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mypoisonedvine · 2 years

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𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 || billy knight x nurse!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || during his time in hospital, billy couldn't help but fancy the sweet but headstrong american nurse taking care of him. it would've been harmless if it weren't for your own growing crush on your patient: the quiet, gentle man with those brown eyes that made your heart flutter when he looked at you like that.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 9.5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (18+ ONLY!!, male masturbation and brief oral m receiving), medical ethics violation so kinda dubious consent but trust me it is very much wanted, fluff, some angst, touchstarved billy, american reader, mentions/discussions of psychosis and other psychotic patients, brief mentions of SA, hopeless romantic billy, yeah just lots of sweetness with some filth in the middle

"It's important that you stay calm."

That was what made him look at you, scared and confused, before he seemed to finally notice the hand you'd laid on his shoulder to try to soothe him: that was always a risk, touching them without permission, but he'd woken up with a start and been so clearly upset and disoriented, you didn't know what else to do.

Thankfully, as he looked at your hand on him, he stilled, hesitantly leaning back onto the propped-up bed. The doctors thought it would be better for him if the bed was partially upright while he began to exit his coma, preventing too much blood pooling near the wound at his chest.

You took your hand away as he stilled, and he looked around the white-and-beige room. "Where am I?" he asked.

"Saint Anne's, South London," you answered. He raised an eyebrow at you and you figured why he asked.

"Did you think you'd somehow woken up in America? Because of my accent?" you snorted.

He blinked self-consciously; "Err— I guess not."

"You wouldn't be the first," you assured him.

"What's an American nurse doing in London anyway?" he wondered.

"Not much," you shrugged, "just healing the sick, feeding the hungry— generally being a saint."

He smirked a bit, and you smiled at him in return.

“I’ll be your day nurse while you’re here,” you explained, “so if you need something, you can press this button here— and it’ll be me that comes, most of the time, if I’m not too busy and have to send somebody else. Anything you need, I’ll do my best to help you, alright?”

A moment’s hesitation was followed by a nod, and he seemed too nervous to even look right at you— he would take these little glances over you, then up at your face, then back down to his bed again. He wiped his fist under his nose quickly.

“William, is it?”

“Erm, Billy,” he corrected. “Jus’ Billy.”

He cleared his throat dryly as his voice cracked, and you tilted your head. “Would you like some water?”

He nodded again, and thankfully you already had a cup of chilled water ready for him— the big kind with a handle and straw, and markings on the side so you could monitor how well he was hydrating. You picked it up and held it for him, guiding the bendy straw to his chapped lips so he could drink.

You knew already what kind of patient he’d be— the kind who didn’t like to ask you for anything, so you had to figure it out on your own. There were definitely more like that here than back in America where you’d first started nursing; patients in the States seemed to have a much easier time asking for what they needed. Here, there was usually some rigamarole to get them to admit they needed something— unless what they needed was painkillers, everyone’s pretty vocal about that.

“Is that better?” you asked quietly as you took the cup away, and Billy swallowed as he nodded. “I’ll set it here where you can reach it, just be careful with that IV,” you explained. “How’s your pain? Is your chest hurting you?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he promised, “can’t feel a thing… I’m guessing that won’t last long, though.”

You nodded in agreement. “They’ve still got you on the good stuff. They’ll switch you to Tylenol by the end of the day,” you explained.

“Afraid I’ll become an addict?” he assumed.

“Not quite,” you chuckled, “afraid you’ll get too constipated— side effect of the morphine.”

Billy choked, face turning a little pinker. “O-oh.”

You only rolled your eyes in amusement as you turned around to fiddle with one of his monitors. Patients, and Brits, were pretty shy by your standards; you preferred to be brutally honest, because there isn’t much need for prudishness in a mental ward. “If your heart rate gets too high, or too low, it’ll page me,” you explained. “Anything else, press this button here and I’ll be on my way— got it?”

“Yeah,” Billy hummed, “thanks.”

“Oh, don’t thank me,” you dismissed, “it’s just my job, and I love it. I’ll be back to check on you later, but Nurse Tilly’s bringing you lunch at noon. You’re not vegetarian, are you?” He shook his head. “Great! Do you want the TV on? Oh, uh, the telly, I mean…”

He shook his head again, and you nodded, leaving the remote on his bedside table in case he changed his mind. You could feel his eyes on you as you left, somehow, and his image was still in your mind as you shut the door behind you. Even as you went about the rest of your shift, checking in on your old patients and meeting some new ones, Billy in room 3041 was in your thoughts.

You didn’t know too much about the circumstances that brought him to your hospital— no one did, because he’d refused to tell police or paramedics who stabbed him. His chart gave a colorful history— psychotic breaks, episodes of delusion and paranoia, on and off medication for years— but his behavior was so… gentle. And very few of the people you’d encountered in this line of work were dangerous, despite the harmful stereotypes; but Billy was even more delicate than the usual, even more reserved. Maybe he’d brighten up a bit when he wasn’t freshly awake from surgery.

Shaking the thoughts of him away and trying to focus on work, you figured it was just a little infatuation with a handsome patient— happens to everyone, right?

It had taken quite the effort to get the woman to sit down— she’d been pacing and chewing her nails, and you finally convinced her that it would be better if she was sitting, and she did. After dodging some questions and looking around at the space behind you as if something was there— which, yes, was kind of unsettling but something you got used to— she finally got on with it and told you why she’d come to the hospital.

"They've put wires in me," she whimpered.

"I've never heard of that happening before," you admitted. "I wasn't even sure if aliens are real…"

"They are," she insisted.

"And how do you know there are wires in you? Did you see them put in?" you asked. If she said yes, you'd know her hallucinations were severe, but she shook her head; you took a note of that on her chart.

"I can feel them," she replied instead. "I can feel the electricity. They're making me like— like an antenna. For their ships, y'see? And it hurts."

Your heart twisted. "That would be terrifying," you agreed, "and painful—"

"Please, someone's got to take their wires out," she begged.

"Hold on," you tried to soothe her, "I'll check for entry wounds first, okay? To see if I can tell where they've put them in."

She shakily nodded, looking down at the floor where her feet shuffled around on fleck-patterned tile.

You carefully lifted her hands to examine her fingertips and wrists. "I haven't seen anything yet," you offered her quietly.

"Th-they hide them," she explained, "so the doctors can't see."

"Tricky, those aliens," you frowned as you nodded thoughtfully. "They don't want you to get any help, do they?"

She shook her head.

"But we can help you," you promised. "If we can't find the wires this way, we should do a CAT scan."

"What's tha'?" she asked suspiciously.

"Just a bunch of X-rays taken all at once," you explained. "If there's anything metal in you, it'll right up. They are metal wires, right?"

She nodded, already seeming to soothe a little at the prospect of a surefire way to find the wires she was feeling inside her. It made you feel better, too, that you could help her somehow just by listening.

"I'll have the doctors give you a thorough scan," you nodded with a smile, "and we can see what we find, okay?"

It seemed like a great idea at the time. You started to question it now that it was a few hours later and Dr. Humphries was glaring down at you.

"You ordered a CAT scan for a woman with schizophrenic delusions?" he snapped, looking up from the chart and back at you with a red face and flared nostrils.

"Uh, well—" you started to defend yourself.

"She doesn't need an MRI, she needs to be fucking medicated!" the doctor spat at you.

Straightening your back, you frowned as you took offense to his tone. "You think I don't know that?" you returned with just as much intensity as he'd thrown at you. "She's not going to take any pills we give her if we don't take her seriously. A CAT scan will take a half hour and it might give her some peace of mind."

"Believe it or not, nurse, the purpose of that million dollar machine is not 'peace of mind'."

"Don't you mean million pound?" you rolled your eyes.

"No— you're such a dolt, I know if I'd said that you'd've asked how I knew what it weighed," he sneered, all too proud of his wit no matter how minimal it was.

From inside his room, Billy watched the argument unfold; he couldn't hear much, but he could see you crossing your arms and puffing your cheeks and getting right back in the face of the man in the white coat while he barked at you. Another nurse was tending to his linens, and she caught a judgemental glance of the spat outside before shaking her head.

"Quite American, isn't she?" the nurse scoffed. "Can't back down from a fight— or keep her mouth shut, ever."

Billy smiled a little.

"And she's got no clue how to make a cuppa, either," the nurse added, "can't even use a kettle. Not sure how she plans to find a husband if she can't figure that out!"

Billy felt his chest warm, and not in the painful way he was used to with his healing wound. He didn't think you'd have much trouble at all.

He could tell you were in a worse mood than usual when you came in— even though he could also tell you were trying to hide it. “How are you feeling today?” you asked him, a little exasperation tinting your tone.

“Better,” he nodded.

“Not too much pain? Any soreness?” you continued interviewing him, but his chest deflated a bit as he watched you go around the room without ever really looking at him— you were just going through the motions, he was just another patient.

“Are you alright?” he asked you, and it seemed to break you out of your trance. You looked at him, and you looked tired— not something he’d tell you, because it would sound like he was saying you looked bad, which you didn’t. You looked a little sad, really, in a breezy sort of way like you were trying to shake it off.

“Oh, I— I’m fine,” you promised.

"Is that doctor giving you trouble again?" he wondered. The question seemed to catch you off guard, before you glanced down shyly and then over your shoulder at the window into the hall.

"You saw that, huh?" you noticed.

"He seems like an arse," Billy decided.

"He's not so bad," you sighed, "he's really smart— problem is he knows it, and he thinks it makes him better than everyone. Thinks us nurses are basically just maids, too, or secretaries. I swear, if he walks into the break room one more time and asks where his tea is, I'm telling him it's in the fucking harbor."

Billy snorted at your comment, stammering through his next question. "Don't have anything against Brits, do you? 'Cause you picked a bad place to live."

You sighed, stopping your work for a moment. "Well… no, I don't. But I do have a bone to pick, I guess. I moved here for a guy— this amazing, too good to be true guy. Thought we were gonna get married and stuff. I only thought that 'cause he told me so! But he, uh… he had a few of us going, actually. I was the only one who moved this far to be with him. But after I found out, I didn't have anywhere to live, and I can barely make rent as it is so I can't afford a ticket home… so, yeah. Stranded across the pond. Because of some fucking guy."

Billy shrunk a bit inside as he looked at you— he could tell you were trying to be casual and silly about it, to hide how much you were still hurting. "We-we're not all like that," he blurted out, and you looked up. He felt even more stupid for saying it now that you were looking at him. "Englishmen," he clarified.

Your lips slowly curled into a smirk. "Not all juggling a half-dozen girlfriends at once?"

"Some of us are lucky to just get one!" Billy agreed, and you laughed. Your laugh was fucking angelic, he thought; it made him want to jump right out of this blasted bed and hug you, as bizarre as that would be. Ever since he saw you he imagined you'd be nice to hold, but every day it only got worse— and you were so pretty and sweet, you probably had every patient wrapped around your finger. You probably thought he was another dirty, sick stranger; you probably thought he was work. And he couldn't even blame you.

"I guess I'll have to give y'all another chance, then," you shrugged. Y'all. How quaint.

"You can probably get a lot of guys' attention with that accent," he suggested. And that arse. But he didn't say that.

"I don't really want a lot of guys' attention," you sighed. "Just the one."

"Which one?"

"The right one."

His heart hurt because he knew the feeling, the one he saw on your face, the one that made your eyes sparkle differently for a second.

"But I don't have much time for that anyways," you shifted topics quickly, "working all the time."

"Must be tough," he nodded.

"I like it, actually," you corrected, "I always keep busy. And the people here…certainly keep me busy."

He felt a little self-conscious when you said that. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, not you!" you clarified quickly, leaning closer and reaching out apologetically like you might touch him again. He wanted you to, so badly, but you didn't. "I mean the staff more than anything. The patients are what make me want to come back every day, even the tough ones."

"Am I one of those?" he wondered.

"No," you smiled. "Don't tell, but you're my favorite."

Oh, you shouldn't have said that— it only hurt him more because he wouldn't let himself believe it. "Bet you see crazies like me all the time," he shrugged dismissively.

"Crazies? Yeah," you laughed lightly. "But I've never met anyone like you."

His face flushed briefly and he looked down at his lap under the white woven blanket.

A page startled you out of the moment. "That's my cue," you hummed. "Ring if you need me, please."

He nodded and watched you dart away as quickly as you'd arrived, wishing he could keep you here forever but knowing it was better to let you help the others, too.

“Knock knock!” you greeted as you leaned into room 3282 to see the patient gathering her things. It had been a while since you saw her in street clothes— not since you’d admitted her and ordered that infamous CAT scan— and she looked so much better than she had then. Her hair was brushed and she was smiling at you, visibly less disoriented even when she was just standing beside the bed. “I’m glad I could catch you before you left— I came as soon as I heard you were discharged.”

