#giggles and kicks down a door before tearing the door apart with my teeth

[thornheartfelt]

*GUTTERAL SCREECHING, THE LIKES OF WHICH YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD*

HELLO SEARCH ENGINE, HOW TO MARRY FICTIONAL ROBOT NA.DA FROM NO MA.N'S S.KY

[mytheoristavenue]

GOTG Rocket Raccon x Reader - You Don't Have to Like Me.

Summary: Ever since you joined the team, Rocket has always had a chip on his shoulder about you. Now that he's the leader, you question whether you should stay with the new gaurdians.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, vol. 3 spoilers, takes palce after vol. 3, mentions of character death, mentions of the blip/snap

You smiled, reaching your fists toward the ceiling of your hotel room, hearing joyful music from outside. The concpets of last week's events were still surreal to you, and you hadn't quite processed them or the feelings that they had generated. You'd decided to simply take a few days to rest in solidtude after everything that happened.

Sractching at your door demanded your attention as you slipped out of bed, kicking into your house shoes. Wandering over, you opened the door, once again smiling softly at who was on the other side. "Good morning, Cosmo," you said, voice cracking with sleep. You reached over to a nearby table, taking a dog buscuit from an old tin before tossing it to her. She caught it between her teeth expertly, wolfing it down with a giggle. Once done, she sat obediently in front of you.

"He's looking for you." she said knowingly. "You said after a few days you'd come out, but not yet. Why do you hide?"

Your relaxed grin faltered into a somber one. "I won't be hiding much longer, Cosmo. I made my choice." Your reply seemed to spark something in the canine, prompting her to bark and jump up at you, licking your face before regaining her composure. "Oh, (Y/N), I knew you'd stay! I-!"

"I'm leavng, girl." your voice cracked a bit as you held back tears, smile still forced onto your lips. The dog instantly froze, halting her celebration to look at you, heartbroken and you reached out to pat her head.

"Is not funny." she whimpered, slowly padding closer to you before stopping short again, looking passed you at your luggage. "N-No...you can't leave."

"Cosmo-" you tried to interject, her rising upset as she began to back out of the room. "H-Here, have another treat and we'll talk about this-" Before you could reach back into the tin, she was gone, having darted out of the room sobbing, leaving you with slumped shoulders and a heavy concious.

"You've gotta stop pissin' off my crew." Your head snapped up toward the doorway to find none other than the captain himself standing there, sillouetted in the dim hallway light.

"Rocket..." you trailed, unsure of what to say. "I heard you wanted to see me?"

"That's true." he nodded, slepping inside and kicking the door closed behind him. "Been looking for you for three days now. Checked your apartment but you weren't there."

"I moved." you excused sheepishly.

"I could tell." he rolled his eyes. "And concsidering this is the second hotel I've tracked down that has you in their system, seems like you just keep moving."

"Just antsy, I guess." you laughed nervously, stepping further in front of you luggage, in hopes he wouldn't see.

"And I take it I'm just supposed to ignore all your shit over there in a conviniently portable little pile, right?" he ask rhetorically. "I hope that's so you can move into another room to keep hiding from me and not what I think it's for?"

You sighed, finally giving up the rouse, perfect posture faultering as you slumped down onto the bed. "I thought I'd go travelling. Live up the transient life, ya know? Maybe go check out Terra, meet up with Quill-"

"(Y/N), quit rambling, you know I hate that shit."

"Sorry."

Rocket shooked his head sternly, hopping up on the bed with you, letting his legs dangle off the edge. "So, you're really leaving?"

"Theres nothing left for me here." you shuttered, holding back tears. "Mantis was my best friend and I don't even know where she went, the Guardians are done, Quill's gone-" you stopped, should you begin to shed tears. "Everyone that's still here has a purpose in staying, and I don't."

"The Guardians aren't over, just made-a different people. Still got you and me, and Groot." He offered, stealing a glance while you stared down at your lap.

"You never considered me a Guardian, Rocket." you retorted, your tone suddenly taking a sharpness neither of you were ready for. "Just admit it."

"Bullshit." he scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking away, dramatically slapping his thighs. "You know better than that. What's this really about?" You sniffled, feeling the willpower to hold back your unchecked emotions much longer. Your fists clenched at your knees as the first offical tear rolled down your cheeck, falling away from your skin and hitting your clothed leg. The raccoon eyed you closely, concern growing more and more evident on his brow as he leaned closer. "(Y/N)?"

"I watched you die, Rocket!" you finally shouted, sobs freeely tumbling out of your throat. "I watched your heart stop and I held you for dear life and I begged you to come back! I cried over your body and held you so tight than your fur shed in my hands!" you shuttered, bringing up a hand to wipe your tears against your wrist. "You always hated me but I care about you so much and I just can't see you die again! I don't want to have to go through that again!"

Rocket was utterly speechless, what was he supposed to say? 'There, there'? "(Y-Y/N)? I-" he tried cautiously, but paused, having forgotten to find the words to say before opening his mouth. "I-I don't hate you..."

"You've never once been nice to me, Rocket..." you accused, giving him a side eyed glare before obscuring your face again.

"I-I know, but..." he swallowed harshly, gleaming eyes trained on you. "I never hated you..." Silence befell the room, only interupted by your distress hiccups. This was definately not the 'talking to' Rocket had imagined giving you once he found out you were thinking of leaving. "Look, I shouldv'e said this earlier but...I want you on my team. Sure, it'll be a little different with the kid and whatnot, but we'll-"

"I said no, Rocket." you snapped, malice powering your voice.

His brows furrowed as he knodded in aknowledgement of your choice. "Fine, but just so ya know, I watched you die too once." You froze, immediately understanding what he was refferring to. "Not to throw a pity party, but I don't think you know how it feels to have everything you have ever known or loved ripped away from you all at once." he spat, jumping down from the bed, on his way out the door. "Twice."

"I didn't think me being gone bothered you as much as the others..." you confessed quietly, eyes still glossy.

"That's what you get for assuming. Makes an ass outta you and me." he retorted over his shoulder. "And for the record, I did miss you when you were gone. So fuckin' much." You had long since begun to feel an overbearing weight of guilt as your wrist cralwed up toward your chest to soothe its ache. "And I'm never gonna stop missin' you after you leave."

"Rocket," you barely whispered, but he heard you, his ears twitching instantly. "I'm so sorry..."

"This might be kinda sappy," he sighed, making sure to turn away from you so you wouldn't be able to read his face. "but I love ya." You were blown away, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. It had always been so rare- almost impossibly so- that Rocket ever spoke freely about what he felt, but it seemed that after what happened last week, he was a new person. He was nicer, more open, more serene. Perhaps he'd made peace with some old, injured part of himself. "I tried to fight it for a long time. Thought I could only love one person, and that now that she's gone, nobody could ever make me happy again. But you do." He paused for a moment, taking a deep, awkward breath. "And I'm sorry I was such an ass to you while figurin' that out."

The warmth you felt in your chest was immeasurable as you collapsed to the floor and lunged towards him, engulfing him in a much needed hug. You sniffled, tears pouring down your cheeks, absorbed by his wiry fur. Rocket was initially rigid, unable to forsee this reaction in you, but he eventually loosened his muscles enough to wrap his small arms around your neck. "I don't knwo what to say..." you admitted.

"Don't say anything," he replied, nuzzling into your collar. "You talk too much already." After a few moments of just holding eachother in silence, he spoke up again. "Look, I can't offer ya much. I can't promise to be the perfect man and I'm never gonna sweep ya off your feet." he sighed, pulling away and holding you at arms length. "But I can keep ya company, keep ya safe..."

"I don't need any of that stuff, Rocket. I just wanna feel wanted..." your breath shuttered,

"I want you." he mumbled, his voice trailing off as he lost his train of thought. "I don't really know what I'm doin'. I think I need somebody to keep me in line, a smartass who ain't afraid to talk over me." Glancing down at him, you found him looking back smirking. "Don't suppose you could give me any names?"

"Groot?" you snickered, cheeks still red and damp from crying. He joined you in a laugh.

"I was thinkin' somebody a little more cuddly, ya ever try cuddlin' a tree? I've had thorns in my ass for years."

"Cosmo?"

"(Y/N)." he finally said half sternly. "I want you to stay here with me. What do I gotta do to get you to stay?"You suddenly felt so serene here with him, under his touch and lazy sense of humor.

"Well..." you began cautiously. "If I did stay...would I just be a Guardian to you?"

Rocket glanced away, finding it hard to face you for long periods of a time while he made himself so vulnerable. "You can be whatever you want to me. What do you wanna be?"

"I kinda wanna be your partner..." you confessed, also looking away in the opposite direction. "Like, romantically."

"I don't think I can do that, (Y/N)..." His answer shattered you and your blood ran cold. You were so confused, surely you couldn'y have gotten a wrong signal?

"W-why? I thought-"

Rocket laughed, cocking a brow at your gullibility and tilted his head. "Feel like theres probably a rule out there about the capatain fraternizing with his crewmember. And i wouldn't want the others to get jealous if I treat you better..." You remained silent, unable to disern if he was playing with you or rubbing salt in the wound until his tiny hands found home on your cheeks, pulling you closer. "But then again, I never cared for rules much." Before relief could fully wash over you, he'd pulled you in, nuzzling each of your cheeks gnetly- his version of a kiss. You returned the gesture after a moment, not fully understanding it at first.

"So you wanna be my partner, huh?" he finally asked, parting and putting a small amount of distance betweehn the two of you. You nodded, unable to catch your breath under his gaze. "I reckon that can be arranged then, under a few conditions."

"What's that?" you asked, cautiously.

"Go get your apartment back and unpack all this shit." he laughed, tossing a thumb over to your pile of luggage. "And you gotta promise not to abuse your power." he smirked, carnivorous teeth gleaming in the daylight that poured in from the window.

"What power?"

"Well," he started, shrugging cockily. "Sleepin' with the captain always has it's perks-"

"Rocket!"

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Laurel - Oberyn Martell x Reader

Laurel (Laurus) - Meaning: Glory, Victory, Success

Summary: You help Oberyn celebrate his win against the Lannisters

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader

Word Count: 829

Warnings: Non-canon AU where Oberyn wins, mentions of death, Slight Smut (cunnilingus, mentions of bath sex), reader is able-bodied and can be tossed by Oberyn (but he's super strong), reader mentions suicide in passing, Oberyn being oh so sweet and loving, gets angsty at the end

Hello Loves! In honor of Pedro's birthday, here's a fic with my favorite Pedro character aka the One Who Started my Pedro Obsession. Originally I had planned a different fic for today but then I remembered it's my favorite Aries's birthday (don't tell my husband, who is also an Aries lol) and switched it up.

In Bloom Masterlist

Comments, Likes, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! Thanks for reading <3

Oberyn was resplendent in victory. Barely bruised thanks to the Mountain’s inability to get close to him, his spear made sure the giant brute kept his distance. The poison worked faster than anticipated, and with his dying breath, the Mountain croaked out his confession.

The sun itself could not have shone brighter than Oberyn in that moment. Your hands had been clenched into fists so tight your nails had drawn blood, but loosened your grip when you realized your lover would win. As the Mountain gurgled and writhed in the throes of death, Oberyn pointed the tip of his spear toward the Lannisters, a silent warning, before turning and striding back to you, his arms spread wide in victory. The two of you embraced, peppering your hero’s face with kisses.

He whisked you back to the brothel, barely making it inside before he started stripping and divesting you of your dress. Kicking the door closed, his hands encircled your waist and buried his face in your neck. Your fingers threaded into Oberyn’s hair, holding him there as he assailed your neck and shoulder with his lips, teeth, and tongue.

You felt a rush of air and heard the tearing of fabric as Oberyn ripped your skirt to allow the rest of your dress to fall to the floor and pool at your feet. He growled into your neck as you exhaled a moan. Quick as his nickname, he snatched you off your feet and tossed you onto the bed.

“To the victor go the spoils,” he said as a cocky smile spread across his lips. He stroked a hand down your calf and yanked you down the mattress so your legs dangled off of it at the same time he sank to his knees and used the breadth of his shoulders to push your legs apart.

You came up on your elbows, quirking your head at him.

“Shouldn’t I be the one rewarding you, my viper?”

He kissed up your inner thigh, stopping just at the crease where your thigh met your hip. “Who says this is not my reward? There is no sweeter sound, or taste, or feeling than you coming undone on my tongue. Now lay back, and let your Prince take his prize.”

Before you could answer, he dragged his tongue through your folds, effectively silencing you. He smirked against you, but a knock at the door stopped him from continuing.

Oberyn growled and barked over his shoulder, “What is it?”

“My Prince,” Olyvar’s voice said from the other side of the door, “the sunken baths have been prepared as you requested.”

“We’ll be there in a moment,” Oberyn replied, “I have something to finish first.”

“Very well, Your Grace.” You heard Olyvar’s footsteps retreat and Oberyn turned his attention back to you. The look on his face was positively wolfish as he nipped the inside of your thigh.

“Did you order the baths prepared, my love?” he asked and you giggled with a nod.

“I figured you’d be sweaty from the fight,” you explained as he kitten licked your clit. “Or, if you hadn’t been successful that I could drown myself to meet you in the afterlife.”

His licks stopped for a moment and he pulled back, staring up at you with a mix of emotions. You reached down and swept some of his hair off his forehead, carding your fingers through his thick mane affectionately.

By the gods, he loved you. Finally holding the Lannisters accountable had lifted a decades-old weight off his shoulders, one that you had volunteered to help him carry. Besides Ellaria, you were the only one of his many conquests he truly loved, and now he was able to do so with his entire self.

“Then it’s a blessing that I won,” he finally replied, “for depriving the world of you, my sweet, would surely send me to the bottom of the seven hells.”

Tears pooled along your lash line and you finally allowed yourself to feel the overwhelming emotions you’d kept shoved down ever since Oberyn announced he would be fighting in the trial.

The Red Viper coiled between your legs unfurled, reaching up and swiping away the tear that fell down your cheek as he leaned over you, settling you in his arms.

“Shh, sweet one,” he whispered. “I’m still here.”

“I could’ve lost you,” you whispered back, “I don’t know what I would do if you left me alone in this world.”

He kissed your forehead sweetly, one arm snugly tucked around your torso while the thumb of his free hand stroked your cheekbone. “You will never have to know, my darling. I swear.”

As you looked up at him, teary-eyed and sniffling, he couldn’t help but feel that his real victory was having a woman such as you in his arms.

“Come,” he said lowly, “Let us continue our celebration in the steaming baths, hmm?”

You sniffed and smiled up at him. “Whatever my Prince wants.”

[ateezreactionsandscenarios]

Kinktober Day 26 - Marking

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Reader

Genre: Smut

CW: Marking, possessive Hwa, use of Daddy, degrading.

Word Count: 1345

Summary: When Seonghwa overhears a conversation you have with your friend it gives him all sorts of ideas on how he can surprise you in the bedroom.

Prompt List               MasterList           Kintktober 2022           Buy me a Coffee

After an eventful day, Seonghwa kicks his shoes off at the door with his bag slouched down against the wall before making his way through the apartment, wondering where you were since he wasn’t meant to be home this early, so he wanted to surprise you. It was a surprise at the fact that you barely heard him coming in, too busy chatting away to your best friend on the phone in the bedroom. Seonghwa stops just outside, ear pressed against the wall as his eyes shoot wide open, 

“Oh my god, I honestly agree. I’d lose all control if Seonghwa used hickeys as a way of marking his territory. At the moment we’re still in the honeymoon phase, and don’t get me wrong, I love every second but the day that switches up, he’s got me forever”. He knew he shouldn’t be invading a personal conversation, but the way his lips curl at the edges, just needed to know more. That’ll be your surprise, cogs turn in that head of his, brushing his black locks back before plastering his ear back to the door, listening to you unravel all of the nasty things you want, well need him to do.

There was no saying in how long he stood there for, smirking ear to ear about the fantasies that you had about the things you’d love him to do with you, making him shake his head with his tongue between his teeth, 

“Such a filthy girl, oh you wait,” he whispers to himself, rushing to find something to do the minute he hears you say your goodbyes. Having to stage like he wasn’t just listening to your conversation, he rushes to the bathroom, tearing himself out of his shirt to wash in the sink. 

“I didn’t know you were home already,” your small voice calls out from behind, mesmerised by his muscly back, unable to resist trailing a hand down it as he looks at you through the mirror. His damp hair falls back, and a small smile creeps onto his face, 

“I wanted to surprise you but you were busy, and I didn’t want to interrupt you”.

His broad shoulders always take you by surprise when he straightens himself up and turns to look at you, leaning down slightly and cupping your face to place the softest kiss on your forehead manageable. His smile widens when you let out a small giggle, wrapping your arms around his torso and looking up at him with stars in your eyes, 

“I’ve missed you today,” you pout, pushing his damp hair back that falls on his face. 

“I’ve missed you too, princess,” he replies slowly, lowering his head into the crook of your neck as he lifts you up to hug you tightly, smirking to himself when the reminder of what you said earlier to Rachel comes through his head. Not now Hwa, he thought to himself, but it was so tempting.

Unable to fight the urge, his lips gently press against the skin on your neck, and you weren’t going to complain, letting him do his thing as you smiled happily, resting your head in the crook of his neck. That was until you started to let out little whimpers as he sucks and bites on the skin lightly, licking over the parts gently as he moves down your neck and onto your shoulder, getting slightly harsher each time. 

“Hwa-” you whimper, head throwing back as it gives him perfect access onto your bare neck, smirking and scoffing onto your skin as he holds you up by your ass, pressing you against the cold wall of the bathroom. 

“What’s wrong princess? Want me to stop?” he coos teasingly, placing kisses down your jawline as you muster a little head shake, 

“Want to take this to the bedroom? I can show you how much I’ve missed you too?” he continues to tease as you smile at him, the doe-eyes turning lustful.

Carrying you into the bedroom whilst holding you up close to him, he laughs as he sits onto the bed to make you straddle his lap, 

“Maybe I should start making my mark on you, to warn anyone who wants to try their luck with you that you’re mine, and only mine,” he growls against your lips as you whimper on them, a loud moan escaping your lips when he attacks the other side of your neck, being a little harsher than he was in the bathroom. Dark bruises rise to the skin with each bite he made, trailing from just under your ear to your collarbones, your fingers getting tangled in his hair as you cry at the pleasure, wondering where he suddenly got this from, but you were too occupied by the feeling to even think to ask.

Whilst he marks his territory on you, your hips start to roll against him, his erection starting to grow in the restrictions of his sweatpants, growling onto your neck as it sends vibrations down your spine. 

“Fuck-” you hiss, the mix of pleasure of his lips on your skin and the friction that was being caused by the way you rolled yourself on his erection was starting to make your mind go all fuzzy, and you were slowly crumbling apart, needing him more than you ever thought you would. You weren’t lying to Rachel earlier when you said you’d lose all control, becoming a whimpering mess under his lips, nails dragging up the skin on his back, digging deep enough as you did so and it was sure that you drew a little blood in the process.

“Daddy!” You cry out, his tongue making the hair on your skin stand tall, and just like that, he had you to the point where he wanted you, you were officially turning into the little slut he wanted you to become, all thanks to accidentally overhearing your conversation. 

“What was that, doll?” he hisses on your neck, moving his head away from it to look at you, his hands trailing up the skin on your back, a hand making its way up into your hair, grabbing a fistful of it to yank your head to the side a little. The way you whimpered from him doing that proved that you weren’t so innocent all along, 

“Daddy, please. I need you...” your breathing starts to become heavy, watching him enjoy every second of this as you begged for him to do more.

The way his lips curl into a smirk at your state taunted you, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as his lips part slightly, matching your facial expressions as you grasp onto his neck, 

“Look at you becoming a little slut for me because I’ve marked you, marked my territory on you. You like that huh? I wonder what other little kinks you’ve been hiding away from me,” he whispers, his voice deep and raspy against your lips. All you could do was beg once again for him to touch you, you needed him badly that it was physically painful that he was drawing it out for this long, 

“Daddy, please. I’ll do anything... touch me,” your words spew into his mouth as it crashes against yours, tongues swirling against each other.

He gently places you down on the bed, but his glare wasn’t so gentle, eyes going dark as he lets out a little laugh, ripping every item of clothing off of your body, leaving you laying bare in front of him, 

“I wonder how you’ll cope now, kitten,” he grunts, forcefully putting your hands above your head, pinning them together with his one hand as he touches your sensitive clit with the other. His lips kiss every inch of your face, down your neck to your bare chest, 

“I wouldn’t dare to leave this uncovered,” he adds, marking every inch of skin he could as you cry his name out loud, whimpering and panting with every single contact he made whilst his fingers toyed with you, 

“Now let’s see what else you like, huh?”.

Tag list:   @kpopcrossworlds​​ @kpopjust4u​​   @littleparkseonghwa​​       @whatudowhennooneseesyou​​​   @8tinytings​​​   @jenotation​​​ @grim-adventures58​​​   @owjohny​​​   @ker1​​​   @hellomingi  @ate-ez  @steponmesannie​   @azeret98​​​  @queenwiinks​  @wubbster​​​ @eternalhongshine​ ​ @sansluvr​  @tinkerbell460

[wannab-urs]

I've Shattered Now

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Summary: Continuation of A Ghost of You (but can be read separately). Dieter dies and you have to learn to live without him. Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Strictly 18+ | MDNI | Drug abuse, mild violence, yelling, Dieter is not alive, mentions of intentional overdose, grief, so much angst. Dieter and Reader's ages aren't mentioned at all, so dealer's choice on that.

a/n: This was a hard fic for me to write, emotionally, but the words themselves came easy. I'm pulling from a lot of real life shit here. Please enjoy this little piece of my soul. And thank you to @beskarandblasters and @mishasminion360 for encouraging me and reading it over for me.

Series Masterlist | Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

I’ve Shattered Now

The hardwood floor is biting into your hip bones, your knees, your elbows. A sharp, pulsing in your lower back is sending waves of pain down your left leg. The space between your shoulder blades feels as though you have a knife buried to the hilt there. Your head is fuzzy, face swollen with tears and snot and ears full of a never-ending dull buzz. Your face is buried in a tattered green bathrobe that smells like weed, lavender incense, and Dieter.

 It still smells like Dieter. Oh god. Dieter. 

You scrunch the robe in your hands, pulling it impossibly closer to your face, and inhale deeply. Maybe if you breathe it in hard enough his scent will bury itself inside your skin, inside your bloodstream. Maybe it can live in you forever. Maybe he can live in you forever. 

Dieter. Dieter. Dieter. DIETER--”AGGGH”

A horrible, mangled scream rips itself from your throat. You slam your fists into the ground and kick your legs, flailing, yelling, begging. 

“Diiiiieter! Fu-fuck…Dieter!” you scream into the stale air of your apartment. Come back D. Come back….

You force your aching body to its knees, spluttering on your own snot. Half blind with tears, you draw a shaky breath and crawl across your living room floor to kneel beside your couch. You lay your head down on the worn green cushion and nuzzle your cheek into the last place that Dieter had been when he was alive. 

First Day of My Life

It’s a Wednesday, the first time you see Dieter Bravo. You don’t usually go out on Wednesdays, but this didn’t really count as going out. Your friend… kind of… Nissa was having a party to celebrate getting fired from her job. Considering your history with holding down jobs and your tenuous relationship with your current stint as a barista, you felt it fitting to make an appearance. 

Your usual scene — music wafting through the air from a record player carried by soft curls of pot smoke, friends giggling and leaning into each other on couches and floor cushions — this was not. You felt the bass pounding in your chest, vibrating your teeth, before you even reached the door. Inside the apartment, you were greeted with strobe lights… fucking strobe lights… flashing through a thick haze of smoke. There had to be 50 people in this tiny ass apartment. You consider turning around and going the fuck home because, seriously, fuck this shit, but before you can leave someone grabs your wrist. 

A man with wild, curly hair and a patchy beard. He’s wearing sunglasses even though it’s 11 at night and his broad shoulders are draped in a very threadbare t-shirt.

 “Can you help me with something?” he yells over the music. You give him a very confused look. What could you possibly help him with? Why the fuck is he asking you? He doesn’t wait for you to answer before asking “Would you like to have sex with me?” 

That is… not what you were expecting. It’s not wildly out of pocket considering you’ve apparently decided to attend a rave on a Wednesday night, but it’s certainly not what you thought you’d hear two seconds after walking inside. You lean close so he can hear you and shout “Maybe later? I’m not even high.” 

He nods sharply and pulls you by the wrist he’s still grasping firmly toward a doorway across the room. You follow him, bewildered, for a few steps before wrenching your wrist out of his grasp and shouting, “What are you doing? I said no!” 

“You said ‘Maybe later,’ technically. Follow me.” He pulls a baggie from his pocket and waggles it back and forth.

Understanding dawns on your face and you follow him. You step through the doorway with him and find yourself in the bathroom. He drops a pill on the countertop as you push the door closed. In the light of the bathroom you can see that he’s devastatingly gorgeous in a disheveled kind of way. His hair is curly and standing up in every direction. Your eyes travel down his body. He’s wearing pajamas, but his chest and shoulders are broad and look strong. You look back at his face.

“Molly,” he says simply, peering at you over the top of his sunglasses. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, pupils blown out completely from whatever he’s already taken. There’s a ring of warm brown surrounding the giant pupils and his eyes have a downturned shape… Goddamn this man has actual puppy dog eyes. 

You nod and grab the pill, popping it into your mouth and swallowing it dry. “Thanks,” you say in response. “Do you always start conversations that way? Asking to fuck?” 

“Pretty much.”

“And does that work for you?”

“Sometimes,” he gives you a pointed look over his sunglasses. You roll your eyes at the insinuation it had worked on you. 

“Just because I took your drugs doesn’t mean I’m going to fuck you.” 

“Okay.” He says simply before moving to open the door. You follow him back into the party, taking note of the way your fingers are starting to tingle. 

Some amount of time later— you’ve lost track— your body is pressed against his at the center of the dance floor. Your whole body is thrumming with the music, vibrating with an undercurrent of electricity. The strobe lights illuminate everything in bright flashes. 

Your hands in his hair, tongues tangled together, chests heaving in time with each other. 

His forehead pressed to yours and his hands on your cheeks as you roll your bodies together in time to the music. 

Your hands laced together above your heads, your back pressed to his chest, your ass grinding into his hips. 

He brings his hands to your waist and turns you to face him. You move to kiss him but suddenly he’s holding a joint in the tiny space between your faces. His head flicks in the direction of the bathroom and you’re once again following him to the small room. 

