai’s as he pushes her into the wall, roughly kissing her and quickly unbuttoning her shirt as she unzips his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and soon the rest of their clothes follow. Moans and groans fill the room, although most of them are hers. He’s painfully silent throughout their session, too frustrated to really focus on her-- however, she’s too accentuated on her own pleasure to notice he’s simply using her as a stress reliever and nothing more. There’s nothing wrong with her, she’s beautiful, she’s skilled, talented, kind, but she’s simply not you. She looks nothing like you but her voice, oh god her voice, it sounded almost just like yours. Her moans made his skin heat up, imagining it was your warm silky hands embracing him, you begging him to love you more. It was enough to satisfy him for now, just enough to pretend the woman he was pleasuring so much was you. She moaned his name and he bit his lip, using all of his might to fight the instinct to moan out your name instead. His slams grew harsher and tougher, releasing all of that pent up desire and anger in single strokes. The rest of the night was a blur, as soon as he pulled off the condom he went to sleep, bored of her.

┃ “Kashi~”

He sighed, remembering his idiocy of yesterday evening and how he’d now have to gently reject this girl without letting her know he simply used her as a distraction. He spent a good minute contemplating her name before she spoke to him again.

┃ “Kashi? You alright?”

┃ “Mmh, sorry... just tired.”

┃ “Ah, it’s fine sleepyhead~ you know, yesterday was really fun, we should do it more often. How about a date tonight?.”

┃ “Awh...dear… that’s awfully sweet of you… I’m just not looking for something serious right now. I’m just into one-night stands at the moment.”

┃ “Oh… oh! Maybe we could be sex partners then?”

┃ “Ah, Sure… sure.” He privileged her with a smile of pure pity, relaxing his head back on the pillow, hoping to drift back to sleep so once he awoke she’d be long gone. The plan was if she ever reached out for sex again, he’d just come up with some excuse on how he was busy finishing a project. His mind drifted off, thinking about seeing you in class, only to remember it was a Saturday and that meant he didn’t have class with you-- in fact, Saturday’s were a relatively free day for him. He booked himself with classes every other day and decided he should have at least one day off. You know what that meant? He’d have to fucking dread it with this chick until she took the hint and left. The faster he fell asleep, the sooner this day would be over. He didn’t bother to listen to the woman as she continued speaking to him, closing his eyes as he censored her out and slowly drifted back to sleep.

tags: @haiq-trash, @blackmysticalsimp @the2ndl @bren-heron

a/n: f in the chat for anyone who thought bully! Mitsuya had healthy coping mechanisms, also you should check out @darenimo if you already haven't because she helped me proofread this chapter and gave me all of her commentary while reading it and I sobbed for a good 10 minutes straight. I love she.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

dress

pairing: sheriff lee bodecker x younger! reader

warnings: cheating, smut, age gap, angst, blackmailing 

a/n: the reader is at least 10 years younger than lee. if that upsets you, please don’t read this work. additionally, i based reader’s 60′s style mostly out of  that oufit margot robbie wore for once upon a time in hollywood and megan from mad men, you can see my inspiration outfits here [x] [x] hope you enjoy it xx

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try and if I get burned, at least we were electrified. I'm spilling wine in the bathtub, you kiss my face and we're both drunk. Everyone thinks that they know us, but they know nothing about all of this silence and patience, pining in anticipation, my hands are shaking from holding back from you ...

The rain fell harshly and unkindly on the pavement for the fifth day in a row, the sun having forsaken the forgotten hellish town that was Knockemstiff, Ohio. Few could say the name and ever fewer dared to enter the town. Even God’s afraid of it, his mother would tell him after nursing what felt like another one of her endless bottles of liquor. It was a haunted town, not a lot left and those who did never crossed paths with it again. Murder and crime were all time highs but not even the government dared to come in and try to to anything which meant any police force in the town were like gods, deciding who lived and who didn’t. One of those god-like men was Lee Bodecker, however he preferred you called him Sheriff Lee Bodecker.  He was a chubby man in his early thirties, tall but the beer belly made him hunch making him look shorter than he was. He had once been the envy of the town, one of the most handsome men of the town but years of living in Knockemstiff wear down everyone. His own poison had been alcohol which had ended up with him in therapy with his wife and with a therapist who had told him to curb the craving of alcohol with sweets instead. It had little to nothing as he still drank like his life depended on it and tonight was no different from other nights. He took off his hat as he entered the local bar in town, the only bar in town, and everyone looked his way, silence installing the ever noisy bar. He liked it, Lee liked it. He knew he was not the handsome one, in fact his look made him quite funny so he made himself scary. Lee made sure that everyone who looked his way, heard his voice or saw his shadow was afraid of him. It definitely worked as once he sat on the bar stool, there was already a glass with 5 fingers of his favourite drink. 

Everything was silence except for the mumbling of men discussing their days until suddenly the mumbling was no longer about the hell that was living in Knockemstiff. He turned around in his chair and understood why the men were suddenly so interested. There she was, dressed in a high neck black shirt which stood over a white skirt. Matching go go boots left her legs bare, something women in Knockemstiff did not do, still stuck in decades of last. She wasn’t from around and everyone knew it merely by the way she dressed but Sheriff Bodecker knew different. Men watched like dogs as she made her way to the bar, to his side. 

     - Y/N. - he greeted her. - What are you doing here? Trying to disrupt the town?

     - My grandmother died.

     - I heard. My condolences.

     - She left me all of what was hers including the house so I’m here to sell it. 

     - The one in Brewer Heights? - she nodded. - Tis a nice house, but I don’t think anyone here would have enough to buy it.

     - I’ll decide that. - she held the glass the bartender in between her hands, her eyes roaming over to his hands were his wedding ring had started to become tight around his finger. - Still with Jane?

     - Why wouldn’t I be? - he cocked an eyebrow at her. - What are you doing here, Y/N?

    - I told you, I’m here to sell ...

    - No. - he interrupted. - Why are you here, at the bar? What do you want?

    - Nothing ...  I see you’re not in the mood to help me anyways. - she got up from the stool she had sat on, straightening her skirt as her feet hit the floor. - Good evening, Sheriff Bodecker. 

He was sat, watching her leave but also giving an aura to the men who too watched the modern girl exit the building not to get any ideas. Lee knew these men, they were like dogs and once a suitable amount of time passed, he took to returning to his cruiser and follow her. How could he trust this town with her, an outsider? Y/N had been brought up in Knockemstiff, the daughter of store owners who had both been killed in an assault gone wrong. After that, she was ushered to live with her grandmother, the last of socialites in Knockemstiff. Rumours said her grandmother had moved from New York to wed with a penniless man already expecting once she wore her wedding gown. Rumours or not, she still held much more money than anyone in the town together and she wasted not a cent in her granddaughter’s education, moving to a more upscale house in Brewer Heights once she got her under her care. She was always the one with everything and Lee remembered seeing her while still an officer driving around a brand new glossy red car, hair loose through the wind. In all honesty, he thought her never too leave town but as she reached her tender 21st year of life, she left leaving everything behind. 