“I feel like we’re sort of meeting for the first time, now,” she explained. “You saw me a few times the past couple days, but I wasn’t really myself…”

You nodded in understanding, and she bit her lip for a second; you could tell she was getting a little self-conscious remembering how dysregulated she was.

“It felt so real,” she breathed shakily. “I could feel them watching me…”

“I know,” you nodded. “That’s how powerful our minds are— everything we know comes from that squishy pink brain, so if it gets the wrong idea, it’s gonna convince you to believe just about anything.”

“You must think I’m an idiot,” she decided, “to ever believe that.”

“Not at all!” you promised. “Listen, Miss Dougherty— it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You came here for help, that’s what you should be proud of.”

She nodded, but didn’t seem to really believe you, looking down at the floor.

“Honestly, people believe all kinds of ridiculous bullshit,” you announced, and the crude language got her attention if nothing else. “Far, far too many people think that the Earth is flat, or that the polio vaccine could cause autism, or that immigrants are somehow both lazy and stealing jobs— or that you can look like Kim Kardashian with just some tea from the internet and portion control.”

She laughed a bit, and you laughed too, even though you were perfectly serious.

“At least we can give you medication for believing what you did! Those people just have to live with it, that’s the really sad thing. You take one of these with breakfast every day and you can be normal,” you explained as you pointed at the bottle in her hand, “they’re stuck with whatever they’ve got. You’re the lucky one.”

“Thank you,” she nodded. “I’ve been to hospitals before— but you really listened, even when I didn’t make any sense.”

“Hey, it made sense to me,” you shrugged, “I’d’ve been scared, too. Keep up with the prescription, okay? Don’t wanna have to see you here again— no offense.”

She laughed in agreement; “I will.”

He was halfway through watching something terribly mediocre on the telly when you came in; he jumped up to grab his fork and try to pretend that he’d been eating his dinner, but he started to frown shyly as soon as he caught your disapproving look. “Billy, you’ve barely eaten it,” you noticed; it was obvious, with three quarters of the chicken breast still on the plate and the green beans untouched. “Didn’t she bring that an hour ago?”

“Erm…”

“Is it the medication?” you asked, quieter, stepping further into the room. “It can suppress your appetite.”

“D-don’t make me change to something else,” he blurted out, “I like this one. I can actually think straight.”

You smiled patiently, and he couldn’t even look at you while you did it— you were so fucking pretty when you smiled like that, it hurt to look at it. “I won’t make you change medications just because you haven’t finished your chicken, Billy.”

“I was worried Dr. Humphries might—” he began, cutting himself off with a hum. “He said he was worried about me eating enough on this one, and that he’d change it if I lost any weight— b-but I like it…”

“We’ll just tell him you didn’t like the chicken,” you decided. “If I bring you an extra slice of cake, will you eat that?”

He had to fight his smile from getting too big. “I can try.”

“Easier to get down than dry chicken, that’s for sure,” you winked, putting the plastic cover back over his plate and grabbing the tray to set aside somewhere else. “What are you watching?”

“E-erm, some melodrama, I think. She’s been cheating on her husband with his evil twin,” he explained, just as the advertisement ended and an inquisitive musical sting indicated the show was back on.

“Don’t you hate when that happens, huh?” you offered sarcastically. Your eyes stayed on the screen as you sat down on the edge of the bed, right by his hip; his heart fluttered with you so close, the warmth of your body just one pesky bedsheet away. “Mind if I watch it with you for a minute?”

“N-no,” he assured, voice thin and wavering as he tried to act natural. “Stay as long as you like…”

Unfortunately, you were interrupted almost immediately as a male nurse swung the door open— Billy somehow felt like he’d been caught doing something bad, when he wasn’t really doing anything. The nurse said your name and you perked up. “Been looking all over for you,” the nurse said, with a tilted grin that seemed a little flirtatious— maybe any smile would seem flirtatious when you’ve got perfectly white and straight teeth like those, and sparkly blue eyes and perfectly quaffed hair— Jesus, was this guy a model or something?

Billy hated imagining you spending time with this guy, selfishly. “S-sorry,” you mumbled as you stood up, “I was just taking Mr. Knight’s dinner tray.”

“Tilly can do that,” the other nurse dismissed with a shrug.

“But she’s busy,” you noticed.

“Could you come out here?” the man asked you, and when you turned over your shoulder, Billy gave you a quick wave as his way of approving your departure. You smiled at him one more time as you followed your coworker into the hall, just outside Billy’s door.

“Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” he heard the man’s voice continue, right before the door shut all the way.

Billy furrowed his brow and turned the volume on the telly down, hoping to hear the conversation better. He could still barely make it out— and he was afraid if he muted the show, you’d notice.

“...since you came here, and actually, I was thinking—” he heard part of a sentence, but it sort of went in and out. He couldn’t tell anything else for sure until he heard your voice again.

“I prefer to keep my work and personal life separate,” he heard you say, distinctly, and he couldn’t decide how to feel— excited, that you seemed to be turning his guy down for a date? Or heartbroken that he would never have a shot with you because of this policy you held?

You never had a shot with her anyways, his inner voice told him. Well, at least Mister Handsome Nurse Man didn’t either. Misery loves company, or whatever.

It had been years since Billy felt something warm. He was all too familiar with his hand, rough and shaky— all too familiar with using his imagination to get himself off. Of course, back at his flat he had porn to ease the way, give him something to picture… here all he had was the telly in the corner and the unending thoughts of you you you.

Just the other day you'd leaned over his bed and he could smell your hair. He wanted to hold your head and bury his nose in it, breathe the sweet scent of you.

Once he caught a quick glimpse down your shirt before he looked away, out of nervousness as much as gentlemanly discretion. But he wasn't feeling so much a gentleman now, after waking up in the middle of the night from a dream of you in a more compromising position.

He'd never had an orgasm from a dream, only gotten hard and woken up unsatisfied. There was a monitor clipped to his finger on his hand— so he took it off and moved it to the other, so he wouldn't have to worry about it or the IV while he did this.

He already had to bite his lip just from slipping his hand into the hospital-issue pants, just from wrapping some weak fingers around his aching cock. He'd made a bad habit of wanking frequently at home— not much else to do when you're trapped and alone, and it was the only thing he liked doing just as much whether he was off his rocker, or semi-stable, or medicated. Thankfully, he wasn't on the kind of medications that removed his libido: that, or his fancying of you was just that powerful.

The room was incredibly dark with the shades shut, only half the lights in the hallway on, but even then he couldn't make out any light except for the dots where the strings ran through the blinds. He watched that window when his eyes were open, but sometimes he shut them— it didn't make much difference, either way all he saw was you.

As he jerked faster on his cock, letting his hand tighten occasionally, he pictured you climbing on the bed and straddling him, resting your hands on his chest (even though that would hurt). Remembering your hand on his shoulder when he first woke up made it easier to imagine, but he couldn't even conjure up how you would feel inside, how your body would take him— he just had to think about how it would look.

He grunted your name to himself, shutting his eyes tight, trying so hard to think of the way you'd moan as your hips rocked above his. He wanted to watch you as you picked up your pace, so desperate for pleasure that you couldn't slow down. You'd be such a wild thing, he decided, just as brash and shameless in bed as you are at work— if not more.

He would give anything to make you say his name in that exact way, that needy hungry way just like he mumbled your name now. His hips were starting to rock up off the bed, and he imagined his skin clapping with yours as you moaned louder and louder. As unrealistic as it was, he was imagining you showering him in praises, so good, Billy, you're so good, fuck! but he couldn't always get your accent right in his head. Please don't stop, god, just don't stop, need t'come—

"All yours," he answered you under his breath, "not gonna stop, feels so fucking good…"

And then he couldn't stop himself from imagining you admitting, in bed or otherwise, that you'd wanted this. That you had thought of him the same way— fuck, what if you touched yourself, too? That'd be too fucking rich. Billy wasn't really sure if girls did that— obviously they did in porn, sometimes, but he knew a lot of that wasn't real. He heard that most won't do anal, either, but that's different; touching yourself is more normal, more natural, and fuck how bloody natural you'd look on your back with your legs spread, rubbing your needy cunt, begging to be touched, desperate for a partner— for him, for Billy who could fill you so nicely and make you sound so pretty.

He was already so close, in part from having taken a few days off from this, mostly because the thought of you was making his cock fucking throb.

As he got closer and closer to the peak, his mind raced with images of you— but not in the poses of the girls in dirty magazines, not how he pictured you naked, no. It was different. The way you'd look in normal clothes, or dressed up for a date. How it would feel to watch you sleep next to him as the sun's coming up through your bedroom window. Not just his name on your lips in pleasure, but in casual conversation with others— my boyfriend, Billy— or in a cackling yelp as he made some joke you hated to laugh at, maybe while he tickled your ribs to see you smile— Billyyy, stop it!

Holding the back of your head while he kissed you, your little whimper as you tugged him closer because you needed more. Putting a necklace on for you, hopefully one he'd bought or made for you, and touching the back of your neck. Kissing you there— and everywhere— and hearing you hum with satisfaction. Don't do that, we don't have time before— oh god, Billy, we'll be late if you do that… hm, okay, just a quick shag before dinner. No wait— just a quick fuck before dinner— the American way.

The intimacy, which sex was only one of his favorite parts of, was what he was imagining. Cuddling up on the sofa, sharing popcorn at the cinema, cooking for you… that's what he was imagining as he realised he was going to come.

He panted and squinted his eyes shut as he fucked his hand faster and faster, heart pumping hard and fast as well, hand shaky but determined as he chased pleasure right around the corner—

The door swung open and you burst in in a flash, running to his bed, but you stopped dead in your tracks as he pulled himself off— well, not in that sense, like he had been a half-second ago— rather, pulled his hand away and pulled the blankets up, scandalised and stammering.

"Oh, fuck m'sorry— I—" he began.

"N-no, I'm sorry," you insisted, looking down awkwardly, "I thought— your monitor, it was— I thought you were having a fucking heart attack."

His baking-hot face turned down sheepishly, and he noticed the thin sheet and blanket did nothing to hide his unsatisfied erection, the fabric clinging to every contour so you could see basically the whole thing. He coughed and put his hands over himself atop the blankets.

"I should've knocked— but I was worried you needed immediate attention—" you explained hoarsely.

"I didn't know you were on tonight," he mumbled, like that mattered. Not as if he wanted any other nurse running in on this. But it was different, more shameful, knowing he'd just been getting off to the thought of you.

"Wasn't supposed to be, but someone asked me to— doesn't matter," you shook your head. "Sorry to burst in on you…"

"I wasn't…" he began, questioning if he should say it but going on anyways. "I wasn't doing… what you probably think I was."

"I-it's nothing I haven't seen before, Billy," you promised, seeming a little surprised, if not irritated, by his obvious lie. "You're a free man, got every right to take care of yourself—"

"Don't—" he pleaded, before he interrupted himself with a mumbled, "Jesus…"

"I'll go," you decided, "and leave you to it—"

"Christ!" Billy added, almost as if he were just now finishing the curse. "S'not like I could… do that now, is it?"

"Seems you've still got everything you need to do it," you smirked, and he choked.

"God, don't tease me, said m'sorry an' all," he pouted.

"Not teasing," you shrugged. "It's natural, everybody does it."

Even you? "Y-yeah, s'pose…"

"Not much else for you to do here anyway, stuck in bed… can't help if you get horny—"

"Not horny, okay?" he spat out suddenly, and defensively. "M'just— god. Just lonely."

He wouldn't normally admit something like that, but it was so late and his chest hurt in a sense totally unrelated to his wound.

When he heard the door shut, he worried you'd just up and left. How cold that would be, to leave him alone as he said how lonely he was.

He only knew you were still on this side of the door when you stepped up to his bedside again, your shoes clicking on the floor.

"You should go back to sleep," you noticed. Then why'd you shut the door?

"I— even if I take care of it, I don't think I can," he admitted. "Sometimes I have—"

"Nightmares," you finished. "It's in your chart."

"Please stay," he whispered. "It's easier with you here…"

"Sleeping, or…?"

"Sleeping! God, sleeping," he coughed. "I mean, both, but—"

"I can stay," you offered.

"That was the first good dream I've had in months," he told you, easier to confess these things in the dark. "The one that made me… like that."

"Very good dream," you agreed with a smirk.

His oxygen monitor beeped softly behind it all. "Y-yeah…" he mumbled. "It was— well, I bet you know it was you."

"Oh— how would I know that?" you sighed.

"Because you must have been able to tell I'm proper mad about you," he explained, "aside from just mad."