Once inside, you close the door and sink to the floor, leaning your back against the bathtub and stretching your feet out toward the vanity. The man you’ve been dancing with all night perches on the countertop. He doesn’t look fully real right now, sitting above you, the wall light glowing an orangey yellow behind him. 

“You’re pretty.” you breathe up at him.

He chuckles and lights the joint. After 2 deep inhales, he passes the joint down to you. “Dieter,” he says. 

You tell him your name between hits, then pass it back to him. You scoot forward on the bathroom floor and lay your head on his calf. He’s wearing sweatpants, you note. Weirdo. There’s an inexplicable feeling settling in your chest as you kneel at his feet.

“Dieter,” you whisper. “Why does it feel like I’ve known you my whole life?” It’s the molly talking, you’re sure. You’ve barely said anything to each other. But it also felt kind of true. 

“Maybe you have.”

It’s Over Now, I’m Cold, Alone

The ceiling of your apartment is spinning, warping closer and farther away from your face. You are… so fucking high. Is this how D felt? Did he feel like the whole world was threatening to collapse on top of him? You hope he felt like he was floating instead. You hope the voices in his head were finally quiet. You hope he wasn’t scared. 

You take a deep, shaky breath in and hold it for as long as you can. You cough as you breathe out, choking on a sob. 

“Dieter. D. Dieter. Are you there?” He's always here. He’s never not been here with you. “Di-” you sob again, unable to force the words out of your mouth. A few ragged breaths.

“D… I can’t. I can’t do this without you. Come back. Please.” You think you’re praying. You haven’t prayed since you were a child. You hope Dieter hears you. 

You throw your hand out in the direction of the coffee table. Your fingers skim over the surface until they connect with a bottle. You dump the contents into your palm and swallow another pill, hoping it will finally be enough. 

You pull Dieter’s robe tighter around your shoulders, curling into a ball on the couch, and drifting off into a restless sleep.

Paranoid Delusions, They Haunt You

Dieter refused to use wireless earbuds. He wouldn’t put his fingerprint or face into the system, insisting on using a passcode, but he had a phone he used mainly for texting his dealer. He swore up and down that bluetooth fucked with his brainwaves. That putting his biometric information into the phone would lead them right to him. 

Two months after you moved in with him, he tossed his phone out, insisting it was tapped. He hadn’t made too much of a fuss over you keeping yours until now. Now your iPhone was shattered, a blade piercing through it and pinning it to the wall in the kitchen. 

You felt… defeated. You’d spent a lot of money on that thing. You needed it to talk to your friends, who you didn’t see often anymore. You needed it to text your boss and to get your schedule for work. 

Admittedly, you threw a fit. Was it childish? Could you be mad at him when he didn’t know what was real anymore?

It felt justified. He had destroyed your property. It was likely you’d be fired if you didn’t show up for work in the morning or at least tell your boss you’d be skipping your shift. 

But as angry as you were, you knew Dieter needed you. So you took care of him. You always took care of him. This broken man was rocking back and forth on the floor of your shared kitchen, crying and muttering and convinced for all the world that you were going to be taken from him. 

So you wrapped him in your arms and you promised him you’d stay. You helped him shower for the first time in days. You held him in your arms in the bed you shared and you kissed his forehead and whispered reassurances to him all night. 

You’d always been together, really, and you were never going to be apart again. 

Everyone I Know Goes Away, In The End

His funeral is today. You’re sitting in the park near your apartment, the place you and D used to sit for hours. You’ve read countless novels under this tree, his head in your lap as he sketched the people walking by. You’ve fed him french fries like Dionysus eating grapes, licked the salt off his lips. 

You’ve wrapped him in your arms, whispering reassurances in his ear that no one was watching him. No one was going to take him from you. Run your hands through those gorgeous unruly curls and peppered his face with kisses. You’ve read to him. He’d hated Wuthering Heights and he’d loved The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and he’d asked if you ever read happy books.

You’ve dropped acid and stared up at the sky, finding shapes in the clouds and meaning in the rustling of the leaves. Smoked joint after joint and talked about the stars and where we go when we die and what the point of being alive is and if there’s a god. 

You walk to the coffee shop down the street where you had your first real date. You had agreed to meet him here two days after the rave at Nissa’s house.

You hadn’t remembered giving him your phone number, but you had remembered a godlike figure passing you a joint on the bathroom floor. You had remembered his soft lips pressed behind the shell of your ear as he fucked you against Nissa’s sink, your legs wrapped around his hips, your hands clutching his hair like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. You had remembered the way he whispered that your souls were intertwined from the start of the universe and it had culminated in you, here, now. Bodies folded together. Breath mingling in a smoke-hazy bathroom.

You slide into your booth. The one you’d sat in for hours, telling him your tragic backstory. A mother who loved herself more than you. A father who loved drugs more than being alive. He had told you his own story. How he’d been in and out of state care facilities, trying to silence the voices he never really stopped hearing. How he tried to drown them out with weed and pills and coke and whiskey. How they were quieter with you, but they never really went away. You barely knew him, really, but you’d spilled some of your darkest secrets to each other mere minutes into your first real conversation. 

You knew then you’d never get the imprint of his heart off of yours. You’d never existed before him and you’d never exist again without him.

You sat there, in the booth you so frequently shared with him, and you stared at the place he should have been. Dieter Bravo did not belong six feet under the ground. He belonged here. With you.

I Will Let You Down

You unlock your apartment door and take a step inside. The scene that greets you is, truly, more than you can fucking handle today. 

The couch, usually seated directly across from the entryway, is flipped upside down. The cushions are scattered across the floor. Your coffee table is leaned against the window. There are papers scattered across the floor, drawings of strangers and landscapes and you litter every surface. A canvas depicting what you’ve called Dieter Devouring his Son has a gash in it. There’s a hole in the wall by the entryway to the kitchen. 

In the center of the chaos is Dieter. He’s sitting on the floor with his back to you. He doesn’t have a shirt on and his feet are bare. He’s muttering to himself, hands tearing at his hair, and rocking slowly back and forth. He doesn’t react at all to you coming in. Your heart leaps into your throat. This is bad. This is bad. You’ve never seen him quite this gone. 

“Dieter?” He keeps rocking at the same steady space, his muttering growing slightly louder. You walk up behind him and reach out, hoping to soothe him with a hand on his back. 

He jumps away from your touch and yells, “Get the FUCK away from me!” You stagger backward, shocked. Breaking down isn’t new, in your experience with Dieter. But yelling at you is. 

“Dieter it’s just me, baby,” you speak just above a whisper, trying to calm him. 

“Get away! Get away. Get away. from. me,” his eyes are wild. Unfocused. He’s not really seeing you, you realize. 

“Dieter. Go to bed. I really don’t have the energy for this right now.” You’d had such a long day at work and now your lover had destroyed your apartment and was acting as if you were out to get him too, joining the rest of the world in the conspiracy to end Dieter Bravo. 

“Fuck you. Get out! Get away from me! Get out Get out Get out Get out.” He stands up and crosses his arms in front of himself, as if to ward you off.

You move to grab his arms, wanting to pin them to his sides and shush him. He shoves you, hard, in the chest and you fall to the floor. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch me!” He bellows at you. 

You look up at him from the floor, tears welling up and pouring down your face. He’s been out of it before, but he’s never hurt you. You scramble off the floor and dart out the door, slamming it behind you, but you don’t make it far. You can’t leave him like this. Not really. So you resolve to sit with your back against the door to your apartment all night.

A few hours later, you’re curled in a ball on the hallway floor, shivering and sore from being on hard concrete for so long, when the door opens. You rush to your feet and back away from the man in the doorway. 

Dieter looks at you with his giant brown puppy dog eyes, face streaked with tears, hair damp from sweat and hanging in his face. His hands are clenching and unclenching over and over as he slowly reaches out to you. “I’m so sorry…” He chokes out, his voice creaking. 

You press your back against the wall, as far away as you can reasonably get without running away completely. “You pushed me, D. And you- you screamed at me. You can’t yell at me, you know that, Dieter, you know that.” 

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby, you have to believe me… I-” he cuts himself off and looks down at the floor, folding his arms up by his head and tugging on his own hair. “I couldn’t tell. I thought it was real. I thought…”

You move toward him, slowly, like you’re approaching a potentially rabid animal. You reach out your hand and he flinches, “Shhh, D. It’s okay. It’s me. I’m here.” You reach both hands up and wrap them around his wrists, stopping his assault on his scalp. You press his hands into your chest and lay your palms over the top of his curled and twitching fingers, rubbing back and forth slowly in an attempt to calm him. 

“Didn’t know it was you… not really,” he mumbles in the direction of the floor. You press a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

“I know, baby. Let’s go inside.”

Wishin' I Were Gone

There was a short period of time last year that Dieter was on meds. Like real ones. Anti-psychotics. For the few months he took those pills, Dieter held down a job and cooked you dinner sometimes and cleaned up after himself. He showered regularly. You discovered that his paintings could be beautiful in a beautiful way and not in a scary way. 

He’d painted you and him, a sort of abstract smudging of oil paint creating the image of his body wrapped around yours. Your hands, arms, legs, completely entangled. The sunlight from your bedroom windows filtering down on your naked bodies and making you glow. The painting sits in the window sill, now. You’re staring at it from your spot on the couch. 

Your back is to the doorway of your bedroom. The room you haven’t entered since he died. The room with a dresser haphazardly stuffed with ratty t-shirts and sweatpants. The room where he stacked baubles and trinkets and rocks and gemstones on every surface. The room with the big bed you’d spent countless hours in with him, kissing and touching and taking and giving. You were usually so wrapped up in him in that bed that the outside world didn’t exist to you. You faded from reality there, with him. Joining him on some plane of existence where you were both safe. You want to go there again. 

You push yourself off the couch and stagger into the bedroom. 

A ray of sunlight is streaming through the window, falling directly on the unmade bed. You collapse into the center and wrap the blanket around you. It doesn’t smell like Dieter. You close your eyes and feel the sun warming your face. You feel yourself sinking deeper into the mattress. Your face is going numb, now. Your lips have lost feeling and it’s hard to open your eyes. You feel like you’re under a weighted blanket. Like you’re underwater and the waves are crashing above your head and you’re just watching. See you on the other side. You drag in one last shaky breath and succumb to the crushing heaviness surrounding you. 

I Miss My Lover

Dieter fucking Bravo was the love of your life. You never believed in soulmates, never believed someone could be made for you, souls two jagged pieces waiting to find each other and be made whole. And maybe you still don’t. Maybe you weren’t right for each other. 

Maybe Dieter was never meant to be here on this earth. Maybe he burned a little too hot and a little too bright to exist any longer than he had. 

Maybe for all your trying to save him, you only succeeded in destroying yourself. 

But, fuck! He wrote you poetry and painted you beautiful pictures and kissed you with his mouth full of french fries. He wrapped you in his arms and sang Etta James in your ear while you made Hamburger Helper. He kissed and held and loved every single part of you, even the jagged edges. 

Dieter Bravo’s soul was intertwined with yours. You think it still is. You think it always will be.

You’ll never be able to see the night sky again without remembering his lips on your neck and his hands on your waist and his voice in your ear telling you that you are more breathtaking than anything in the galaxy. 

You’ll never sit outside and read a novel on a warm spring day without hearing charcoal scratching the surface of a sketchbook. 

Every time you bring a joint to your lips, you are in that bathroom at Nissa’s house, looking up at his hooked nose and dark brown eyes and pouty lips and thinking he can’t be real.

There are some things, people, we come into contact with and they never stop touching you again. The imprint of them is forever pressed into your skin like little fingertip shaped bruises. 

Dieter Bravo grabbed your wrist one night, a few years ago, and he’s never let go since.

---

Series Masterlist

[baronessblixen]

Prompt : Scully walks in the bathroom to Mulder bathing little William and they both are singing Part of Your World from the Little Mermaid

Pure family fluff!

Fictober Day 15 | Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2022 | Wc: 1,180

You're A Part Of My World

When Scully opens the door to her apartment, she finds the living room deserted, but has no time to wonder where Mulder and William are. She hears their voices loud and clear coming from the bathroom, their noises putting a smile on her face. She removes her jacket and toes off her shoes. Her sore feet make her wince as she walks towards the bathroom, the door ajar. As soon as she peeks inside, all her pains and worries evaporate.

Mulder is on his knees in front of the tub while William is inside it, surrounded by a wall of toys, beaming at his dad. Who, Scully realizes, is singing to their son.

“Look at this trove, treasures untold. How many wonders can one cavern hold?” His deep voice is gentle and even though she can’t see his face, she knows he’s smiling at William.

“Looking around here you think,” he half says, half sings.

“I’ve got everything!” William joins in, showing his baby teeth, excitedly splashing water everywhere.

“I’ve got gadgets and gizmos a-plenty. You want thingamabobs?”

“I’ve got twenty!” William says and laughs, making Scully chuckle, too, from her spot in the doorway. Her two guys are so caught up in their own little world that they haven’t noticed her yet.

Mulder has rolled up his sleeves to no avail; his sweater is soaked to his shoulders. He doesn’t seem to care. He reaches into the tub and takes William’s hands in his.

“Flippin’ your fins you don’t get too far,” he sings and makes his son’s small hands slap against the water, the boy roaring with laughter.

“Legs are required for jumping, dancing,” Mulder goes on, grabbing William’s legs next. The boy is still laughing as he’s being tickled. His feet kick the air, like he’s always done ever since he was a baby. Impatient through and through, like his dad. Even before he could walk, he was ready to run, wanting to go places, wanting to see and explore. Her baby son, who’s growing up so fast right in front of her eyes.

“Up where they walk,” Mulder sings, motioning for William to join him, and the boy sits up straight.

“Up where they run,” he sings along.

“Up where they stay all day in the sun,” they sing together, their matching heads of hair close, and Scully only sees them in a blur as her eyes fill with tears of joy.

“Wanderin’ free, wish I could be – your big part now, Will,” Mulder finishes and William, in all his naked glory, stands up in the tub and puts a hand over his heart before he sings out, “part of that world.” He draws the last word out and Mulder high-fives him when he’s done.

The boy sits back down, more water splashing over the side of the tub. That’s when he sees her, a huge smile breaking on his face.

“Mommy!” He screams and Mulder catches him just in time as he attempts to jump out of the tub.

“Hey there, little fish,” he says. “You’re not done yet.”

“I’m here, baby,” Scully says, walking over to them, making sure not to step into any puddles. Mulder has put out several towels, knowing how bath time can get.

“Hey there yourself,” Mulder says with a grin, knowing fully well she was talking to their son. He looks up at her, a huge grin on his face. Scully leans down to press a kiss to his lips, drawing the moment out, until she feels William get impatient. She kisses his bubble-gum-scented head, making him giggle.

“Did you hear us sing, mommy?”

“I did.”

“Can we watch The Little Mermaid after, please? Please? Daddy said to ask you.” He half leans out of the tub, dripping all over the floor, pleading with her. She glances at Mulder, who shrugs. The decision is already made.

“After you brush your teeth,” she says.

“Yes! I like brushing my teeth,” he informs them, rearranging the boats around him. “My toothbrush has fish on it.”

“I know, baby,” Scully says, touching his warm, soft shoulder. Going back to work was her decision and she’s never regretted it, but she can’t deny that she misses being around William all day. Her little boy who at five years old is not so little anymore.

“Dad, we need to finish the song!”

“Do we?” Mulder feigns ignorance.

“We do. Mommy can sing with us now.”

“I don’t know the lyrics as well as you do,” she says.

“Liar,” Mulder whispers into her ear. He’s right, too. William has been obsessed with The Little Mermaid for years now. Scully doesn’t even remember when it started. One day they were all sick with the flu, watching every available Disney movie, and this one just stuck. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. When William was a baby, Mulder would sit with him in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep, the two of them watching the fish in their tank, Mulder telling his infant stories about all the adventures the fish had while their humans were asleep.

“We need to finish the song,” William insists.

“The kid is right, Scully. Let’s put on a show for your mom, Will.” The boy grins and gets ready.

“I’m ready to know what the people know,” Mulder starts singing, smiling softly at Scully, who falls in love with him all over again. Here he is, Fox Mulder, FBI agent and full-time dad, singing Disney songs with gusto. “Ask ‘em my questions and get some answers. What’s a fire,” he sings and points to Scully’s hair, making William laugh, “and why does it- what’s the word, Will?”

“Burn!” He says.

“When’s it my turn?” Again, Mulder is looking at Scully as he sings, taking one of her hands into his as if he were serenading her. “Wouldn’t I love, love to explore that shore up above?”

“My turn now!” William says and looks at Mulder who gives him a secret sign only the two of them seem able to decipher.

“Get ready, Scully,” he says quietly.

“Out of the sea,” William sings, his voice loud. He looks at his dad once more, who nods with enthusiasm. “Wish I could be-” and Scully is splashed with water as William throws himself forward to finish the song in style. “Part of that world!”

Their clothes soaked, Mulder and Scully share a look before they turn to their proudly smiling son.

“How was I?” he asks them, full of giddy excitement-

“Extraordinary,” Mulder says. “

“Out of this world,” Scully adds.

“And now out of this tub.” Mulder picks up a squirming, wet William, and Scully hands him a towel. “Go get changed while I get this little fish ready.” He tickles William and the boy squeals in delight. Scully quickly kisses Mulder as a thank you and wanders into the bedroom. Changing out of her work clothes, she can still hear father and son in the bathroom, and she can’t help but think how lucky she is.

[jellostories]

AJ the Very Whimsical, Ch. 5: Twins 2 Twins

Twist had a pair of twin sisters -- younger than her by two years -- named Pepsy and Pizza. Mischievous and fiery-tempered, they were completely identical -- meaning they had the same gray eyes, flyaway chestnut hair, cute button noses, etc. The only way their family could tell them apart was through their slight differences in clothing: Pepsy, the first twin, wore a bunch of rainbow-colored bracelets and a blue butterfly sweatshirt; while Pizza, the second twin, wore a pink sweatshirt with a goldfish on it and had flowers painted on both of her cheeks. Additionally, each of the twins had a certain quirk that helped differentiate them as well: Pepsy had a severe case of the hiccups, while Pizza carried a pink reindeer puppet named Prancer around with her for security reasons.  

Pepsy and Pizza were inseparable best friends about 80% of the time, playing and wreaking mayhem together like a pair of humanized gremlins. For the other 20%, however, they fought over the sort of stuff that would only make sense to six-year-olds, like –

“It’s MY crayon!” Pizza yelled as she and Pepsy had a round of tug-of-war over a certain blue coloring utensil.

“Nuh-uh, it’s -- hick! -- MINE!” her twin countered, tugging the crayon her way.

A few tugs and juvenile insults later, the crayon broke and the twins’ parents had to step in.

“Lemme -- hick! -- at ‘er, lemme -- hick! -- at ‘er!” Pepsy yelled, squiggling and squirming in her mother’s grip.

Pizza blew a raspberry at her twin from her place in her father’s arms, gnashing Prancer’s teeth like an angry crocodile. 

Frustrated, the girls’ parents gave them each their own separate box of crayons and ordered a separation for the rest of the afternoon. Pizza would remain in the TV room, while Pepsy would be moved to their shared bedroom upstairs.

Before the bracelet-wearing twin was ushered up the stairs by her father, she managed to spitefully kick her sister in the shin and yank on her right hand, causing both first-graders to yelp in pain. According to the twins' pediatrician, this was a twin thing; they could feel each other's pain.

“Humph,” Pizza scoffed as she walked back to where her coloring book was in front of the sofa. “Pepsy can be a real meanie sometimes, right, Prancer – Prancer?”

Pizza looked at her right hand and gasped. Prancer, her beloved reindeer puppet, was missing! The little girl began to fight back tears as she searched up, down, and all around for her favorite toy -- in between the couch cushions, under the coffee table, in the remote basket -- but Prancer was nowhere to be found.

Crushed, Pizza sat down in front of the coffee table, hugged her knees, and began to cry.  Where, oh where, could her beloved Prancer be? It wasn’t time for Mommy to wash her, and even then it wasn’t like Mommy to suddenly throw her in the washer unannounced. Furthermore, the flower-cheeked girl could’ve sworn she had Prancer with her when she and Pepsy were –

Pepsy.

A sudden bolt of realization hit Pizza like a brick to the head, followed by anger so hot it burned her face like a hot coal.

“Pepsy,” the little girl thought again, standing up and trembling with rage only an unsettled volcano could top. “I will destroy you!”

~~~~

Meanwhile, in the upstairs storage room…

Pepsy had indeed stolen her twin sister’s puppet and was in the middle of hiding her in an old Tupperware box when Pizza suddenly kicked the door down with a BANG.

“PEPSY!” the flower-cheeked girl growled angrily. “GIVE ME BACK MY PRANCER!”

Pizza jumped on top of her twin and wrestled her beloved reindeer out of Pepsy’s grip.

“I ought to tell Daddy on you, missy!” Pizza huffed, wagging her finger at Pepsy.

The bracelet-wearing twin didn’t answer; she just giggled like she was the world’s greatest comedian. This pissed off Pizza so much she reached behind herself and spanked her bum as hard as she could.

Both of the twins squealed in pain, but Pepsy’s was louder.

“Pizza, how -- hick! -- could you!?” the bracelet-wearing girl whimpered as she got up and rubbed her aching tushie. “You know I have -- hick! -- Red-Bum-Bumitis!”

Red-Bum-Bumitis was a medical condition Pepsy had been diagnosed with back in preschool. It caused red marks to appear on her tushie, which hurt when you hit them and could only be treated with special ointment. 

“Hmph!” Pizza folded her arms in full “pout” mode. “Serves you right for being a pug-faced poop-eater!”

Now, of all the things you should never call Ann-Marie “Pepsy” Holloway, “poop-eater” was in the top three (“I swear, I totally thought it was -- hick! -- chocolate!”). As soon as those two cursed words left her twin sister’s lips, the bracelet-wearing girl’s blood began to boil and churn with anger, causing steam to blow out her ears like a screaming teakettle.

Sensing she’d done goofed up, Pizza slowly backed towards the door, hoping to escape, but Pepsy jumped on top of her and began yet another dust brawl.

The screaming and punching soon attracted the attention of Mrs. Holloway and the twins’ older sister Twist, who came in to intervene. (Their dad, Frank, was busy watering the plants out back at the time).

“I’m guessing either you girls are having a bad day, or your panties are too tight,” remarked the eldest Holloway girl as she held Pizza’s hands behind her back to prevent her from beating the living crap out of her twin.

“We think Daddy got us the wrong size!” the twins wailed as they began doing The Wedgie Dance in their family members’ arms

~~~~

After a quick lecture, Mrs. Holloway ordered her twin daughters to “hug and make up”, but the mere idea of this seemed to revolt them.

“Eww, gross!” Pizza gagged, making Prancer shake her head in agreement. “I’d rather kiss a booger-monster than hug a big meanie-pants like her!”

“Yeah, sorry, Mommy,” Pepsy said, putting her hands up as though she were surrendering. “I don’t hug -- hick! -- mean, little piggies.”

And so the two little girls walked away, Pepsy headed for their bedroom and Pizza for the TV room downstairs.

Already used to this sort of thing, Twist and her mother counted down on their fingers: “Five, four, three, two, one…”

Right on cue, the twins zipped back to the second-floor landing, bawling their eyes out and hugging each other.

“I-I’m sorry, Pep!” Pizza wailed. “You’re not a meanie-pants, you’re the bestest twin a girl could ever ask for!”

In between sobs, Pepsy managed to choke out: “You’re my -- hick! -- best friend, Pizza!”

“Awww!” Mrs. Holloway always found it cute whenever her younger daughters resolved their conflicts, even if it was a very common occurrence.

Twist stifled a giggle.

“What’s so funny, Bertha?” Mrs. Holloway asked.

“P-Pepsy called Pizza a piggy,” Twist answered, still struggling to hold back her incoming giggle fit. “B-But you and Dad said they’re identical twins, so wouldn’t that make them both piggies?”

“WHAAAT?” Pepsy’s face flushed at this realization, while Pizza’s morphed into a combination of shock and glee.

“We have the same face!?” the flower-cheeked girl said, turning to her twin with a glint of mischievous glee in her gray eyes. “We’ve had the same face this whole time, but you still wouldn’t play dress-up with me!?”

As Pizza continued to slowly but surely approach her, Pepsy tried to sputter out a reply: “W-Well, you see, it - I - hick! - um, er – DON’T PRETTY ME!”

She screamed like the little girl she was as her twin chased her downstairs.

Twist fell to the floor laughing as her mother ran after the twins, yelling at them to get their panties out of a bunch already. (Pepsy & Pizza: “We told you, Mommy! Daddy got us the wrong size!”

[songbirdstyles]

i’m on fire

summary: harry can’t keep his hands to himself after getting home from filming.

warnings: breeding kink, spanking, smut, slight fluff, pregnancy mention, slight dom/sub

word count: 2.7k

song inspo.: i’m on fire - bruce springsteen, girls on film - duran duran, tango in the night - fleetwood mac

You’ve hardly glanced in Harry’s eyes as he walks into the foyer of your London apartment before you feel your back slam into the door behind you - your head thumps against the wood and a groan threatens to rip out of your throat but he steals it before you get the chance to make the noise, lips on yours and tongue stuck down your throat.

Your hands have nowhere else to go but to bury themselves in his hair, fingers curling around chocolate brown curls and tugging until you hear the soft hitch in his breath that indicates just how much your grasp affected him. And, God, it did affect him, clearly, as he pushes his hips further against yours until you can feel the thick bulge in his pelvis grinding against the softness of your inner thigh as you hike your leg up to hoist around his waist. He moves one arm from where he had been grasping your throat as if to steady him to the present and his free hand grasps the underside of your thigh, pulling it further up his abdomen until the stretch in your muscle makes you whine.

“Jesus fuck, Har -”

He shuts you up from whatever you were going to mutter as he deepens the kiss, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as his knee grinds into your cunt until you’re crying out, goosebumps overtaking every square inch of your skin even through the thick sweatshirt adorning your upper half. You hadn’t had much of anything valuable to say, anyway, but it’s the principle of his interruption that makes you grasp for his cheeks and pull his face from yours with a heaving gasp.

“What’s gotten into you, hmm?”