He parked outside her grandmother’s home, stopping just a bit away from it looking at the house that was so eerily sketched in his mind. He leaned against his seat watching Brewer Heights, the place he so wanted to have lived in his youth. Of course he now owned a place there too but it was faint, fickle. If he were to not be sheriff anymore all would shatter. He would do everything he could to keep his position. He deserved it, he deserved it more than any damned soul on this planet. A knock on the glass removed him from his mind state as he looked the way of his window to see her. 

     - Can I come in? - she asked, eyes lingering on the passenger seat. He stretched over to the side, opening the door for her but not exiting the car. She entered, closing the door as she sat on the seat. - I’ve always hated when you were mad at me. 

     - I’m not mad.

     - You have no reason to be. I know what you’re mad about and it’s your own fault, you know that.

     - Is it my fault you left? - his hands tightened against the wheel of his cruiser, anger coursing through his veins. Lee never liked to hear the truth.

    - She knew, Lee and she was right ... If anyone knew, if the town knew I would’ve been ruined and I didn’t deserve that. You must understand I didn’t deserve that. 

    - I didn’t deserve you leaving without saying a fucking thing now did I, darl’?

    - You were married. - she almost spat the words in his face. - You are married, Lee. Now you can be mad at me all you want, you can hate me for all I give a damn but I was not gonna destroy myself for your happiness, and I will certainly not allow you to destroy yourself for lust. 

    - Y/N ...

    - I don’t need your help anymore and I would enjoy it if you parked your cruiser away from my house. I wouldn’t want any rumours about your infidelities to resurface. - she exited the car and climbed the small incline of grass up to her home. Lee still remembered seeing her in a little white dresses her grandmother would buy for her, climbing that incline while holding the fabric so it wouldn’t fly up. She seemed to have gotten the hang of it.

Lee had met Y/N when she volunteered at the station back when he was still a patrol officer. She did the duties of every single secretary plus cleaning which was what she had volunteered for. It’ll be good for my university application, she told him when Lee asked what she was doing there. She started at 17 and remained there until she was 18 and ready to leave and become something other than a Knockemstiff resident. However, her mother having sudden heart attack ruined her plans and she decided to stay to take care of her. Lee didn’t see her for two whole years until she was 20 years old and he spotted her at the supermarket getting an earful from Mr. Collins about dropping a bottle of olive oil while trying to reach something from the higher shelf. Lee didn’t like it, he didn’t like Mr. Collins berating her for a simple mistake so he stepped in. He remembered her thanking him before reintroducing herself to him. 

He wasn’t one to be swayed by women, he’d married his Jane when he was fresh out of high school and while his relationship was more than stale, he had his mind on work and alcohol. Sure he could’ve divorced, found someone else but he wasn’t the teenager he used to be anymore, he was hardly someone who women would be attracted to besides a single man for a Sheriff? That surely wasn’t gonna happen. Yet, he couldn’t help but be entranced by her, fresh into adulthood with a mind full of ideas about what she wanted to do. He didn’t mean it, he didn’t mean to start a relationship with her, to start an affair yet he couldn’t say he regret it. He didn’t regret the nights where she’d meet him in the woods, covered by a black trench coat. He could still feel his, his hands against her back, feeling the fabric of her undergarments as the windows fogged. 

Y/N was upset. Her friends had told her she better not expect the man who she had left without any notice to help her but she was upset. What choice did she have? After her grandmother heard about it, it would’ve taken no time for everyone in town to hear about it and she would’ve been a disgrace and Lee would’ve certain not become Sheriff. Nevertheless she was upset. Instead, she asked an old friend from school, Billy. It was no surprise he was here, nobody left, nobody ever left. She had left but yet here she was once again, 4 years later wondering about an affair which shouldn’t have happened. Her grandmother had berated her for ages “you don’t sleep with a married man” and of course she knew she shouldn’t yet she had. She didn’t know better. 

She had boxes and boxes packed with whatever it was left of the house, photo books, clothing, bedding, all of it packed. Once she got to New York she could sort through it but right now all she wanted to was leave. Her friends even offered to come over and do it for her but the damned lawyer said it had to be her. In the morning she waited for Billy in the steps of her home, dressed in one of her old 50′s fashioned white dress, a far cry from the mini skirts she used at home and off he came in the exact same car he had when they were both teens. 

   - Y/N, look at you. - he walked off the car. - You look gorgeous, darl’. 

   - Thank you, Billy. - she scratched the back of her head. - Uhm it’s only 5 big boxes. I’ll pay for the gas if you help me take them to post office. 

   - You’re not keeping the house?

   - And live in Knockemstiff? - she rolled her eyes, climbing up the stairs to grab the boxes from the front of the door. The boy helped her pack the car before the two hopped onto the car. - So, how’s the town been?

   - Nothing changes. Mr. Collins died, no one was upset about it and that Bodecker guy became Sheriff. - he light up a cigarette as he turned on the engine. - It’s still as boring as its been and people mostly gossip around the same old gossip.

   - What’s new in gossip?

   - Eleanor still says you and Bodecker were fucking. - he chuckled. - As if ... I mean, look at you, you were prom queen and he’s a fat bastard. 

    - You should watch your mouth, Billy. He’s the sheriff. 

    - Because he bought it. - he shrugged. - Dad says he’s pretty much doing everyone’s dirty work. I mean his sister and her husband disappeared and were found dead. 

    -  I don’t really care for that type of gossip. - she leaned against the seat, watching the trees pass by. It wasn’t that she and Billy were good friends but she needed help and she’d rather die than go beg Lee to help her out. She had tried and it’d failed. Besides what was the worse that could happen?

The worse that could happen became very clear as instead of driving into town he took a left into the woods. She rose her head from the seat as all the ways one could reach town rushed through her mind. This definitely wasn’t one of them, it was hard to even get to the town through the woods. She knew that because, well ... it was where she would meet Lee to ensure no one from town found them. The car came to a stop and Billy got off the car. Maybe he just needed to pee or to get some air. She waited til he was on his back to open the car door and start running but he rushed after her, grabbing her arm and throwing her to the ground before standing over her, hands holding her wrists above her head.

   - Billy, what are you doing? - stay calm, that was what they always taught her, stay calm. 

   - Come on, Y/N. They always wanted us to be together in high school, remember? 

   - I don’t know what you’re talking about. Billy, calm down. 

   - You fucking calm down. I know you want me too, Y/N. You called me, you need my help, darl’. I can make you feel so damn good ... - his mouth lowered down and she started to trash around, trying to get rid of him. 

   - Stop, please stop. - she looked up at the sky, the morning sun barely up as she recalled why you don’t come back to Knockemstiff. You don’t get back because you get stuck. As she convinced herself there was nothing the do, a short was heard through the air. 