"I… I wondered if you were," you replied, softer. "I hoped you were."

Billy, unsure what to say, turned to look up at where he was sure your face was in the room— and he could barely see it, his eyes still readjusting from the door being opened. Your features were softened when they were lit up in light blue by the monitors behind him.

"I came in here to take care of you," you promised with a whisper. "It's my job. Just tell me what you need."

"I need— god, I can't say it," he whined.

"If you can't tell me, then show me."

Your hand rested for a second on his shoulder, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing it. After debating it for a moment, he pushed the blanket and sheet down again, and sighed with a wide open mouth as he guided your hand to his throbbing cock. It bounced up into your fingers before he'd even finished putting it there, so needy for your attention, so greedy to be finished off after being brought up to the edge like that. Billy had never had the patience or fortitude to tease himself, the closest he'd ever come to edging having been those times he was on a certain type of meds and could jerk off all day and never come.

He had the exact opposite problem as he hesitantly let go of your hand and watched you do it yourself, slow and gentle brushes over him, almost reverent in the way you touched him where he needed you most. He almost didn't want to let go of your hand, he wanted to keep holding it just for holding it's sake, but he wanted you to act on your own: to not feel trapped or forced. You were so delicate about it— he was so worked up you absolutely didn't need to be that gentle, he probably would've still blown his load if you tried to tug the bloody thing off— and he could see in the dark how little sighs fell from your mouth as you stroked him.

"God, I'm not supposed to do this," you breathed. "S'it sensitive? Your heart rate's spiked again…"

"V-very," he murmured out. "God, you're— god."

"Fuck— I'm really not supposed to do this," you repeated again. "But I— I've been wanting to for a while… no one's gonna come in while I'm in here, but shit, if someone did…"

It would be a huge mess, for sure, but sort of hot. Even better if it was somehow another patient who thought they were the only one with affections for you. Even better if it was that nurse who was hitting on you. "Never— fuck— wanked a patient before, right?"

You laughed. "No, haven't given a hand job in years, actually— feels a bit high school, doesn't it?"

"Fuck, wouldn't know," he groaned. He meant it both as in 'you wouldn't know because you're so good at this' and 'I wouldn't know because nobody was wanking me in high school'. "Your hand f-feels good. I-I don't deserve this, I definitely don't deserve this— pretty sure I'm dreaming actually—"

"No, it's real," you promised, "I know it's real, 'cause in my dreams I've never got my work uniform on."

"Y-you don't have your work uniform on in my dreams, either," he joked.

How desperately he wanted to reach out and touch you with one of his hands— it didn't even need to be somewhere scandalous, though he wouldn't mind a chance to feel you up under your shirt. Even just to hold onto your hip, or even to hold your hand, would be so perfect right now. But he didn't want to take this too far and ruin it. It was already too good to be true.

"F-fuck," he sighed as your hand twisted gently when it reached the ridge of his head. He couldn't remember the last time anything felt this good, just being touched by you.

"Like this?" you asked in a meek voice— how precious, you asking him how he wanted you to wank him. Even just you asking made his toes curl under the blanket.

"Yes," he hissed, "l-like that… little slower, maybe?"

You followed his command, and his chest reverberated a groan. He liked it best like this, savouring every second— normally he'd just be beating himself off senselessly by now, desperate to come, chasing pleasure with reckless abandon. But this was so different, and he never wanted it to end, even if his balls were tight and aching with the need to release what he'd been holding in for much too long.

"I… I can't believe this is happening," he blurted out as he watched with better-adjusted eyes your movements in the dark. Your pretty, tender hand squeezing his swollen tip, giving his whole length nice, long strokes.

It was incredible enough, then you pulled your hand away— and he was about to whine pathetically, beg you not to stop, he even thrusted his hips up in the air in search of more— and spit in your palm quickly before getting back to it.

"Oh god," Billy moaned, his head falling back on his pillow as your hand smeared your saliva all along his hot skin. Your strokes were smoother now, and you could grip him tighter without tugging the skin the wrong way— and he couldn't stop fucking moaning, couldn't stop himself from trying to buck his hips up and fuck your hand. The sensation was incredible, but the raunchiness of it was what really did him in. Spitting in your hand so you could jerk him off better, really giving him the proper treatment; his whole body was sort of overheated and numb at the idea that you cared so much about doing this right. With a dry hand it felt more like you were doing him a favor, but after doing that he was sure you wanted this for your own reasons. He couldn't imagine what those would be, but he dared not question them.

"How's that feel?" you asked, almost clinical in your tone, the same way you'd asked when helping him stand up or after giving a fresh dose of painkillers. And yes, he had imagined something like this when you asked him that before, so good to know he was on the right track.

It was sort of silly that you asked when he couldn't stop moaning and writhing in the bed, but he nodded as he answered: "R-really fucking good. You're so good…"

He heard you hum a bit, a tiny pleased laugh, and he whined pathetically. You seemed to be revelling in how little you could do to him to make him so desperate.

"So good," he said again under his breath, cock pulsing in your grip. He was so close but he couldn't let it go yet, he couldn't finish now and just have you clean him up and go: he'd fight it off all night if it meant keeping you here, feeling you, being pleasured by you this way.

"I— I'll get fired if they catch me," you reminded him. "But I just— sorry, I've been wondering about your cock for a while."

Jesus, she keeps saying things like that and I'll lose it in a second.

"And it's bigger than I thought."

Jesus! He screwed his eyes shut tight in hopes of staving it off further— he didn't want this to end, you'd just barely started.

"I'm so fucked, fuck, might as well— oh god, you know the saying, right?" you prompted. "In for a penny—"

"In for a p— oh, fuck, fuck!"

You'd bent down and captured him in your mouth, still stroking at the base with your hand but bobbing your head on the rest.

"Baby," he whined, bucking up into that perfect wet heat encompassing him, "baby, I'll come, god, I'm so sorry— I'll fucking come—"

You hummed around him. You didn't even stop, didn't even flinch, as he began to spray his come on your tongue. He grabbed your head and tilted his own back with a loud moan— dangerously loud— as his whole body seized up for a second. Each wave of it seemed to hit harder than the last, especially when you sunk your lips down further and he could feel you swallowing it, god you were so sweet and you acted like a proper slut given the chance. He couldn't have made you more perfect if he built you himself.

"Oh, fuck," he sobbed, looking down at you in the dark again, petting your hair, keeping you there just a bit longer as he basked in the warmth of your mouth. Drool was sliding down his cock and balls in droplets, maybe some of it was his come you hadn't gotten down. "Fucking perfect," he blurted out.

He felt you smile slightly around him, before you carefully slid your mouth off of his cock and popped back upright again. "There you go," you said chipperly as if you'd just tied his shoes for him or something— not like you'd just given him his first non-self-induced orgasm in years and easily one of the best of his life, with only your hand and a couple seconds of a blow job.

"I— fuck," he choked, "you— thank you, I— oh my god… I'm sorry, I—"

"Sorry?" you repeated. "What for?"

"Just— dunno, m'sorry, if I made you think you had to do that…"

"Well I had to do something to get you back to sleep," you joked, making his face heat up even more. "Of course I didn't have to— actually, I think it might be, um, illegal, so… don't tell, I guess."

As if he could even imagine doing anything that would interfere with the chance it could happen again. He had no idea if it would happen again either way— but he didn't care, he was still riding the high from it happening at all. "I— I tried not to come that fast, but your mouth—" he began awkwardly.

"It's sexy," you promised. "It's cute."

He blinked bashfully, as if he had any right to be bashful now. "You're sexy," he returned, "really, really sexy, god. You know how many guys' fantasies you just fulfilled?"

"Not interested in many guys' fantasies," you quipped. "Just the one."

He beamed. "Which one?"

"C'mon, Billy, I just swallowed your jizz, don't be coy with me," you frowned.

"S-sorry…"

You leaned down and gave him a gentle peck on the cheek. "I've gotta get back to work—"

He grabbed your head and forced a kiss on your mouth, hungrily slipping his tongue between your lips and groaning as you relaxed your jaw to let him in.

He hadn't kissed like this in ages, either, and the last girl he'd managed to go home with after some pub crawling hadn't even kissed him at all; he groaned against your mouth as he moved his hands from your face to your neck, your waist, your back… anywhere he could reach, he wanted to touch you.

He got lost in it instantly, you had to push pretty hard on his shoulders to peel him off, and he cleared his throat nervously. "S-sorry," he said again, "I— I just had to kiss you, sorry."

"Even after that?" you chuckled.

"Especially after that."

"Even with the, you know, taste?"

"Oh," Billy smiled, "so that's what that funny flavour is…"

"You never tasted it before?" you realised.

"No," he frowned, "why would I?"

"I dunno— I've tasted mine," you shrugged.

"Oh— Christ," Billy choked. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to stop imagining you pulling two fingers out of your cunt after using them to make yourself come, bringing them to your slack lips and kitten-licking the cream off your hand…

"Really gotta get back to work now," you insisted, "try to get some rest—"

"Wait," he begged as he grabbed your wrist. "Stay a little longer— we can just talk, if you want— I should return the favour though, shouldn't I? Are you, erm… are you turned on at all after that? If you stay I can help you, too— you can get in the bed with me and I'll make love to you—"

You snorted out a laugh. "We don't have time for that, Billy, I've already been in here too long, there are other patients—"

"Don't go yet," he insisted again, squeezing your hand in his.

"What more do you need?" you asked, and the question made his heart jump.

"Just some time with you," he explained. "Just— was that— are we—?"

He stopped as you leaned in and kissed his face again— the side of his nose specifically— gently. "I'll check on you again in the morning before I go, okay?"

He pouted a little, reaching up to hold your shoulders for a second, before nodding and relaxing back into his bed.

You tucked him in carefully and encouraged him once more to get some rest. "I'll be back just before shift change at seven," you assured.

He fell asleep so quickly, so exhausted even when his mind was wired, that it only felt like a few moments before he woke up again with a jump as the door opened. He expected to see you come in, but he frowned at the back of Nurse Tilly, bringing the breakfast cart. "Good morning, Mister Knight!" she greeted, and he sighed as he glanced up at the clock: 8:30. He'd slept right through shift change.

"Morning," he greeted her flatly.

"I've got good news," the doctor smiled at Billy, tilting his head; somehow it almost seemed condescending. "You're cleared for discharge. You’ve healed well and you’re responding just how I’d hoped to the new medication.”

“But…” Billy started to protest.

“What’s the matter?” Dr. Humphries wondered.

“Could I stay longer?”

“Erm, well… it’s a hospital, not a hotel, Mister Knight,” he frowned. “What makes you want to stay?”

“I just— is my nurse here?” Billy asked instead.

“Which one?” the doctor asked before seeming to realise something. “The American?!”

“Err…”

Dr. Humphries scoffed quickly. “She’s just had a twenty four hour shift, she won’t be back until Thursday. You certainly can’t be here another two nights with no medical need for hospitalisation. I’m guessing you’d hoped to say goodbye?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded.

“And you were hoping to ask her on a date as well, I presume?”

Billy choked, glancing self-consciously at the other nurses present— one of which was the handsome male one from before. That face had a sort of sneer on it— subtle, but noticeable— as if to say yeah, good luck with that, mate. “I— I just wanted to thank her,” Billy lied. He honestly hadn’t been sure if he’d ever get the courage to ask you out, but now he’d never know.

“I’ll pass along the message for you,” the doctor offered, though he didn’t sound too enthused about it.

Google, delete history, chew nails, repeat. illegal for a nurse to have sex with patient, can you lose your nursing licence for sexual contact at work, is masturbating a mental patient crime UK...

The search results were a mix of inconclusive and unencouraging. They kept talking about why you shouldn’t have sex with patients— as if you didn’t know— but rarely clarified the exact consequences of your exact situation. You didn’t know if the hand job counted as sex, anyways, or if it really mattered since you were both consenting adults of sound mind (well, some not quite as sound as others, but still), or if this rule really only applied to doctors who had a genuine power over patients in a way nurses didn’t exactly— they just gave more and more scoldings to anyone considering ‘beginning a relationship’ with a patient. They gave examples that were obviously violations— like a doctor who was tried for sexual assault after convincing a patient that an invasive physical exam was necessary when it was actually elective and not related to their condition, or a nurse who was fired after touching an unconscious patient, stuff like that. Billy had wanted you to touch him, that much you knew, he put your hand there himself; god, just the memory made you shiver, and you shook your head as you cleared your history again. There was no real chance anyone would see what you’d been searching up, but the shame that burned in your gut every time you saw your own history was worth avoiding.