You’d almost be concerned about Harry’s state if you couldn’t feel him rutting his cock against your thigh - his face is red and hot, eyes half lidded and breaths panting and desperate with each sharp inhale of oxygen. Christ, he looks a sight in the best way possible, and your instinct is to snap your thighs shut at the feeling that rushes through your body when he leans in, pressing soft lips to the sweaty skin of your throat so it muffles his response. His hands find the hem of your sweatshirt (or his sweatshirt, really) and you have half a mind to raise your arms so he can pull his lips from your neck to tug the cloth off of your torso before he finds a vein in your throat with a newfound vigor, sliding his other hand up to grope at your bare tit like a teenage boy whose only just seen one for the first time.

“Jus’ wanna love on you, hmm - wanna love on m’girl, please -”

“Hmm -”

He grunts, then. Nips at a vein in your neck that pulsates beneath his lapping tongue and you can’t help but giggle, however childlike and naive the noise sounds, but it’s enough for him to drop your thigh from around your waist - grab your cheeks and spin you around, pushing you backwards and backwards until your feet hardly feel like they’re moving, like you’re floating through the entryway of your apartment until you reach the kitchen. Though Harry loves fucking you every which way in your bed, huge and comfortable and soft, there’s something primal about pushing you against the kitchen table and ripping down your flannel sweatpants and burying himself into your heat that you know he secretly prefers over the sacred oasis of your bedroom.

Your lower back hits the edge of the island but it doesn’t stay there long before he turns you around, pushing the front of your body against the island until your body has folded in half to bend over the slab of marble, cold against your bare tits and stomach. Your boyfriend reaches around to the front of your sweatpants, then, arms wrapped around your thighs to shakily untie the knot that you had carefully tied in the strings of your pajama pants - his chest rises and falls against your back, hips still pushing into yours over and over and you jut your ass out to meet the grind of his cock against the clothed globes of your ass.

“Tied this thing fuckin’ tight, didn’t you?”

“Didn’t think you’d try to rip them off like an animal,” you retort, lifting your hips from where they’re firmly pressed to the edge of the island once Harry has successfully untied the knot, tugging your pants down the slope of your ass until they unceremoniously drop to a puddle at your feet, and you impatiently kick them off as Harry snaps the waistband of your panties just to hear you squeal. “Come on, Har - know you’re impatient -”

“Mmm.”

His finger slide beneath your panties, knuckle dragging through your slit that’s positively dripping with your slick, and you hear his low moan at how ready you are for him but the truth is you’ve been fucking dripping since he sent you a selfie of him in his makeup chair on set two days prior, hair messy and eyebrow arched, and it hadn’t even been a serious selfie but it still made your clit throb when you saw it. He’d been gone for nearly two weeks for filming when you’d gone a full year of almost never being apart and, fuck. Seeing him like that did things to you.

Harry’s yours, god fucking dammit. The thought makes you spread your thighs more for him as he dips his finger into your waiting hole, curling them up once just to watch how your back arches, how you moan as though you’d been coded to do so. It’s a game he likes to play, testing you, seeing just how needy you are for him even if all he wants to do is bury himself inside of you and fuck you until tears streak your cheeks and you’re begging him to cum.

No - no, he does want that, you know that. Wants it so bad it makes his knees weak, makes his stomach flip and turn, but he wants to watch you fall apart more than anything. Needs to know you want this just as much as he does, if not more, and if he were truly dedicated tonight he’d finger you until you came at least twice.

Neither of you can wait for that.

“Jesus fuck,” he breathes, voice raspy and full of sex and wanting and you could nearly sob as you feel him finally start to tug them hem of his joggers and boxers over his cock. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

But - but -

“Wait.”

He pauses. The head of his cock pokes at your ass in a way that would be funny if the revelation you’d just been hit with hadn’t hit you yet but it has, and you turn your head to press your cheek against the marble.

“Wha’?”

“I got my birth control thing out yesterday, the one in my arm. Remember - I told you I have to get it replaced. M’getting it tomorrow.”

There’s a pause in the kitchen, then, that hangs heavy over the both of you as you hear Harry’s shaky breathing behind you. And then -

“Did you just get harder?”

Harry exhales and even without seeing him you can picture the smile on his face as he presses his hips further into yours - “M’sorry - s’hot, babe.”

“Me not being on birth control is hot?”

“Yes,” and as if for extra reassurance of just what he means, Harry pushes his cock between your thighs until it’s slotted in your slit, head nudging your clit and making your legs quiver and shake as the stimulation rolls over you, eyes rolling back and head feeling fuzzy. “Makes me wanna fuck you so bad.”

There’s a quick consideration, you suppose - of the possibility of getting pregnant and the fact that you know there’s probably not even a single condom in your apartment for him to quickly put on, and even if there was the moment would die - and, come on, you’ve been together for almost 4 years and you’ve talked about kids in passing. If it happens it happens - that’s been your philosophy on it with him.

If it happens, it happens.

And it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Harry loves kids and you love kids and more than that, you love each other like the world depends on it - could never picture yourself living life without him at this point, and more than that, there is something hot about imagining him fucking you completely raw.

“Fuck, Har,” you moan, feeling your clit spasm as you grasp the edge of the counter. “I don’t care. Fuck me, pl -”

The final word doesn’t make it out of your mouth before Harry’s slamming himself inside of you and there’s no slow or sweet - it’s raw and unfiltered, giving you half a moment to adjust to his size after two full weeks without his cock, and it’s huge, feels like it’s splitting you open, like you’re back to the first time he’d ever fucked you and you’d had the fleeting question of whether it would even fit. It did fit, though, over and over and over, and yet the first stroke always makes you gasp.

Or scream.

“Oh, shit!” your resounding moan is shrill and punctuated by your legs just about giving up, knees collapsing until the only thing holding you up is Harry’s cock slamming into your cunt over and over, his nails digging into your bare shoulder blade before scratching up to tug at your hair. Forms it into a loose ponytail to tug at your hair like a damn whip, forcing your lazed face off of the marble until you’re staring into the darkened kitchen before you with blurry, watering eyes and a cunt that already feels fucked sore from just a few thrusts.

“Oh - god,” and Harry’s voice shakes and leaks with arousal, breath picking up as he pistons into you, cock stroking spots inside of you that you didn’t even know existed before him, before he had fucked you slow and sweet and made you oh so aware of every sweet spot your cunt was filled with. God, he’s good at it, at a fast unforgiving pace that makes your head spin and your throat go raw with sobs, and you slam your palm against the island with a moan. “So fuckin’ tight f’me - made for me, right?”

You don’t respond, words feeling snatched from your tongue with every stroke of his dick into your pussy, milking every drop of arousal for all that it’s worth.

“This - this fuckin’ pussy - s’mine, isn’t it?” And when his seemingly rhetorical question goes unanswered there’s a sharp slap to the bottom of your ass that makes you shout, throat aching with the noise. “Whose fuckin’ pussy -”

“Yours!” It’s a near shriek that’s fucked out of you, and there’s another slap to your ass as you babble, “yours, Harry, yours - belongs to you -”

“Sure fuckin’ does,” and then he pulls out and you want to shout, to slam your head into the island because surely there’s nothing worse than the emptiness that fills you in the worst way possible, but just as you begin to whimper Harry is gripping your thigh, grasp tight enough that you’ll surely see bruises come morning, and he hikes your leg up over the edge of the island, exposing your near-abused pussy to him fully.

The tip of his cock runs along your slit, spreading your slickness around your folds and before you can plead with him to stop teasing he pushes back in, cock drawing along your velvet walls and eliciting a raspy moan that feels nearly involuntary at this point. His grasp on your hair is released and you nearly drop your head onto the island in surprise but then he’s leaning down, clothed chest pressed to your sweaty back, and his forearms snake beneath your neck until he’s nearly caging your neck in his arms, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

His hips pound against your ass, the sound of skin slapping skin nearly overpowering your choked moans and yet it doesn’t quite manage to - you’re sure your downstairs neighbors must think you’re being murdered with the volume of your sobs, or perhaps they’re used to hearing you get fucked within an inch of your life just about every night. Harry going away for filming surely must have been their own vacation from being awoken every night to yours and his pathetic moans mingled together -

But their vacation is over, goddammit.

“Harry, I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum,” you gasp, voice staccato and quiet, and his lips close around the back of your neck until you can feel him suckling at the skin, desperate to watch your skin erupt in hickeys from his work. “Please don’t - don’t stop -”

“Never gonna stop, baby,” is your boyfriend’s response, nearly cruel with how nonchalant he sounds, and his pace picks up where he’s sliding in and out of you with squelching wet sounds. “Cum for me - cum f’me and m’gonna blow it, baby, blow m’fuckin’ load into your cunt -”

You whimper, making a halfhearted attempt to reach behind you and wind your arm around Harry’s neck but you can’t muster up enough strength, feeling the orgasm building in your abdomen build and build like a rubber band about to snap. It’s a feeling that’s all too familiar when you’re with him, like you’re always one stolen smirk away from straddling him in front of everyone and having your way with him -

“M’gonna cum in you, baby,” Harry whispers, voice low and hot against your ear, words being shot directly into your eardrum and sending a chill up your spine that has nothing to do with the chilled temperature of the kitchen. “Gonna knock you up, right? S’what you want?”

“Yes - yes -”

“Y’want me to fill you with my cum, hmm? Get you fuckin’ pregnant? All round w’my fuckin’ kid, fill you ‘till you’re dripping -”

“Oh, God, Harry!”

“Cum on m’fucking cock. Wanna feel y’cum around me ‘fore I blow it, sweetie -” It’s all the encouragement you need, a moan mixed with a sob tearing out of your throat as you throw your head back, body nearly convulsing as your orgasm racks through you like a tsunami on shore - and it’s everything, like he’s set you aflame and left you to deal with the inferno, and not for the first time you think about how you’re fucking made for him, for this, cumming harder than you’ve ever cum in your life, the rubbr band snapping and sending waves of pleasure through you -

“Fuck!”

Your orgasm hasn’t even come close to ending when Harry’s hips slam firm against yours, pressed taut against your ass and you feel him, feel every curve and vein of his cock against your walls and your mind goes blank as he cums, warm spurts filling you every which way and it only makes it better when he moves one of his arms from beneath your neck, snaking his hand underneath your body so he can shakily rub three fingers against your clit, milking your orgasm for all that it’s worth. You clamp down on him, every sensation too much and yet not enough in the best way possible, and you swear you see nothing but stars.

There’s a beat of silence, filled only with your heaving breaths and his soft gasps for air mixing with each other in the thick, suddenly humid air of the kitchen. Harry’s chest is sweaty against your back even through his shirt, lips still pressing warm, wet kisses to the back of your neck just underneath your hairline.

“Fuck,” you breathe, soreness already settling in your throat as you swallow, somewhat regretting your vehement moans and cries and shouts but somehow not at all - “Should probably go shower.”

“Not yet.” “Not yet -?”

“Stay here for a few minutes,” your boyfriend murmurs against your damp, sweaty skin, tongue poking out to lick a thin stripe from your collarbone up to the side of your throat, lips pressing just underneath your ear. “Gotta make sure it works. Gotta make sure you’re not leaving this fuckin’ kitchen without m’fuckin’ kid inside you, baby.”

~~

TAGLIST 

@hoeeforstyles @pcterparxer @hhh33-3l @saintsmotels @ficrecrry @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music @masumiyetimziyanoldu @luxplsr @strawberryystyles @shawnxstyles @harryslilkat @harryhub @golden-hoax @repostcentral @harry-styles-l​ @mintchipstyles​ @fallinforstyles  @zhangyixingxing1​ @goldenxstyles7​ @tobefalling​ @hslotcherry​ @alwaysclassyeagle​ @galacticferns @nineteenfiftyone​ @havethetimeeofyourlifee​ @sstarkme​ @stylesfics-xx​ @thecitiesintheseas @harrypinks​ @morethanamelodyy @lovesickrry​ @prettymuchxarreaga 

[aetheternity]

So sweet, just for me

Synopsis: Just some stories where reader takes care of Virgin! Armin.

Disclaimer: Unprotected sex, blowjobs, Sub Armin and sexually experienced Y/N are all present in this. Minors exit now.

☆☆Just Summer Things☆☆

Sweat coursed down the expanse of every inch of your body. Or maybe it was water you weren't really sure. A set of carefully trimmed nails shivered and shook beside your head, digging into the grimy tree bark. Locks of sun kissed blonde hair stuck to parts of your neck, face and collarbone as you coaxed Armin's breathing down. Forehead resting uncomfortably against the bark and your ass firmly seated against his hips.

"How do you feel sweet boy?"

"I-I.." He panted, pulling his face back a little. Blue doe eyes full of lust and the sweet shine of tears.

His cock currently pressed delicately against your g-spot during what started out as a normal water balloon fight. Between the boys and the girls of course. You guys had all come out during late afternoon, Sasha and Connie started tossing water balloons and teams formed accordingly.

At some point you'd run off to what you thought was a safe zone only to find Armin perched in the bushes. Contemplation etched into his soft features.

"Move slowly ok." You encourage. You were surprised by how big he was sure but the warning was more so this could last for a while.

He nodded where you were still holding the back of his head. His nails cautiously unlatching from the tree moving instead to sink into the fat of your hips while at the same time his once snugly nestled cock began to move. The sweet drag forcing your toes to curl and your eyes to shut. A small exhale cresting off your lips.

A breathy moan fell from his trembling lips as he pulls you in closer. Wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing around you like a lifeline.

You'd met Armin only two years ago through Jean and continued to crush on him for the entirety of those two years. Until today when he'd admitted to you that he was a little ashamed of being a virgin while consistently having to listen to Eren, Connie and Jean's conquests.

You told him they were probably lying about at least half of those stories but it only got you a small smile. So you decided to do him one better and offer to take his virginity.

It wasn't selfish. It was a win win. He would receive a conquest story to tell and you would get what you'd been craving since you'd first seen him in Jean's apartment shirtless and trying to help fix the messed up drain.

"Feels good?" You chuckle huskily

"Oh my God.." He huffs into your skin. 

His hips worked themselves up a little faster. A slightly clumsy pace forming but he was new at this so you weren't mad.

"Armin slow down baby, I don't want you to get ahead of yourself."

"I-i'm sorry.. j-ust feels amazing.."

One of his hands hesitantly snaked up your shirt. Skittish in the way he palmed at your breast. Though he quickly eased up when you replied to the affection with a little mewl.  

It felt surprisingly amazing for you as well. Considering the situation and the fact that Armin had never done this with anyone. This really was his first time.. What a weird thing to tell people. My first time was at a water balloon fight against a tree.

You hummed when the pleasure started to sit in your stomach. Legs trembling a bit as he pumped inside you a little faster. Any other time you would've just thrown your head back and relaxed, especially since his dick was so perfectly filling right now but-

"Armin, slow down." Your breathing was a little raspy.

He replied with a whimpery moan, thighs shaking against your sides. You reached an arm around grabbing his hips with your hand to slow them. It seemed to catch his attention because those soft doe eyes were wide.

"You'll get to cum baby I promise you, ease up a bit it's not a race." He nodded in affirmation and you smiled warmly.

Silk strands warm under your guided fingers as he pulled all the way out and slowly eased back in. A collective united moan exiting both your mouths. You'd shut your eyes but they worked themselves back open at the almost unnoticeable twitch of his cock head.

Your favorite part.

"Mm baby so close.." You whisper, your lip coming to tuck itself under your teeth.

A small chorus of yes's and little gasps fall from his open mouth. His skin somehow easing out of tomato red and into surface of the sun red.

You pull him close making sure his eyes were open. "I need you to cum for me ok? But make sure no one hears you." You say, and fuck is it gorgeous watching him come undone. Just like you'd imagined so many times before.

The tears once welling in his eyes spilled over like a faucet. Choked moans and harsh gasps worked their way off his lips. One of his hands flew back up to the tree where his nails soon dug the bark clean off. His hips stuttering through his entire orgasm. You were almost worried when his climax ended. The way he went silent except for his wild breathing.

"Armin?"

"Fuck.." He sighed

You couldn't help but giggle. "How was your first time?"

He gasps and rolls his eyes still stuck in euphoria. When he pulls out you take the opportunity to turn around. Working your panties up over your hips and pulling your fluttery skirt back down.

"Please, please let me do that again sometime.." He huffs finally managing words. You bring his lips to yours in a chaste kiss that honestly doesn't last long enough for you.

"Only if you promise to stay my good boy." You reply pulling his shorts up till they rest comfortably on his hips.

"I promise." He remarks, almost too eager. "Oh! Wait you didn't get to c-"

"Hey, where did you guys go?" Armin practically separates from his skin as Connie and Jean round the corner. Water guns tucked in their grasp.

"When did you guys get those?" You asked nonchalantly.

Jean shrugged, "We made the game more interesting."

Connie shook his head running back around the corner as Sasha's battle cry sounded.

"Hurry and get back we need you out there Armin." And with that Jean was gone too.

You picked up Armin's discarded water balloon, placing it in his open palm. "See you out there, lover boy."

☆☆Showing Armin how to do Yoga☆☆

"Why's Armin coming over here so early again?" Sasha asked rolling over onto her side. The bag of cotton candy once perched on her thighs flopping over and nearly spilling its contents.

"To do Yoga!" You replied with a laugh sitting the bag upright next to her.

She groaned dramatically. "But it's six thirty am on a Saturday."

"No one told you to get up with me." You remark, pushing the coffee table to the edge of the room.

She holds her once displaced bag up for you to see. "It was calling out to me." She sighs, hugging it to her chest.

A knock on the door takes your concentration. As you pull it open you call back to her, "Well since you're up, you might as well join us."

"Nope!" She quickly scurries away with a wave of her hand. Cotton candy stuffed under her arm.

You shut the door behind Armin as he stares down the hall that Sasha had disappeared down. Your grin is bright almost devilish as it slowly spreads across your face.

"Seems like it's just the two of us." You mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

You watch as he thickly gulps with a nod. Bite able Adam's apple bouncing but you pretend you don't notice. Your mat is already laid out on the floor but you can't stop yourself from bending over to smooth out the corners. Barely paying attention to Armin until you hear a small cough or maybe him choking it's not very clear.

He's holding his mat in his arms defensively across his chest. Silk strands of blond hair fluttering when he blinks. His cheeks a beautifully vibrant pink.

"I-I wanted to th-thank you.." He says, blue eyes trained where they stared at your mat. "For.. the- um.." He gestures and you can't help but giggle.

"The sex?"

Now his eyes find you. Blown wide as his pink lips part over a word that never succeeds in leaving his mouth. Your feet pat over the floor as you close the distance between the two of you. His cheeks warm under your delicate grasp and you hold his face almost as though you're sure he'll shatter.

"You're so cute, please never change."

You're almost scared it sounds condescending but the soft rosy color trudging up to the tips of Armin's ears says he doesn't agree.

You turn back to your mat with a smile but just before you sit on it you add, "And you never have to thank me for sex, I'd do it with you anytime."

He nods once as if responding to you and then twice as if he's confirming that you did indeed say what he heard. The soft plap of his mat on the floor reminding you of what you were both here for.

"Ok, let's begin then." You take a deep breath, adjusting the scrunchie holding your hair in place. "First we wanna stretch alright, so I just need you to reach up above your head with both hands and reposition your feet."

You demonstrate using yourself and Armin awkwardly copies. Slender fingers curling towards the sky as he slowly relaxes his shoulders. You can't help but let your mind wander a little as a glint of light flickers off the steel rings decorating three of his gorgeous digits.

You had fingered yourself last time the two of you were together and now you were craving him. Wondering what the warmth of just one of those inside you would feel like.

"Spread your legs more." You encourage, meanwhile it nearly has Armin doubling back. "Dirty boy." You tease

You stand in front of him gently kicking his legs apart. Easy enough. And he responds to every bit of your touch like he craved you too.

And well you wanna tell yourself that you had actually had completely innocent intentions when you'd invited Armin over here today. He genuinely had never done Yoga before and you knew Sasha was gonna be here. So yeah, you'd love to say you wanted nothing but to relax Armin in this encounter.

But you couldn't even keep a straight face while thinking it.

"Can you bend your knees a little?" He squats, carefully coming back up. Arms reaching out on both sides as you coaxed him. "A little lower sweetie." You say as his ass hovers inches over the mat.

And oh to be the mat.

You step back until you're completely back on your mat. "I'm sure your arms are tired, you can put them down now." You wave him off and he lets out a smooth exhale. "Feel relaxed yet?"

"A little." He replies with a confident smile.

"Then you're ready for the next part." You clap "I need you to bend over and touch your toes alright."

He shuts his eyes, pretty lips parting over your choice of words. What you wouldn’t give right at this second to be a mind reader. His back arches, ankles locking together as you demonstrated. "Good, good boy. Back straight." You sink your thumb into his black athletic shirt to touch his spine. And he hardens with your touch. "Don't be shy, it's just me." You mutter, breath heavy.

Fuck! Touching his back muscles this up close and personal made you wanna sink your nails into them. Leave lines up and down his soft supple skin as a mark that you'd always be his first. No one else would ever get that privilege. 

"I-I.."

Shit.

"Ok, you can stand."

You pretend not to notice the way he shifts his sweats as he stands. This time you vow to actually stay on your mat.

"You should know this position." Your legs spread on one end of the mat while your hands came down to lay flat near the opposite end. "Try it."

Carefully he gets into the position you're currently doing but not without peaking at your figure. His blond hair dipping towards the mat and you can't help but smile at how cute he looks.

"Now we're gonna slowly curve our bodies down until our pelvis touches the floor." You say, head curving up toward the ceiling. For once Armin has immediate trouble, hips dangling weirdly over the ground. His arms trying and failing to steady himself.

"What's the matter? Wanna try a different position?"

"N-no it's nothing.."

You plop down on your mat, crossing your legs and gesturing for him to do the same and even without his reluctance you already know what's wrong. He slowly but surely rotates his hips, spreading his legs. His hardened dick print on full display.

You don't even try to hide the slow slither of your tongue wetting your lips. You quickly turn your head before crawling your way over to a very very flushed Armin. Sweat glistening perfectly over his pale skin.

"W-wait Sasha!" He panics, his arms flailing a bit as he backs up slightly.

"Shh it's ok, she definitely fell back asleep the second she went back in her room." You reply crawling towards him again.

"But you know I c-can't keep q-uiet. Wh-what if she h-hears!"

Your hands inched past his now loosened sweats to gently squeeze his hardened cock through his boxers. Both his hands flew to his mouth giving you a new gorgeous view of those pretty rings.

His eyes roll unfocused with every sweet glide of your hand. Tears already starting to brim along the edges of his warm eyes.

“Do you always wear those rings for physical activities or is it just for me?” 

“I-I just forgot to take them off..” 

“Did you?” You can tell your smile is shitty. Just from the way his eyes dart away from yours "You've never been blown either have you?" You ask getting back on topic.

"N-no." It's a muffled response but it hits your ears loud and clear.

"Another story for the growing journal then." You tease

You honestly can't help yourself. Lips curving and confining his tip like a vise. Precum salty where it stains your tongue. His gasp bouncing off the wall so elegantly. So fucking perfect. But even though Sasha is a heavy sleeper you were still worried she'd wake up before you finished.

So as much as you wanted to tease.

"Can I pull these down baby? I know your dick wants some relief."

He complies, oddly quickly. And you pull his sweats and boxers down just enough to hug the tops of his thighs. 

And his dick is gorgeous. You hadn't actually seen it before but fuck was it pretty, standing tall and leaking before you.

You inch forward spit dribbling from your lips to be collected in the hand that was working his slender shaft. It had Armin's hips bucking up to greet you. His sweet whines egging you on.

And slowly but surely.... "Oh my fucking god."

It was an adjustment. Not as smooth as you would've liked because of the weird angle but you'd taken a little more than half of his dick in your mouth. A mildly painful fit made up for by the angelic cries of Armin just above you.

"Pl-please.. oh God please.."

He couldn't tell what he wanted to hold, hands shifting to the top of your head, the floor and his rolled up sweats all in less than a minute. You swore you could hear his heartbeat through his chest every time you swallowed his cock again.

You wanted to speed ahead so bad, see him just as flustered as he had been last week when he had his cock buried deep inside your pussy but it was obvious he wasn't going to last long either way.

Disorganized syllables flooding off his lips with the occasional whimper of "thank you" and "yes". His throat heavy with every curse word he knew stuck in it. Breaths quick and uneven as you coaxed him down your throat. Vibrations coursing past your lips to meet his already sensitive sex.

"I-i'm.. gonna cum.. mmm soooo close! Gonna cum!"

His choked breaths fell over your forehead and in the next second he was emptying every bit of his stress into your mouth. Eyes clouded like Armin wasn't even in there anymore. And you drained him of every drop, reaching between his legs to squeeze his balls.

When you pulled off of him he let out a deep exhale. Body still shaking as he looked at you.

"Thank you so much." He grinned hazily

"God, I wanna be as many of your firsts as possible." You breathe out a laugh.

☆☆The one where Eren walks in☆☆

It wasn't often you came back to the same guy. Every now and then you had one night stands and that's all it ended up being. You'd always been fine with that.

But Armin made you stay. His shaky fingers, nervous tongue and tear stained cheeks so oddly addictive. Intoxicating in how innocent he stayed despite having two sexual encounters with you.

And now here you both were having your third in his bed. Bodies melded together in the heat of both your sweat. Eyes fixated on only each other as his head tilted up like a hungry baby bird to pull you back in every time you fled.

And you indulged him as much as possible because fuck he was the cutest thing. Your hands gliding over his back and up to his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer. Spine curving deliciously when he grazed over your g-spot.

"Armin.. there." You breathed

Your free hand slid between your bodies making space for those slender fingers to work over your clit.

"Flick it." You encouraged, he immediately did as he was told earning a moan of approval.

"Good boy." You hum, lip trembling where it curves under your teeth.

The once soft pink of his face deepened with the compliment. A little smile decorating his gorgeous features. Just another thing to add to your growing folder of mental images.

"There honey.. keep going." You cooed over the little whimper fluttering off his lips as you hugged his cock. "You remember that spot right? The one that you hit when we were outside?"

"Yeah.. I think it was.." His hips remained delicate as he slid right into place. One leg up as he slotted his cock inside you. Heat pooled in the lowest depths of your stomach with the hesitant prodding of his tip to your g-spot. Eyes curving up to yours for further instruction.

"Mmhm that's it.. hit it a little harder ok."

It was all sorts of clumsy but he rammed your g-spot full force. An apology made its way to his throat but eye contact and the choked gasp that left your mouth soon proved it wasn't needed. You spread your legs a little further for him and he grabbed your waist smoothly working your hips over his dick.