  - What the heck are you doing William? - she recognised the voice. She had never been more grateful for that voice. Billy jumped over to his feet.

   - Sheriff ... me and Y/N were just having a bit of fun ... You know, you understand, right?

   - Y/N ... - he looked her way. - What were you doing?

   - It was against my will, Sheriff. - she climbed onto her feet, leaning against a tree at a healthy distance from him.

  - Get the fuck out of here. - the young boy in his mid 20′s rushed out like a child afraid of the dark, forgetting his car and everything he had left behind. Y/N watched him running, tripping onto his legs as Lee fired a warning shot in the air. If this was NY, there would be someone here already but this was Knockemstiff and gun shots were as usual as rain during winter.

He smirked, happy to have once again imposed the authority he so much treasured. Lee never liked Billy, he never liked when he’d drive Y/N home from school even when she was volunteering at the police station. That boy was no good news and always looked at her like she was a piece of meat. Lee still remembered the old Sheriff telling her that boy was no good and looking at her now, dressed in one of her white dresses stained in dirty and green grass stains, he guessed he was right. 

  - Billy, Y/N? Don’t you have other friends?

  - Billy’s the only one with a car. - Y/N mumbled as she grabbed his keys from the floor to take her stuff off his car before he could return. - Thank you but I had it under control.

  - ‘Course you did. - he put his hands on his waist. - Come on, I’ll drive you to wherever you want to go.

  - I don’t want any favours from you, Sheriff Bodecker. - she held her boxes against her chest. Well, if she started now maybe she could be at the post office with all the boxes at nighttime. - That’ll be all.

  - Y/N, come on. I’m a public server so let me help you.

  - I don’t want your help. - she almost barked at him, taking another box from Billy’s car. Maybe she could drive the car, yet again she knew the captain particularly liked Billy and could fine her if 

  - Fine, can you tell me what you’re doing at least?

  - I’m shipping these boxes to New York. I don’t have time to completely go through them so ...

  - Put them in the cruiser. I’ll take them to the post office and take you home. 

  - I don’t want any favours.

  - It’s not for you, it’s for your grandmother. Now get into the car, please. - he opened the door to her.

Y/N huffed. The last thing she needed was a favour from Lee Bodecker yet in all honesty she had no other choice. She packed her boxes into the truck of his cruiser and sat on the passenger seat, arms crossed as he sat in the driver’s seat. Her mind played tricks on her, reminding her of what they used to do in that driver’s seat of his back when she was younger and full of ideas for the future. She shouldn’t have done it and she knew it, Jane Bodecker wasn’t the best woman but she didn’t deserve having her husband sneaking around with a 20 year old despite her herself having had her fair share of affairs. Not that Lee knew and she wasn’t gonna be the one to tell him about the time she was working late in the station and saw his wife getting busy with a new patrol. She didn’t have that right, after all he was doing the same to her. She shouldn’t have done it, nevertheless. Her grandmother died ashamed of her and now she had to deal with it. 

   - Billy said Sandy died. Is it true? 

   - Yeah, last year.

   - Oh ... I’m sorry, I didn’t know. 

   - She had it coming. That weird husband of hers ended up driving her off the edge. That Arvin kid shot them yet I can’t say they hadn’t it coming ... She was still my baby sister. 

   - I’m sorry, Lee. I’m so sorry ...  - she looked down at her skirt. 

   - Almost got me too ... stupid kid. - he shrugged. - Good thing I was fat enough to stop the bullet, I guess.

   - Well, I’m sorry about Sandy. - she said as she saw her house become clearer through the window. He stopped in front of her home, unlocking the doors so she could walk out. 

Y/N walked out before she could do something stupid. Whatever she did, whatever he had, whenever they were together she always ended up doing something stupid. She sat in the empty house of her childhood, only now containing furniture. She could remember it so well from her years as a child running up and down the stairs, not knowing what awaited her outside the world. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to owe anything to Lee. She knew who he had to answer softly too, she knew those men Billy spoke about. They always ran for Sheriff ever since she was a kid. 

She looked at the clock on the wall, 3PM. She knew exactly where those men would be at that time and so she changed and took her way downtown. Everyone turned their head as she walked into the badly light, old bar in tones of musky green which greatly contrasted with her baby blue short dress. The town had gotten stuck in the 40′s and 50′s, women barely showing their legs or any skin and there she was, a woman born and raised in Knockemstiff dressed like a movie star. The table of three men clearly noticed, the under-sheriff, the division chief and the captain. She stood in front of the round table, taking her sunglasses and setting them on top of her head, a nice, covergirl smile on her pink painted lips. You can get the girl out of Knockemstiff but you can’t get Knockemstiff out of the girl.

    - Hello boys. You mind if I seat with you? - she put her hand on one of the chairs. 

    - Hey, you’re Elizabeth’s granddaughter aren’t you? - Frank, the under-sheriff asked, pulling the chair for her. - I thought you were in New York.

    - I was but I just came here because of my grandma’s inheritance, but I have something to discuss. 

Another night, another day of useless parading around for Lee. He’d pass by the post office and shipped Y/N’s boxes and that had been the highlight of his day. As per usual, he made his way to the bar only to found the environment was slightly different. He knew this town like the back of his hand, anything off always rang alarm bells. As the bartender placed his usual poison in front of him, he decided to get to the bottom of the situation. 

   - Why’s everything so quiet?

   - I don’t know, Sheriff. - the man replied while cleaning glasses. - Elizabeth’s girl was here and I don’t know what she did but Frank, Jonah and Fitzwilliam left as if she were the devil.

Fucking hell. He drowned the last of his drink before grabbing his hat and entering his cruise. Damned Y/N, she used to be such a nice girl before leaving to New York. God, the only complaint he ever got about her was when the mayor complained about her wanting to run a march. He drove to her home like a mad man. What was she doing messing around with those three? He’d seen them do worse things for much less. Lee climbed the grass patch up to her door, knocking on it as if his life depended on it. 

   - Y/N, open up. Right now. - he thumped the door again. - I’ll break in if you don’t answer it!

   - Jesus. - the door opened up to Y/N dressed in what he was almost entirely sure was the shortest dress he had ever seen a woman wear. She stood against the door, hand on the wood while the other on her waist as he entered her home. 

   - Took you long enough. - he stepped into the home which he had never dared to step in.

   - I was upstairs. - she closed the door, locking it behind her for good safety. No one can be trusted in this godforsaken town. - What do you want?

Lee walked further into the house ignoring her question as he shut all the windows of the ground floor, anything that could allow anyone to look inside the house. Last thing he needed was for anyone to see inside the home and start any rumours. Stupid bastards. Y/N followed him around asking the same damn question anytime he shut any window and pulled any drapes down. 

   - Stop touching my stuff. - she put herself in front of him. - What do you want, Lee?