The really concerning thing was how little, after all that Googling, you actually regretted it. Yes, you were fully aware at the time how risky it was, why it was a bad idea, what would happen if you were caught. But for all this searching up about nurses and patients, it didn’t feel like that at all… it just felt like two people with a basic human instinct surrounded by insanely complicated circumstances.

It wasn’t like you at all, either, and not just because you’d never made an advance on a patient before: that was obvious. You usually didn’t do that much even with your actual dates, even with guys you’d met under exactly the right conditions. Usually, a hand on yours guiding you there would make you shudder and jump away; usually, you wouldn’t even think to touch somebody like that on the first date. You hadn’t even gone on one date with Billy, though the amount of time you spent imagining it was almost like you were trying to delude yourself into thinking you had.

You’d been daydreaming more and more since you met him about that sort of thing, about what it would be like if you met in some random way after he was discharged from some other hospital, one of those cute ways like in the movies where he helps you get something from the top shelf at the grocery store or you find his lost dog or he just sees you on the street and has to tell you that he thinks you’re beautiful—

Groaning, you shut your laptop and stood up; you were gonna be late for work if you kept torturing yourself with these fantasies.

Oh god, I’m actually mental— more than usual, he realised as he stood there, holding the pathetic arrangement of cheap daisies; the plastic around them crinkled as he relaxed his grip slightly from the sadness sinking in his gut. She does me a favour, takes care of me for nearly a week and wanks me off once and I start stalking her— she’ll think I’m a creep.

He’d been waiting all morning by one of the entrances to the ward, hoping to catch you as you walked back in to work on Thursday, but as the hours passed he became more aware of how disturbing his behaviour really was. You probably knew you wouldn’t see him again when you did that, that was probably why you did it— so you wouldn’t have to worry about exactly this happening, about him wanting more from you. Hadn’t he taken enough?

Slumping his shoulders, he stood up from the bench and contemplated what to do with the flowers. He was about to toss them away when he saw someone exit the building, an older woman, crying into a handkerchief as she talked on the phone. “He’s gone,” she informed whoever was on the other end of the line. “They just told me— he went this morning.”

“Ma’am?” he asked her, not quite getting her attention at first. He stuck the flowers out towards her and she looked at him with a hint of confusion. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“O-oh… thank you…” she breathed, and he nodded at her as he turned and stuffed his hands in his pockets on his way towards the car park. “Y-yes, sorry, someone just gave me flowers…” she continued as she talked on the phone, harder to hear as he walked away, “no, I don’t know him— some man outside the hospital— they’re daisies…”

He smiled a little to himself as he hopped across the street, jaywalking in a break between cars zipping by. He’d nearly turned the corner when he heard your voice.

“Billy?” you noticed him, smiling wide as he turned to look at you, standing on the street— walking to work, apparently. You were wearing your uniform already, and he’d almost missed it, even with how much he’d been dreaming about seeing you any other way.

“O-oh, erm, hi,” he stammered, wondering if he should pretend it was a coincidence he ran into you.

“You’re… you’ve got jeans on!” you noticed, and he looked down at his outfit— just the aforementioned jeans and an old t-shirt, with his hoodie on top for the chilly weather.

“Not much of an improvement from what you’re used to,” he mumbled nervously, rocking back on his heels.

“No, you look good,” you insisted. “H-healthy, I mean— maybe I shouldn’t have said that, it could sound… forward.”

“Forward?” he repeated.

“Well, I was hoping to talk to you today,” you admitted, chewing the inside of your cheek. Oh god, I’ve heard this talk before— ‘I like to keep my work and personal life separate’. “I wanted to apologize.”

“Eh?”

“I shouldn’t— we can’t— I’m sorry,” you started over a few times, “if I exploited any… dynamic, that we had. I don’t want you to think that because I’m your nurse, you couldn’t say— that you can’t say ‘no’ to me.”

“You’re not my nurse anymore,” he noticed, “I’m not a patient— I’m…”

He wanted to say it quickly, before he lost the courage, but with you staring at him expectantly he couldn’t keep his thoughts in order and he sort of just spit it out all at once.

“I’mjustsomeblokewhocan’tstopthinkingaboutyou,” he rushed.

“Huh?” you frowned, understandably unable to parse what he’d said.

“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, “doesn’t matter— y’don’t need to apologise, i-if anything I was gonna thank you again.”

“Well, you don’t need to do that, either,” you mumbled quietly, a shy smile crossing your face. “We’ll call it even. You got a happy ending and I get to keep my job.”

“Not quite even,” he recalled, face getting warm as he pictured exactly what he’d have to do to make what happened that night completely fair. “I want something else.”

“Oh…?” you wondered, tilting your head.

“Your number, maybe?” he finally asked, heart pumping dangerously fast, and you smiled.

“Okay,” you agreed.

“A-and I could call you sometime.”

“Okay,” you repeated.

“And ask you to dinner.”

You smiled wider. “Okay.”

“O-or I could just ask you now…”

“Okay,” you laughed.

“But maybe I should wait!” he decided suddenly. “Maybe it’s better to do it later— I don’t know, I don’t do this very often…”

“I noticed,” you smirked, and he blinked at you shyly.

“I-I’m not totally helpless, y’know, I got you flowers,” he informed you proudly.

“You did? Where are they?” you asked.

“E-erm, over there,” he pointed across the street, and you raised an eyebrow in confusion. “I’ll get you different ones, better ones—”

“I don’t want flowers, Billy,” you replied, “I just want you to come pick me up when I get off today— my shift’s over at—”

“I know,” he interrupted with a beaming smile, “I’ll meet you by that door and we can go somewhere nice.”

“How about your flat?” you recommended.

“W-well… it’s not very nice…” he admitted, biting his lip as you stepped closer.

“I bet I’ll like it,” you purred, and he couldn’t resist the urge again— he grabbed your face and kissed you, way too needy and passionate for the seemingly-mundane situation here on the street by the hospital. But you hummed into it and kissed him back; he knew he couldn’t blame that first kiss on it being the middle of the night anymore, being all sleep-deprived and desperate, because he felt the exact same way at eight in the morning on a Thursday in the middle of the pavement.

Again, you had to push him back gently to cue him to stop, and he looked at you as your eyes fluttered open and your bitten lips smiled at him.

“Not gonna run me late to work, are you?” you challenged.

“No,” he promised, “I-I really want to, but no.”

“That’s a shame,” you jokingly pouted as you lowered yourself from your tiptoes and started to cross the street. “See you tonight!” you called as you went on your way, and he wanted to say something back— something smooth, but anything would do, really— but he just got mesmerised watching you go, knowing the next time he saw you would be for a date.

He could hardly believe it was real, that he’d gotten this lucky, but he decided not to question that anymore and just accept whatever gift from the universe this was supposed to be. He was almost tempted to just stand outside and wait for you for your entire shift, but he decided instead that he could at least go and pick out some new flowers for you, despite what you’d said about not wanting them… better safe than sorry.

#billy knight x reader #joseph quinn x reader #billy knight smut #billy knight strike

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danikamariewrites · 1 year

Note

could i request azriel x reader or lorcan x reader with reader being a vampire and needs to feed but he says to feed on him but she’s scared she’ll hurt him. She finally does and he feels euphoria and it leads to smut👀

Take My Blood and Make Me Yours (SMUT)

Azriel x vampire!reader

A/n: I got two requests that were similar to this so I thought I’d combine them since they were similar. I’m going off my very little knowledge of vampires from Buffy, Twilight, and Supernatural so I’m making up half this shit as I go along lol

Warnings: blood, smut, slight sub!Az

You had held out longer than you expected. But going four months without feeding on a person, human or Fae, was driving you crazy. You felt like you were dying. Animal blood and whatever Amren drunk wasn’t cutting it for you anymore.

You always felt guilty when you fed on a person. It was either turn them or kill them and you didn’t like killing people unlike other vampires.

In hopes that your ‘sickness’, as you called it, would become less extreme. You had avoided being around Azriel. His scent had been too overwhelming the last few days. The urge to drink from him making you itch. Since he was out of the house you felt free to walk around the house.

Although normal food didn’t do much for you, you were addicted to sweets. Chocolates, sour candies, literally anything you could get you hands on. The flavors helped distract you for a while, especially the sting from the sour candies.

Lost in your sweets stash you didn’t hear Azriel come in through the front door. He lovingly squeezed the back of your neck, “Hi love. How are you feeling?” You scramble up from the table backing away from Azriel. A wild look in your eyes telling him not to come near you.

You put your hand out making sure he stayed far away from you. “Az no!” You scream, “please. Please I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t…” your voice cracks as you plead with him.

Azriel hated seeing you like this. You were far too pale, deep bags under your eyes from months without sleep, and your hair looked lifeless. “Y/n, my love please. I need you to listen to me.” You backed farther away from him all the way against the wall of the kitchen.

He kept approaching. Once Azriel was within arms length he gently laced your fingers together. Tears sprung from your eyes as his scent consumed you. Cauldron he smelt divine. And he probably tasted even better. Your mouth started watering at the thought of his sweet Illyrian blood on your tongue. How sweet he would taste. How it would be if he turned and stayed with you forever, as if he weren’t already immortal.

But you had made a promise to yourself when you started seeing each other and again when the mating bond snapped. You would never taste him. You were afraid you’d turn him into something else he would resent or lose control and drain him. Leaving you broken without your mate.

You tilted your head back to avoid his gaze, your tears falling into your hair. “No Azriel. I can’t. I won’t use you.” Like the thoughtful and loving male he is, Azriel had offered himself to you so your suffering would end. You had refused him every time.

“Nothing is working for you. It’s been over a year since you fed from a person. Please let me help you.” You could tell he was in pain seeing you like. Azriel probably felt your pain down the bond and it mustn’t have been easy for him. “Y/n I trust you enough to let you feed from me. I know you could never hurt me.”

Your resolve was crumbling at his sweet words. “Please y/n. My heart breaks to see you like this. Please, just enough to sate the hunger and then you can stop.” You nodded your head whispering out a weak ‘ok’. You couldn’t believe you were breaking your promise. Gods, what was wrong with you.

Azriel was chest to chest with you. You collapsed in his arms letting out small sobs. Azriel kissed the side of your head, scooping you up in his strong arms. After letting out one final cry he asked, “Where would you be comfortable baby?” His question made you pause.

You were about to drink his blood and he was asking you where you’d be most comfortable? This just reminded you of how selfless Azriel is. You didn’t deserve this male. “Wherever you’re comfortable Az.” You mumble into his shoulder.

He started heading up the stairs toward your bedroom. While you were relieved your pain would be over soon, you were terrified you’d harm Azriel.

Before you knew it Azriel was sitting on the bed with you cradled to his chest. “We can take this at your pace.” You nod against his chest. Moments pass as you sit still. Taking a deep, nervous breath you lift your head to meet his sweet hazel eyes.

You cup his face and run your thumbs across his cheeks. “Thank you, my love. You have no idea…” he covers your hand with one of his large scarred one. “I’m doing what any good mate would. I love you.” You were at a loss for words as you teared up again. “I love you too.”

Leaning forward his scent overwhelms you. He’s night, rain, mist, and everything beautiful in the world to you. Part of you was excited to get a taste of him. All your worries left your mind as you pressed your nose into the side of his neck. His soft, supple neck.

You licked from his pulse point up to just under his earlobe. Straddling him, you move your mouth back down so you hovered just above his pulse point. You left a small peck on his warm skin. “If it gets too much or you think I’ve gone too far, do what you have to. Even if that means hurting me.” “I…ok.” You heard the hesitation in his voice.

You gave his neck one last kiss, letting your fangs slide out and scrape against his skin. Finally, you skin your teeth in, biting down on Azriel his blood starts to seep out and into your mouth. The second the thick red liquid hit your tongue an electric shock went through you. Azriel’s shadows were going haywire as they wrapped around you and their master.

He tasted even better than you imagined. Cauldron, he was the sweetest thing you had ever tasted. Having Azriel like this did things to you. The way he willingly gave himself to you and tasting the most delicious blood you’ve ever had, had you grinding down on Azriel.

Azriel moaned, gripping you tighter to him. You were surprised when you felt his hips buck up into you. “Fuck baby. Feels good.” Holy shit, Az was enjoying this as much as you.

You had your fill a few mouth fulls ago but you stayed sunken into his skin, lapping up a few drops. You felt heavenly. Like you were new again and finding out what blood tasted like for the first time.

Pulling your fangs from him Azriel whimpered. The sound went straight to your core making the slick in your panties more prominent. When you could finally focuses on your surroundings you could feel Azriel’s hard cock through his pants.

You sat up, stretching your arms, pushing your hair up and letting it fall seductively over your shoulders as you let out a seductive hum. You much better. Your skin returned to its normal shade. Your eyes vibrant and full of life. You gave Azriel a dark smile, his blood coated your lips teeth.