"You're doing so well." You giggled taking a hold of his face. "And you're holding out much longer this time."

"Y-yeah but I'm almost there.." He sighed, fingers working at your clit a little faster. Right in time with the faster tempo of his hips.

"Fuck, you feel soooo good." He drawls

His lips parted, eyes flying north. You hugged him a little tighter as his chest pushed you up and down with each thrust. The once gentle drag of your nails now much rougher. As you let it slip just how much you were enjoying this.

Let your mouth fall open for the words circling your brain. Stomach heavy as Armin fucked you with intention. You brushed beads of sweat back from his face. His hair going up with it, clumping together atop his head.

"Mm gonna cum.." He moaned, head lolling with the intensity of his full body tremor.

"Hey Armin-"

"Eren!" Armin nearly shot up as Eren pushed the door open with zero warning.

Armin's free hand stayed on your clit completely stagnant. Tip twitching inside you, he didn't even have time to cover his mouth. Moans and whimpers pouring out from his still parted lips. Every bit of your fifteen minute effort now seen and heard by Eren who stood in the doorway with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey Eren.." You greeted, pulling your hand away from your upturned lips. Meanwhile Armin's face is buried deep in your shoulder blade. Where you already assumed he'd be staying for the next hour.

"Uh huh.." Eren replied, slamming the door shut. "Mikasa, he's busy let's go!" You heard him call as his boots clicked down the hall.

You don’t say a word till you hear the front door open and close, “You ok?” 

“Any chance Eren didn’t hear that?..” He whispered 

“Not in hell or on Earth love.” 

‘Then no..” 

[storiesforallfandoms]

you’re my best friend ~ pete davidson

word count: 2002

request?: yes!

“pete friends to lovers”

description: in which two best friends get super sappy while drunk

pairing: pete davidson x female!reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol and weed usage

masterlist (one, two)

You were already two glasses of wine deep when Pete showed up, two cases of beer in his hands. He had a look of excitement on his face, which slowly fell when he realized there was no one else in your apartment.

“Everyone else cancelled,” you answered his unasked question.

“Everyone?” Pete asked.

You nodded. “Prior commitments or just not wanting to come or some shit.”

Pete came over and plopped himself down on the couch next to you. The case of beer was at his feet and he popped it open, taking out a bottle and immediately chugging it. You looked at him in amusement as he did so. Once he was finished, you asked, “Aren’t they warm?”

“Room temperature,” he corrected.

“Isn’t that gross?”

“A little, but obviously I have to catch up with you so we can be on even playing fields all night.”

You smiled and poured yourself another glass of wine as Pete opened another beer and started to drink again.

Between the heavy amounts of alcohol and the joint that Pete had brought, the two of you had gotten fucked up in no time. At some point you couldn’t even get up off the couch for more drinks, or for water that you both knew you should be drinking. The hangover you were going to have the next day was going to be killer, but in the moment neither one of you really cared.

You were both laid back on the couch, legs intertwined as you laughed at something Pete had said. It probably wasn’t even that funny, but in your inebriated state, everything was hilarious.

“You’re, like, my bestest friend, Pete,” you slurred. “No one else even bothered the show up, but you did!”

“I’m sure everyone else had like...stuff happening,” Pete said. “Adult things like...I don’t know...kids and taxes.”

You retched at the thought. “Yeah, no, I’m good with not having those adult things to do. Having kids, while extremely cute, is also extremely exhausting. But I don’t think anyone would’ve shown. No one else really...hangs out with me anymore.”

You laid your head back so you were looking at the ceiling. You could feel a lump growing in your throat and didn’t want Pete to see if you started crying. You knew this sudden emotion was most likely caused by the alcohol and the weed, but you also knew it was something genuine, a concern you had deep down that you had never voiced to anyone before.

You could hear Pete move to sit up and immediately turned your head away so he couldn’t see your face, even though you knew that looked more suspicious than anything.

“Everyone is busy, (Y/N),” he said, his voice soft. “I’m sure they’ll be able to hang out soon enough.”

“They’re not too busy to miss out on work get togethers, or going out with one another.” You sighed. “I know people grow apart and that’s just what happens when you grow up, I just didn’t think it was going to be all of my friends growing up and drifting apart all at the one time.”

“What am I, chopped liver?”

You giggled and sat up. The room spun around you as you did so and it felt like your stomach lurched. You had to take a moment to steady yourself before focusing your attention on Pete.

“I told you, you’re my bestest friend,” you said.

Pete’s smile slowly faded as he looked at you. “(Y/N), don’t cry please.”

You had forgotten about your emotional moment entirely. You wiped your cheek to find a wet streak running from your eye to your chin. You looked away from Pete again, suddenly feeling ashamed by your needless emotions. You were glad that the two of you were so drunk in that moment and would likely forget all of this the next day.

Pete’s hand lightly touched your chin, lifting it so that you were looking at him again. You looked into his eyes as he used his thumb to wipe the tears from your other cheek. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized how closely the two of you were sat together.

“I’ll always be here,” he assured you. “No matter how much we grow up or grow apart, I’ll always be one phone call away.”

You nodded, unable to get the words to unstick from your throat. You believed him, you knew he’d always be here.

The smell of beer and weed was strong as Pete leaned forward more, and normally you’d hate the smell combination. But you were too distracted by Pete’s eyes to notice, and a moment later you were too distracted by his lips on yours.

You had never viewed Pete as anything more than a friend before. You had grown up together. You were partners in crime since the first day you met in middle school. Your friends, and even your family, often made jokes that the two of you would end up together, but you both laughed it off. You were best friends, two peas in a pod, nothing more.

But now, with his lips moving against yours and his arms pulling you as close to him as you could get, you weren’t so sure. It could’ve been the drunken state the two of you were in, mixed with the emotions you were feeling just moments before. When the two of you sobered up the next day you may have not even remembered what happened, but in the moment you wanted all of him. You wanted his lips, his hands, his body, his heart, and you wanted to give him all of you in return.

His tongue brushed against your lips and you gladly let it in. It was wet and tasted like beer, so not the most romantic thing in the world, but it felt good in the moment. You felt like nothing could ruin what was happening, until your stomach lurched again.

You quickly pulled away from Pete and rushed to the bathroom. You didn’t even have time to kick the door closed behind you before you collapsed next to the toilet and threw up everything you had eaten and drank the past few hours. Pete followed closely behind you, pulling your hair back and gently rubbing your back. When you stopped throwing up for long enough, he got up to get you some water and made you drink it all before he did anything else.

“I didn’t think I was that bad of a kisser,” he joked. You glared at him over your shoulder before throwing up again.

Once you felt steady enough, Pete helped you to your feet. You brushed your teeth and took a mouthful of mouthwash in order to get rid of the taste of vomit. Pete helped you to your bedroom, where he had another glass of water and an Aspirin waiting for you.

“You’ll need that in the morning,” he said. “I’ll let you get changed.”

“You’ll stay with me though, right?” you asked. Suddenly you hated the thought of Pete having to leave.

He smiled. “Of course I will. I just want to give you some privacy while you change. You’re not supposed to see a girl naked till, like, the third date.”

You smiled back at him, a fuzzy feeling building inside of you at the thought of actually going on a date with Pete.

You changed into a pair of comfy pajamas and downed the glass of water Pete had left for you. You ventured out of your room to the kitchen to pour up another glass. You found Pete putting the bottles of beer in the recycling container and putting your glass in the sink.

“Why aren’t you as fucked up as I am right now?” you questioned.

“I could always handle my booze better than you,” he teased. You scowled and stuck your tongue out at him. He chuckled and put an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

After some convincing, Pete agreed to join you in bed. At first he laid a respectable distance away from you, but you moved close to him and placed your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, running his hands through your hair as your eyes became too heavy to stay open.

“You’ll regret this in the morning,” he murmured. “Or forget it completely.”