   - What do I want? - he sat against the couch, sighing. - What the fuck did you do, Y/N? Why were you at the bar?

   - I didn’t do anything. - she batted her eyes innocently. 

   - Y/N, I have another election coming up soon. I’ll ask again, what did you do at the bar?

   - It’s none of your business. 

   - Y/N, I’ve seen those men kill for less so you tell me now what you did. 

   - Stop ordering me around. - she rolled her eyes at him. - I don’t like owing anyone so now we’re even.

   - We’re even? - he pitched the skin of his nose. - What the fuck, Y/N? 

   - You wanna know what I said? Would that make you feel better? Would that make you feel like you rule this damn town, Lee? - she looked down on him, almost teasing him. Had it been a few years ago she would’ve been under him already. - I helped you out.

   - Y/N ...

   - It’s not just you who was sleeping around with a younger girl. They were sleeping around with friends of mine. The only difference is I have evidence of it ... - she grabbed her purse from the hanger, taking a beige envelope from it and throwing it his way. Lee looked up to her and then to the envelope opening it to see various pictures of girls he knew in compromising positions with his opponents, letters, everything. - They don’t have anything on you because unlike my friends, I don’t keep souvenirs from my affairs. 

  - You blackmailed them? Are you stupid, Y/N? They are going to kill you.

  - Please. - she rolled her eyes at him. - My grandmother owned half this town, if I die everything goes to charity and this town falls apart. Besides, it’s not like I’m planning to stick around for longer. 

  - So what now? You had fun playing femme fatale? You’re bored, is that it?

  - I just won you an election without any competition, Lee. You could be nicer about it. 

  - I don’t need your help. 

  - I don’t need your help either. I was just repaying a favour. - she leaned against the wall. - You can go now. 

   - Did you need to wear that? - he pointed at the dress. - Couldn’t have struck blackmail dressed appropriately?

   - Do you not like my dress? - she looked down, hands grabbing the baby blue fabric as she expanded the flowey skirt. - You know, I bought it for you. I was planning on using it for birthday a few years ago but you know ... had to leave earlier.

   - You bought that dress for me? - he rose from the couch, walking up to her until he had her caged against the wall.

   - I bought it so you could take it off, actually. - Lee must’ve been hallucinating because he swore she was pouting.

She looked up at him with that look she used to give him after a long day at work when he needed something to unwind. Both of them had promised each other not to do anything else when she left, Y/N had told herself no more coming bak and Lee had decided to spend his life content what whatever shred of marriage he had. Yet, she was there in what looked more like lingerie than a dress and he was in uniform, both of them were never good at making good decisions, and this was Knockemstiff. Lee took the first move, leaning down to kiss her like his body dependent on it which in some way he did. She held onto his shoulder, flushing her body against his as his hands started trying to pull the dress away from her body. Baby blue fabric flowed to the ground as he picked her up, throwing her against the couch he had just been sat on. He stopped kissing her to look at her, to look at the body he still dreamed at night or whenever he shut his eyes. She could’ve been gone for 4 years but she sure never left his wildest fantasies. 

  - Lee, wait. - her hands stopped him from returning to kiss her. - Let me treat you, please.

  - Oh sugar, you don’t need to ask. - she got up, walking slowly past him, her matching baby blue undergarments much more racy than what she used to wear back in Knockemstiff. She pushed him against the couch, smirking as she went down on her knees. - What are you doing down there, sugar? It’s more than you can handle. 

  - Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m a big girl. - her hands unbuckled the belt off his trousers, throwing it to the floor followed by his trousers. She peppered kisses over his thighs down to his knees and then to the edge of his underwear. Slowly, she peeled them away, making eye contact with him. The silent girl he had known before was definitely long gone and he didn’t know how to feel about it. Before he could make up his mind, she took him entirely inside inside her mouth. - Fuck, you look fucking flawless with my big cock in your mouth, sugar.

She smiled at his praise, moving her head up and down still at a painfully slow pace, his balls in her hands. Lee pushed his head back, groaning at her motions and thinking it could no get better until she started to move her head faster, his tip reaching the back of her throat, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Instead she moaned against him, the vibrations making him feel like he was on cloud 9. Fuck being sheriff, nothing made him quite higher than having the one who got away with his cock down her throat. He started twitching against her mouth, his hand grabbed a handful of her hair, pushing her against his pelvis and starting to control her moves. She kept moaning against him, bringing him over the edge until he just couldn’t hold himself anymore. His grip loosened on her head as his muscles gave up on him.

Y/N got up from her kneeling position, thumb pushing whatever cum had spilled over into her mouth. That image alone made him harden up again like some horny teenage boy. She smiled at him, hands on his shoulders as she sat on his lap. 

   - What do you want me to do, Sheriff? - she batted her eyes at him, leaning down to kiss his ear lobe lowering down to his neck. 

  - You wanna ride my cock, sugar? - he hooked his hand on her nape, pushing her so she was looking at him. - You wanna make up to me for leaving me all alone?

  - Yes, Sheriff. - she lined up and slowly sunk down on him, both of them moaning. 

   - Come on, sugar. Show me what you can do. - she started riding him as if the devil had possessed her. He pushed her lips against his, a sloppy messy kiss which definitely was more lust than anything else as she moved up and down against him.  - Yeah, you like that don’t you, sugar? Tell me you like it, sugar. 

  - It feels so good, Lee. - she leaned against him, her hips still moving as he pulled her bra down, pinching her nipple. - Fuck.

  - You’re never gonna leave me again. - he started thrusting up, moving her from under him so she was laid across the couch. - Promis ... fuck ... promise me, sugar. Promise, you’re not gonna leave.

  - Lee ... - she moaned against the couch’s pillow as he speed up his pace, hands holding her hips and moving them against and away from him. 

  - You’re not gonna leave. - he groaned, feeling the way her walls milked him with such need. - You’re not gonna leave me, sugar. You’re not, right? You’re gonna stay.

   - Lee ... - she cried out before her mouth opened up in a perfect O, her orgasm washing over her. He didn’t take too long to cum, groaning like a wild animal as strings of white painted her walls. He slipped out of her, holding her before turning so she was standing on top of him. - Lee, I can’t stay. You know that, right? 

   - Why not? Things were good when you were around. 

   - I left for a reason, Lee. - she got up from him, grabbing her dress and quickly slipping it on. - And that reason still stands. 

   - Y/N, please listen ...

   - When I was 20 and we started this, I truly believed you were going to divorce your wife. You were going to divorce her and you were gonna marry me and ... and my grandma would’ve been upset but she would’ve learned to deal with it and then she would’ve taken me to the altar. I waited a year to see if I would ever become something other than a mistress and then the elections came around and I understood you were not gonna divorce Jane. You were going to be Sheriff and you’re still going to be Sheriff and maybe sometime Mayor. I’m not gonna be your mistress anymore, Lee.

  - Y/N ...