Azriel’s shadows relaxed, going back to their spot on his shoulders. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. Azriel grabbed you pulling you into a bruising kiss, licking at your sharp teeth. You moan into his mouth forcing your tongue into his, dominating him.

You took control from Azriel, ripping your nightgown off and clawing at his shirt with your sharp nails. He rips it off and you undo his pants. Sliding them down just enough to let his cock spring free.

You take him in your hand running your thumb around the head. Kissing up his jaw you stop at his ear nibbling at it. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you? My brave boy.” He let out another whimper, loud and unashamed. “Yes, fuck please baby?”

You run a finger along the ridge of his wing up to the talon. Azriel tenses up under you, his cock twitching in your hand. Getting to the talon you slowly run your finger down the vein, onto the red and gold flecked membrane. Azriel moaned, gripping your ass hard enough to leave fingerprints. “Please y/n, I need you please, please, please.”

You let out a dark laugh. Sitting up you lay your hands on his chest forcing him back into the headboard. “Such a good boy saying please. You’ll get what you want baby.” Azriel let out a harsh breath at the new praise from you. “You like that?” You say in a tantalizing voice. “You like being my good boy?”

“Yes. So much.” You hum running your hands down his abs. “Good Azzy, good.” You peck his lips and line his cock up with your entrance, teasing him by spreading your slick around your folds. Finally you sink all the way down on him. You both let out moans of pleasure at the feeling of being connected.

You start rocking back and forth on him, your eyes fluttering. “Gonna help me ride you baby.” Azriel wordlessly bent his knees and brought his hands to your hips. You started bouncing on him. Azriel picked you up, slamming you back down faster and faster as he chased his high.

The room smelled of blood and sex. The sound of slapping skin echoing as praised Azriel. A few more thrusts and you were coming undone together.

Azriel’s head started to fall backward. You cupped the back of it before it could hit the headboard. His eyes screwed shut. You laid your forehead on his rapidly moving chest while you both caught your breath. “Fuck.” You panted. Azriel lazily snaked his arms around your waist. Slipping into a laying position with you still on his chest.

“Azzy we need to get cleaned up baby.” You squeezed his bicep signaling for him to get up. He shook his head against the pillow. “Can’t. Just need to lay here with you.” You weren’t going to argue with him. You were spent and ready to sleep for the first time in a while.

tags: @rigelus @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @msiecrane @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @aroseinvelaris @twsssmlmaa

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel #azriel imagine #azriel smut

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inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis:

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

It’s well past midnight, but the moon is still hanging high in the sky, illuminating the dingy shopping mall parking lot, its reflection gleaming on the wet, cracked concrete. Breathless little laughs and squeals of surprise and pleasure ring out among the vast empty space, your own voice echoing around you.

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

He’s chasing after you, legs longer than yours, faster than yours, mischievous little growls getting caught in his chest as you daintily leap away from him, just out his grasp again, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft linin of your dress.

“No!” you giggle, pushing your burning thighs to keep running just a bit longer, propelling you forward.

But he’s getting closer and closer with each pound of his boots against the pavement, encroaching on you more and more with each tiny gasp exhaled through your parted lips.

Eventually, he catches you, like he always does, large hands wrapping around your hips as strong arms pull you backwards against a solid chest. You’re both panting, chests heaving with exertion, bubbles of laughter escaping your throats.

“Tag,” he breathes, hot breath curling around the shell of your ear. “You’re it,”

His arms encircle you, holding you tightly, your own arms covering his, little fingers digging into the skin of his forearms almost possessively as he uses his strength and bodyweight to guide you towards the car—a 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz that runs like shit and guzzles gas like no tomorrow. But it’s pretty, and he loves it, with all its chrome and argyle blue, glittering in the moonlight.

“You’re being bad, princess,” the words are mumbled against the skin behind your ear, and you can feel the smirk on his lips. “Good girls don’t run away from their Daddies like that,”

And he says the word with so much disdain, cruel and mocking, making you feel sick for liking it.

“Baaad girl,” he whispers, dragging the word out.

A tiny pout settles on your face, eyebrows knitting. “Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

“You are,” he chuckles, pressing you against the damp metal of his car as you finally reach it, his body still draped over yours. “What? You gonna fight me on it?”

Squirming a little in his grasp, you turn to face him, a playful glint shining in your glassy eyes as you nudge your nose against his. “I just might!”

“Hah,” the breath of air washes over your face, scorching and sweet, a stark contrast to the humid, cool air surrounding you, causing your exposed flesh to break out into chills. “I’d like to see you try, dollface,”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” you murmur, yelping when his fingers dig into the supple flesh of your ass through your dress, grabbing a healthy handful and squeezing in retaliation.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, pushing his forehead against yours, eyes nothing but gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of sapphire. “You gonna show me?” his rough voice fades into a whisper, unblinking eyes holding yours steadily. Calloused hands are sliding up your thighs now, slipping underneath the thin material of your dress and taking the hem with them.

“N-Not here,” you breathe, trying and failing to pull back from him, eyes widening in alarm as you feel his fingers hook in the waistband of your panties.

“Yes, here,” he responds, voice smooth as velvet as soft lips drag along your neck, sharp teeth sinking into your flesh like a hot knife slicing through butter.

Panic is beginning to rise in your chest, your throat closing up, and you choke a little on your words, shaking your head frantically. “Please, Dabi, no, we could just—”

“Wow, you really want me to bruise that pretty ass of yours,” he smirks, cutting you off and pulling back to gaze at you lazily, lips glimmering with saliva.

“No, I—”

“Especially with how much you’re saying no today,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval. “Such a bad girl; a silly, little, stupid, bad girl,”

Each word is punctuated with a sharp slap to your scantily clad ass, each bringing with them a sharp sting that you can hear, echoing out among the parking lot.

“Not bad,” you whimper, eyes shutting tightly against the familiar burn of tears. “Not bad, j-just wanna—”

“Wanna what?” he teases, voice mocking yours as his palm collides with your ass again. “Huh?”

“W-Wanna—Want you to fuck me right,” you rush to say, the words exhaled as a singular huff of breath.

“Oh?” he pulls back slightly, eyes searching your face, his own features contorted with false concern. “Is that so?”

You nod quickly, eagerly, and he can see it in your eyes, how desperately you want him to buy your lie.

But you know he hasn’t the moment that trademark smirk returns to his face, mouth curling up at the edges as he leans forward, lips moving against your ear. “I think that’s a boldfaced lie, babygirl,” his voice is low, sinister, dangerous, traces of amusement sown into his tone. “I think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see how much of a little whore you truly are,”

“D-Dabi, please,” you whimper, vision blurry with tears as you paw at his jacket, pleading with him.

He thinks it’s so cute when you beg, his silence imploring you to continue, urgently rambling on in your quest to convince him.

“I-I want you to really fuck me; I want you to leave b-bruises all over my body, I want to feel you in my tummy, I want you t-to stuff me so full of cum that it goes to my brain and makes me stupid, please Daddy, I want—”

Slim fingers wrap around your neck and squeeze, forcing a cry of surprise from your lips and effectively cutting you off. “I’m gonna make sure you remember those words, sweetheart,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The thump of your own heart echoes in your ears as the Cadillac Eldorado thrums under your body, the leather sticking to the bare skin of your thighs.

“Open,” he demands, delivering a harsh slap to the thigh nearest to him, eyes never leaving the road as his foot presses down, car accelerating. Your thighs obey immediately, spreading as far as they possibly can in the cramped space, knees knocking against the door and center console box.

A rough hand, decorated with callouses and scabs, kneads the flesh once before sliding up, up, up, and then hooking in the elastic of your panties, Dabi spitting out a curse as he lets it snap back against your skin.

“Take those off,” he seethes, aggressively ripping his hand away from you as if he’s aggravated that you’re even wearing them at all. Your dress hitches up around your waist in your haste to obey, little fingers catching in the lacy material as your hips squirm, seatbelt cutting into your flesh, wiggling a little as you pull the dainty material down your legs.

He’s already holding his hand out expectantly and you press them into it, waiting for his fingers to close around the garment before taking your hand back. He feels them, rolling the fabric around in his palm, between his fingers, chuckling darkly as he chucks them over his shoulder a moment later, onto the dirty ground of the backseat.

Those were your favourite, but you know better than to say anything, forcing your expression to stay neutral, to keep your nose from wrinkling up in distaste.

“They’re wet, but not nearly wet enough,” he tsks as if he’s disappointed, hand finding your thigh again. This time, they part instantly, without any verbal prompting, hips pushing towards his palm as it skims the skin of your inner thigh.

“Now, I’m gonna play with this cute lil clit of yours,” he begins, fingers brushing the sensitive nub, words tumbling from his lips slowly, lazily, unhurried, as if you’re stupid, as if you need an ample amount of time for each word to sink in.

It makes your pussy throb, and the borderline malicious smirk that spreads across his face tells you that he felt it, too.

Speaking through his smirk, he continues in the same patronizing voice. “And you—you’re going to be Daddy’s good little girl and get nice and wet for him, so he doesn’t hurt his cock when he fucks you. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

Yes Daddy, of course Daddy, anything for you, Daddy.

It’s torture in the most delightful way, coarse pads of his fingers just barely grazing your clit, just enough for you to feel it, just enough for you to want—no, need—more. Heat, thick and sticky, pools in the pit of your stomach, thighs straining to open impossibly wider, edges of the car’s interior digging into your knees as you desperately try to shift your hips, to press further into his touch, to evoke anything harder than these teasing, feathery touches.

Blunt nails sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh, hard enough to make you yelp, entire body flinching from the sudden pain. “Big girls use their words,” he chastises, voice fading from a growl into a pleasant, light tone.

“Please, Daddy, I-I want more,” you whimper, hips still trying to catch your clit on his fingers, on his palm. “Touch me more,”

The hum that vibrates in his throat has your heart sinking, corners of your mouth tugging down as you blink against the sting of disappointment—you know that hum, know it all too well, know all of Dabi’s bizarre mannerisms at this point and what they mean for you. And that hum, the one that only lasts for a moment, the one that’s barely a noise at all, the one that doesn’t even sound like he’s considering anything, means no.

His eyes don’t leave the road in front of him, despite the fact that his car is going faster, and faster, and faster, whipping through the empty city streets, neon buildings and harsh florescent lights becoming nothing but a blur. And if it weren’t for the hard lump straining against the black denim of his jeans, you’d figure him disinterested; facial features relaxed, breathing normal, entirely unresponsive to the pathetic little noises he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

It ignites a fire in your chest, blazing with the need to make him react, to make him pay attention to you.

Wearing your best pout, you arch your back a little, the action shoving your hips towards his hand again. “Daddy, Daddy,” you whine, low and needy in the back of your throat, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please, touch me more? Please, Daddy, I want it so bad, want your cock so bad, please, help me get wetter? Wanna be dripping for you, Daddy, I wanna be soaking for you,”

“Fuck,” he breathes, smirk growing into a full grin as he glances at you from the side of his eye. “Such a brat,” he shakes his head, through the grin is still present on his face as he finally presses two fingers against the swollen bud, rubbing slow, hard circles into it. “You better be drenched for me by the time we get home, you little bitch,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Large hands are on your body as the two of you stumble up the stairs, nimble fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, obscene sucking and slurping amplified by the stairwell, bouncing back to your own ears, saliva slicked lips slipping and sliding together messily as teeth clack together, practically tripping over each other’s feet and fucking Christ he needs you, he needs you now, his cock hurts, goddamn it.

And you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you didn’t absolutely love it when he gets like this, all clingy and needy and desperate, hushed little whines catching in the back of his throat, fading from deep, rumbling growls as rough hands paw at you.

A sharp gasp is knocked from your chest as he slams you against the wall on the landing of floor three with such force that your head ricochets off the concrete, your resounding cry silenced by Dabi’s lips, tongue invading your mouth as he swallows your beautiful little noises of pain.

You can feel his cock pressed up against your hip, hot and hard and throbbing through the denim that conceals it as he grinds against you, fervent, eager, impatient.

That panic is bubbling up in your throat again, bitter and acidic and eroding, rendering your voice weak and frail as scabbed knuckles drag across your bare thighs, inching higher and higher.

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

“No,” he growls, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to break the skin. “I’m done waiting,” hands are rucking up your dress. “You made me wait that whole fucking car ride,” sharp hipbones keep your thighs spread. “I can’t wait any longer,” the clinking of his heavy belt buckle echoes throughout the stairwell, sending chills pebbling across your skin.

And then he’s forcing himself into you, shoving his cock into your tight little hole, a choked cry bouncing off the dirty white walls as your eyes squeeze shut, tears leaking from the edges.