“Maybe,” you said, “but let’s wait for the morning to decide that.”

~~~~~~

When you woke up the next morning you groaned in pain. Your head felt heavy and like it had been stabbed by multiple little needles. You opened your eyes but had to shut them again immediately, hissing at the pain that small action caused.

Why the fuck did I drink so much last night? you questioned as you braced yourself and opened your eyes again.

You found yourself alone in bed, which didn’t seem too unusual until you remembered that you hadn’t been alone when you fell asleep. Pete had been there, more specifically he had been cuddling you.

You’ll regret this in the morning, you recalled him saying before you drifted off to sleep. You wondered if he had left before you had the chance to decide how you felt about the events of the night before.

You popped two Aspirin pills into your mouth and swallows them with a mouthful of water. You pulled yourself out of bed and slowly walked out of your room, the only speed you could manage in this state. You were halfway to your kitchen when you realized you were smelling something; bacon. You wondered where the smell was coming from, and didn’t have to look far to get the answer.

Pete was stood by your stove, two plates full of eggs and toast already sat next to him. When he heard you enter, he turned and greeted you with a smile.

“Good morning sleeping beauty!” he said. His loud voice pierced your ears and you quickly covered them and groaned. He chuckled. “You poor thing, you’re gonna hate today.”

“I already do,” you said. “Is that for me?”

He looked down at the plate of breakfast. “One of them is, yeah. Do you think you can keep it down?”

“I can try.”

The two of you sat at your dining room table and began to eat. Although your stomach still didn’t feel right, the food was definitely soaking up whatever alcohol was left in your system and thus was making the splitting headache you had subside just a little bit.

There was an awkward silence looming over the two of you. Despite what you thought the night before, you could still remember every detail; the emotional conversation, the kiss, the cuddling, how you felt when the latter two things were happening. You knew Pete remembered because he certainly wasn’t as fucked up as you were.

“Do you regret it?” you found yourself suddenly asking.

Pete looked up from his breakfast, fake confusion on his face. “What do you mean?”

You gave him a look. “Pete, I remember last night. I remember what we did, and what you said before I fell asleep.”

He sighed, turning his attention back to his food. “I don’t know...do you regret it?”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “If anything, I...I feel whatever the opposite of regret is. The only thing I regret is getting so drunk I threw up after we kissed.”

He smiled. “Yeah, that’s not exactly great timing.”

You looked at him, still waiting for his answer. Finally, he looked up at you again and said, “I don’t regret it either.”

“So what do we do now?” you asked.

Pete thought for a moment before saying, “I take you out on a date, one where we’re both completely sober, and we decide if we really want to do this. How does that sound?”

You smiled brightly at him. “I think that sounds like a great plan.”

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (PT.4) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART FOUR

Summary

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother.

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

----

"Miss Y/N, is daddy okay?" Hoisuke peers up at you from the backseat as you pull up to your apartment unit. You glance at him through the rearview mirror and smile, "don't worry, he's fine. He's just going to be slightly late."

Iwaizumi had called you earlier that day, sounding breathless and stressed out as he iterated how slow traffic was moving. On impulse, you'd proposed to bring Hoisuke over to your house to make things more comfortable and after a slight bout of hesitation, he'd agreed to pick his son up in the comfort of your home.

"This is the first time I come to your place, miss Y/N," Hoisuke's eyes are darting back and forth across the tiny kitchenette to your right to the small tv screen plugged to the wall on the left. Granted, your flat is merely anything special and far from ready for unexpected guests. But the sharp curiosity gleaming in your student's eyes holds no judgement and for that you apprrciate him all the more.

"You hungry?" You ask while settling him down at your tiny dinner table compact enough to fit snuggly up to your kitchen counter.

Hoisuke purses his lips in thought and you swear he's learnt this facial expression from observing his father, "hm yeah. A little bit," before throwing you a sheepish grin.

So you whip up something simple; omelette rice with your special Korean chilli sauce as a sudden downpour splatters through the cityscape, the rain dancing to its own rhythm as it splatters over your windowpane. The TV plays in the background, a random cartoon that gets interrupted with Hoisuke's giggles and that ignites an affectionate smile on your lips as you chide himto eat. And you're not really sure why your chest feels tight and filled to the brim with comfort, but you realise you don't actually mind having the small human around that much.

Teachers aren't supposed to have favourites. But you admit to yourself that teachers are only human. And if you are to choose, Hoisuke would be one of yours.

"Miss Y/N, do you have a boyfriend?" Hoisuke's voice pierces through your thoughts and as you blink down at him, you shake your head, "no, I'm single as a pringle."

"You are not married then."

"No I'm not."

"Great!" Hoisuke jumps up on his seat, eyes twinkling with mischief, "then do you want to marry daddy?"

"What?" You laugh out, "it doesn't work that way Hoisuke."

"But I like you miss Y/N," he replies with the seriousness of a child wanting his way, "You'd be a great mum. Can you be my mum?"

"Oh gosh kiddo," your hand reachea out to ruffle his hair, heart twisting at how easily he leans into your touch, "I'd love to be your mum, but--"

"Then marry my dad," Hoisuke's mumble is muffled against your side. He unconsciously snuggles up to you and you caress the top of his head down to his nape, "daddy likes you too. He really likes you. You make him happy. He laughs a lot when you're around, and he doesn't get sad like he usually does when Mama is here."

"But that would be unfair to your mum wouldn't it?" You say softly, "you can't have two mums. She'll be upset."

There's a slight pause where you can see the cogs turning in his brain, "yeah," he says eventually, "but I don't really like going to Mama's anyway--"

The sound of your doorbell jolts you both to attention. You give Hoisuke's head one more ruffle before getting up to unlock the door.

Only to come face to face with none other than Hoisuke's mother.

You blink. Once. Twice. Unconsciously taking a step back.

She's pretty. Prettier up close, with those feline cat eyes and that full mouth that renders any man crazy. Standing a few inches higher than you, there is no doubt as to why Iwaizumi had fallen for her charms in the first place. She looks like the kind of woman that would still be elegant even dressed in a mechanician's uniform.

"H-Hello," your eyes dart from hers to a blank spot on the wall opposite, "can I help?"

"Where's Hoisuke?" Her voice is smooth, yet hard enough to make you wince.

"I--" your mind races. Isn't Iwaizumi supposed to pick him up? And how the hell does she know where you live?

She seems to read your face as she says, "I saw you with my son leaving the school. You're his...teacher, aren't you? I was waiting to pick him up."

"I thought Iwaizumi-san--"

"I don't need a reason to see my son," she arches her brows at you in a way that makes you want to crawl under a carpet and hide.

"Mama?" Hoisuke's voice floats from behind you, a tentative waver of nervousness as you hear him pad up to the door.

"Does Iwaizumi-san know you're picking him up?" You hope your tone is diplomatic, but the way her body tenses proves you otherwise, "You can tell him Hoisuke's with his mother," she nods at her child, "now come on Hoisuke. Let's go home."

Maybe feeling the tension in the air, Hoisuke merely shrinks back, "but it's Daddy that picks me up."

"Yes well, Daddy's not here now is he?" She gestures aggressively towards him, "now come on."

"Maybe we should wait until Iwaizumi-san gets here," you try to smooth things over, "he's on his way--"

"Don't tell me what to do with my child," Mizune snaps and without warning, grabbing hold of Hoisuke's arm before pulling him out of the flat. He resists.

"Mama no, let's wait for Daddy--"

"Daddy isn't coming. Now stop being so difficult," she doesn't relent against the way her son twists and kicks at the ground while you stand there, mind blind with panic because you've never actually had to deal with such a situation before.

"Mama please!" Hoisuke cries out with a sob.

You want to move. You urge yourself to. But your feet won't budge. It's like you're rooted in place.

Hoisuke has started crying at this point and in an attempt to smoothen things out, you try again by saying, "I'm sure we can all calm down and talk this out. As a teacher, I cannot--"

"That's right," Mizune's feline pupils narrow down on you, making you flinch at the rage simmering through those dark orbs, "you're his teacher. And as a teacher, you should know how to keep your boundaries. You're not his mother and you never will be. So fucking stay out of my family's life."

The words burn as they etch themselves into memory and you can only watch, hand clutched to the door as Mizune drags her crying son away. His cries are loud enough that they bounce throughout the corridor and keeps resonating even when he's long gone, as you try to comb through the last fifteen minutes where everything has turned upside down.

Fucking stay out of my family's life.

Your brain reels. Your heart feels heavy. You don't know what to do, what to say.

And Mizune's words are as sharp as a knife.

Don't tell me what to do with my child.

A sob slowly catches the back of your throat, eyes slowly brimming with an onset of tears.

You're not his mother.

The truth hurts. You know that Hoisuke is not your child, know that all this time it's merely Iwaizumi and his son, and then you watching on the sidelines. But hearing the cold rejection thrust in your face hurts more than you'll admit.

You aren't quite sure how long you stand there gazing into the empty corridor as if if you will it hard enough, Hoisuke will come running back to you. It is only when a familiar alto reaches your ears that you snap back to attention:

"Y/N?"

Jerking at the sound and looking up to see none other than Iwaizumi, drenched and breathless, standing a few feet away from you, your breath hitches in warning.

He closes the distance between you, frowning upon noticing the tears at the corner or your eyes, "what's wrong? Where is Hoisuke--"

"I'm..." your eyes drop to the ground, "I'm sorry," your whimper is barely above a whisper and you feel him move closee, his hand gently grasping your arm.

"Y/N?" His voice is gentle, though ragged and breathy, "what happened?"

It's probably the gentlest he's ever been with you. Turning away to cup your mouth with your hand, your teeth clamp down onto your lower lip in hopes of keeping the emotion from spilling over.

"Mizune came," you murmur out, "she took Hoisuke home."

There's a sharp intake of breath on his part. A pause, "how did--"

"She followed us."

Iwaizumi lets out a sigh as he moves towards you and you stagger back to hide your tears, but it proves useless when his hand grasps your arm to pull your hand away.

Deep brown mocha meet yours. Your throat tightens.

"Sorry," you breathe out a forced chuckle but it's clear from Iwaizumi's face that he's spotted your tears, and that he just knows that there is something bothering you.

But he doesn't ask. Doesn't question your intent or your feelings.

Instead, he pulls you close, close enough you're stumbling into him, before his hand wounds around the back of your head and presses you against his shoulder.

It shocks you, the sudden intimacy of his touch. His citrus smell once again invades your space and you can't find it in yourself to keep on holding on before you break down.

Maybe it's because you had felt-- at this point in time -- that you were someone significant in Hoisuke and Iwaizumi's life that you're not crying into Iwaizumi's shoulder as if everything is going downhill in your life. But you're comforted by the casual way he holds you with his head turned away so that you can bury yourself in the crook of his collarbone.

"Sorry," you manage to mumble out after you've managed to calm down. He's moved you back into your flat and has sat you down onto your kitchen chair, having rummaged through your utensils to bring you a cup of water that you sip on gratefully, if only to act as a distraction from the way he's gazing at you.

Iwaizumi shakes his head silently, looks away and clears his throat, "I'm gonna call her. You good?"

You nod and after searching your face for a few more seconds, he slides out of his seat and walks away with the device already presses to his ear. Bowing your head and gulping down the rest of the water, you manage to block out his angry alto resonating through the compact space as you focus on regaining control of yourself. You rarely fall to pieces like that, rarely give in to the downward pull of your emotions because the nature of your job obliges you to.

"Y/N."

You jump involuntarily and look up to see the said man sporting a frown, "is Hoisuke okay?" You ask.

"He's fine," a sigh escapes his lips as he slides back into the chair as if there's a weight pressing down onto his shoulders, "I'll pick him up tomorrow after school."

You nod. Good, the last thing you need is for Hoisuke to be disrupted by problems that don't concern him.

When he speaks next though, his alto is hoarse and thick, "I'm sorry Y/N. You don't deserve to get in the middle of all this."

"It's okay."

His eyes pierce yours with burning hot intensity, causing your gaze to drop to your fists laying across the table, knuckles so tight they're turning white.

A bout of silence ensues, lest for the pounding in your heart while your thoughts take on a tumultous turn for the worse. What if Mizune is angry? What if she stops Hoisuke from coming to school altogether? What if she makes her child move just for the sake of keeping him away from his teacher who can't seem to keep her nose out of anyone's business? What if--

Warmth floods your hands so suddenly that it interrupts your train of thought. Head jerking up in surprise to see Iwaizumi's hands clasp yours, your blood suddenly pulses through your limbs upon feeling his thumb gently stroke over your knuckles.

Iwaizumi is not a man of words. That much you know, but this evening has been full of surprises for you both. So you force yourself to relax, almost enjoying the gentlest of his touches fluttering across your skin.

"How," your words are choked, "how angry is she?"

"That doesn't matter."

"But what if--"

"None of this is your fault, Y/N," he replies firmly, followed by a gentle squeeze, "whatever you have cooking in that head of yours, stop."

Nodding and sighing in defeat, you lapse into a more comfortable silence as the time dwindles on. It's different to have someone else occupying your flat, considering that you've gotten so used to living along after your horrible breakup. A good kind of different.

When you bid him goodbye that evening -- granted you shall wake up with dark circles and puffy eyes the next day -- he suprises you with another casual, one-armed hug which signifies so much more for the usually reserved man, Hoisuke's bag hanging loosely from the other. He holds you close, his grip strong and secure and making you wish you can melt in a puddle of warmth at his feet, while his cheek pillows atop your temple against the side of your head. You lean in, cozy and warm, while his heart beats underneath your ear like a gentle drum easing you of today's worries and you wish you have the willpower to keep yourself away, in vain.

He pulls away slightly, mutters a soft "night" before a ghost of a kiss imprints itself on your temple.

Your breath hitches but the moment is gone all too son. He's already swivelling around and making his way down the corridor, leaving you to stare after him with a wild, raging heart.

You know, without a doubt, that you're already a little too skin-deep.

----

Iwaizumi is furious. Filled to the brim with a rage that's threatening to bubble over his insides.

He'd gone round to fetch Hoisuke in the morning as promised, just managing to keep himself from knocking his ex-wife's double mahogany doors down only to be greeted by that stupid bastard who'd stolen his wife away.

Todoka had always roamed within the same circle of friends as Iwaizumi and Mixune, having met under the same dormitory roof and sharing common sports interests. So imagine how big of a slap it was to hear that he'd been the one stealing kisses and sharing soft subtle touches with his wife behind his back.

"I could've driven him if only you'd let me," Mizune had told him as they waited for Hoisuke to finish brushing his teeth. is ex-wife's familiar soprano made him tense. Her face was a cold mask of indifference that covered up her silent anger. She'd folded her arms, chin jutted out and lips pursed, "he's my son too, you know."

"Was he still your son when you went and fucked Todoka?"

She'd sighed. As if dealing with the tantrum of a child, "Why are you bringing this up again?"

"Because you never put him first. Not when he threw his tantrums, not when he cried for you. Not even when he was sick," Iwaizumi spat out, the words tasting bitter upon his tongue.

"I had issues Hajime, you know that--"

"Like what? Like we weren't good enough for you? Like I wasn't pulling myself apart while you were out for nights on end?" Iwaizumi would've continued with an onslaught of pent-up statements if his son hadn't spoken out:

"Daddy?"

"Hey bud," Iwaizumi's anger had deflated like a hot air balloon, "you ready to go?"

And so he packed his son up in the car, his ex-wife watching his every move, and just after he'd closed his vehicle door did Mizune mention something about you.

"Do you like her?"

He'd bristled, "none of your business."

"Hoisuke is my son," Mizune's eyes had hardened into steel, "I don't need anyone else filling up his head with stupid ideas, nor do I want him to get hurt--"

"Like you did?" The words were fire burning upon his tongue. His shoulders were squared as he faced her fully, "stop beating around the bush, Mizune. We both know you hate the fact that Hoisuke loves spending time with Y/N."

"That's not it, I--"

"Y/N has spent more time with Hoisuke in a week than you did in a month. She's wiped his tears more timesthat you've seen him cry," he swivels towards his car then, "are we done?"

"You're acting like a child."

"I'm not the one picking a fight because of some petty jealousy," Iwaizumi had snapped.

"I'm not jealous!" Mizune burst out, her patience finally wearing thin, "I'm trying to look out for him, for you! She's not right for you--"

"Don't. Talk about her like that,” Anger had flared at how dismissively she spoke of you, visible as his knuckles tightened and a vein throbbed in his forehead, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay the fuck out of my life."

He'd driven off without looking back, knowing full well he'd shocked her into silence and if he were to be honest with himself, that outburst had eased some of the knots in his stomach. Dealing with Hoisuke's anxiety after witnessing yet another argument though, that was something else.

"Daddy, I don't understand why you and Mama fight so much," Hoisuke finally finds his voice when they stop inside the school gtounds. His small chubby hand, fitting into Iwaizumi's large one, cling to him with more force than necessary as they make their way to his respective class.

"Your mama and I...have different opinions on things," Iwaizumi tries to explain, suddenly guilty that his son has to pick up all the broken pieces. Impulsively, he ruffles Hoisuke's locks, "don't worry."

And that's when his son stops in mid-walk, looks him dead in the eye, and tells him, "Mama doesn't like miss Y/N, does she?"

It's a different kind of slap, but he shouldn't have understimated the little five year old. Children know much more than they let on snd here's the proof of it.

Iwaizumi allows both his hands to clasp Hoisuke's shoulders and bends down until they are face to face, "hey," dark mocha meets lighter caramel tinged with a fear of a child desperate for a family that all his friends can take for granted, "that doesn't matter. Do you like miss Y/N?"

Hoisuke nods, eyes wet.

Iwaizumi's heart swells and he swears he doesn't ever want to see that expression on his son's face, not if he can help it.

"Then it doesn’t matter what your Mom tells you," he squeezes the child's shoulder for good measure, "no one can boss you around and tell you that you're not allowed to like who you like," he brushes a few hairs off Hoisuke's forehead, "not me, not even your mom. Got that?"

“Will we be able to invite miss Y/N again?” Hoisuke asks with a trembling bottom lip. 

“If you want to.” 

“Do you want to, daddy?” 

That question takes him by surprise, the familiar guilt lurching through his stomach as he tries to comb through an excuse to hide his growing feelings. 

Except, why does he have to hide in the first place? 

It takes a moment, before Iwaizumi nods, “yeah,” he murmurs gently with the softest of smiles, “I want to.” 

Hoisuke nods once more, which is shortly followed by lurching into Iwaizumi's arms as a sob echoes from his throat. His father holds him close, glad that the earlier tension from Hoisuke's has dissipated into relief for now.

What he doesn’t know though, is that you stand just a few feet away, body tucked into the corner of the wall and holding up your racing heart against your chest. 

------

The more you spend more time with the Iwaizumis, the more your heart gets invested in the coaxing warmth that makes up their family. You try to dismiss what you've overheard back in the school corridor but it's an itch you can't quite erase now that you've been exposed to Iwaizumi's feelings, which does nothing to stop the way your heart skips a beat whenever his gaze lingers upon yours for too long.

And you've taken notice. Or you think you do. Of how he sounds more gentle whenever he talks to you, how whenever you play hands they drift towards each other for a few extra seconds that causes your skin to tingle with warmth. How it is so goddamn easy to fall into this familiar routine of playing families with Hoisuke around like a human sunshine.

But there's still one thing nagging you. Which is why you corner him once you have tucked Hoisuke into bed on Saturday night, seeking him out on the small terrace tucked beside his kitchen that overlooks the glowing city lights.

"Can I ask you something?"

His gaze flits to yours. He nods.

Swallowing back the sudden knot of anxiety in your throat, your question comes out more like a soft proposition rather than a demand fot answers.

"I know it's none of my business, but-- I overheard you and Hoisuke a few days ago in the school corridor," your words are rushed and quick as you fold your arms over your chest, "did you and Mizune have a fight...about me?"

Iwaizumi shifts in your peripheral to face you, but your eyes adamantly find purchase onto the cement ledge splattered with dirt. For a split second, you wonder whether it wouldn't have been better to keep your mouth shut.

"What did you hear?" He asks quietly.

With a slow breath, you tell him what you've heard, underlining that this whole encounter was an accident.

"And from the way she acted when she saw me...well, it's not hard to put two and two together," you finish off in a mumble, then quickly adding, "look I--I don't want to come in-between you and your family. I just don't want Hoisuke to get hurt."

Surprise flits through his features. He regards you for a long moment, long enough that you feel like squirming underneath his gaze.

Then, taking you by surprise, he chuckles softly and shifts his elbows onto the edge of the terrace, "No wonder he likes you."

You blink at him. It suddenly feels a little too warm.

"None of this is your fault, Y/N," you wonder since when have the formalities dropped from Miss Y/N to just Y/N and decide that you like the way your name rolls off his tongue, "Mizune gets jealous over stupid shit and if she can't see someone else making her son happy then that's not our problem."

Your teeth unconsciously find purchase onto your lower lip, which he notices. That doesn't stop him from reaching over to press his thumb against your lower lip, "don't."

You freeze at the touch. His thumb is warm against your mouth, calloused and sending a series of tingles down your spine.

He must realize the intimacy of his touch, for he drops his hand away and mutters, "he's...livelier. when you're around. Happier, even. I've never seen him like that with his Mama."

"What about you?"

You feel like slapping yourself. The audacity coming out of your mouth surprises you and you swear your cheeks burst into flames.

Iwaizumi looks at you almost at the same time your pupils focus on his, causing your breath to hitch.

Why the hell can't you just keep your mouth shut?

Iwaizumi's voice is merely a murmur when he speaks next, deep and laced with a roughness.

"What about me?"

Your brain seems to turn to mush, "do you like having me around?" You hope you don't sound too pathetic.

Your heart almost stops at his next set of words.

"I do."

And there's that smile, barely there but enough that your own lips stretch to mirror his action. Until you realize you are smiling at him like a fool and quickly look away like you've just been burnt.

Something shifts in the air between you, spurred on by the way your eyes keep searching each other's with a growing tension that makes your skin rattle. Iwaizumi's frown is present, yet not unpleasant and you're not quite sure who moves, just that he's suddenly a little closer. Close enough you get a whiff of the citrus smell you've come to recognize as his own.

"Miss Y/N?"

Hoisuke's voice suddenly snaps you out of your daze. Quickly whipping around to see the said boy rubbing his eyes, a hand unconscioudly scratching his tummy, your entire countenance softens as he blinks up at you sleepily.

"I can't sleep," he mumbles out with sleep still in his eyes, "can you come back to bed with me?"

"Yeah sure," you're already on your way over to him, scooping the child up in your arms. He takes this chance to bury his face into the crook of your neck, sighing contently.

You turn back to his father, a dark silhouette against the bright landscape, "I'll be right back."

But Hoisuke surprises you by saying, "you too, Daddy."

Iwaizumi stills, "what?"

"Come to bed too, Daddy."

For one single moment, it's like time stops. You can't see Iwaizumi's face but a moment later he straightens and walks over, nodding at you when he's close enough. You don't realize your heart is besting like a hummingbird until you hear it throbbing through your chest as you try squeezing into Hoisuke's bed, you in the corner and his father barely hanging onto the edge, Hoisuke squished in-between.

It's like an instinct for the boy to latch onto your shirt. He turns to burrow himself into the curve you've made with your body, facing Iwaizumi who is half-sitting, half-lying down in an angle that surely isn't comfortable.

So you decide to point it out to him, patting the bed for good measure in hopes that he doesn't notice the warm flush of your neck.

"It's okay," your whisper tickles Hoisuke's hair, "it's only until he falls asleep."

He hesitates, before you see his head nod and he slides his body a little closer, chest curving into Hoisuke's back and close enough for you to get bathed in his warmth.

He smells good. He looks good. God. Why does he look so damn good?

Stop! You squeeze your eyes shut aa if that might help your racing thoughts, and you are so caught up in your own head that you almost miss the gentle brush of Iwaizumi's fingers against your shoulder.

You tense up right before realizing that his action is intentional. Your shoulders slowly relax, a shaky exhale escaping your lips as he takes the chance to linger over your arm a little longer, before falling away onto the mattress.

You fall asleep that night listening to not just Hoisuke's, but Iwaizumi's heartbeat. 

----

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png, @bakugouswh0r3, @yatoatyourservice, @ayocee, @marvel-ing-at-it-all, @astrolcve, @lilith412426, @elianetsantana, @schleepyflocci, @oohlalie , @kaashikoi , @tendo-sxtori , @iwaroses , @its-the-aerieljeane , @lalalemon101 , @lanaxians-2 , @dora-the-grownup , @sharin-gone , @nekomavsnohebi , @crayonwriting , @imafan , @random-fandom-girl-24 , @bucinhajime , @izumikunmy , @iwaoioioi​ , @evesmores​ , @meri-soni-meri-tamanna​ , @paintedstarres​ , @okadaxo , @michaki , @archiepudding​ , @ysatrap​ , @cringe-freak​ , @thatprettybunny​ 

[midnight-dreamerness]

Savior

Chapter 2: Finding Strength

(This is NOT my gif. Credit to the creator <3)

series summary: when your protector returns, he finds you broken and abused and helps you climb out of the darkness

chapter summary: you finally have had enough and you find the strength to escape

pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

warning: mentions of death, acts.mentions of abuse, mentions of self harm

word count: 2.1k

-

Quitting the job you love was really hard. After your brother died you got back together with Kade after a short break in the relationship, you moved in with him. You didn’t have the best relationship with your parents, and it only got worse when Danny, your brother, died while overseas.

You walked into the apartment, your head bowed trying to hide the tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. He’s already home, you saw his car in his usual spot in the parking garage when you pulled in. You could also make out the sound of the tv playing in the living room.

You headed towards the bedroom until he called your name, making you turn and slowly make your way into the living room.

“Did you do it?”

There are empty beer bottles everywhere along with a half empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table. You sighed but nodded nonetheless, playing with the hem of your blouse.

“Good. Start cleaning. This place is a mess.”

And you did what he said, all day. He made you scrub the floor down with a scrubbing brush. You had to clean every inch of the apartment, while picking up the trash he left behind him all day. When night came, you had officially cleaned everything and cooked him dinner. You sat down at the table, ready to eat after not having breakfast or lunch all day.

“What are you doing? You think you deserve to eat? No. You're going to sit there and think about what you did.”

With sad eyes and an ache in your stomach, you didn’t fuss. You didn’t even say a word. You didn’t want him to see you cry so you held it in as much as you could. You hold back sobs, it creates a burning feeling in your chest and throat.

After you got home yesterday, Kade had been enraged. Accused you of cheating, he didn’t even mention you telling Jay about the abuse. It was worse because it was Jay. He knew your background, and how you fell in love with him when you were younger. Last night's memories were fuzzy after that. All you can remember was the agonizing pain and the god awful headache you had after he slammed your head against the kitchen counter. Kade has made you quit your job, you weren’t sure why.

Kade wipes his mouth with a cloth once he’s finished eating. “I try to be nice to you. But you test me. Every single day, you test me.” He stands from his seat at the table, coming closer and closer to you. You look up at him pleading with your eyes.

“Worthless. Pathetic. Get up.”

You do as you're told and stand up. He roughly grabs your arms, dragging you down the hall. You think he’s heading towards the bedroom but he stops at the hallway bathroom. He opens it and tosses me inside.

“This is your new room now. You should get comfortable,” he snarls. You're on the ground now, groaning. He takes the chance and shoves his foot into your chest.

When will it stop! When is enough, enough for him? Why am I not good enough? What did I do that made him so violent?

These things run through your head as he continues his abuse. Pain and suffering, blood and tears are things you have gotten used to.

It’s an hour later when he stops, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he stares down at you in disgust. You look at him weakly and in pain. You're almost positive you need medical attention, but you say nothing.

“Cheating whore,” he spits. With one final look, he’s gone. The sound of the kick in the bathroom door clicking, only making more tears pool in your eyes.

What has my life come to? When did it get this bad? How did I let it get this bad?

The bathroom floor was ice cold, even with a towel laid underneath you, you were still freezing. You know he bumped the temperature down, torturing you even when he wasn’t at home. You twirled the card between your fingers. His name sticking out along with his number.

Deceive Hay Halstead.

You remember fourteen year old you, rushing into your brothers room where he and Jay were playing video games. You remember how excited you were when you told the both of them you got the lead role in your dance group.

“I’m so proud of you,” Jay had exclaimed.

You wondered if he would be proud of you now.

Would he?

There’s so much history between you and Jay, a lot of things your brother never knew about, and now he never will.

It’s been days since you saw him. You can still see his smile and his perfect white teeth as he spoke to you. You can still feel his body against yours from that day he had you against the wall.

You should’ve told him. You're filled with regret. He could’ve helped you get out.

I wouldn’t be in this stupid bathroom if I had agreed to let him help me.

You could’ve called him the day he made you quit your job. You could’ve driven off, anywhere. Somewhere, where Kade couldn’t find you.

Yet, here you are. You have a few - a lot - new bruises that have replaced the old ones. There’s still a harsh pain in your chest and your stomach from not having eaten in days. You know it’s been at least a week.

He comes and goes. Sometimes you can hear giggles pass down the hallway to your shared bedroom. Then…you can hear him pleasing other women in your bed. The ones he would love you on, on good days.

But no…he is with other women while the woman he should be with is withering away down the hall.

You didn’t scream, you should’ve. You know that now. You were scared he would kill you or those girls. You wouldn’t have been able to live with yourself if something happened to them because of you and your stupidity.

So you sucked it up.

It’s been two weeks. Yesterday had to be one of the worst days. You recall the rage burning like fire in his eyes. He was angry, more than usual. Something must’ve happened. Either way, there’s no excuse for what he did.

The cuts along your back sting like hell. You begged him to stop, and it was a mistake. You should’ve let him beat you till it was out of his system for the night. If it’s even possible, he got angrier. He threw you into the bathroom counter, your back crashing into the mirror, causing it to shatter agains you. Your thigh had hit the faucet, creating a huge bruise on the back of it, but nothing hurt worse than the pain in your heart.

“Pathetic slut,” he snapped before walking out, locking the door behind him.

You sit on the floor only a day later, staring at yourself through the glossy flooring. A large shard of glass sat next to you, your eyes wander to it ever so often. It tempts you. Taunts you like a clear voice in your head.

“Do it.” It would say.

Then you would hear the sound of his voice. Familiar, warm, and inviting. Your heart aches. You miss him.

You can see him at the elevator, waiting for it to open while he looks at you.

“You’re strong. Remember that.”

You wonder why you pushed him away. Why you don’t let yourself trust the one man, that still lives, that would never hurt you.

A sob racks through your body as you pick up the large piece of the mirror and throw it across the room. An aggravated scream leaves you as you stand up with trembling legs.

How could I let this happen? Why didn’t I ask for help? The abuse has gone on for three years.

Your throughts were only “why” and “what if’s.”

He’s taken everything from you. Ripped you from your friends, your old life. You didn’t even notice at the time. You just needed someone. You followed him blindly. He told you you only needed him. Nothing - no one else.

I lost myself trying to please him.

You decided you're done letting him win. You're done letting him control your life. Your choices were dying here in this bathroom helplessly, or die trying to get out. You chose the latter.

You searched around the room in a haste, looking for anything to break the doorknob off. Your eyes trained on the top of the toilet. You take it off, arms falling at the weight. You are weak from the two weeks with no food, but you still find it in yourself to raise it over your head and lm it down in the knob.

You weren’t sure the exact time, but Kade would be home soon. So you knew you had to hurry