  - Please, leave. - she wiped whatever tears were threatening to fall off. Lee furrowed his brow, putting on his trousers before trying to approach her but she stopped him, arm raised firmly keeping distance. - Please, leave.

  - Y/N, c’mon. Let’s talk.

  - LEAVE! - she rose her tone at him. Lee wasn’t going to argue with her, it wasn’t his place to argue with her at her own house and so he left. Y/N stayed in the middle of her leaving room, arms crossed until she broke down crying.

She could almost hear her grandmother’s words “there’s no use crying about it” when she told her Lee was running for Sheriff. Funny how even after being dead, the old nag still was as right as she was four years ago. She wiped her tears with her hand and climbed the stairs up to her bedroom, sitting on the bare bed. It was going to be alright, tomorrow she’d be able to sign the rights over to the letting agency and could return to New York. Things were fine there, or at least she wasn’t sleeping with a married man there.

The sun didn’t raise up that morning, rain instead replaced it and so Y/N remained laid in bed watching the rain drop rush down the fogged up windows until a loud thumping on her door forced her to get up. She wrapped herself in her robe and went down the stairs to open the door. 

  - Good morning, miss. - she opened the door to her letting agent. - How are you?

  - I’m alright, Don. I’m sorry, I thought the open house was later. I’ll just get my stuff and leave.

  - No, it’s all right miss. I am just here to tell you that we’ve sold the house was above the price you were asking for.

  - Pardon me?

  - At least two times the asking price. It was such a good price, he had to take it. Paid upfront.

  - What really? Who?

  - He should be coming to see the place in an hour. - he said. - We’ll bring you the check later on. 

  - All right. Thank you Don.

That was good news at least she got to leave Knockemstiff before anything else happened. She didn’t know what had overcome her to decide to have sex with Lee. Pull yourself together Y/N, you’ve had four years to learn how to deal with it. It was fine, it was going to be fine. She packed whatever was left of her stuff into her small patched up luggage and put it by the door. She just needed to wait for Don to bring her check back and she could go on back to New York, where her mistakes only included putting coloured clothes with whites and then having pink clothes for the rest of her life. A knock on the door made that decision come much faster. Okay, Y/N. Get the check and go.

  - Lee? - she opened the door to see the least person she wanted to see. - Go away, I’m expecting someone.

  - I know. - he walked in as if the house was his. - You’re expecting me.

  - This is not funny, Lee. Don should be bringing my check anytime and the owner will be here in an hour.

  - Yeah, I’m sorry I’m early.

  - Pardon? - she rose her eyebrows at his statement. - What do you mean?

  - It’s my house now. I was thinking of upgrading, ya know? This house is the best one in Brewer Heights after all.

  - Are you fucking kidding me, Lee?! - she stood in front of him before he could walk further into her home. - You’re bringing your wife into my childhood home? YOU’RE BRINGING YOUR WIFE TO YOUR MISTRESS’S HOME?!

  - How many bedrooms is this house? They said they thought it was over five in the contract. 

  - You have a perfectly good house. Why do you want mine?

  - Mine is too small. Only one bedroom, I’d have no place to build a nursery.

  - A nursery? You and your wife are having a baby? In my childhood home ... how swell. 

  - You know I’m thinking about running for mayor. I mean, it’d look good if I had a family.

  - Good luck convincing Jane. - she gave him a cynical smile. 

  - I don’t have to convince Jane. I’d have to convince you. 

  - Me? Fuck off, Lee. I’m not having a baby for you and your wife. Fuck off. 

  - We’re a good team, Y/N. Besides, Jane is no longer in the picture.

  - Lee ... - she sighed. - Please.

  - You see, my wife isn’t as good as me at keeping her infidelities casual. The other candidates have caught wind of it ... I need someone who’s almost as good at blackmail as me.

  - I’m better at blackmail than you. - she crossed her arms at him.

  - So what do you say, sugar? Want to be the sheriff’s wife?

  - Do you promise I’ll get to be the mayor’s wife someday? 

  - With you on my team, I think you’re gonna be the mayor’s wife sooner than you think.

taglist: @buckysteveloki-me​ 

[purecantarella]

As Long As It’s You

Request : Can you do ,Alpha!lisa first time her mating o!reader .

Yall love the A/B/O universe don’t you HAHAHAAH Again, I’m not the best but I still hope you all enjoy 😊Also, this is a wlw or gxg story so yeah. If you don’t identify as female, you may feel uncomfortable with this. 

Disclaimer: This oneshot will have elements of sex, those under 18 are strongly advised to leave and read more fluffy content. 

Lisa had planned this night meticulously. Everything had to go smoothly or she’d lose her mind. From the moment she’d picked you up to the end of the night. It was all charted out in her head. A fancy candle-lit dinner, flowers, a stroll through the park and she’s lovingly ravish you for the first time. 

In her head, it was a perfect plan. However, when you walked out in a sinfully red dress with a slit trailing to your upper thigh hugging every asset she’d admired the first time she’d met you, she knew she wasn’t going to hold out for too long. 

“Hi baby!” You greeted kissing her lips quickly, making her smile, butterflies exploding in her stomach, and return the greeting. Lisa opened the car door for you to enter the back seat quickly and safely before shutting the door and praying the growing erection in her pants would calm down before the dinner. 

Spoiler, it didn’t. While the car ride was wholesome, Lisa’s eyes couldn’t stop trailing over the shape of your breast, the way you bit your lip trying to explain how your day was, and your scent. Oh mighty God, your scent. It was both the flowery smell of your perfume and your natural sweet aroma that were driving her absolutely insane. 

You on the other hand, knew how much Lisa wanted you from the moment she picked you up. The hungry gaze and her wandering eyes...you wanted it just as much and were damn near ready to do anything to let your alpha mark you, make you hers once and for all. 

Once at the restaurant you both had a lovely time cracking jokes and just enjoying each others company. That didn’t stop your pursuit though. You and Lisa were seated in the booth nearing the back for her to not be recognised by any fans that may pass by. This convenient placement gave you the freedom to do pretty much anything. 

You placed your hand on her leg, rubbing the pant-clad skin before leaning close to her ear. “You look so good tonight, baby...” You lowered your head and kissed her neck, making her tense up. You smirked inwardly at her reaction. 

“Y/n...” She warned softly. You didn’t halt any of your actions though. If anything, you applied a little more pressure to her leg, trailing it up closer and closer to her knot. “If you don’t stop, I will lose control, omega.” Lisa warned one last time, her eyes slowly darkening looking down at you. 

“Do it, baby. Make me yours.” You moved your hand to rub the alpha’s knot making her groan softly. You giggled darkly as she hastily raised her hand asking for the bill. 

You both entered the car and Lisa did everything in her power not to take you there and then with how profound your scent had become and with your light teasing during dinner. To distract herself she leaned down and whispered profanities in your ear. 