The stretch is magnificent, little cunt aching as it sucks in his thick cock, and you swear you can feel the burning in your belly, little pinpricks of pain shooting through your gut.

“G-Gonna tear me in half,” you wail, head falling forward, forehead bumping against his.

“Shh, baby, Daddy’s got you,” a callous laugh leaves his lips after he spits out the nickname, the singular word filled with such derision it must sting his tongue. Large hands hoist you up, and your legs immediately latch around his waist, seeking comfort in the monster that hurt you.

“Daddy, Daddy,” Tears drip down your cheeks as you bury your face in his shoulder, the word escaping your lips in tiny half-sobs catching in your throat, little fingers curling against the worn leather of his jacket.

And he can’t help but soften a little as you weep into his neck, thinks it’s so cute that you need him so bad, your little stuttered breaths hot against his neck as you cling to him, reminding him that he is the only man that can make you feel like this; he is the only man that can make you cry while simultaneously finding solace in his embrace. It makes his blood surge, sends cinders searing up his spine, gives him a high better than any other drug every could, and he finds himself hushing you gently, twitching cock buried in your cute lil cunt, snugly pressed against your cervix.

“Okay, okay,” he’s saying as his hips begin to pump, slow and languid. “Quiet, Daddy’s gonna make it feel good, alright? Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it go away,”

The sweetest, airiest little mewls of Daddy, yes, Daddy, soak into the inky skin of his neck, sandwiched between uneven hitched breaths. He’s gaining speed with each thrust, though, working up a steady rhythm that has you practically bouncing on his cock, little wails of pain fading into whimpers of pleasure. The combination is dizzying, infecting your mind with a haze that is only Dabi, surrounded by him, immersed in him—glowing sapphire and burning hickory and spicy nicotine—unable to quell the little noises spilling from your throat, each one louder than the next with each bump against your cervix and drag against that spot.

“That feel better, princess?” he breathes out, pausing just to readjust his grip on your ass—to angle your hips just right, chuckling at your selfish, needy whine—and then he’s drilling his cock into you, head pounding against the spot that has his name escaping your lips in high pitched squeals that break in your throat, heavy belt buckle clanking against the wall with each of his thrusts.

It sends sparks of mind-numbing pleasure burning through your abdomen, your chest, straight to your very core and collecting there, each spark adding to the growing fire that’s beginning to blaze, followed by intense spears of pain, slicing through your gut and down the muscles of your thighs, legs beginning to quiver as ankles hook tighter, tighter, tighter, the heels of your sneakers digging into his back dimples, trying to get him closer, closer, closer, desperately begging for more, more, more.

Yet it’s all so much, too much, please, Daddy—the harsh sound of metal colliding with concrete mingling with your pathetic whines and his panted breaths, rough whimpers catching deep in his chest, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard a more beautiful sound.

“C’mon, babygirl,” he gasps, pace never slowing, never faltering once, even though there’s glistening dewdrops of sweat decorating his hairline, inky strands beginning to stick to the skin of his forehead. “Be a good girl and cum for Daddy, cum before someone catches you being such a sweet little—God, Christ—a sweet little slut for me,”

And your cunt submits, would never dare to disobey a direct command from its master, from its owner, clenching around him as you cream all over his cock, a sharp cry ripping up your throat as your nails scrabble against leather clad shoulders.

A growl rumbles, deep and dark and dangerous in his chest, as his hips piston a few more times before they still, tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, branding his name in tiny blotches of navy and violet as his cock throbs, coating your insides with spurts of thick cum.

Head falling forward, his forehead collides with yours, chests heaving and breathing laboured. And he can’t help the little chuckle he huffs out as you wiggle your hips a little, eyes still closed as you rock in little motions against him, clit catching on his pubic bone.

Needy little bitch.

But he isn’t nearly done with you yet, because that desire, thick and sticky in the very pit of his stomach, only wants more, insatiable and voracious, desperate for more of your whines, more of your tears, more of your cunt.

You’re gonna make good on all those words you spewed in the parking lot, baby, he’s nearly snarling at you, cutting off your whiny complaints as he drags you up the final flight of stairs, stopping halfway to haul you over his shoulder with a huff and a deft slap to your ass, carrying you the rest of the way to his apartment.

“Dress, off. Now.” He orders as he throws you onto his mattress, pulling his shirt over his head, belt buckle jingling as he walks, still hanging undone.

And then he’s crawling over your naked body, lips attacking yours, smashing and smacking and slurping, a large hand wrapping around your wrists as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, laving over yours in slow, deliberate drags, pinning your wrists against the cold cracked drywall behind his nearly bare, minimalistic bed, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together between a singular rough palm—a silent warning—and forcing a yelp from your throat into his.

“Don’t move them,” his lips mumble the command against yours before he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, between sharp gleaming teeth that bite down hard, sinking into the soft flesh and refusing to release until he tastes copper, the tip of his tongue tracing the harsh indents left behind, licking at your lip once more before pulling away completely.

“I want you to leave bruises all over my body!” he mimics, voice absurdly high as lips skim the curve of your neck, tongue darting out to trace along your collarbones. “Isn’t that what you said, baby?”

But you can’t answer, too busy sucking on your now swollen lip, trying to soothe the incessant throbbing as metal stains your tongue. That’s disrespectful, you think you hear him growl into your unmarred skin before something sharp pierces your nipple, clamping down around it and tugging. A resounding cry tears through your throat as your body instinctually bows off the bed, pressing further into him, a muffled snicker vibrating against your chest before his tongue flicks, licks, slobbers, thick strings of saliva glimmering in the dim light as he pulls away, breaking and slapping against his chin.

“Answer me next time I ask you a fucking question,” The words are spit so harshly they slice into your skin, head nodding fervently before he’s even finished speaking, blinking the bleariness from your eyes. Smoldering sapphire holds your gaze for a moment, burning into your very soul—digging, prying, searching, scrutinizing, his breathing slow, calm, controlled with each deep rise and fall of his bare chest.

You aren’t sure what it is he’s looking for as he peers into the depths of your eyes, but you don’t dare let your gaze stray from his, don’t dare blink, don’t dare breathe until he breaks the spell, blinking once as his lips curl up into a wicked smirk.

“I’m gonna turn your body into a work of art,” he promises you, voice low and guttural, forcing thorns of ice up your spine as lips drag across your jaw.

And he does, paints little galaxies across your skin with his tongue and his lips, asymmetrical blotches of blues and greys and purples, ivory bones scraping against your flesh, signing his name into his masterpiece in deep, dark indents of crimson and violet.

It aches and it pulses and it stings, glittery trails of salt water staining your cheeks, tiny shimmering droplets clinging to your clumped, spiky lashes, adding the finishing touches on the greatest piece he’s ever created.

And it’s so pretty, you’re so pretty when you’re like this, baby, covered in navy and plum and carmine, and, fuck, it’s a shame you won’t stay like this.

It seems he’s in a trance for a moment, in awe of his craftsmanship, of what he’s produced, breathing laboured as shining azure eyes drift over your body, slowly, purposefully, as if he’s memorizing every single nick, bite, scrape, bruise, burning the image into his brain forever.

His gaze floats back up to yours, holding it for a moment, pupils big and gaping and swallowing you whole—before something snaps, breaks, and he comes back to himself, remembers why he did it.

Narrowing slightly, his eyes darken, that sadistic smirk returning to his lips. And then he’s shoving his cock into you again, hard and leaking and the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, cute little cunt stretching around him for the second time tonight.

But little girls who act like brats deserve to get fucked like brats, he tells you in a snarl, slender fingers collaring your neck and squeezing slowly, slowly, slowly, crushing the column of your throat.

Everything’s beginning to grow hazy, vision sliding in and out of focus as those calloused hands continue to tighten, and tighten, and tighten. He looks like some sort of sick angel as he looms above you, nothing more than a shadow of sharp edges and smooth curves, inky spikes and glowing sapphire, haloed by the weak neon light that spills in through grimy windows. Jutting bones prod the soft flesh of your inner thighs, carving out a space just for them as his hips snap viciously, relentlessly, obstinately.

And it’s all overwhelming, overstimulating on every front, uncontrollable tears streaming from your eyes as you choke roughly on your own sobs, each one being forced from your chest by your Daddy’s harsh thrusts, only to get caught on the palm pressed to your airway, ears ringing from the slap of skin against skin overlapping those harsh words spit at you in his falsely saccharine voice.

Aw, no, baby, wispy words caressing your cheek as they float by, eyes starting to roll back in your head. Don’t pass out on me, dollface. I want you awake when I fill your cunt with cum.

The pressure around your throat lets up just a hint, and you wheeze in air, a rush of cold flooding your body. You can feel it, that contrasting, familiar heat scorching the pit of your stomach, beginning to curl in on itself more, and more, and more with each pump of his hips, until it explodes, your body arching off the mattress, unintentionally pressing into the hand adorning your neck, restricting your air entirely.

The chuckle that leaves his lips as you choke yourself is dark, would send spears of ice slicing through your veins if you weren’t otherwise focused on trying to fill your lungs with air. Nothing leaves your mouth other than a few choked whines, barely more than a huff of light breath.

But his hips don’t slow, and he’s glaring down at you with parted lips and lidded eyes, pupils gaping, so large you’re unable to detect even the slightest hint of blue outlining them—nothing but big black orbs, absorbing everything in their vision, sucking everything from you, every hitched sob and soft whine and gorgeous wince, each time he pounds against your cervix.

And it’s how your looking up at him—with those gleaming, adoring eyes and that blissful, fucked out grin—that has him cumming with a shuddered f-fuck, forcing his eyes to stay open as he pumps you full of thick cum, desperate to catalogue every little expression that crosses your face, the way your eyes flutter slightly, the way your neck arches, the tiniest little moan slipping through chapped lips as his cock pulses inside of you.

You must pass out for a second, Dabi’s calloused palm lightly tapping against your cheek as he murmurs to you in that sinful, silky voice, sugared sentiments twining around your exhausted body.

Wake up, princess. Daddy isn’t done playing with you yet.

Words tumble past your lips in a mumble, though you aren’t quite sure what you’re saying—everything feels hazy, like you’re gazing through a thin cloud of smoke, and despite the fact that you can barely move, your body feels light, almost floaty in a way, entirely numb to the immense pain it has endured thus far.

Two fingers, coated in thick, gleaming cream, are thrust into your gasping mouth, tongue met with the salty, bitter taste of his cum. You cough around the sudden intrusion, immediately obey when he orders you to clean, sluggish tongue sliding up and lapping at and slipping between them, sucking the digits free of cum.

Good girl, he leans away and your heart flutters weakly at the praise, saliva slicked fingers dipping into your hole again to gather more.

“C’mon,” he breathes as he brings his fingers to your mouth again, sticky viscous glops collected on his fingers. They catch in the dim light streaming through the window, a unique mixture of pale moonbeams and hazy neon, cum almost glittering, almost pretty. “You wanted me so bad, didn’t you?” your head’s moving—nodding, you think, you can’t really tell, breathing shallow as your eyes belatedly follow his glistening fingers—and he smirks down at you. “Then eat my fucking cum,”

Lips part instantly, mouth falling open as your tongue lolls out, eyes drifting up to his and pleading mutely, begging for the substance—the very essence of him—and nearly moaning when he drags his fingers across the saliva coated muscle, curling and sucking his digits back into the heat of your mouth.

And he’s fucking high off of it all, pupils blown to hell, outlined by the thinnest ring of cobalt, barely detectable, visible only when it catches in the moonlight.

A lumpy pile of denim sits abandoned and bunched up near the end of the bed—he must’ve kicked his pants off at some point, though you don’t remember when—and his cock’s hard again, head brushing your inner thigh. It’s hard for you to tear your gaze from it, fleeting thoughts of stamina and impressive grazing through your mind, turning to smoke the moment you try to latch onto them.

He notices, of course—you’ve been staring at it for nearly a minute now, glazed eyes unblinking, soft little pants passing through barely parted lips. But it’s the way you’re staring at it—in the purest, unadulterated form of desire—that makes it jump, twitching a little against your thigh. You think you hear your Daddy breathe out a curse, think his rough fingers brush some hair back from your drenched forehead, think he says something along the lines of how much he fucking loves you, but in your dreamlike state, you can’t be sure.

Because then rough hands are on you, manhandling you as whatever trance he had fallen into yet again snaps once more.

“We’re gonna put that pretty, empty head of yours to good use!” he’s saying almost enthusiastically as he hoists your boneless body up, propping you up against his chest and securing you with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. “Whaddya think about that, hmm, princess? Want Daddy to use your little skull as his own personal cumdump? Huh?” lithe fingers squeeze your cheeks so hard your lips pucker up, a high-pitched whine getting caught in your throat. “That’s all it’s good for anyway, isn’t it?”