One hit didn’t seem to do it, so you raise it again and with a grunt, you use all your strength to slam it back down again. Your mouth falls open in surprise when the knob falls to the floor with a loud clanking noise.

It took you a moment, but you dropped the lid and rushed out of the bathroom. You made your way to the home phone, picking it up with shaky hands.

You're hit with a wave of dizziness, but you still dial the number you now know by heart. You were filled with hope when he answered after a couple of rings.

“Halstead.”

“JJ?”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone for a second, but soon he repeats your name.

“I want out. P-Please help me,” you beg, tears streaming down your face as you pathetically spike.

“Address. I need an address.”

The sound of the front door unlocking catches your attention. Your body goes ridged, frozen in place.

Jay repeats your name a couple of times.

“No. No,” you mutter as you begin to back away.

“Hey! What’s going on? I need an address, sweetheart.”

You somehow manage to tell him the address with a, “please hurry,” at the end. You hang up, throwing the phone to the side. You're filled with dread as Kade stumbles into the room, pulling at his tie. You're starting to regret what you just did.

Kade narrows his eyes, ripping his tie from his neck.

“How the hell did you get out?”

He stalks towards you, and although your first instinct is to run, you stay put. You're done taking the abuse.

“I’m done, Kade. We’re done.” You stand your ground, head held high and a new found confidence in your words. He laughs. It’s evil and sickening.

“We’re done? I say when we’re done!” He exclaims, his hand rising and connecting with your face before you had the chance to move. You fall to the floor from the power of the slap. Although you act confident and strong, you're weak. Two weeks without food would be the cause. It didn’t help that you were still in pain from the most recent beating.

You let out a cry as he pulls your hair back with a huff. “When will you learn?” He asked, pulling your head back so you were facing him.

“You look pathetic,” he laughs. You're slapped in the face once more before being dragged towards the kitchen by your throat. You grabbed at him, your instincts kicking in.

“God, your stupid,” he spat, shoving you into the table. Your eyes widen as you feel your skirt, the same one you’ve worn for two weeks now, being pulled around your hips. You felt hopeless now. You only hoped Jay would be here soon.

“At least you're good for something.” You heard him mutter before the sound of his zipper being undone filled your ears. You clamped your legs together and attempted to move, but it was no use. He overpowered you easily. You cried softly as he moved closer and held you down with a deadly grip on your bruised and cut back.

There’s a knock on the door that paused Kade’s actions. He hissed and pulled away, fixing himself.

“Who the hell did you call? Did you call someone?”

The look of fury in his eyes was enough to have you cowering in fear. A scream rips from your throat as he grabs you by your hair again.

“CPD! Open up!” You heard his familiar voice. The same voice you heard as you laid on the bathroom floor.

Kade’s grip on you tightens. “I’m going to kill you, you little bitch.”

~

A/N: Small cliffhanger? Yep. Chapter 3 should be out Tusedsy! If you want added to the Saviors taglist let me know!

@miranada0102 @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @kelelas-life

(Not sure why some of these didn’t work.)

[ptergwen]

warmer than cuddles

w/c: 2.4k

warnings: may plays matchmaker and makes some suggestive jokes

prompt: you and peter get caught in the rain and have to share an umbrella

a/n: thank youuu to the angel who requested <3 swear this is my favorite trope to write hehe ☔️

-

one of the many things you and peter have in common is being lazy. it’s sort of the basis of your friendship. you’re not the kids who drink or party or get in trouble. you play board games and eat pizza on his ripped up couch. the riskiest thing you’ve ever done is sneak into a movie.

peter was so paranoid you’d get caught, he couldn’t even pay attention. he kept whispering to you about paying the whole time. you had to drag him out by his hand after the movie ended. the next time you went to that theater, he bought an extra ticket to “make it even.”

that about put an end to your trying new things phase. you went right back to your comfy nights in pajamas. tackling each other for the remote, baking terrible cookies that you just throw out, sharing a blanket to stay warm. what also helps is that you cuddle under it.

all the fun you need is you, peter, and your love for doing nothing. may disagrees.

she’s always trying to get you two out of the apartment. in her words, it’s “unhealthy for developing teens to spend so much time cooped up inside.” peter once asked which mother’s facebook group she joined. you snickered at that. may gave you a warning look.

well, you don’t have a choice to stay in today. she’s kicking you and peter out because she has guests coming over.

“it’s girl’s night,” may tells the two of you with a satisfied smirk. she hangs her raincoat on the rack and comes into the living room. peter squints his eyes at her. “you have friends?” he sounds too surprised for your liking. you flick his arm hard enough to make him go “ouch!”

“peter, we only have, like, four friends. that’s counting ourselves,” you inform him with a laugh. peter drops his head onto your shoulder. “and i don’t need any of them but you,” he says sarcastically, rubbing his cheek on your sweatshirt. “aw, i know,” you coo and rest your head on his. may crosses her arms and shrugs.

“you should do a group play date with everyone! i haven’t heard from ned in a while,” she suggests, your eyes flicking over to peter. he’s biting back a grin. “play date?” you try to stifle a laugh when you ask. “you know what i mean. a hang out,” may nods at her better word choice. peter winces in protest.

“eh, ned will probably wanna go out somewhere. we don’t do that,” he tells may, like that’s a completely normal thing for a teenager to say. you raise a finger in agreement. she laughs in disbelief at you and peter. you’re splayed out on the couch, on a saturday, complaining about doing anything else.

“you two make me feel young.” may’s words are a joke, but her tone isn’t. “you are young, may,” you reassure her and smile a little. peter says nothing. his eyes become hooded as he settles into you more. “look at you two, like some old married couple,” may gestures to you from where she’s standing. she smiles this time.

peter’s face gets hot from the mention of you being a couple. your heart skips a couple of beats. you’re pretty sure he can tell from how close he is.

“do whatever you want, just not here,” she gets back to the real conversation. peter hides his entire face in your shoulder as a form of protest. you pat his back. “and not each other. unless you’re safe,” may adds. “may, please. no,” he groans out, positive he’s all red now. you blink at her in horror.

may knows what she’s doing. peter isn’t the most subtle person, especially not about liking someone. she’s learned all the signs that her nephew is falling. he’s falling for you. she sees it in you, too. the way your eyes soften when they meet peter’s, how fast you are to hug him back or beam at the silly things he says.

you two spend so much time apart from your other friends, you basically are a couple. you’re just not old or married. the only thing you need is a push to realize that.

“ok, we’re gonna go now,” peter decides and pulls away from you. “god bless,” you say only so he can hear. he chuckles at that, you getting up from the couch. giving him a knowing smile, you grab one of his hands. he lets you pull him to his feet while exhaling. he’s already exhausted. may watches and shakes her head.

peter walks up to give her a quick hug. “enjoy girl’s night. love you,” he murmurs as she squeezes him tight. even though they tease each other a lot, their relationship is really sweet. it’s very telling how a guy treats his mother. well, aunt in this case. that thought has always been in the back of your mind.

“have fun!” you grin at may when her and peter pull apart. he comes back over to you and tugs on your sleeve. “thanks, kids. we’ll be done around eleven,” she lets you know. you’re already getting your shoes on and ready to leave. eleven is a while from now.

“don’t forget an umbrella! it’s drizzling!” may calls after you two. peter grabs hers that’s leaning against the front door. it’s pink with purple polka dots. you giggle at that. “hey, i like pink,” he defends himself and opens the door, letting you out first. you raise your hands in defense, leaving the apartment.

peter waves at may one last time. “good luck, peter,” she tells him once you reach the stairs. he furrows both eyebrows. “good luck with what?” “you’ll see,” may raises her own eyebrows in a way that’s all too familiar to peter. he calls it her face of wisdom.

still confused, peter heads out. he finds you at the bottom of the stairs. you shove your hands in your pockets and push against the door to open it. peter meets you outside, twirling the umbrella between his fingers.

“is there anywhere you wanna go?” he asks as you start to walk. you’re just going down the block for now. “back upstairs,” you sigh out. “i wish. not an option, though,” peter puffs some air out of his cheeks. you fumble to pull up your hood. he easily reaches over and does it for you.

“thanks,” you say quietly. “you’re welcome,” peter pats the top of your head for emphasis. “we could just walk around.” “until eleven o’clock? that’s five hours from now,” you laugh out, adjusting your hoodie to block your face. disappointment crosses over his features.

“should’ve brought my suit,” he mutters mostly to himself. linking your arm with his, your eyes widen. “i’m not trusting you to swing me around in this weather.” his bicep flexes when your arm wraps around his own. “what? i’ve done it before, y/n/n. on patrol.” you turn your head towards him.

“didn’t you get hurt last time?” you already know the answer. “sprained wrist and a few cuts,” he grumbles, you humming because you’re right. he’d called you in tears when he got home, scared he broke something. you reminded him he would heal soon and stayed on the phone until he calmed down.

that ended up being the whole night. you’re probably the most supportive of peter being spider-man. you of course worry about the toll it takes, but you understand why he does it. the least you can do is be there for him while he navigates the superhero world. not talk him out of it or scold him for making mistakes, be there.

that’s why he loves his lazy days with you so much. they’re his break, his escape from what he lies awake worrying about most nights. you’ve seen what he has to go through, so you respect that. whatever he needs to do to unwind is fine by you. as long as you get to do it with him.

“then you couldn’t patrol for weeks. you could barely hold a pencil.” your other arm sneaks around his. they’re both hugging him now. “you had to be my note taker,” peter reminisces, a smile making its way onto his face. “that sucked, man. you’re such a perfectionist about them,” you breathe out.

peter flips the umbrella around in a show-off kind of way. “you don’t complain when i send them to you.” he sounds so cocky you can’t help but roll your eyes. he isn’t wrong, though. “whatever. seriously, where should we go?” “uh,” peter’s eyes scan the block for inspiration. they land on a man carrying takeout.

“dinner? not at a restaurant since we’re in sweats,” he adds the last part so you don’t have to. “ooh, let’s go to panera,” you happily squeeze his arm. peter quirks an eyebrow at you. “you’re always hungry after.” “so? we can get dessert, too. we have a while.” that makes his heart flutter. a while with you.

“cool, cool, cool,” he sings to you, leaning into your side as you walk. you giggle and push at his shoulder. “i think we can make it there before the rain picks up.” there’s a clap of thunder right after he says that, like something out of a movie. it’s followed by a heavier rain coming down on you two. you pull at the strings of your hoodie to keep it tighter on your head.

“jinxed it,” you remark, both of you stopping so peter can open the umbrella. “ugh,” he grunts out. his lower lip is between his teeth while he undoes the velcro. he pushes down and watches as the umbrella springs open for you two. “here, c’mere,” peter welcomes you under as he holds it above your heads.

it doesn’t quite fit you both since it’s only meant for one person. you forgot he took may’s. the two of you have to squish together so you can avoid the rain, which is pitter pattering down hard on the sidewalk.

you’re comfortable under here with him. the freezing cold weather outside of the umbrella is hardly an issue anymore.

peter turns to face you, letting out a breathless laugh. “you can take off your hood now.” your arms slip from around his. you remove it from your head and give him a toothy grin. it’s one that’s meant to be over exaggerated. “there’s that pretty face,” peter’s voice gets quieter. unlike what you did, that wasn’t a joke.

your pretty face loses its smile. you’re suddenly very aware of how close peter is to you.

you can see the faint scar on his chin from when he banged it into a wall in your living room. he’d ran straight into it during your two person game of hide and seek. yes, you still play that. it was gushing blood for half an hour.

there are also the thousands of freckles dotting his face, the ones you only notice by looking at him super hard. you try to count them whenever you get bored. peter stares back at you while you fall in love with every tiny detail about him.

he takes the time to admire your lips, not just because they look really kissable right now. because of every curious expression they press into when he does something you can’t believe. your eyes, that he feels a sense of safety and honesty and familiarity every time he looks into. he finds them and feels like he’s home.

“peter?” you speak up after a few moments. your tone is hesitant, as if whatever you’re going to ask will change what you have forever. that’s because it might. it’s silent except for the sound of the rain hitting his umbrella. peter finally answers, almost in a whisper. “yeah?”

“i... i think,” you clear your throat before going on. his eyes trail down to your lips again, then back up to your twinkling ones. even on a gloomy day like this, they could light up the whole sky. “i think i love you,” you get out, a hand over your racing heart. peter gives you a small but sure nod. “i think i love you, too.”

he takes a step closer to you, if that’s even possible. his hand without the umbrella comes up to hold your cheek. you watch as he uses his thumb to wipe away a few stray rain droplets. your head tilts to the side, lips parted on instinct. peter leans in until his lips just brush yours, letting you decide what comes next.

you choose to close the space between you two. his eyes squeeze shut, whole face scrunched up when he kisses back. this is a release of all the emotions he’s been holding in that he didn’t even realize he had. you slip into a rhythm, using the angle to move your lips against peter’s.

his hand drops from your cheek to your jaw to support you while you kiss. your own hands grab his biceps, fingers pressing into him, depesrate to have him in your arms. peter lets out a content sigh against your lips before detaching them. it’s not for long. he comes right back in after taking a breath.

you get one long peck from him, then another that’s softer than the last. you give him a short kiss back, lips curving into a smile when this one ends. peter’s thumb smooths over your jawline while he searches for your eyes. he grins at you and tightens his grip on the umbrella handle. he’s surprised it didn’t blow away in the midst of your mini makeout.

“i definitely love you, peter,” you state so genuinely, hands on his shoulders now. that has to be peter’s favorite sentence he’s ever heard. the most beautiful combination of words, said by you to him. “i definitely love you, y/n,” peter agrees, punctuating his statement with one last kiss. you haven’t stopped smiling when his lips meet the corner of yours.

may was right about two things that night. you needed the umbrella for that huge storm, but it did more than protect your from the rain. it also brought you and peter together in a way. the second thing she was right about was that peter loves you, and every feeling he has mirror yours for him.

actually, she was right about three things. you two have to get out of the apartment more often.

[mochegato]

Even the Losers

Chapter 7

Chapter 1     Chapter 6

Marinette rubbed her head as though the action might actually have an effect on her throbbing headache.  It hadn’t any time she’d tried it in the last hour, but it gave her brain the illusion that she was doing something to help other than just waiting for the painkillers to kick in.  The action also gave her something to focus on other than the pounding hangover from not getting nearly drunk enough last night.  Because somehow despite the massive amounts she, Jason, and Roy had drunk last night, all of her problems still existed.  Utter bullshit, that.  And now she still had to deal with all her problems and felt like crap on top of it.  Double bullshit.

She adjusted her sunglasses again, fighting the urge to squint because squinting hurt.  Although honestly, she wasn’t sure which hurt more, the florescent lights, the sunlight beaming through the hotel windows, or squinting.  She was sure there was some way to settle the glasses on her face to block out all light, she just hadn’t been able to figure it out.  She now realized why people significantly smarter than her wore those godawful, ugly glasses that wrap around their head and cut out all sun.

She took a deep breath and braced herself for the full blast of a suspiciously sunny Gotham morning. Gotham has like three sunny days a year and one of them is today?  What the Hell did she do to Tikki to deserve the last few days?  She wandered out of the hotel still contemplating revenge. How does one get revenge against a god anyway?  How many ways can she destroy cookies?

She didn’t get more than a few steps before she sensed someone in front of her.  She weaved slightly to the left but quickly realized there was someone there too.  She weaved to the right and finally looked up when she realized there was someone there. There were people all around her, taking pictures of her, shoving phones in her face as they yelled questions at her.

She stumbled back a few steps and blinked at the group of reporters that had apparently been camping out in front of the hotel for her.  She quickly plastered on one of Adrien’s patented PR smiles and nodded to them. She tried to push through them, expecting them to move out of her way, as they did in Paris for Adrien.  But reporters in Gotham clearly did not show the same respect that Parisian reporters did because none of them moved out of her way.  

Her smile strained slightly as she looked to the one in front of her.  “Excuse me, please,” she requested in the most sickeningly sweet voice she could manage.

The reporter sent back an excited smile.  “Ms. Dupain Cheng, would you care to comment on your relationship with your family? Perhaps explain why Gotham hadn’t had the pleasure of your presence before?”

Marinette looked the reporter up and down.  She looked at the group surrounding her, noting how they had closed the circle to the point of touching her.  She’d been to raves with more personal space.  She moved to push through a small gap between reporters, but stopped when they quickly closed the gap.  Marinette gritted her teeth and widened her smile.  “There’s a reason we’ve chosen not to speak about this and that reason was NOT to discuss it in an exclusive with you at this exact moment.  Now if you will excuse me, I would very, very much like to get some coffee.  I’m sure you can understand the difficulty of starting a day without it.”

She gave them a conspiratorial smile, hoping if they felt like they were in on the joke they would let her through. Instead, her response emboldened the reporters, who started shouting out her name and more questions.

“Will you attend more Wayne functions now?”

Marinette didn’t even know which reporter shouted the question to address them if she wanted.  She huffed and decided to give up on pleasantries.  She was hung over.  She was hungry.  She wanted coffee.  “Why would people change a relationship that doesn’t involve you because you know about it?” she grunted as she tried to push through the cracks between people.  

The reporters closed ranks tighter around her, making it impossible for her to break through without injuring someone, which she was sure was the plan of at least a few of them.  Whether it was to get a more salacious story or to sue Bruce Wayne, she wasn’t sure.  Probably both.  She looked back to the hotel lobby hoping the concierge would see her predicament and help her, but he was determinedly ignoring the scene in front of the hotel.

She set her jaw and prepared herself to create a scene channeling her best imitation of an irate Chloe Bourgeoisie.  She’d deal with the fallout later.  Right now, she needed to get out of this situation before someone actually did push a little too hard and tiny gods decided to curse the city.  She opened her mouth to yell but instead heard someone else’s voice boom through the crowd.

“I think my sister told you to leave her the fuck alone.”

Marinette looked around to try to find the source of the voice but couldn’t see past the wall of reporters.  She didn’t have to wait long for him to push his way through the crowd like a wrecking ball, not worrying about injuring anyone as he shoved his way through.  Jason stopped in front of her with a smirk.  “She just says it in a much more polite way than I do.”  He held up a bag and a tray of coffee.  “I come bearing gifts so you don’t have to deal with this shit out there somewhere.”  

Marinette shot him a grateful smile and turned back toward the hotel.  “That sounds brilliant.  Thank you.”

Jason winked at her.  “I got you.”

They didn’t stop or even look at each other until the elevator doors closed behind them.  Marinette leaned against the wall and finally took a full breath.  She looked over to Jason with another grateful smile.  “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that and I…” She looked down for a moment to collect her thoughts.  “I wasn’t prepared.  I’ll do better next time.”

Jason’s eyes softened.  The press was a lot for all of them to get used to.  None of them had taken naturally to it, especially Gotham’s press.  They at least had the advantage of starting young and knowing what to expect, not to mention since they were kids, the press didn’t have a lot of chances to get to them.  Marinette had just been thrown out there without a life preserver.  Bruce didn’t even send any guards.  “Don’t worry about it.  I thought you could use the save.”

Marinette laughed and narrowed her eyes at him.  “That was a socially acceptable version of a kidnapping.  I had no way of getting out of that without exposing that there is no relationship.”

“Should have just exposed it then,” he shrugged, not remotely nonplussed by her comment.  “I just thought you could use some sustenance after last night.”  He held up the bag for her as they exited the elevator and made their way to her room.  “I know you must be used to fancy French food so I got a variety of food from the best bakery in town.  And I didn’t know how you take your coffee or if you prefer tea so I got both and lots of sugar and creamer.”

Marinette giggled as she opened her door.  “You’re not wrong.  My parents owned a patisserie.  I grew up on the best baked goods in France.”

Jason blinked a few times at her before setting the drinks and food on the coffee table.  “That’s it, next family reunion is at your place.”

“Not so sure that’s going to be a thing,” she said quietly.  She reached for one of the croissants and ripped off a small piece, popping it in her mouth.  “Not really sure I count as family.  That’s kind of been made clear.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t know and we’d like to get to know you, if you’re okay with it,” he said biting off a chunk of cheese Danish. “Look, I’m not looking for family dinners and brunches and shit, I just… want to make sure you’re okay.”  He looked up at her earnestly for a moment before his eyes turned mischievous.  “Although if you grew up in a bakery, I might want all that at your parents’ place.”

“At least you’re asking.  That’s something anyway,” she grumbled as she took another small bite.  

“Speaking of family, where is model boy?”

Marinette puckered her lips in disapproval as she watched the crumbs fall from Jason’s mouth as he spoke.  She looked away before she snapped at him.  “He and Max went apartment hunting.”

“Without you?” Jason asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Neither of them were suffering from a raging hangover that took double the normal dosage of painkillers just to take the edge off of,” she said pointedly.

“Coffee,” Jason grunted, motioning toward the coffee. “Lots of coffee and food and water.” He pushed the bag toward her. “Not the bird bites you’ve been taking.”

She studied the croissant in front of her with a furrowed brow as though it had some kind of answers for her.  She nearly dropped it when she heard a knock on the door. She looked through the peephole and gasped, flinching back from the door.  Jason immediately jumped up and ran over to her.  “What is it?  Another reporter?”

“No,” Marinette rasped out, her eyes never leaving the door.  “Worse.” Her heart started racing and her breathing became labored.  She wasn’t ready for this.  She wasn’t ready to speak with him.  What was she supposed to say?  How was she supposed to speak with him?  She didn’t even know how she felt yet.  She hadn’t sorted through this all yet.  Tears threatened to fall from her eyes.  She wasn’t ready.  This was happening too fast.

She flinched visibly when he knocked again. He’d had time to prepare.  He’d had time to think this through.  He knew how he felt about this.  He’d had time to plan and prepare.  She had none of that and here he was on her doorstep.  He knew about her and she knew nothing about him. He was ready and she wasn’t given that chance.  

She was just expected to deal with it.  She was just expected to handle it.  She was just expected to accept it.  He’d created this entire situation and she was left to pick up the pieces and move on.  And now he was here.  He was on her figurative doorstep in person and now she had to deal with it, on his timetable, according to his preference, because yet again it all had to be done on his terms.  Her preferences didn’t matter.  Her feelings didn’t matter.  Her opinion didn’t matter.

“Want me to kick their ass out?” Jason offered already reaching for the handle.

Marinette shook her head and let out a calming breath. He thinks he can come in after twenty years gone and act like everything is fine and expect her to play nice, he has another thing coming.  He wanted a detached relationship?  She could do that.  She’d seen it enough growing up with Adrien and Chloe’s parents.  She knew how to play the game.

She shook her hands to get the tension out before finally reaching out to open the door.  “Mr. Wayne.  This is an unexpected pl… experience,” she stuttered.  She mentally grimaced.  She was showing weakness.  She needed to be strong.  She plastered on a clearly fake smile.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being weak.  She wouldn’t cry for him.  She hadn’t cried because of him in the twenty years he’d been absent, she wouldn’t do it now.

Bruce took a breath.  “Marinette…”  He froze for a second.  He hadn’t thought hard enough about this.  He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to tell her, but he hadn’t thought about how to tell her, how to lead into it.  “I was hoping to speak with you,” he rushed out, wincing internally at the sound of it.

“Well, that’s a first,” she scoffed before she could stop herself.  She slapped her hand over her mouth and mentally berated herself.  What was she doing?  She was supposed to be calm not cruel.  She was losing this game!

Jason grinned and propped his arms behind his head as he kicked out his legs, the very picture of relaxed.  “I like her.  I’m keeping her.”

Marinette shot him an appreciative smile but Bruce did a double take, frowning at the sight.  His mind raced as to what it meant that Jason was there.  Was it good?  It was good, wasn’t it?  She was getting close to one of her brothers already.  But that brother was Jason, and despite the fact that he loved Jason, he was well aware their relationship was still contentious at best.  Not exactly the best brother for her to get close to. And he was already encouraging her hostility against him.  Not that he didn’t deserve it, he knew he did, it was just that any of the other brothers would help mitigate that hostility.  Jason would fan it.  “Jason, what are you doing here?”

“Brought baked goods and coffee,” he answered casually, a smirk making its way onto his face.  “You?”

Bruce let out a heavy sigh through his nose and smoothed out his face.  Getting annoyed now would do nothing for his goal.  If Marinette was connecting to Jason, getting frustrated with him would just push her further away.  “As I mentioned, I was hoping I could speak with Marinette about the… situation.  I wanted…”

“‘The situation’,” Jason mocked shaking his head at Bruce.  God was he always this bad with his kids?  He thought it was just him.  “Way to sound sincere, B.”

Bruce’s lips pursed until they were no longer visible. He didn’t need Jason sabotaging him right now.  He was doing a good enough job of it on his own.  “I’d like to speak with Marinette on our own, please.  Why don’t you go home?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her chest clenched. She didn't want Jason to leave.  She wasn't ready for Jason to leave.  Once Jason left it was just her and him.  Just thinking about it suddenly she couldn't breathe.  Suddenly the air felt too thin and too heavy at the same time.  No.  She needed somebody else here.  

Jason shot a look over to Marinette, letting his eyes pass over Marinette like he hadn’t been noting her body language.  He let his eyes wander for a second before returning to Bruce with a tilt to his head.  “No.  I’m witnessing this, unless Pixie tells me to go home.”

Marinette could have kissed him… on the cheek. Because he was her br… it was complicated.  But she was beyond grateful he had spoken up for her.  She let out the breath she’d been holding and raised an eyebrow at him. “Pixie?”

“Small, violent,” Jason grinned at her.

Marinette laughed and playfully narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, whatever, Goliath.”

Jason leaned back again.  “Oh, no, that one’s already taken.  By a dragon bat, no less.”

Marinette’s face scrunched in confusion.  She tried to search through her Americanisms for what a dragon bat could be.  It had to be a species of bat right?  Maybe? But then again it was American English so for all she knew it could be a flower.  “A what?”

“Jason!” Bruce admonished.  He was really not looking forward to trying to explain what a dragon bat was or how Damian came to be in possession of one.

Jason rose up enough to grab one of the croissants and shove half of it into his mouth before he spoke.  “I’ll introduce you sometime, or Damian will have to actually… which he won’t.  I’ll show you a picture, you seem like the kind of person who likes terrifying animals as long as they’re fuzzy.”

“I… fair,” Marinette conceded easily.

“If I can bring us back to the topic at hand,” Bruce interjected loudly, cutting off any more discussion of dragon bats.

“Family bonding, right?”  Jason cut him off with a pointed look.  “Isn’t that what we were doing?”

Bruce glared at Jason for a few seconds, which did nothing to wipe the smug smirk off his face.  Giving up on Jason, Bruce focused on Marinette.  “At the gala you mentioned you didn’t plan on being in town much longer, leaving today actually.  I was hoping I could convince you to stay a bit longer.”

Marinette examined him with a dour curiosity.  She cocked her head to the side.  “And why might that be?  You don’t need me here to make an announcement that we prefer to keep our relationship private, hence they didn’t know about me.”

Bruce let out a deep sigh.  That was fair.  It was a fair response.  Sabine had warned him she would be suspicious of him.  “This isn’t for the public,” he assured her.

“Isn’t it?”  She blinked a few times at him, her face blank.  “Are you sure?  It feels like it is.”  She turned to Jason.  “Doesn’t it feel like it is to you?”

“It does indeed,” Jason nodded in agreement, keeping eye contact with Bruce as he did.

“Jason…” he started threateningly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you relying on me to make fixing your fuck up easier for you?  Wrong kid.  You’re looking for Dick or Tim… actually I wouldn’t rely on Tim for help explaining why being an absentee father isn’t actually that bad.”

“Jason, I think it’s time for you to go home,” Bruce growled.

Marinette straightened up and moved between him and Jason.  She wasn’t going to let him bully Jason for standing up for her.  “I don’t think so.  So far he’s the only member of my family I like.”

“Ooh, you should totally give Cass and Steph and Duke a chance too,” Jason offered with a faked enthusiasm as though the confrontation with Bruce didn’t just happen.  He kept his eyes on Marinette but relished the increasingly frustrated scowl on Bruce’s face as they ignored him.

Marinette nodded.  “I’ll consider it.”

“Oh and Alfred… and I guess Tim too.  He’s a prick but he’s alright I guess,” Jason continued.

Marinette blinked at him.  It was like a never ending list of people.  An ongoing list of people he had taken in after walking away from her.  A long list of people he’d cared about and for without having to be pressured into it by the press.  A mile long list of people he wasn’t pretending to care about.  “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“We have a lot,” Jason corrected her.  They were in this together and he’d remind her of that as many times as she needed.  “Alfred isn’t a sibling though.  He’s like a grandfather.”

Marinette paused at that.  She hadn’t considered that.  Another grandfather figure.  Another grandfather that didn’t want anything to do with her.  Sure now Grand-père Roland loved her but for the first fifteen years, he’d known about her and didn’t care.  Maybe it was her.  It had to be her right?  Two grandparents, that isn’t coincidence.  That’s a pattern and the only commonality was her.  She pursed her lips together to focus on something other than the tears welling up behind her eyes.  “Sounds like the kind of person who definitely would have known about me.”

Jason’s eyes widened.  “I… don’t know the answer to that,” he answered slowly.

Marinette nodded, slowly going numb.  “So, what I’m getting from this so far is I have a another grandfather-type figure that knew about me and didn’t feel any kind of interest in me and a ton of people that my father decided were worthy of his love and affection when I wasn’t.  So it isn’t that my father didn’t want to be a father, just that he didn’t want to be my father.”

“That isn’t…” Jason started.  This was going down the wrong path.  He was trying to show her he had her back, not remind her about the pain.  But instead, now Marinette was getting hurt, remembering the pain.  She’d lost her sass and impertinence and now was moving toward hurt.  And she was blaming Alfred.  Alfred was one of the only good things about being a Wayne!

“Jason!  I think it’s time for you to go home.  Now!” Bruce roared.

Marinette contemplated Bruce coldly, numbness consuming her fears and insecurities and morphing into cold, analytic contemplation.  He was blaming Jason.  Her frustration wasn’t because of Jason or anything he said. Her pain wasn’t because of Jason, it was because of him, because of his decisions.  And instead of taking responsibility for it, he was blaming Jason.

Jason blinked a few times, no longer certain of his role in this interaction.  He looked back and forth between Marinette and Bruce, noting Marinette’s hardening features.  She was getting ready for a fight.  He could see it developing, but he wasn’t at all sure Bruce did.  He held up his hands in surrender and sat back down calmly. “I promised I wouldn’t leave unless Pixie asked me to.  I intend to keep my promise to her,” he said calmly.

Bruce glared at him again and faced back to Marinette, a fake smile plastered on.   “As I was saying.  I’d like a chance to get to know you, if you would let me.”

“And how many members of the press did you want to be there when you do?” she inquired sharply.

Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “That’s not fair.”

Marinette’s mouth dropped and she shook her head at him incredulously.  “Wow. Way to pull the rich, white guy entitlement card. ‘I know everything about this situation has been unbelievably unfair to you, but now I’m being inconvenienced in the mildest way possible and I don’t like it,’” she mocked. She rocked back on her heels and narrowed her eyes at him.  “Rest assured M. Wayne, I do not intend to speak out against you.  Your reputation will not be harmed by me.  Tell the press whatever you want.  I won’t contradict you.  You can relax.”