“You look so fucking hot in that dress, princess.” She muttered as you repressed a moan at the scent she was releasing. “Looking so perfect for your alpha aren’t you? Shit, the things I want to do to you, Y/n.” The dancer placed a lingering kiss on your cheek making you shudder at the contact. The driver, already suffocating with the mixing scents of want and sex made, stepped on the gas. 

The moment you and Lisa walked into your apartment, you were pinned up onto the wall with her lips on yours. A mix of fiery passion and pure love as your tongues found themselves tangled with one another. Your hands found their way into her hair, desperately grasping onto each strand not wanting to be parted from her lips. The idol then took your lower lip between her lips as she pulled away making you groan loudly. 

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you baby?” She growled in your ear, her hands already fiddling with the zipper on your back. You nodded profusely before pulling her lips back onto your own. Lisa pushed a knee into your heat, moaning when she felt the wetness that was already leaking past your underwear. 

Feeling unbothered by the tight dress, she fell to her knees and pushed the soft fabric up. The brunette smirked seeing the damp patch. She placed open mouthed kisses on your soft thighs, making sure to leave red marks in her wake. 

You pushed her bangs back and begged, “Lisa, please...”

Not wanting to make you wait any longer, the alpha pulled the underwear down and pressed her tongue flat onto your clit, moving in a figure-8 motion, making you release a throaty cry. You banged your head on the door behind you as she lapped up the juices that had begun to overwhelm her. Her bottoms becoming too tight for her throbbing knot. 

She stood back up slapping your thighs, making a clap ring out through the empty apartment. “Jump baby.” 

You followed her orders, nestling your head into the side of her head, pressing your own kisses on the idol’s now hot and sensitive skin. You ground down on the now fully hard member of your alpha, unable to control yourself any more. Both your usually clear minds clouded with lustful thoughts. 

Once she’d navigated the way to the bedroom, which she thought was a maze, she pushed you onto the bed as gently as she could in her state. As Lisa crawled over you, your hands immediately moved to her shirt. Each button undone you pressed a kiss to the exposed tan skin. Feeling completely carnal at this point, she pushed the dress off your shoulders and tossed it over her shoulder and unclipped your bra. Lisa moved to look at you completely...her perfect omega, presented to her so deliciously. Just for her.

Lisa briefly stood up to undress, your eyes never leaving her body for a second. Another rush of wetness flowed from your heat when her knot was finally exposed to you. It was absolutely mouth-watering. As you stood up to try and get your mouth around the dancer’s length, she jumped pushing you down. 

“We can do that another time, baby.” She said her eyes not leaving yours. “For now, alpha needs to feel herself inside your pussy.” Lisa muttered as she pressed her lips against yours. You wrapped your arms around her neck pulling her impossibly closer, moaning loudly into her mouth. 

Finally, she leaned up and aligned herself with your heat. Her brown, almost black, eyes looked up at you one more time for any sign of hesitation. When you nodded, she pushed her length into you. You cried out at the sheer size of her knot. The dancer looked up at you sympathetically, holding her movements until you’d felt complete ease. 

Once you’d opened your eyes again, her hips began to move, making her member move in and out of your soaping cavern. You moaned again at the feeling of her rock hard knot pushing in and out. 

“Alpha—Fuck!” You drawled out as you placed a hand on the back of her head. “You feel so good inside me! Harder, please. Harder!” You cried out again, wrapping your legs around Lisa’s small waist. 

Hearing your begging, her thrusts came in a brutal pace and rougher than it initially was. The bed was then creaking under you both. Soon, your neck caught her attention again. She ran her canines over a spot on your neck. Again, Lisa looked up for permission to officially make you her mate. 

“Do it,” You whimpered before biting your lip, trying to contain the sin that continuously flowed from your lips. Finally, Lisa sunk her teeth into your neck, leaving traces of blood, marking her as yours. You cried out at the pain and pleasure the bite left you with. The build up knot in your stomach uncoiling, making you release onto your now-mate’s member. 

Lisa licked your neck, making sure you were okay before roughly pounding into you once again. One of your hands ran through her hair, tugging it a little, in hopes to bring her closer to the edge, the other clung onto the headboard of your bed, seeking some form of stability. 

“Fuck, I’m so close...” Lisa moaned out. You smiled tiredly and pulled her lips back onto yours. “Come with me...” You moaned against her lips. With a few more thrusts, Lisa and you released a resonating cry throughout the, now extremely hot, room. 

Both of you panted, tired from your little rendezvous. Lisa pecked your forehead, trying not to move to much as you were both still connected. You smiled up at her and giggled. 

“You were amazing, baby...” You muttered into her ear as you fiddled with a lock of her dark hair. Lisa blushed at the comment and nuzzled into your neck, smiling at the mark she’d just left. 

“You were too...” She responded, a little sleepy. “Just so you know though, I had a whole romantic version of this planned out.” Lisa said, adjusting herself on top of you to look into your eyes. You smiled at her sincerity. 

“Any first time would be perfect as long as it’s you.” You said softly, caressing her face. “Please...this wasn’t your first time.” She said grumpily, teasing you a little. 

You chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, but it’s the only one that mattered. Because I am now officially mated.” You said proudly, touching the sore mark on your neck. You both smiled sleepily at one another before Lisa adjusted you both so you were comfortably on top of her. 

“I love you, Lisa...” You said before lulling to sleep. 

“I love you too, Y/n.” 

Yup, that’s a thing HAHAHAHA I hope you enjoyed this. I’m sorry if it isn’t that good but I did work hard on it and I sincerely hope you liked it and it lived up to the first one I did. Remember that requests are open and I’m really happy to hear from you readers so feel free to message me about anything 😊💖

I’m currently working on some initial ideas and making my way through requests. A Wheein imagine and a Twice reaction are heading your way so look forward to that 😚💕

Taglist:

@labrachrosite​

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 3 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

The next Monday found you anxiously nursing a coffee, carefully looking over Bakugou’s latest results.

You’d let the model retrain overnight, just to get a more up-to-date picture of Bakugou’s work, and you’d barely slept a wink while it ran, fretting over your first meeting with him. After waking up earlier than ever, you’d found yourself restless all morning, so you’d made your way into Miruko’s agency well ahead of schedule and had spent your time since sucking down coffees and eyeing Bakugou’s assist and rescue scores warily. They still sat well beneath his kill and capture scorings, and you mentally braced yourself for the near impossibility of getting him to prioritize those aspects of his work.

With Mina’s help, you’d been able to con him into working with you. But just because he’d agreed to your bet, you were not stupid enough to think that meant he was going to make anything easy for you.

Bakugou, for his part, seemed the very antithesis of nervous when he met you in the surveillance room. He barged into your makeshift office mid-morning, looking well-rested if annoyed. The door banged loudly off the opposite wall and rebounded closed with a slam that rattled the AV equipment.

“Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou growled, throwing himself down in the seat opposite you. He was dressed in dark training clothes--simple athletic fabrics that suggested that he meant to book it to a training room the second he was done with you. His whole manner suggested you should keep things short.

You sat frozen, fingers paused over your laptop keys. “...Good morning to you too.”

He looked at you incredulously, blonde eyebrows raising. “I didn’t fucking come here for small talk. Get on with it, nerd.”

You suppressed a twitch of irritation, looking away from him where he sat in an agitated pile of strong lines and tense muscle. God you hoped this was all going to be worth it, at the end of things.

You sighed and clicked into the model results screen, knowing it was only going to work him into a lather if you pressed him on social niceties. “Okay, so I did some analysis--”

“Big fucking surprise.”

“--and,” you continued loudly, “as you well know, you need to adjust certain priorities on the field.”

A scoff issued from his direction. “I don’t need to adjust shit.”

It took everything in you not to roll your eyes. He was literally here to discuss adjusting shit. What was the point of him being so defensive?

You eyed him speculatively, taking in the oppositional slant to his broad shoulders, the thin slash of his mouth as he regarded you irritably. Your observations from last week floated to the forefront of your mind, that this was a man who would not easily do anything he didn’t want to do. And it was clear he did not actually want to do this--he had only been baited into it by the grace of his meddling, pink-haired friend.

You mentally resolved to play as nice as you possibly could, to minimize the amount of fussing from his side of things.

“As I think I explained last year,” you began carefully, “the model I train relies on a set of weights, and you’re ranked on that. Your work is divided up into categories: public perception, kills, captures, property damage, rescues, and now assists. Some of those categories are weighted more heavily than others, so if you do well in them, you’ll outperform your peers in the rankings who do just as well in other categories.”

Blood red eyes darted up to a monitor as you projected your laptop screen onto it, the model results translated into neatly organized and color-coded graphs.

“You are unmatched in kills, fairly unmatched in captures as well, and you’ve kept property damage to a surprising minimum in the last few years considering your quirk. You’re also wildly popular, particularly with young people, according to public polls.”

You glossed over the fact that his appearance probably had a lot to do with it, considering the tidal wave of interest from the female bracket of respondents. The fact especially did not bear thinking about when he was alone in a tiny office with you, bare arms and the hard planes of his chest displayed prominently in his training gear.

“Just fucking---out with it,” Bakugou demanded, turning to glare at you again. “I don’t have all damn day.”

The tiniest hint of smoke and sweetness hit your nose as he leaned closer, and you pushed away from him, baring your palms in the universal gesture for peace.

“Okay, okay. So you’re good at those things, but your rescue scores need work, and your assist score puts you in the top ten least cooperative heroes in the entire industry,” you explained, watching as a muscle in his jaw jumped in obvious irritation. “Rescues are the highest weighted category in the rankings model, and assists are the third highest. So no matter how good you are in other areas, you will not surpass anyone who performs well in these categories.”

Bakugou made an annoyed sound, his brows drawing together. “Quit fucking talking to me like I’m a baby. I fucking know--tell me exactly what your fucking nerd-ass model needs me to do and I’ll fucking do it.”

You breathed out of your nose very slowly, quelling the rising tide of annoyance within you. Everything out of his mouth was so abrupt and demanding.

Software engineers, picture the software engineers.

“Okay so I ran deeper analyses on those two categories and compared your movements with generalized results from the top ten heroes from each category,” you continued.

“The thing that stood out in terms of rescues, is that you were almost twice as fast as other heroes to leap into combat with a villain. This means you’re spending less time assessing the situation than other heroes, and therefore spending less time processing victims. So if I had to make a recommendation here, it’s that you should actively look for civilians before jumping into a fight. You might still find that the smarter thing to do is leap into the fight instead of evacuating them, but you at least need to slow down before you do.”

The crease between his brows erased itself and he leaned back in his chair, tension bleeding out of him somewhat, which was--unexpected. You’d have thought he’d get more defensive as you explained his shortcomings to him.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “What else?”

You pulled up two videos and projected them side by side, bright little clusters of dots collected over the location of each hero. “For assists, it looks like when you’re in range of other heroes, you actually do help, at least a little. I only found an issue when I generalized results from the top ten in this category and ran calculations about their movements in comparison to yours.”

You let the videos play, watching Bakugou’s eyes track the movements with unblinking precision. He said nothing as you let the loop repeat, the tense lines of his body inexplicably unravelling even further with each loop. He looked as close to relaxed as you had ever seen him.

After a few loops, he finally let out a scoff. “Those needy fucks stick closer to other heroes,” he concluded gruffly. “That’s what the dots are tracking.”

You nodded. “On average, you move three times farther away from other heroes on scene than the top ten heroes do. So you’re less likely to be in range to help.”

He rolled a powerful shoulder, unwittingly drawing your eyes straight to it. You gave your leg an annoyed pinch under the table, forcing your gaze back up to his face once you realized what you were doing.

“So I have to look for weaklings and stay closer to these b-list fucking clowns, that’s what you’re telling me?” he prompted, running a hand through his mess of blonde hair. It looked unexpectedly soft under his fingers.

You drew your eyes away from him again, focusing hard on the relief you were feeling that he seemed to be processing and internalizing your feedback. “Yeah, you need to assist civilians and stay in range of your team. Those are the only areas in which you really need help.”

There was a sharp crackle, and tense movement caught in the corner of your eye. You turned to find that all of Bakugou’s unease had suddenly returned, a snarl riding his mouth.

“Help?” he demanded. That scent of smoke and sugar suddenly pressed in on you again, sharp and dangerously hot.

You blinked at him in confusion. “...Uh, yeah?”

His gaze darkened and he leaned over the table between the two of you, a calloused hand catching the collar of your shirt to yank you towards him. The corner of the table dug into your ribs, and his fingers were hot where they brushed the skin under your collar.

“I don’t fucking need help,” he spat, crimson eyes boring into your face like a drill. Your hands came up to grab his, trying to untwist it from your shirt, but his fingers only tightened, unyielding.

“What--? Yes you do?” you garbled, fingers scrabbling over his. “What do you--?”

He pulled you further across the table, so that his face was scant inches from your own.

“Fuck you if you think I need anything from you,” he growled in a low tone, voice almost dangerously soft. Your blood iced over in your veins, limbs freezing. He stared at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, in the next second, you were being shoved backwards into your chair, and then Bakugou was gone, door slamming behind him with a force that shook the walls.

You stared after him in shock, mouth gaping open. He had been fine up until a couple of seconds ago, even seeming to relax under your analysis. But then his temper had suddenly flared for no fucking reason.

What….what the fuck was wrong with him?

You spent the rest of the morning in a state of restless agitation.

What the literal fuck was wrong with Bakugou? Why had he just stormed out like that? What had flipped the switch for him in the space of mere seconds?