You try to nod, but all your head wants to do is flop back against his shoulder.

“Oh baby,” he cooks mockingly, jutting his inky bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

“T’is!” you mumble through his grip, drool beginning to collect in the corners of your scrunched mouth, dribbling down your chin. Gazing at him through the corner of your watery eyes, your resolve hardens, doing your best to hold your exhausted body up on your own, expression steeling as you force your woozy head to nod as best you can in his bruising grasp.

“Yeah?” he breathes, mouth curving into a dangerous smirk before his lips are at your ear, voice dropping an octave lower. “You’re fucking stubborn, y’know that? Stubborn little brat, just like your bullheaded brute of a brother,”

And then he’s pushing you down, shoving your head into the mattress and pulling your hips up, a hiss spit through your teeth as he purposefully presses into the fresh bruises.

Your poor little pussy aches, fucked open and raw by his cock, but you are stubborn—you can’t help it, it runs in your blood—exhilarated by the challenge and pushing your hips back weakly towards him.

Your Daddy chuckles behind you, but it’s one of those annoyed chuckles, one of those disbelieving chuckles, one of those chuckles that consists of an audacious smirk, quick short nodding that’s more to himself than anyone else, and a tongue running along his top teeth, sucking on the bones, before it fades from his face completely, replaced with scorn in an instant, eyes cold and jaw clenched as he delivers a harsh backhand to your ass.

Then his body’s blanketing yours, chest hot and heavy against your back, lips moving against the shell of your ear.

“Oh, you really want me to break you, don’t you?”

No, truly, you don’t, but you grit your teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sting of a fresh wave of tears, trying to stop your head from involuntarily shaking no.

He laughs again, this time mean and sharp and full of malice, as he straightens up, lining his cock up with your hole.

“Nah, nah,” he’s saying as he pushes in, and God, it still hurts, it still stretches you, reopening little sutures created in the stairwell. “I think you do—Actually, I know you do. And Daddy knows best, right?”

Yes, of course, Daddy knows best, Daddy always knows best.

And it burns, that relentless snap of his hips, driving his cock into you with deep growls and grunts, with such force that it’s jostling you up the mattress, little hands planting themselves in a pitiful attempt to press back against him, to keep yourself in one place. Every muscle in your arms screams at the effort, stiff and rigid from being held, kept, still and obedient against the wall for an extended period of time.

The dreaminess has faded again, leaving behind a dull haze, and it all just hurts. It seems to come in bouts, inexplicable waves of numbness and pain, alternating sporadically and sprinkled with spikes of intense pleasure, a potent mix of chemicals swirling in your brain, lust and desire and terror and anguish burning through your veins.

You’re sobbing into the mattress now, fingers curling tightly in his soft black sheets as your bleary vision begins to darken at the edges, mumbling out something almost in a chant—his name, you think, though you’re not sure, it all sounds muffled to your ringing ears—vibrations of your voice getting caught in your throat, hitching with your sobs and the rough piston of his hips.

It’s building again, licks of fire scalding hot against the walls of your stomach, the temperature rising with each drag of his cock against that spot, until you’re sure the flames are going to engulf you from the inside out.

Little squeaks, poor imitations of moans, escape your lips, interspersed with your pathetic wails. He’s speaking once more—you can feel it, his chest reverberating against yours, lips moving against your ear again. Something rumbles, rattles, deep and dark and dangerous at the very core of his body, and then he’s tangling a hand in your hair and tugging, hauling you up, a choked cry slipping from your lips.

It pulls you from unconsciousness’s grasp, just for a moment, clears the mist from your mind as he snarls against your ear, taking the cartilage between his teeth and biting down, hard.

“Thought I told you to answer me the next time I ask you a fucking question,” he breathes, and he almost sounds gleeful, contradicting his voice, so rough, so hoarse, so hot.

You did, Daddy, you did, you’re trying to say, trying to nod in the vice grip he has on your strands, the words jumbled and muddled and near incomprehensible, wet and messy and coated in spit.

“But I guess my—Christ—my cock makes you too stupid to do that, huh?” he’s panting now, in time with his thrusts, huffs of breath sweltering against your already sticky skin. “What would your goody-two-shoes brother say if he could see you, hmm? If he could see how fucking dumb his little slut of a baby sister goes from my cum,”

It’s too much, too much, Daddy, too much, the brutal pounding of his cockhead against your swollen cervix and the continuous stream of strained, husky, filthy words he’s spewing in your ear and the sting in your scalp and that spot, that spot, that spot—

It hits you so hard it’s painful, knocks what little breath you had right out of you as your entire body convulses on his cock, little cunt clenching and gushing as you weep Da-Daddy! over and over and over, the only word your soupy brain is capable of conceiving, body going pliant in his arms as your head lolls back against his shoulder, struggling to keep your eyes open while he continues to drive his cock into you, hard and fast and messy.

He cums with the prettiest broken whine you’ve ever heard—or at least, you think he does, entire body gone numb once again, think you feel his hips juddering and his cock pulsing, think you feel that familiar, thick substance filling you to the brim. Everything is still for a moment, his chest heaving against your arched back, and then he laughs malevolently, though it sounds far away, even though you can feel the sound vibrating against you.

“That ought’a teach you to say no to me again,” he spits harshly in your ear, giving one more hard yank on your hair before letting go completely, your abused body collapsing in a heap on his mattress.

It feels like you’re more Dabi than yourself now, with his name written all over your body, signed by his mouth, his teeth, his fingers, and his cum leaking out of you, drying hard and sticky on your thighs, his scent being all you can smell, all you can taste, heady and fiery. And as you crawl into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—finally, finally—you think about just how much can change, and how fast it does, in a mere 92 days.

✰ ✰ ✰

Three months earlier

The air is hazy with thick smoke, heavy enough to dilute the already dim yellow light shining from the bare lightbulbs overhead. The stench of cheap beer, weed and sweat stings your nose, and it wrinkles reflexively.

You aren’t supposed to be here.

Throbbing music radiates through the house, causing the structure to tremble in time with the beat, the dirty drywall you’re currently pressed up against quivering in response. It’s so loud it hurts, vibrating through the warped linoleum floors and through your body. It makes you shiver in disgust, as if it’s some sort of parasite worming it’s way through your veins in timed intervals.

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

You’ve been backed into a corner—literally, surrounded by three college boys you’ve never seen before as they drunkenly leer at you. They’re a year or two older than you, glassy half-lidded eyes scanning your body in a way that makes you feel filthy, in a way that makes you want to scrub your skin raw to rid it of their slimy gazes.

They’re mumbling out something, speaking amongst themselves in low voices, peppered with raspy snickers that make your skin crawl. Pressing further into the corner, you quickly wrack your mind for something—anything—that will get them to part just a little, that’ll crack the wall of bodies you’re now surrounded by just enough for you to barrel through. Adrenaline begins to surge through your veins as you gear up, drawing in a deep breath, and—

“Whadda we have here?”

The men part immediately at the sound of that low voice, smooth as melted chocolate, revealing a figure with spiky onyx hair, an involuntary gasp escaping your lips the moment your eyes collide with sapphire.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” he smirks, peering down at you with a gaze so intense it feels like your body’s been set aflame. “What’s a good little girl like you doing in a place like this, hmm?”

Dabi.

This wasn’t the first time you had seen him, remembering the man with the pretty cobalt eyes and inky hair standing under a singular flickering lamp post outside of the tiny house you and your brother share, or lingering on the threshold of the front door, eyes lazily darting around the space as he waits.

He never comes inside. Your brother doesn’t allow it.

You’ve barely spoken any words to him, always responding to his polite greetings with shy nods or little waves.

But this is the first time you’re meeting him properly.

Feet bolted to the floor, you try to respond, only able to emit a pathetic little squeak.

He huffs out a condescending chuckle, gazing down the bridge of his nose at you, head tilted up just a touch, lidded crystal eyes glittering in the dim light. That trademark smirk spreads into something darker, something almost ominous in nature, something that whispers in your ear that it knows something you don’t, sending sharp spikes of ice shooting up your spine.

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes widening in panic as anxiety begins to rise in your throat. He isn’t about to rat you out, is he?

“Thought so. Dunno why I asked,” he heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising with the force of it, as if he’s extremely exasperated, as if you’re some sort of child lost at a supermarket and he’s bringing you back to your parents. “Alright, let’s go,”

A hand extends, hanging limp in the smoky air for a moment, waiting, before Dabi sighs again with a roll of his eyes, latching onto your wrist and all but dragging you out of the corner, maneuvering through the mass of sweaty bodies crowding the dingy living room.

“We’re leaving?” you ask dumbly as Dabi approaches the back door, hand still wrapped in a firm grasp around your arm.

“Yep. My work here is done, and you,” he tuts his tongue with a slow shake of his head, hidden smile on his face. “Your work here is done, too,”

“W-Where are we going?” you ask as the two of you stumble outside, shivering a little as the cool, fresh air hits your heated skin.

“No idea. Away from this place,” he looks back at your briefly, giving your wrist a soft squeeze before dropping it. “You tryna put your brother in an early grave or somethin’?”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips as you shake your head again. “No, I just—”

“You shouldn’t have been there,” his words echo your thoughts from before. “You were in some real danger for a second, y’know that?”

“I-I know. Thank you for, uh, s-saving me, Sir,”

“Sir?” his eyes are bright with mirth, shining despite the weak light provided by the waxing moon. The smirk returns, and you feel it again—like he’s plotting something, like he’s got some big secret he’s hiding, a plan, something up his sleeve. “Sir is nice, but I think there’s another name you’d rather call me,”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, your eyes drift to the ground, mulling over his words. Something else you’d rather call him? Like what? You’ve only seen the guy a few—

“Still have no idea why you haven’t fucked him yet,” one of your friends muses as Dabi’s exiting his car, eyes watching him lazily from where you’re both seated on the front lawn.

“Keigo would murder me, literally,” you giggle a little, glancing over at the man with inky hair before looking away again, down at your lap as little fingers thread through the grass beneath you and shaking your head.

“Shame,” she sighs, twirling her sticky pink lollipop idly, the candy catching in the sun. “He’s Daddy as hell,”

A sharp gasp leaves your parted lips, eyes snapping back to her face and holding them for a moment before the two of you burst into a fit of giggles, your fingers tapping her bare knee in a silent warning that he’s approaching.

Heavy black boots collide with the front stone path, buckles jingling daintily, his head perking up in a catlike manner, trademark smirk forming on his lips as you both urgently try to calm your laughter.

“Ladies,” he nods with a wink as he passes, little giggles cutting off instantaneously, the two of you mumbling shy greetings in response.

That was the only time you had ever spoken to him, until now.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment. He did hear.

He chuckles slightly, dropping the subject with a shake of his head.

“So. Where to?” he asks expectantly, feet slowing to a stop on the cracked sidewalk as he taps out a cigarette. He whips a silver Zippo open, sharp twinge of metal swiping against metal cutting though the silent nighttime air. “Home?”

A shrill bubble of incredulous laughter escapes your throat. Dabi glances over at you, amused, raising an eyebrow in question as he cups the flame and brings it to his lips.

“Do you want to put my brother in an early grave?” you snort.

“I could just walk you to the street, you know,” he rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. “Precious niisan wouldn’t even need to see me,”

You shake your head, idly kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe as you begin walking again. The campus is beginning to bleed into the city now, engulfing the two of you in familiar florescent light. “No, I can’t go home,”

“Why?”

“I…” you trail off, heat flooding your cheeks. “I, um, told him I’d be staying at a friend’s place tonight,”

Dabi gasps mockingly. “Baby, you lied to your niisan?”

Knocking your shoulder against his arm, you scoff, trying to hide the stupid smile the nickname conjures. “Oh, shut up,”

“Getting bold now, I see,” he hums to himself. “Could’a swore just a few minutes ago you were scared of me,”

“N-Not scared, just—uh, just surprised, that’s all,”

“Uh-huh, sure. Tell me again why you can’t just go to this friend’s house?”

“Well, she’s—she’s, like, y’know—” you shrug as a form of explanation, deflating a little at his unimpressed stare as he blows smoke out his nose. “She’s going home with some guy,” you mumble. “A-And I was supposed to too, but…”

Dabi tsks, shaking his head in false sympathy. “Sweetheart, you’re a teenage movie cliché,”

“Shut up,”

“You tell me to shut up one more time and I’m gonna have to do something about it,” he singsongs, a thinly veiled threat coated in sugar. Swallowing thickly, you glance up at him, blinking twice. His eyes tell you that he’s not fucking around, despite the relaxed features of his face, smile easygoing and gaze lidded.