“Marinette…” he started, unsure of where to go. Everything she had said was so far from the truth, he didn’t know where to start.  Her view of the situation was so skewed, he didn’t know how to put it back on kilter.  His shoulders sagged in defeat.  “This has nothing to do with the press.  I had put plans in motion to get in contact with you before any of this started.  Mr. Fox will confirm that for you if you don’t trust me.  You seem like quite an impressive young lady and I would like to get to know you better, if you’ll give me the chance.”

His tone was contrite and quiet, but Marinette wasn’t done being upset yet.  She wasn’t ready to move on and let go of the anger.  “And if I wasn’t, you would continue to ignore me?  If I was a problem child, if I had social issues, if I couldn’t find a job, you’d continue to treat me like I never existed?  I’ve finally done enough to gain your attention. Oh thank you so much for letting me know.”

“That isn’t what I said,” Bruce rushed to assure her. “I meant to compliment you not say you had to earn my attention.”

Marinette pursed her lips and looked over to Jason. He was looking back at her with sympathetic, concerned eyes.  She let out a long sigh and looked away from them both.  “Look, I meant what I told the press earlier.  I had no intention of you seeing me at the gala.  I had no intention of anyone finding out about me. I didn’t even know there was anything to find out when I made the plan to come here.  And I have no expectation of anything about our relationship changing.”

Bruce perked up slightly, but focused on keeping his body language the same, so she wouldn’t see the difference.  That was an opening; expectation instead of intention. It wasn’t that she intended not to change it, it’s that she didn’t expect it.  “I do,” he assured her, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice, keeping it calm and even.  “I would like to change our relationship.  I would like the chance to explain and try to start to make it up to you.  If you would like to try.  

“If you’re open to it, I can extend your reservation until you are ready to move on, or if you would prefer, you are more than welcome to stay at the manor.  I would love to have you stay with us but I understand that may be overwhelming.  Or, WE has have some flats available, with multiple bedrooms.  You and your friends could stay there for a while.  Your friend is going to need a place to stay while he looks for an apartment, right?

“I’ll leave the choice to you.  Whether we pursue a relationship, if you stay, where you stay; they’re all your choice.  Here,” he handed her a paper with several numbers hand written on it. “These are my numbers; office, home office, cell phone, manor.  You can use any of them to contact me.”

Marinette took the paper impassively.  She squeezed her other hand in an effort to keep the tremble from being too obvious.  “Thank you, M. Wayne.  I will consider your words.”

Bruce nodded, letting the very formal use of his name wash away.  This was still progress.  This was still movement in the right direction, even if it wasn’t as much as he would want.  He knew it could take a long time.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to fix this today.  “Thank you, Marinette.  That’s all I can ask for.  And I’m sorry for ambushing you here.  I tried to call and text you all yesterday to set up a time to talk in person so you could prepare but it seems like your phone was off.”  

He let out a small breath seeing her eyes widen at his admission.  That had to be a good sign.  Maybe he actually said the right thing for once.  He nodded to her and left her to think, hoping Jason would urge her to call. He seemed to want a relationship with her as well.  Hopefully, he would realize this was the best way to get that.

Jason sighed and looked up at her as soon as the door closed behind Bruce.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m not.  It’s… it’s a lot.  I think I want to be alone,” Marinette said absently staring at the numbers in her hand.

Jason nodded.  “It is.  I understand. If you want to talk, at all, about anything.  About where to drink in town, best burger, anything, give me a call.”  He gently took the paper Bruce had handed her out of hand, letting her decide if she gave it to him or not.  When she let go, he put his number on it as well.  “I only have one number, but now you have it.”

Marinette nodded at him.  “Thank you, Jason.”

Jason hesitated briefly.  “For what it’s worth, if you decide to stay you should take him up on the flat.  The hotel is stupid expensive and WE offers the flat to visiting collaborators all the time, so it’s not like it’s all that special… if you want to avoid being treated special.”

Marinette nodded at his words, barely taking them in as her mind tried to fight the numbing process.  Jason watched her tentatively.  “You look like a hugger,” he said uncertainly.  “Did you… do you want a, um, a hug?”  

Marinette looked over at him and blinked a few times, not sure how to take his words, partly because he seemed unsure of them himself, but partly because things were having a harder time permeating her brain right now.  Jason took her curious look as doubt.  “Oh come on. It’s fine.  I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.  Trust me.  I tell Dick to fuck off enough when he tries to hug me.  I have no problem saying no to hugs I don’t want.  I’m offering because I mean it.”

Marinette blinked a few more times but finally nodded vacantly.  Jason pulled her into a warm, comforting hug.  After a few moments he pulled away.  “It will all be okay.  No matter what you decide, it will all be okay.  And no matter what you decide, I’m here.  Nobody’s replacing you as my sister.  So get ready for some completely inappropriate Christmas presents this year.”

Marinette smiled absently at his joke, her eyes never meeting his.  “Thanks, Jason.”  She leaned against the door after she closed it behind him and slid down it, staring blankly at nothing.  The room felt colder than it was before, but she couldn’t manage to care enough to get up and get a blanket.  She thought there might have been ambient noise going on around her but none of it registered.  Nothing registered.  Not the numbing sensation that was rapidly overtaking her body from her fingers and toes up to her head until she stopped feeling anything.  Not even the point she was staring at.  She didn’t know how long she stared at the nothingness before black overtook her vision and she passed out.

Chapter 8

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[kimnjss]

rainy days | myg

⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader // yoongi focus. ⇢ genre: smut. // pure unedited filth. ⇢ word count: 4.9K ⇢ theme: established relationships. ⇢ rating: explicit. ⇢ warnings: cursing, dirty talk, poly relationship, dry humping, handjobs, oral sex (f/m. receiving), sleepy jimin just wants to fuck, ass eating, squirting, anal fingering, voyeurism, slight biting, hickeys, fingering, face sitting, sixty-nining, over stimulation, cum inside. ⇢ A/N: alot of people said yoongi for this episode... literally all of you, but a few people said jimin - so i added him a bit too! hope you guys like it - let me know what you think x

The loud chatter on the other side of the door is what pulls you from your slumber. After a long night of playing ping pong with Jimin and Taehyung, you were falling asleep in Jimin's room. His arms pulling your body against his as he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck.

He stirs when the door is being pulled open by Joon, words leaving his lips that you barely comprehend waking from your slumber. Jimin murmurs in response, his words dying in the space of your neck as he moves his body closer to yours – pulling you tighter against him.

Leg lifted to wrap around your waist, completely and totally enveloping you in his warmth. He smelt nice, fresh from the shower he had taken the night before. Shifting to get more comfortable on the bed and you're automatically leaning into him. Feeling his thickness graze your thigh, followed by a sigh falling from his lips.

The grip he held around your waist tightens, body pulled tighter into yours as he rolls his hips once more. Body shivering from the new found friction between his legs. Desperate to feel more of him, you're lowering your body – just enough that the bulge straining against the fabric of his shorts is pressed right against the crack of your covered ass.

Jimin gasps, like full-on gasps, when you're grinding back against him. Dick hardening even more as he pushes against you. “You want to play? So early, baby?” Words mumbled into your ear as his hand travels up the front of your shirt, easily finding your bare breasts.

His thumb grazes over your pebbled nipple, body tensing against his as a soft moan falls from your lips. “Jimin-” You start, so ready to tell him how badly you need him, but he's quick to shush you, words being drowned out by the increase of chatter outside of your door.

The movement of his hips against yours doesn't still, dragging his hard cock over your ass while his fingers tweak your nipple underneath your shirt. Movements so slow, so subtle that it barely looks like anything from above the covers.

And you realize that's what he's hoping for when the door is being pulled open again. Jin stepping in without hesitance, only briefly taking in your close bodies before he's calling Jimin out to eat. Door left ajar, but he is picking up his speed as soon as Jin is exiting the room.

A hand cocooning the space between your legs, rubbing circles into your clit over the fabric of your panties. Movements so quick with release the only thing in mind and you're crying out at the new pressure on your sensitive bud.

A familiar sound for the younger boy just a few steps away from the door. “Fuck, Jimin. Your fingers... I want to feel your fingers,” Legs spreading wider for him, giving him all the room he needs to fuck into you with those thick fingers of his. And the hearty laugh that falls from his lips lets you know that he's ready to do exactly that.

Growing hot underneath the blanket, Jimin is quick to kick it away. Just as your hand is reaching back into the waistband of his shorts. His cock twitches in your hand as you pull it out, two powerful strokes of it has a groan falling from his lips. And the lips of the man watching from the door.

Your attention is quickly snapped up to Jungkook's figure standing in the doorway. Eyes slightly wide, as if he's afraid blinking would stop this moment, large hand palming himself through his shorts as his teeth dug into his lip – realizing his mistake of making noise. Being heard.

“Kookie,” You're moaning just as Jimin is pushing his fingers inside of you. The sound has a whimper falling from the younger boy's lips, a devilish smirk taking over the features of his elder. “Want to see how fast I can make our girl cum?” There's challenge in his voice, knowing for a fact his maknae would never turn down a challenge.

“She's so wet, Kook. Listen,” To prove his point, Jimin is speeding up the thrusts of his fingers – spreading your legs wider so that the only sound heard is the squelch of the wetness between your leg s.

His thumb pressed down on your clit, rolling it around while his teeth nibble at the shell of your ear. Eyes glued to Jungkook who has stepped further into the room, feigning for a closer look at your scarcely covered pussy. He's drooling, full-blown stroking himself as he watches you become nearer and nearer to your orgasm with each push of his Hyung's fingers.

Just faintly, you can hear the other call for them. Wonder what's taking so long for you to come out. Jimin ignores the shouts, determined to make you fall apart around your fingers – and from the way your walls are squeezing around them, he knows he's not far off. 

The hand wrapped on his cock moves un-rhythmically, an afterthought to the intense pleasure building in the pit of your stomach. He doesn't pay it much attention, hips jerking into the palm of your hand freely – giving pleasure to himself while he does the same for you.

“Fuck, Hyung, do you hear her? She's so close.” Jungkook whines, oddly entune to the way your moans change when you're about to cum. But he's so right because as soon as he's done speaking you feel the tension snap. Hips frantically rolling into Jimin's hand, his thumb pressed so deliciously against your clit.

Seeing you cum is enough to get Jungkook off, heavy cock glistening with precum as fresh spurts shoot out the tip, dirtying the floor. Jimin chuckles at the sight, Jungkook curses and jerking as he tries to catch his breath. Orgasm nearly as powerful as some he's had before, but still enough to have him feeling light-headed.

“You made the baby cum, now what about me?” You hear Jimin's voice through the cloudiness of your orgasm filled mind, but understand enough where you're shifting. His head falling back against the pillows as you reach for his shaft, easily wrapping your lips around the head.

Jungkook stays to watch you suck Jimin off. A lazy hand stroking his shaft as your head bobs up and down. Marveled with how easily you're able to swallow him down, nose pressed against the elder's shaft as if he wasn't tickling the back of your throat.

“Fuck, Yn!” He's gasping, fingers tangled in your hair to hold your face close to him. “Such a good girl, taking my whole cock.” The praise has your confidence skyrocketing, hands reaching to toy with his balls as your cheeks hallow – sucking him deeper in.

There's no warning other than the string of curse words that fall from his lips, the stutter his hips does as he thrusts into your mouth – before his cum spilling out. It's thickness filling your mouth and you take every last drop.

Cum always tasted so sweet. And he looking like a fucking angel when he was falling apart. Hooded eyes trying to focus on the way you look when your mouth filling with his cum, plump lips swollen from the way he's been biting them, eyebrows furrowed to create that sexy crease.

Jimin's gasping when you pull off of him, back arching slightly when you're running your tongue over the underside of his cock. Which, has a soft giggle falling from your lips as you lift up to his face.

“Good morning,” You greet him with a bright smile and a sloppy kiss to his lips. A kiss that has him realizing some of his cum is still in his mouth. The devilish smirk rests on his lips as he pulls back, eyes flickering over his shoulder at Jungkook who hasn't once moved from his position.

“Why don't you go say good morning to Kookie?” He suggests and you're jumping at the idea, almost literally. Hopping off of his body and all the way over to Jungkook. Arms wrapped around his neck as you pull him in close. And you don't miss the dust of pink over his cheeks just before you're lips are finding his.

He doesn't flinch or hesitate when the warmth of Jimin's cum is hitting his tongue. Instead, he's letting a groan fall from his lips. Hand finding the back of your neck to pull you in close as he licks into your mouth with much more hunger.

Kissing you like a starved man moans dying on your lips as your hand wraps around his shaft – stroking him gently. It's not until he's whining, lips falling from your as he takes to teething at your neck, do you realize Jimin has left the room. Gone to find the others.

“Noona...” Jungkook drags out with a whine, hips stilling as his cum wets your hand. The warmth, the sound of his voice, the desperate rock of his hips – has a moan slipping from your lips. Not an ounce of hesitation as you lift your hand to lick his stickiness from it.

He watches with bright eyes, not daring to tear his gaze away until you're reaching back – wrapping your sticky hand into his hair and pulling his face toward you. A soft kiss on his lips, that's much shorter than the others.

“Good morning, Kookie.” You say once you're pulling back, voice hushed as if your words are a secret only meant from him. With a large grin, he's leaning in once again to cover his mouth with his.

More than ready to show you how good this morning is.

Finding Yoongi sat in front of the computer, beside Jin and you're easily slipping into his lap. Arm wrapping around the back of his neck as you get comfortable in his arms, shifting so your body is sideways on his lap.

“Thank you for the food,” Gazing up at him with a bright smile, your free hand lifting so you're able to run your fingers through his hair.

Yoongi is quick to react to your welcomed intrusion, an arm secured around your hips to keep you from slipping and his hand resting casually on your thigh. Moments from accepting your thanks when Jin is speaking up beside you.

“Hey. I helped too.” He wears a tiny pout on his face that has your lips stretching in a smile. A quick kiss that is blown in his direction that he's acting as if he caught, pressing his hand to his lips. Giggling, you're leaning back against Yoongi's chest.

“Should I give you one too?” A slight pout on your lips as you look up at the man. His eyes slowly shifting from the tablet in front of him to you. Tongue pushing out to wet his lower lip as the grip he holds on your thigh tightens.

Yet, he shrugs – feigning indifference. “If you want to,” He says simply but that's all the convincing you need to lean up to press your lips against his. He's groaning at the sweetness of your mouth, while his fingers slowly inch their way up your thigh.

Fingers knotted in his soft hair, you're tilting his head back just a bit so you a better reach his mouth. He's groaning when your teeth graze his lower lip, lips parting to let your tongue through. You hum against his mouth, lifting your body higher his lap – legs straddling his hips.

The roll of your hips is what sets him off. Cock hardening underneath you, while the grip he holds on your ass tightens. There was something about the attention Yoongi gave you. Always zeroed in as if you were the only thing to exist at that moment. Nothing else mattered when he was in your arms.

Covered core drags over his bulge, soft moans falling from your lips and dying against his tongue. “So hard,” You mumble, lips slipping from his to find the skin of his neck. Tongue and teeth working against his skin as your hand slides down your bodies. His cock jumps underneath your palm and you're grinning, running your fingers over his covered shaft.

“You really want to play that game, baby?” Voice deep that has a pang of arousal rushing between your legs. Without a moment of hesitance, you're nodding your hand. The tip of your nails run over his scalp in the way you know he likes as you nod up at him.

“It's not like you'll do anything about it,” You challenge quietly, loving the twitch of his cock underneath your palm.

Quick to wrap your legs around his waist as he stands from his seat, clinging to him to keep yourself from falling. And he laughs darkly an arm resting underneath your butt to lift you onto him. Without a word, he's carrying you out of the room – out of the house and you have a pretty good idea where he's taking you.

The entire walk from the Upper House to the Main House, you've got your lips on his neck. Wet kisses landing on his warm skin, tongue tracing imaginary patterns into it – which only riles him up more. With each step, his cock grazes your thigh. What you'd give to feel him buried inside of you, wouldn't even care if he decided to do it while walking with you in his arms. You just wanted to feel him.

Hoseok is looking up at the burst through the screen door, taking one look at your probably disheveled presence. Just because you were walking didn't mean Yoongi kept his hands off you. He had snuck his palm underneath your shorts, palming your bare bottom shamelessly as he carried you.

No doubt you were giving these boys a show they didn't pay for. One they've seen many times before. So wrapped up in his building blocks, Joon hadn't realized when you first entered the room. But is lifting his head at the sound of Hoseok's grunt, eyebrows raised.

Yoongi doesn't offer them a moment to comment with the way he's whisking you up the stairs without a second glance backward. The toe of his shoe is nudging the door open and he wastes no time with tossing you down on the big bed. Giggles fall from your lips as your body bounces up and down, slowing just in time to see him pull his shirt from his body.

“Take those off,” He's referring to your pants, but your attention is zeroed in on the strain of his cock against the fabric of his sweats that you're barely hearing him. Quick to tug his own pants down, revealing the black briefs that hug his hips nicely. Nearly drooling at the sight, but Yoongi doesn't allow you much time to marvel at his impressive physique.

He's climbing onto the bed, just as your fingers are dipping into the waistband of your shorts. Replacing your hands with his, he takes his time to drag the garment down your legs. A striptease just for him and he's grinning wide at the sight of your lace panties. 

“Always so pretty,” He compliments in a whisper, head tilting up until his lips are finding your neck, his large hand easily finding your clit through the fabric of your panties. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?”

You're nodding before he can finish his sentence, head-turning to find his eyes. Pupils blown and lust-filled. The way he's looking at you has a moan falling from your lips automatically. “How many times do you want to cum?” Fingers dip down to collect some of your arousal, but he's quick with finding your clit again – toying with it underneath his fingers.

Almost positive, that your body could only handle two... maybe three max orgasms right now, but ever so willing to please him you lift your hips. “However many you want to give me,” His cock twitches at this, you feel it against your thigh.

“Such a good girl,” He praises, fingers speeding up in their movement between your legs. His only focus is on your clit and the pretty moans that fall from your lips each time he's applying more pressure. Your legs are spread wide for him, hips rolling with the movement of his fingers.

Still sensitive from this morning and it doesn't take much to get you worked up again. Yoongi is smirking once he notices, fingers slowing down in an attempt to tease you as he peaks up at your face. “Close already, baby?”

You've both hands wrapped around his wrist, silently pleading he didn't pull back. That he'd let you cum. Nodding slowly, your teeth nibble on your lower lip. He looks so good right now. The sun hitting his milky skin so nicely that he's glowing above you. Dark hair falling into his eyes, lips bruised red from yours. You could faintly see the marks forming on his neck courtesy of you.

And then he grins, you're done for at the sight of that big smile of his. “I'll give you an easy one,” He says with a wrinkle of his nose. Two fingers plunge inside of you at once, your hips lifting off the bed as a drawn-out moan falls from your lips. Yoongi strokes your insides slowly before he's pushing a third finger inside and picking up the pace.

Fingers not as thick as Jimin's but longer, much longer – easily pressing against that rough patch of skin-deep inside of you while his thumb continues to tease your clit.

“Fuck. Your needy little pussy is squeezing me so tight,” He speaks in mock surprise, while he peaks up to look at you. Fingers tangled in your own hair to keep it out of your face, forcing your head up as you watch the movement of his hand between your legs. Mouth dropping and eyes rolling back once he's pushing his fingers into the knuckle, effectively pushing against your gspot.

And you're falling apart right before his eyes. Hips lifted so high that he had to reach to pin them back onto the mattress. Incoherent curses falling from your lips as your orgasm turns your brain to mush.

Yoongi only slows the movement of his fingers slightly, helping you ride out your quick orgasm with a grin on his face. Only when your back is falling flat on the mattress does he pull his fingers from inside of you, greedily licking your arousal from his fingers as you look on trying to catch your breath.

“You taste so good, baby.” He groans, rolling off of your body so he's lying flat on his back. His hand lifts to grasp your thigh, gently tugging your body toward him. “Come sit on my face, let me taste more.” His own words have his cock twitching and you follow the movement of his hand as he palms himself over his boxers.

Despite the heaviness in your limbs, you're lifting your body into a kneel. Pulling your panties down the rest of the way before straightening to stand. Naked from the bottom down, your tiny t-shirt clinging to your figure. Hair in knots and cheeks flushed. He liked it best when you looked this way.

Carefully, you're setting a foot on either side of his head. Giving him an eyeful of your dripping cunt that has a wanting groan falling from his lips. His mouth is opening as you're lowering yourself onto him, lips easily wrapping around your clit.

“Oh, shit-” You gasp, body curling forward, hands moving to brace themselves on his stomach to keep yourself from folding over.

The chuckle that falls from his lips vibrates throughout your core, pulling a breathy moan from your lips. You can feel his smirk as he glides his tongue over your folds, arms looped around your thighs to hold your body in place.

Greedy moans leave his lips, as he uses his grip to spread your legs wider. Angling his head so he can push his tongue deeper inside of you, slowly dragging it back up to your clit. His tongue rolls as he sucks the sensitive nub between his lips, sharp teeth grazing over the skin.

A desperate moan breaks through your lips, legs flinching against his grasp as he gently nibbles on your clit. Yoongi's pulling your body further down onto his face, lips remaining wrapped around you as he rolls your clit between his teeth. You don't fight the way your hips grind down into his face, wanting to feel more of him.

Hands sliding down his stomach until you've reached underneath the hem of his boxers. Heavy cock jumps in your grasp as you take hold of him, stroking him slowly – unfocused as his mouth on you become more determined. 

“Yoongi, fuck!” You shout, the feeling of his tongue slipping inside of you sending a new wave of pleasure racking through your body. Cock squeezed in your hand while your hand moves over him quickly. He hisses when your lips are wrapped around the tip, sucking on it gently as your hips move in time with his tongue.

He pushes his three fingers into your core, which has your body bowing forward – more of his cock slipping into your mouth. Expertly, his fingers twist deep inside of you, tongue teasing your clit, determined to make you cum again.

Your moans are muffled by his cock down your throat, sloppily sucking him and ignoring the drool that pools at the corner of your mouth. He's making a mess too. Lips, teeth, and tongue working over your clit as he fucks into you with his long fingers. And then he's pulling away, fingers still inside of your as his head lift slightly.

There's a moment of hesitation that lingers in the air, it's short – but long enough where you're pulling him from your mouth, ready to check if he's alright. But then you feel it, tentative at first, the tip of his tongue dragging over your tighter hole. Once. Twice. Testing the waters before he's diving in and your eyes are rolling back.

“Oooh, my God. Yoongi.” Taking to lazily stroking his shaft, mind to clouded to concentrate on properly sucking him off. Yoongi moves his tongue over you as he would in your pussy. And it has you panting. Paired with the delicious twist of his fingers inside of you, you're feeling that familiar tingle builds in your stomach.

Your core tightens around his fingers, hips jerking as the pleasure builds between your legs. Yoongi's lifting his free hand, the tip of his finger rubbing over your puckered hole as he places soft kisses against your cheek.

“Should I fuck you here too?” His voice is so deep, laced with lust and you're feeling a warm gush of arousal from your core at the sound.

“P-please, Yoongi... I need to-”

Not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before the tip of his finger is dipping inside. He moves slowly until he's slipped into the knuckle and you're full of him. Both of his hands move opposite of one another, picking up the pace when you begin to loosen. 

The feeling is foreign, but the delicious burn has your body tumbling closer and closer to your release. Walls clenched tight around him as your hips rock in time with his fingers.

“Such a good girl,” He's praising as your mouth closes around his tip, sucking him deep inside of your throat. “You like having all your holes stuffed full?” Your answer is mumbled over his shaft, head nodding up and down.

He's gasping when you swallow around him, hips jerking up to push more of his cock into your mouth. Fingers speeding up inside of you and the moment his thumb is tapping against your clit – you're falling apart.

His cock falling from your lips as you sit up, hips rolling against his face as your orgasm washes over you. “Fuck, Yoongi-, shit.” You curse, legs shaking from the powerful pleasure cruising through your veins. Teeth cut into your lip, in an attempt to silence your loud cries.

Yoongi doesn't pull back, not even for a second. Mouth sucking kisses into the roundness of your ass as his fingers push and pull against your walls. Teeth grazing over your sensitive bud and your pleasure is heightened, hips flinching away from him - a squeal leaving your lips as a clear stream of cum squirts from between your legs.

Soaking his chest, stomach, and darkening the fabric of his boxers. Yoongi laughs underneath you, arms wrapped around your thighs again to pull you back down – licking up the mess around your entrance.

“I love it when you squirt for me,” He growls into your pussy, easily lifting your body from his face. In one swift movement, he's setting you onto his lap. Large hand reaching down for his wet cock, lining himself up nicely with your tight hole before he's pushing forward. Pulling a drawn-out moan from your lips. “Ride me, baby.”

You're so sensitive, it hurts. But not enough for you to stop. Not when he's looking at you like that. Lips and nose shiny with your arousal, clear droplets rolling down his chest. Hair sweaty and sticking out in random directions, from his hands, yours. He's got this dazed look in his eyes as if he were the one that had just come three times.

The stretch of having his cock inside of your sensitive cunt is quickly getting rid of the slight feeling of overstimulation. Enough for you to lift your hips, whimpering at the slow drag against your walls.

“You're so fucking tight,” He grits, both hands lifting to push his hair back as his back arches slightly while you lower yourself back onto him. From his hair, he's grasping your hips, repeating your previous movement at his own pace.

Hands circling around to grasp your ass, he uses his grip to lift and drop your body against him as his hips move to meet your movements. It's sticky, his precum filling you and mixing with what's left of your release. All the sound of wet skin slapping against each other filling the room.

“You take my cock so well, baby.” There's strain in his voice and it does wonders for your ego knowing you can make him like this. Walls clenching tight around him as you grind down against him. The velvety friction between your legs waking a dull ache.

A yelp coated masked with a giggle falls from your lips. The quick slap against your ass making your cheek jiggle underneath his palm. His hips snap roughly up into you, body bouncing over his and you're reaching for his chest to keep yourself from falling over.

His hand smacks against you again, before he's gripping the flesh; pulling your body down onto him as he lifts his hips. Filling you to the hilt and holding his cock there as he rolls his hips, the tip of his cock rubbing against that rough patch of skin.

“I'm gonna cum- Babe, please..” You beg, fingers sliding down the front of your body to find your clit. Quick circles are made over the bundle of nerves as you roll your hips over his, free hand tangling in his hair as your chest finds his.

Yoongi catches your lips in a heated kiss, thrusts growing sloppy as he chases his own release. His mouth tastes heavily of you, wet lips sliding over yours. “Fuck, do that again.” He murmurs when your walls clench around him. Involuntarily because of your nearing orgasm, but you tighten your muscles once more for him.

A drawn-out moan falls from his lips, strong hands coming down onto your hips to hold them still as he fucks into you with much fervor. Body bouncing over his as he fucks himself further to his release. It's not long before his cum is filling you, harsh breaths leaving his lips as he rides out his own orgasm.

With your fingers toying with your clit between you, you're not far from your own orgasm. Your walls squeezing tight around him as your toes curl lashes fluttering.

“God, baby.” He breaths once he's regained his composure, easily pulling his cock from inside of you. A soothing hand finds your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin as your body twitches with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Both of you lay wrapped in each other, sticky and hot but neither of you has the strength to move. Your hair is twirled between his fingers as you place wet kisses against his damp skin. “You're gonna drive me insane,” He's saying after a few moments of silence passes between the two of you.

A sweet laugh falls from your lips, head lifting so you can get a better look at his flushed face. Cheeks pink and a light layer of sweat on his forehead. “That's the plan, baby.” There's a flutter in his chest from the sight of your big smile, a smile pushing on to his own lips as he leans up – covering your lips with his.

He can hear the others downstairs, loudly debating who'd come get you guys to start dinner. Yoongi doesn't flinch, doesn't make any moves of getting away from you. Set on enjoying the feeling of having you in his arms, your tongue drawing a line down the length of his neck.

Dinner could wait.

- seven days in the forest spent with your seven boyfriends while they film their upcoming reality tv show. there’s no telling what the eight of you will get into when the cameras are off.

⬷ masterlist ⤖

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[inkykeiji]

do i make you scared? baby won’t you take me back

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, shigaraki tomura

genre: smut with a bit of angst sprinkled over it

notes: the second part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back. i’m really not kidding when i say this is almost entirely smut. uhhh virgin!tomura is a nasty nasty boy, please please please heed the warnings and stay safe! <3 | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), non-consensual branding (yes, branding in the sense that something is being burned into the skin), noncon/dubcon, dacryphilia, cheating, degradation/dumbification, emotional manipulation, cumplay/snowballing, cockwarming, size difference, generally toxic relationships

words: 7.1k

synopsis:

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back.

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

To your surprise, you spend the rest of your night the day after the party texting Tomura, and every time your screen lights up with a message from him, it sends a whole flock of butterflies fluttering in your tummy. You should feel guilty, really, but you’ve never been in a situation like this before and it’s…exhilarating.

It’s risky, answering these texts when Touya’s a mere few feet from you, but it sends sparks shooting up your spine, the idea of getting caught doing something you’re definitely not supposed to, the very thought of how upset he’d be if he knew, making you feel giddy.

You guard your phone closely for the rest of the week, deleting messages exactly after you send them—Touya has taken it and gone through it in the past, so it wasn’t far-fetched to think he may try to do the same thing again. It wasn’t like he didn’t notice your nose in your phone, little giggles bubbling up from your chest as you responded to whatever was on the screen. You can see it in his eyes, the frustration building each and every time a soft laugh escapes your lips, eyes glimmering as you tap out a response.

You plan your impending visit strategically, in tandem with Tomura. He knows Touya’s unpredictable and seemingly ever-changing schedule better than you do, and you both know that there’s absolutely no way in hell Touya would ever willingly let you hang out with each other—he barely leaves the two of you alone when Tomura comes over to your house, so you can only imagine how livid he’d be if you even asked to go spend some time with him, just the two of you.

You wear your prettiest dress—Touya’s favourite dress, a deep, satiny crimson—two inches too short to be considered proper, the hem brushing your midthigh. It hides a pair of baby pink cotton panties you’re sure Tomura will like.

Your veins thrum with the combined mix of terror and anticipation as he lets you in, and the heady combination has your entire body trembling. Tomura gives you a look as you kick your shoes off, eyes narrowed as they scan your body.

“You comin’ down or something?”

“I-I’m not allowed drugs,” you admit meekly, eyes falling to your feet, toes wiggling a bit.

Tomura snorts, an amused little smirk on his lips as he mutters, “No, of course not,”