You replayed the conversation in your head nonstop all through your next few meetings and over your lunch break, where you furiously wolfed down a bento without tasting any of it. Your frustration carried you all the way into the afternoon, when a head of wild pink curls poked itself through your door.

You looked up into Pinky’s dark eyes and brilliant smile.

“Y/N!” she chirped happily, closing the door behind her and sprawling into the seat across from you.

You returned her friendly smile. “Ashido-san,” you greeted her politely.

She laughed and waved a rosy hand, leaning forward over the table. “I would never ask stats girl to be formal with me. Call me Mina!”

You huffed an embarrassed laugh. That was sweet, but the nickname stats girl needed to die a brisk and fiery death.

“Mina, then,” you amended, pulling up her model results on your laptop, trying to tamp down on your embarrassment. She was almost overwhelmingly friendly.

Her dark eyes flickered over you curiously and a cautious smile played about her mouth. “Heard it didn’t go well with Katsuki this morning.”

You looked up at her in surprise. “He told you?”

She laughed. “No, I just saw him annihilating a training room. I know him well enough to know when he’s throwing a tantrum.”

An awkward, hot sense of shame welled up within you at the thought that you’d pushed him to that, though you didn’t know how. You got the sense that you’d taken one step forward but two steps back. So much for your promotion.

“Uh yeah, he kind of...stormed out? He’d been listening, actually, and I thought things were going weirdly well. The bet was a good idea, so thank you,” you said. “I just…somehow I screwed it up, I think.”

Mina rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, splaying out flat in her seat. “God, you know what? I’m just so tired of my best friends being guys. They’re so dramatic and so fussy about their tough guy image. And take themselves so seriously, for no reason, even fucking Denki. I have sat every single one of them down and forced them into make up so it’s absolutely baffling to me that they still stomp around like they’re so serious and so tortured.”

Your mouth dropped open as what she’d just said caught up with you. Take themselves seriously...when she’d forced them into make up? “No. Even…?”

Mina smirked. “Oh yeah, even Katsuki. No idea why he thinks he’s such a tough guy when all it takes is a couple of tears and boom, he’s working a smokey eye and tiny little pigtails.”

You choked on a laugh, trying to dispel the horrifying image in your mind of Bakugou in mascara and lipstick. The idea of him in make up was somehow even more intimidating than his usual appearance. You did not want to know more.

It certainly did beg the question, however, why he was such a difficult jerk if it was that easy to get him to acquiesce to something that horrifying. Maybe the answer lay in Mina’s powers of manipulation. She’d known to make the bet with him, after all. And if she knew how to get him into eyeliner and lipstick, then she might know how to get him to agree to let you help him.

“Wow,” you murmured. “That’s...terrifying. How did you even convince him though? I can’t get him to spend more than two seconds around me without blowing his top like a volcano.”

Mina grinned conspiratorially, leaning over the table. “You just have to know how to work him. Trust me, you might have good numbers sense, but I have pretty good people sense. Katsuki is all smoke and fire until you dig underneath.”

You almost did not want to know what was underneath. “That’s--but he’s so volatile. I can’t predict any of it.”

Mina's grin widened. “Actually, it’s pretty straightforward. He’s actually super in control all of the time, even when it seems like he’s lost it. He’s only really sensitive about one thing.”

“For example,” she leaned forward, her smile morphing into something dark and leery. “I heard he burned through your dress at the Hero Awards.”

You put your face in your palm. “Yes. This is what I’m talking about--I thought he was gonna fry me to a crisp.”

Mina snorted, raking a hand through her mess of curls. “Maybe I only see it because my acid is similar--but it’s pretty hard to only burn through a tiny strip of fabric and not touch anything underneath, even if you’re not out of your mind with anger. It requires some precise control. Wouldn’t you say?”

You froze in your seat, staring at her. Implications began to creep over you like a dark shroud. “What?”

She grinned. “He didn’t touch you, right? Only the dress?”

You gaped at her. “Yeah--only the dress.”

She cut her dark eyes to you, looking like she was trying to suppress a laugh. “Very interesting that he managed to sear straight through your dress, then, without burning you. One might think he did it on purpose.”

You floundered. “But I--but he--! I told him to do better and he got all worked up and intense!”

Mina laughed out loud. “I bet he did. Katsuki’s a total control freak but he loves a challenge. That’s why he took your bet, and that’s why your meeting didn’t go as poorly as you thought it might at first, and that’s why he was so fixated on you after the Awards.”

Your face heated. “Don’t put it like that.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know how you feel about him, but I can guarantee he’s very interested in you. He loves girls who don’t take any of his shit. Why do you think he signed with Miruko? It’s actually kinda gross,” she made a face.

Your face was on fire. A hot wave of embarrassment washed through you and you resisted the urge to dive under the table and hide. This is not the turn you thought the conversation would be taking.

“Uh, so,” you managed, fingers fluttering. “So--um, why did he freak out earlier then? I did tell him everything he was doing wrong. But then he lost it, I think when I told him I would help.”

Mina’s grin settled back into place. “He’s so fucking predictable. He hates being looked down on, and the word help implies that you think he’s weak enough to need it. I’ll bet you anything that’s why he totally flipped.”

You considered this. “But I didn’t mean it like that--”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s got a very specific way of looking at things. He’s way better than he used to be but that’s the one thing he’s still sensitive about.”

You mulled that over. It did explain, then, why he’d reacted so poorly when he’d seemed to be fine with your critique. “Does he really need to be seen as strong that badly?”

Mina picked idly at the fluff on her costume’s jacket, thin fingers tangling in the white strands. “He has insane expectations for himself, and he’s only comfortable when everyone else has those too. It’s like if you think he can’t live up to those standards, that you don’t truly see him.”

So that was it. The mystery of Bakugou’s volatile nature explained--a weirdly deep-seated inferiority complex wrapped up in layers of crankiness and--you blushed--an interest in girls who gave him shit. You quickly buried any considerations on his romantic inclinations, and focused on the inferiority complex.

Whether you’d intended to or not, this morning you had managed to convey to him that you thought he was incapable, and not in a way that personally challenged him like the bet had, or your demand he do better at the Hero Awards. It was so ridiculous, you thought, but then so was he. And if you wanted to make any progress on your promotion, then you were gonna have to suck it up and work within those constraints.

You sighed. You owed him an explanation, maybe even an apology.

Mina regarded you approvingly from across the table. You also owed her a drink. Maybe several.

“Got it,” you acknowledged, clicking back into your model results and pulling up her ranking analyses. “And thank you--I owe you a ton. Now let’s get to what we came here to do which is to talk about how you can kick even more ass.”

Mina grinned, leaning forward in delight. “You’re welcome. And hell yeah, this conversation was so not passing the Bechdel test.”

You snorted, suppressing a wild smile. Oh, you really liked her.

You would apologize and get things back on track with Bakugou. And once Bakugou netted you your promotion, you were gonna turn back and rocket Mina up the rankings to give him a run for his money.