Long, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, his cold touch making you jump, giving a slight yank as he begins leading you. He lives alone, in an apartment his father pays for—which is surprisingly much tidier than you expected—and you can’t help but look around curiously, eager to learn more about him, glazed eyes searching for hints in the empty takeout containers littering the counter, in the few articles of clothing strewn around the place.

Brows knit together when he bypasses his bedroom completely—the door wide open to reveal a large bed with blue sheets tangled at the bottom—and leads you to a living room with plush couches and an ornate rug you’re positive he didn’t pick out by himself. His fingers release, and he plops down on the floor, hands curling around a gaming controller. Scarlet eyes drift to you, up your legs and to your face, and you resist the urge to shiver under his intense gaze—you’re sure he can see straight up your dress from this angle.

But he does nothing except look at you expectantly, not breaking his stare until you finally sit down next to him, daintily tucking your knees under yourself.

Then he’s shoving an extra controller at you almost aggressively, the sudden motion pulling a gasp from your throat, making you flinch away.

“Relax,” he rolls his eyes, pushing the controller at you again and shaking it a little in his hand, trying to entice you to take it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, or anything,”

“You…You’re—what?”

Tomura observes you carefully, scrutinizing now, eyes narrowing a little as they scan your face. You stare back at him dumbly, lips slightly parted. “What?” he snaps.

“But I thought—I mean, I want you to—”

“What?”

“That came out wrong,” you rush to say, shutting your eyes tightly in embarrassment. “What I mean is…Um, didn’t I come over so we can like, fuck?” your cheeks burn as you force the words out, ears ringing as blood rushes to your face, so loud you almost miss his sharp intake of breath.

Tomura’s eyes widen and he stares at you for a long moment before he checks his phone, scrolling through your messages. “You said…You wanted to play video games?”

You look at him, blinking in astonishment. “And you believed that?”

Tomura frowns a little, eyebrows knitting, slightly defensive. “Well, yeah?”

You’re at a loss for words as you stare back at the man sitting cross-legged in front of you, watching you closely. This is the guy Touya so desperately didn’t want you to be around?

Powerless to stop the little giggle that bubbles up in your throat, you inch towards him on your knees. “You’re kinda cute, y’know?”

Soft notes of tiger orchid and sweet sticky toffee waft over him, your body heat clinging to his skin as you settle beside him, thigh touching his knee. He seethes at you, and his fingers twitch around the controller, a hand moving to rake his nails against his neck.

You reach out, little fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling it away from his flesh.

“Do you want to?” you ask softly, gazing at him through your lashes, bringing his palm to rest over your breast.

“Are you stupid?” he spits, fingers instantly tightening the moment they meet satin, the strength of his grip making you gasp. “Of course I fucking want to. Do you know how many times I’ve jerked off to you? Christ,”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at the confession, sparking a dull heat that begins to spread deep in the pit of your stomach. You’re flattered, even though you can hear Touya’s voice in the back of your mind, sharp and condescending, reprimanding you for being so easy.

“Yeah? What did you think about?” Your voice quivers a little as you ask the question, but that doesn’t stop his ruby eyes from darkening, his free hand dropping the controller to shamelessly rub at the bulge in his jeans.

“How cute your little cunt must be, how sweet it’d taste, how good those lips would feel wrapped around my cock as I fuck your throat,” his voice drops an octave as he speaks, low and dangerous as he kneads your breast hard—too hard, but adrenaline keeps the pain from registering.

He’s reaching for you now, pale hands pawing at your hips and dragging you over, forcing you to straddle his lap. A soft whimper falls from your lips as he instantly begins rolling his hips up, like he can’t bear to wait, fingers digging into your flesh as they hold you in place.

Neither can you, apparently, because you begin wiggling a little in his grasp, trying in vain to rut against him.

“You’re a little whore, huh? Even with a virgin, you can’t help but grind on a hard cock,” he smirks, lips at your ear. “A hard cock’s a hard cock I guess, makes no difference to you, greedy little slut,”

A mewl escapes your throat as you nod, hips pushing forcefully against his, grinding your little cunt against rough denim.

Wait, virgin?

“A v-virgin?”

“Yeah, lucky you,”

His words taper off into a growl, vibrating in his chest, hands leaving your waist to cup your jaw and roughly pull your face to his, lips crashing into yours. You emit a soft, startled noise into his mouth, and he swallows it greedily, tongue forcing its way through your parted lips and into your mouth, commanding your own tongue into submission almost instantaneously.

It’s nothing like kissing Touya. Your body follows your tongue, melting into him. Fingers grip your jaw, pressing crescent indents into the skin as he guides your head to exactly where he wants it to go.

It isn’t romantic. It’s harsh, and desperate, a mess of teeth and tongues fighting for dominance. A hand tangles in your hair and pulls, forcing your head back and revealing your arched neck to him. His lips trail down the column of your throat, leaving wet, sloppy kisses in their wake.

“I wanna fuck you already,” he whines a little, aggressively thrusting against your clothed core. You moan out an affirmative noise, nodding.

“One rule,” you breathe out.

“Hmm? And what’s that?” his lips are against your neck, tongue painting it in glistening saliva with slow, languid strokes.

“No marks,” you yelp out just as his teeth sink into your skin. It stings, Tomura keeping his mouth latched onto your neck for a few seconds, teeth buried in the soft flesh. His tongue laves over the mark before pulling away completely, and a shiver crawls up your spine as the bite is exposed to the cool air.

He’s giggling into your shoulder, nipping at the skin superficially. “Oops,”  

“Tomura!” you whine, making no effort to pull his lips from your neck. “Touya’s going to murder me,”

He laughs again, pulling back and rolling his eyes. “And, what? He isn’t already going to kill you for fucking someone else?”

There isn’t a moment to respond, though, not a second to try and explain how weird Touya gets about marks in particular, because then he’s crushing his lips to yours again, hard, fervent, bruising.

“Gonna cum soon if you don’t fucking do something,” he practically snarls into your mouth.

The very thought of Tomura cumming in his pants just from a few minutes of dry humping makes your entire stomach flutter, a flash of pure confidence surging in your chest as involuntary words tumble from your mouth.

“Oh?” you murmur, breath hot against his lips. “Something? Like this?” you begin gyrating your hips in tiny, quick circles, giggling at the groan you rip from his throat.

And Tomura hates how fucking innocent you sound, gazing at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips and a sinful little smile.

“Stop,” it’s supposed to be a command, an order, but it comes out as a broken whine, his hands latching onto your hips again as he forces you to move even faster, rocking into you.

“Doesn’t feel like you want me to stop,” you pout a little and he huffs out a curse.

It’s intoxicating, to be in a position of power like this. It isn’t your favourite—you’re much too shy and indecisive to be in a role like this all the time—but the novelty of it excites you nonetheless. Touya never lets you do anything like this, hates being teased with a passion, but Tomura seems to enjoy it, like it’s some sort of game to him.

“Little bitch,” he breathes out, though his forehead is resting against yours, eyes shut, soft grunts spilling from his throat.

“C’mon, Tomura,” you whimper, and now it sounds like you’re the one begging. “Make a mess in your pants for me? P-Pretty please?”

That’s all it takes to have his hips stilling, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he grips you tightly, holding you in place and forcing you to grind against him ever-so-slightly as his cock throbs and twitches in his jeans.

You expect him to push you off immediately after, to shout and berate you for such behaviour, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans back against the bottom of the couch, arms encircling your waist and bringing you with him.

It must be uncomfortable, to sit in those soiled jeans filled with cum, but he doesn’t seem to care, more interested in exploring your mouth with his tongue as you kiss lazily. You don’t mind, although your clit is aching and swollen, pussy fluttering around nothing every so often as his fingers explore your body, kneading your ass and tweaking nipples, your panties soaked all the way through and sticking to you unpleasantly.

And it’s due to this that your hips still manage to rock against his in minuscule movements that are more teasing than anything else, little micro-circles that have your drenched cunt grinding gently against wet denim.

It seems he has an impossibly short refraction period because, before long, his cock’s hard again, pressing up into your clothed hole. You whimper his name into his mouth and he breaks the kiss, lips red and puffy, shining with saliva.  

“Take my cock out,” he instructs, voice stern despite his slight breathlessness. You crawl off his lap and do as your told, popping the button, tugging the zipper down and pulling at the waistband of his jeans. He lifts his hips just enough to aid you in dragging them down to his thighs, cock springing free.

“Clean it up,”

It’s covered in cum, so much cum—too much cum, more than is normal—glistening in the low light of the living room. It twitches a little under your gaze, as if to say get on with it already, so you wrap a hand around the base and bring the head to your lips.

You start with kitten licks, tongue tracing around the head and playing with the slit, pulling a deep, throaty moan from him.

“Don’t—Don’t swallow it,” he rasps. “Clean me up and keep all my cum in your mouth,”

It’s difficult—his cum is much more bitter than Touya’s, and you gag a few times as it settles on your tongue, marinating in your mouth. You try your best to hold it in your cheeks and away from your tastebuds, working as quickly as possible as you lap it up, gazing up at him with teary eyes when you’re finished.

“What a good girl,” he spits in a patronizing tone, like it’s an insult. “Kiss me,”

It’s a demand you have no choice but to obey, a hand rooting in your hair and yanking you up to face him.

He all but smashes your lips together, fingers still wrapped tightly in your hair, holding you in place. His tongue forces its way through your lips and you greet it eagerly, desperate to get his cum out of your mouth.

Except he doesn’t let you pull away after you’ve passed the majority of his cum to him, the bitter taste still stinging your tongue. No, he uses the fist tangled in your hair to keep you still as he shoves his tongue into your mouth again, transferring the cum—now watered down a little with his saliva—into the warm cavern yet again.

You whine, and he chuckles, lips spreading into a grin against yours.

“Swallow it,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to watch your expression as you force it down your throat, face souring, eyes squeezed shut as your lips pucker just a little. “Open, lemme see,”

Your mouth falls open obediently, little droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you gaze up at him, waiting for approval.

“Good,” he practically purrs, eyes darkening as his fingers caress your face. “Now I want to fuck you,”

You’re nodding, but he doesn’t give you a moment to respond, beginning to manhandle you into the position he wants before he’s even finished speaking. The oriental rug is soft against your cheek as he presses your face to the ground, hands curling around your hips as he hoists them up.

“What cute little panties,” he breathes, dragging a finger along your clothed slit before yanking the material down to your knees.

It stings a little as he practically shoves his cock into your sopping cunt, not bothering to stretch you out—you’re not even sure if he knows he’s supposed to—but you’re wet enough that the breach is relatively easy, and the burning fades quickly as your little hole adjusts to the girth of his cock.

He begins thrusting immediately, and he’s rough, overeager, uncoordinated, the vicious snaps of his hips uneven and sloppy.

Truthfully, he’s only using you as a hole the first time, but you don’t mind—not really, anyway. Blazing sapphire sears through your mind, and you think about how furious Touya would be if he knew, if he could see the way you’re degrading yourself, letting yourself be reduced to nothing but a fucktoy for a nasty virgin to desperately hump away at, sacrificing your own pleasure for his.

Touya would never.

To Touya, making you cum is half the fun. He gets a rush from it, gets high off the way you go absolutely fucking stupid from his fingers and cock, how quickly he can turn your brain to soup, rendering you a dumb little blabbering mess only capable of whining out the words niichan and Touya-nii. It feeds his ever-growing ego.

But Tomura is eager to please in a different way. He’s more selfish than Touya, sure, but he’s keen to learn all he can, curious and committed.

And, once he finally gets the hang of it, confident, too.

His thrusts gain more finesse as he fucks you, but he’s unable to keep up any steady rhythm, the tight fluttering of your pussy every time he grazes a specific spot inside of you making his hips stutter, forcing needy, guttural groans from his throat.

He cums quick—not that you expect any less from a virgin—with a deep growl of your name that has your stomach swooping, cunt throbbing around him again as he fills you with thick, burning cum.

You’re exhausted by the end of it, abused body melting into the lush carpet as your cunt throbs desperately, his cum slowly oozing out of it. Tomura snorts as he looks down at you, gentle hands tugging your panties down the rest of your legs and removing them completely, discarding them a few feet away.

“Up you go,” he’s murmuring as hands snake under your armpits and haul you up. You mumble his name and he hushes you, collapsing heavily on the couch with you still in his arms. Strong hands manhandle you into straddling his lap again, leaking pussy pressed against his softening cock.

The television hums to life, quiet main menu music floating through the room as the soft clicking of buttons sounds behind you.

You should go home now. You know you should. You’ve done what you came here to do, and now you should be leaving.

Should, should, should.

But Tomura’s so warm, and you’re so tired, muscles aching despite the fact that he did most of the work.

“Rest,” he instructs quietly when you begin to whine into his neck, fingers preoccupied with unwrapping a piece of watermelon bubblegum.

He’s so much softer than you expected—disgusting, but soft—and you can’t believe you spent months being terrified of him. You know this is probably the last time you’ll be able to see him in a long time—a fact that produces an inexplicable ache deep in your chest—so you allow yourself bask in the moment, just for a little, you promise yourself.

You obey his gentle command, snuggling up against him and permitting yourself to drift in and out of consciousness to the sound of aliens being killed and aggressive button smashing.

But then something hard is poking you—you aren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting here for now, long enough for Tomura to power through a few matches, at least—and that blistering heat flares again, beginning to coil tight in your tummy.

You shift a little, an involuntary whine slipping from your lips.

“What is it?” Tomura asks, eyes never straying from the screen, fingers never pausing. “You wanna sit on my cock, baby?”

Christ, yes. You mumble into his shoulder, nodding and rolling your hips in response.

He chuckles—a low, quiet sound rattling around in his chest—and allows you to sink down on him again, captivated by the soft moan you emit as you do so, crimson eyes gleaming and breathing slightly laboured.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters when his avatar on the screen gets shot, redirecting his attention.

And it’s…it’s nice. Surprisingly nice. He’s cozy, and comfy, his breathing slow and even with every rise of his chest, despite the alien shrieks coming from the TV behind you. He smells like cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon with just a hint of cedarwood, and you inhale deeply, letting the scent fill your lungs.

Touya rarely lets you cockwarm him; Touya doesn’t have the patience, Touya doesn’t have the time. You fall into a state halfway between asleep and awake, hips rocking against Tomura just enough to keep him hard, just enough to have you whimpering into his neck.

He could get used to this, he tells you. The confession is soft, a private little thought that just kinda slips out, mindlessly falling from his lips, but you could, too, you think.

It’s intimate, which is odd, considering you barely know him, used to be frightened of him. But it’s such a refreshing contrast to Touya’s intense, scalding flame.

Eventually, though, it isn’t enough, the teasing’s too much, and you need more.

Gazing up at him with glittering eyes, you begin to trail your lips up his neck, over his self-inflicted scars, slowly, hesitantly.

He inhales sharply, jumping a little in surprise, and you freeze, terrified you might’ve overstepped some invisible boundary you were not previously aware of.

“Keep going,” he whines, a little petulantly, hips wiggling against yours.

Lips resuming their ministrations, you place gentle, chaste kisses up the column of his throat and along his jaw, delighting in each soft sigh you manage to pull from him. The game playing on the TV suddenly halts, Tomura throwing the controller on the couch cushion next to you before large hands cup your face in a tender way you did not think him capable of.

Your mouths slot together, kissing messily, saliva glistening on your chins as you pass his watermelon gum back and forth between yourselves. It’s kinda gross, kinda filthy, juvenile and sloppy, but it’s fun, has the two of you giggling into each other’s mouths, a little breathless from it all.

“Wanna ride you,” you murmur, almost shyly, against his slippery lips.

“Yeah?” he rasps, just barely bouncing you in his lap. “You wanna use my cock to get off?”

“Yes, please,” the plead comes out as a pathetic whimper, and you squirm impatiently.

Finally, finally you get to cum. In this position, you have leverage over the angle of your hips, able to situate yourself just right, so his cockhead nudges exactly where you want it to.

He does nothing this time, just leans back and watches you with those dark, half-lidded scarlet eyes, hands idly exploring your thighs, occasionally raking his nails down them. He’s in a trance as he gazes at you, mesmerized by the way your eyes are starting to roll back, by the way each drag of his cock against that spot has you keening, by the way his name leaves your lips in broken little whines that have him gasping in response.

Your hips speed up, and you’re desperate, so desperate to cum, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders through his thin t-shirt.

“Gonna—” he starts, breathless. “Gonna cum?”

You nod a little frantically as eager hips rock against him, his hands finally finding your waist and helping you move.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Wanna feel you,”

And it’s his begging that does it, that finally sends you over the edge, pussy clenching around him, convulsing almost painfully and gushing on his cock with a sharp cry of his name. He follows immediately after, painting your insides with hot cum as a curse hitches in his chest.

Your body collapses against him, going pliant and boneless as you both pant. Everything feels heavy—you haven’t had an orgasm that intense in a while—and the absolute last thing you want to do is get up and walk home.

Tomura can sense it. He can feel it in the way your fingers are knotting in his t-shirt, in the way your hips try to scoot forward, chest pressed against his tightly, and he wraps an arm around you, trying to keep you close for just a minute more.

Silence blankets the room as the two of you calm your breathing. You’ve been anticipating a certain sense of awkwardness to finally wash over you all night, but it never comes. Instead, it’s pleasant, and you hum a little, nuzzling your face into Tomura’s shoulder as skinny fingers brush through your hair.

“I don’t wanna go,” you say, and it’s so quiet, muffled by the material of his shirt, that he barely hears it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to.

“Just stay,” he mumbles, resting his chin atop your head. “Text your dad some bullshit, or whatever,”

You want to. You’re surprised at how much you desperately want to.

“Touya will kill me,”

“Touya’s gonna kill ya either way, sweetheart,”

You suppose that’s true. Neither of you tricked yourselves into thinking that you’d actually get away with this. Touya will know the moment he sees you, will probably be able to smell Tomura all over you, but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care, not in that moment, not when Tomura’s so comfy and you’re so sleepy and it’s all just nice.

Good, you think. It’s about time he gets a taste of how much stuff like this hurts.

And so you find yourself crawling into his bed, in one of his t-shirts, with bruises in the shape of his fingertips rapidly blossoming, heat seeping into your cheeks when he tells you he thinks you look cute in his clothes.

He latches onto you the moment you’ve settled into his mattress, long arms encircling your waist and dragging you towards him. One of your legs slots between his, and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Hard again, Tomura?”

“Shut up,” he says, no heat to his voice. “Can’t help it,”

His words echo your own, three simple words you’ve said so many times to Touya, and you feel a pang in your chest.

“Not my fault you’re too hot,” he continues, grumbling into your neck.

Honestly, you didn’t peg him as a cuddler, and maybe he isn’t—maybe he just wants to grind and hump against your thigh—but you welcome the warmth of his body nonetheless.

It doesn’t bother you, although it probably should, as he ruts against you, tiny broken moans and high, breathy whines being exhaled against your neck. But it’s so new, all of this is so new to you, and curiosity clouds your better judgement. While you’re pretty sure you should be shoving him away, reprimanding him for such behaviour, positive that’s what any normal person would do, you don’t. Little fingers thread in his hair instead, carding through silvery-blue fluffy tufts, reveling in the groan it pulls from him.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum, thick and sticky in his boxers, the material wet against your thigh. You’re impressed, both by how easily he cums, and how much he cums. You want to tell him, want to tease him about it a little, let him know you think it’s cute, but heavy, hazy fatigue begins to wash over you, and you fall asleep to Tomura’s soft breaths mingled with the sound of you phone buzzing, over and over and over again.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

Your phone’s dead when you wake sometime in the early afternoon, and for that, you’re thankful. Anxiety floods your stomach, bubbling up in your chest acidly as you think about what’ll be waiting for you when you recharge it.

Tomura walks you to the door, which you find to be very odd behaviour, but sweet nonetheless, and watches carefully as you slip on your shoes.

“Uh, text me later, okay?” He sounds unsure for the first time since you’ve been with him, and your expression softens.

“I will, if Touya doesn’t take my phone away,”

And you pretend to miss the look on his face, the way his eyebrows knit as a hand comes to scratch idly at his neck, the way he looks almost worried. It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

       ✰          ✰          ✰  

He knows. The moment you step foot through the front door, he knows.

You knew he would, but it doesn’t make the glare scathing your skin any less terrifying.

He’s on you in an instant—you didn’t even know humans could move that fast—pinning you to the drywall, large hands wrapped around your wrists and forcing them above your head, keeping you trapped.

“You little slut,”

Unexpected anger flares in your chest, even though tears are already beginning to collect in your eyes, and you squirm in his grasp.

“I fuck one other person, and I’m the slut?”

You gasp the moment the words leave your lips, wide eyes searching his face and shaking your head frantically, would slap your hands over your mouth if they weren’t currently secured in his bruising grip against the wall.

The look he gives you is absolutely petrifying, blue eyes darker than the ocean—so dark they almost look black—his stare cold and hard as stone, sending sharp spikes of ice up your spine.

“You fucking reek of him,” he spits, face screwing up in disgust. You’re sure you do, too, after spending a good twelve hours in his bed, almost positive you can smell him in your hair, the remnants of cheap cigarettes and artificial watermelon clinging to you.

Patronizing eyes rake over you, zeroing in on the violet that’s bloomed on your neck. His nostrils flare as he stares at it, breath beginning to come in rapid, uneven huffs. His eyes slowly drift back to yours, an unreadable expression settling on his face.

It’s shock, and disbelief, and rage, and…and sadness? It passes too quickly for you to even tell, and then he’s pulling your wrists down callously, still gathered in his hand, and dragging you towards his room.

He all but throws you on his bed face first, breathing harsh and erratic as he exhales forcefully through his nose and climbs on top of you, knees on either side of your thighs. A large hand wraps itself in your hair and tugs, forcing your upper body to arch.

“Was it good?” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. You think you might be able to detect a hint of distress sown into his voice, but you have no time to meditate on the thought as he yanks again, pulling your head back further. “Was it worth it?”

Glistening tears stream down your cheeks and you exhale harshly through your nose, teeth gritted as you urgently try to stop crying.

“Fucking answer me,” he growls out the words, but he sounds almost…desperate? You’ve never heard his voice like this before, and it’s then that it finally dawns on you.

You got him back. Sure, he’s furious beyond belief, looks like he could kill you right here, right now, with his bare fucking hands—but he’s also extremely upset, if the slight quiver present in his voice is any indication.

“Yes,” you wheeze out. If it made him feel even an ounce of the emotional turmoil he’s put you through with his whores, then yes, it was absolutely worth it.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” his voice is low, threatening, calm. It’s disturbing, how quickly he can switch, and a chill of unease settles deep in your bones—once Touya stops with his growls and snarls, once his voice becomes monotonous and almost serene in a way, that’s when you know he’s really angry.

Shoving your head down into the mattress, he tells you to stay fucking put as he gets up and wanders over to his desk. He returns to the bed moments later with a tool that vaguely resembles a pen, hand tangling in your hair again as he pulls you up.

“You know what this is?”

You shake your head as best you can.

“It’s a soldering iron,” his voice is still composed and collected, sounding almost as if he’s explaining something to a child, but there’s a malevolent glint in his eye, a look you’ve never seen before. “It gets really, really hot. I just so happened to be warming one on my desk,”

He says it so nonchalantly, as if this is an object one would regularly keep in their bedroom or on their desk.

“It’s not supposed to be used on skin,” he shrugs a little, twirling the tool between his fingers. “But today, I think we’ll make an exception,”

“What?”

“Head down, ass up,” he instructs sternly, pushing your head into his pillows.

“Touya, wait—” you start, the rest of your sentence muffled by the sheets. His hand gives one firm shove—a warning to stay down—and then he begins shuffling around on the bed.

Careful to keep your cheek pressed hard against the pillow, you turn your head just enough to speak.

“Wh-What are you doing?” Your voice is trembling, thick with tears, dense anxiety building in your chest.

“I’m going to burn my name into your pretty little ass,” he responds simply as he positions himself behind you, yanking your panties midway down your thighs and sitting back on his heels. “A nice, pretty, permanent mark so you, and everyone else, never forget who you fucking belong to,”

“No!” you gasp, beginning to lift your head only to have him force it back into the pillow with a snarl. “No, Tou—niichan, I-I’ll do anything, please—”

“No, no, no, baby,” he says over your senseless babbling, voice almost gentle, thumb caressing your silky skin. “Don’t squirm, now,” he chides. “If you squirm, my hand might slip, and I might burn other parts of your body. We don’t want that, do we? Be a good girl for niichan and sit still,”

And so you do. You should feel ashamed, pathetic, revolted that he’s able to manipulate you so easily, that he knows exactly how to turn you into putty to be molded and shaped as he pleases, even when he’s about to sear his name into your skin.

It burns unlike anything you’ve ever felt before as he carefully carves his name into the supple flesh, saying the letters out loud as he does so. It’s a unique, stinging-stabbing type of pure agony, one that sends sharp pain radiating up to your lower back and down your thigh.  

Fingers curl in his dark sheets as you sob into his bed—chest-wracking sobs that have your entire body trembling, chest-wracking sobs that you so desperately try to hold back and swallow, to stay still, to be good for your niichan. Touya tells you to be happy, be grateful, that the temperature of his iron goes up so high.

“Otherwise, I would’ve had to go over it several times in order to make it really stick,”

It’s over quickly, though, a mere fifteen minutes later and he’s cleaning it with rubbing alcohol and gently taping thick gauze over it and uses this opportunity to take your panties off entirely.

“Good girl,” he praises as he hoists you up, manhandling you to straddle his spread thighs, careful of your now very sensitive bottom. “You did so good for niichan,”

And you can’t stand the way your heart weakly flutters at his praise. You can’t stand the way you instinctually bury your head in his chest, tiny fists forming in the material of his t-shirt as you wail, can’t stand the way he is still the only one you want comforting you.

His cock is hard through his jeans, and you can feel it pressing into your core as he shifts a little under you. It’s humiliating, but you’re powerless to stop your hips from moving in subtle little circles, grinding your cunt against the rough denim. And he lets you do it for a little, too, tender fingers petting your hair as he soothes your sobs, taming them to little sniffles and hiccups.

“Niichan’s gonna fuck you now, okay?” he asks softly, murmuring against your scalp, voice almost sickly sweet.

It takes you a moment to respond, eventually nodding your head.

A smirk spreads across his lips and he instructs you to get up, tapping the side of your thigh.

You lift yourself, walking back on your knees and giving him enough room to free his aching cock from the confines of his jeans before his hands find your hips again, dragging you back.

“Baby,” he breathes as his fingers spread your folds, his eyes darkening in a manner much different than before. “Already wet for me?”

Cheeks burning with shame, you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck, whimpering a little as he pushes a finger into you.

“Don’t tell me,” he gasps tauntingly, voice dripping with artificial surprise. “You didn’t like being branded, did you?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head quickly. No, it wasn’t the branding that did it—not really, anyway. It was the aftercare. It was Touya’s cold hands gently tending to your injured bottom, Touya pulling you into his lap as he praised you and dropped kisses to the crown of your head, Touya getting hard from the punishment, from permanently searing his name into your flesh.

You should be disgusted with yourself, with how eager you are, hips wiggling a little only a few moments later as you whine out softly, “Niichan, cock,”

“Impatient,” he huffs. “Don’t get bratty with me now, you were doing so well,”

A pout forms on your face, still hidden in his shoulder.

“Jus’ want it so bad,” you mumble against him, beginning to slur your words. “Please, Touya-nii?”

He hums to himself, makes you beg just a little bit more, reveling in the way your voice begins to get desperate, all high and needy as you try to fuck yourself on his fingers, whimpering and begging with pathetic little please, niichan?’s.

“Is this how you want it? Huh? Wanna ride niichan?”

Mewling a little, you nod, rolling your hips into his palm.

“Words, sweetheart,”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “W-Wanna ride you,”

Finally, he gives it to you, lets you sink down on his cock, watching the way you wince as it stretches you, expression contradicted by your soft moans.

He forces you to begin bouncing immediately, doesn’t allow you to set the pace—he never does—smirking at those little pained cries spilling from your throat, though whether they’re because his cock or the five letters freshly burned into your skin, he isn’t sure. Maybe both; probably both.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, tone condescending. “Does it hurt?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, the threat of tears stinging your eyes.

“Yeah? Yeah?” his voice mimics yours, pitched high and whiny. “I bet it fucking does,”

A hand travels down to grope your ass—specifically, the cheek with the brand—squeezing hard as fingers dig into your skin. You cry out, tears finally leaking from your eyes, chest hitching as you sob out, “Touya-nii,”

“Don’t ever do something like that again,” he says in your ear, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you ever go fuck another man because you’re mad at me, do you understand?”

Heat begins to coil tightly in your stomach at his smooth, dark voice. “Y-Yes,”

“Promise me,” he growls, grip tightening on your ass.

“I promise,” you’re weeping as he gives one more harsh squeeze, pain scorching through your backside, a loud yelp escaping your lips.

“Bet his cock didn’t feel as good as mine,” he sneers in your ear, panting a little. “Wasn’t as big as mine, didn’t fill you up the way mine does,”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in time with his thrusts, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Probably could—” a low groan cuts him off as your pussy flutters around him. “Could never make you cum the way I do,”

A loud whine rips from your throat, your head nodding as he continues his relentless thrusts up into you, never once faltering. Adrenaline and endorphins rush through your veins, high off the heady mixture of pleasure and pain.

“N-Niichan,” you gasp, nails digging into his flesh through the material of his thin t-shirt. “Niichan,”

“Gonna cum? Hmm? Gonna make a mess all over niichan’s cock?” he’s asking breathlessly, slamming into you at a rapid pace and using his thighs for more leverage, hands gripping your hips.

“Uh-huh,”

“Do it, then,” he commands hoarsely. “Cum on your niichan’s cock,”

And you do, helplessly, incapable of disobeying a direct order, creaming so hard your vision blanks for a second, overwhelmed by the extreme, potent mix of pain and pleasure crashing over you.

“Who do you belong to?” Touya’s nearly keening now, hips jackhammering, making your body twitch and shudder with every sharp thrust into your sensitive pussy.

“You,”

“Tell me again,”

“I belong to you, niichan,”

And those five simple words—those five simple words have him cumming hard, hips stilling and cockhead pressed firmly against your cervix, filling your cute little cunt with his seed as broken curses fall from his lips.

You’re both panting, covered in a thin, sheen layer of sweat, your hair sticking to your face and little droplets of tears still glistening on your lash line. He all but collapses back against the bed, taking you with him, cock still buried inside of you.

“And I’m yours,” he whispers into your hair, hugging you tightly—too tightly—to his heaving chest. “I’m yours,”

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, you wonder if you’re destined to play this game for the rest of your lives.

He’s yours.

Are you stuck with him now, forever?

He’s yours.

Will you every get married? Ever get the chance to date someone else?

He’s yours.

Do you even want to?

Laying in his arms, in his bed, with his name burned into your ass, knowing he’s yours, do you even want any of that?

No. With your head resting against his chest, rising and falling with his gentle breaths, slender fingers combing through your sweaty hair, you realize that this is all you want.

He’s yours, and you’re his, and that is enough.