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

“Don’t you know? Good little girls don’t speak like that to Daddy,”

He spits the word out, almost patronizing in his tone, but that fails to stop the way your stomach flutters when it falls from his lips, fails to prevent the choked little gasp that escapes yours. He laughs loudly, your cheeks burning with shame.

Sapphire eyes glint in the pale moonlight, as if he’s just discovered the most valuable treasure, as if he’s just been given the key to the universe—a predator who’s just ensnared it’s prey, and the smirk that slowly etches itself across his face is nothing short of sinister.

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

“Hmm?”

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to, but you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

✰ ✰ ✰

He only has one bed and no couch, he informs you as he leads you up four flights of stairs, explaining that the elevator’s been broken for a few months now, panting out the words just a little.

A soft giggle slips from your lips, amplified by the empty stairwell and echoing off the concrete walls, and Dabi looks back at you, amused.

“Something funny, princess?”

And although there’s a friendly grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, something in his voice makes you tremble, shoots scorching sparks up your spine and sends them rushing through your veins, and your laughter immediately cuts off.

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head and hoping that he didn’t catch the full body shiver that coursed through your figure just a second ago, all thanks to his voice. “Just laughing at the absurdity of it, s’all,”

“Ah,” he says sagely, nodding once. “Well, here we are,”

A tattooed hand gestures vaguely to a white door with a large, black 4 painted on it, the paint beginning to chip away, worn down and faded in some spots.

Dabi’s apartment is small, but you like it. He’s surprised, he tells you, expected someone like you—someone brought up with luxury, someone who’s never had to ask for or want anything in their life, because they always already had it—would hate it.

“Or maybe, that’s exactly why you like it,”

It’s a little snarky, the way those words flow out of his mouth, biting your cheek as they pass, and you wince a little.

“I think it’s homey,” you say quietly, tiny voice raw and honest, deciding to omit the fact that you’ve never really had a space that felt homey yourself. “It’s very you. I really do like it.”

His eyes soften at your gentle confession, features relaxing a little as calloused fingers tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then, I’m glad,”

For a moment, you’re positive he’s going to kiss you, staring down at you so intently with that look in his eyes as they slowly sweep across your face. But he turns on his heel a moment later, stalking into the tiny bachelor and beckoning for you to follow with a wave of his hand, flicking on a lamp as he passes.

“You hungry?” he’s asking as he walks. “I know this kickass noodle place that delivers 24/7,” he collapses on his bed, outfitted in black sheets, looking up at you expectantly when you stop hesitantly a few feet away. “You should probably eat something,” he continues, pushing himself up on his elbows, legs dangling off the end of the mattress. “Especially if there’s still alcohol in your—”

“Oh no, I don’t drink,” you cut him off without thinking, the words etched into your permanent vocabulary, sitting down next to him, just a hint too close.

“No, no, of course you don’t,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head, sitting up fully. “Let me guess; niisan doesn’t allow it,”

A frown forms on your lips, brows knitting together. “Well I—”

“Ah! Stop,” he cuts you off with a disinterested wave and a roll of his eyes. “I’ve heard enough,”

Normally, you’d scoff at someone speaking to you so rudely. But with Dabi, with Dabi, it’s different. A little giggle escapes your lips without your permission, the bubbly noise surprising you, and Dabi chuckles in response, a genuine grin spreading across his face, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“So. Food?”

The takeout arrives at 1:56am, Dabi bringing the bag full of noodles and other appetizers—too much food for only two people, if you’re being honest—back to his bed, placing it in front of you and then crawling onto the mattress, sitting cross-legged.

The action surprises you—he doesn’t have a table, but you had been expecting him to bring the food to the small breakfast bar, complete with two mismatched stools, not his bed.

Old Hammer Horror films flicker on the TV as the two of you pick through the food together, Styrofoam containers littering the bedspread. And it’s…fun—it’s the most fun you’ve had in a long time, a strange, unfamiliar giddiness fizzing in your tummy every time you make him laugh, every time his eye catches yours, every time he shoves your knee and calls you dollface, despite the deep, honey-coated voice echoing in your head telling you that you shouldn’t be doing this and he’s dangerous.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Bedtime,” Dabi says simply as he returns from the little kitchenette after storing the leftover takeout in the fridge, using a hand to tug at the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

“Wha—”

The material hits you square in the face and an involuntary, entirely unsolicited giggle bubbles past your lips, pulling the garment from your head.

“Pajamas,” he nods at the fabric now bunched in your hands, but you can’t seem to find your voice to respond.

Teeth bite into your tongue hard enough to make you wince in an effort to keep a gasp within your chest when he comes into view. He’s lean—toner than you expected, muscles gliding smoothly under his skin as he moves—and you’re unsurprised to find his chest and back decorated with vibrant, intricate tattoos.

Of course, you knew Dabi had tattoos—they’re on his face, his neck, his collarbone, disappearing under the neckline of his shirt and resurfacing under his short sleeves, curling around his arms, brilliant flowing ink telling stories across his skin. They’re beautiful—they’re mesmerizing, inquisitive eyes slowly roaming the expanse of his chest.

But you had never noticed the soft, slightly puckered skin they hid. Scars, your mind provides dimly.

“Do you want to touch them?”

The rumble of his deep voice snaps you out of your revere, heat flooding your cheeks when you realize you were staring. There’s a playful lilt to his voice, and you can’t quite tell if his offer is serious or not, your eyes floating up to his.

“Here,” he chuckles a little as he sits down, offering you his forearm, flipping it over and resting it on the bed.

He lets you trace every single one. He won’t tell you where or how he got the scars, and you don’t push, even as curiosity erodes your chest. It’s impolite to pry, Keigo’s voice echoes through your mind, and you nod once to yourself.

You don’t have sex that night. He doesn’t force you. You nearly tell him that you’re surprised, what, a man of his stature, of his reputation, has a pretty girl in his bed and he doesn’t fuck her?, petty retaliation for what he had said to you when you entered the apartment hours ago, but you chicken out at the last minute. You’d soon come to find that some things are better left unsaid.

✰ ✰ ✰

Spring has just arrived, bringing with it cool, gentle breezes and swaying blades of grass decorated with glistening dewdrops that sparkle when the sun catches them in just the right way. The smell of freshly battered cinnamon sugar donuts and cheap coffee wafts in through the open window, drifting over your bodies and embracing you.

It rouses you, and your eyes flutter open to be met with Dabi’s face. And, God, he’s so damn pretty, with thick dark eyelashes fanned out delicately across inked skin and tousled onyx hair, breathing deep and calm, sharp jaw on display. Reaching out, you daintily trace over his relaxed features—circling defined cheekbones, sliding down the slope of his nose, trailing along his jaw—allowing yourself a moment to admire him before thick guilt begins to strangle you.

You should go. Keigo still thinks that you’re at a friend’s house, and doesn’t expect you to be home until late afternoon, but that belated bitter guilt finally brands the back of your tongue, face souring a little at the idea of deceiving your big brother. And after all he’s done for you, niisan tsks in your head, voice sweet and syrupy, and you can almost see the disappointment in his eyes as he shakes his head. We’re all each other has, you know. And you do, really, you do know, head nodding routinely, instinctual at this point, as you begin to push yourself up.

“Stay,” Dabi says softly, eyes still closed as a hand catches your wrist. You stop immediately, allowing him to pull you back down to the mattress as lids lift to reveal the most brilliant sapphires. Fingers trace down the curve of your neck and you hum, arching into his touch.

“Keigo—”

“Doesn’t have to know,” he cuts you off, his voice still quiet, rough around the edges and heavy with sleep. “C’mon. We’ll go get pie for breakfast, and I’ll have you home to niisan by dinner, promise,”

Giggling a little, you roll into him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you atop his chest as he flops onto his back.

“Pie,” you laugh, resting your chin on his toned muscles and gazing up at him. “For breakfast?”

“Why not?” He asks, and that smile is back again, the boyish one that looks like he’s hiding something, a little amusing secret just for him, the one that induces a whole flock of butterflies in your chest. “It’s Saturday,” he shrugs as best he can, then squeezes you to his chest. “You don’t got anything to do, I don’t got anything to do...”

Crystal eyes glitter in the morning sun as they gaze at you, golden rays creeping through the small gaps in his thick purple curtains, swaying gently in the wind.

Molars sink into the inside flesh of your cheek as you think, and Dabi tuts his tongue softly, a hand coming to gently pull the skin from between your teeth.

“Okay,”

His lips curl into a smirk, something sharp flashing in his cobalt eyes. “Okay,”

That’s how it begins—with deceptively bright, youthful smiles and cherry pie for breakfast— and five days later, in the backseat of his Cadillac Eldorado while James Cagney flickers on a worn out, off-white screen and two of his fingers are three knuckles deep in you, he asks you to be his, digits curling in your pretty little pussy as he breathes the words against the shell of your ear.

You’re whimpering out yes as you cum, nodding almost frantically against his shoulder as your hips roll towards his palm.

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

✰ ✰ ✰

But it progresses faster than you ever thought it would—faster than you ever thought possible—like a shot of morphine straight to your bloodstream, pupils gaping as DabiDabiDabi surges through your veins, becoming all you can think about—all you want to think about, all you want to do, eat, feel, breathe.

Midnight double-features of old Hollywood films at the local rundown drive-in become one of the many staples of your relationship, finding comfort in the sharp smell of buttersalt popcorn stinging your nose, in the way the film’s sound cracks and pops as it travels through the car radio, staticky like an old record, in the way Dabi forces a cherry Jolly Rancher from his mouth into yours, the hard candy clacking against your teeth.

This is how you spend most of your weeknights for the next month or so—passing candy through kisses in the backseat of the Eldorado, tongues shoved down each other’s throats, stained red and purple and blue from the cheap artificial dye, hands wandering up dresses and little fingers tugging at beltloops and buckles.

On Saturday mornings—sometimes Sundays, too, if you’ve been a really good girl—you find yourself in a familiar red booth at The League—a little diner tucked away on one of the city side streets not too far from Dabi’s apartment—cheap speckled plastic glittering in the sunlight and sticking to your thighs as your favourite waitress, a young woman by the name of Himiko who insists that you call her Mimi, takes your order. She seems to know your Daddy—your Dabi—somehow, but you don’t press, because it’s impolite to pry, you know and niisan raised you better than this.

He always lets you pick what you want for breakfast, but Daddy always orders it for you, always reminds you the mornings you decide on pancakes that if you get those, you aren’t allowed any sundaes or a slice of pie, because too much sugar is bad for his babygirl, and he knows how much syrup you drown those things in, dollface.

But there’s one staple of your relationship that you love more than all the others.

Joyrides.

That’s what he calls them, those drives through the bad parts of the city, the parts with cracked concrete sidewalks and shattered glass and needles littered in the dying grass.

Dabi takes you along frequently, tells you that you have an important job to do, that you play a crucial role in this whole operation, because the police—including your father—have been cracking down especially hard on dealing in this area. But nobody bothers to question a seemingly innocent young woman delivering inconspicuous brown paper bags—bags full of pretty little pills and tiny baggies of white powder—to shop owners and crumbling apartment complexes, eerily reminiscent of a Girl Scout selling cream filled cookies and thin-mints.

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

It’s an instantaneous rush, though, being allowed to participate in Dabi’s business ventures, being allowed to help. It’s a privilege, you think, makes you feel like he trusts you, and you absolutely live for the praise, for that gorgeous smile he gives you after you deliver the sweets to the client, for the passionate kisses he rewards you with for being such a good little helper.

Joyrides are the best. Because it’s just you and him, the Eldorado’s radio struggling to play whatever station it’s picking up on—usually some sort of sixties rock—as you cruise the streets in his absurdly large car, the sky smeared with strokes of faded pinks and oranges, peppered with wispy clouds that look like loose strands of white cotton candy.

And sometimes, after his work is all finished, he’ll drive you to one of those cliffs you’ve come to know so well and let you ride him in the drivers seat—precious little whines and pathetic broken whimpers spilling from your lips as you rest your head against his shoulder, gyrating your hips in fast, shallow little circles, using his cock like it’s a toy, just like he told you to—before taking you back home to fuck you properly, to fuck you right.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s quaint, the little house you and your niisan live in, with its perfectly trimmed hedges and well-manicured grass, a stone walkway leading up to the front door, which is painted white. White windowsills, white brick, white, white, white, the whole thing is white—bright, pure, untarnished.

It’s just enough space for the two of you, your adoptive father, an absurdly large man by the name of Toshinori Yagi, had stated proudly, the first day he showed it to you.

And it’s only a short walk from the university, his wife chimed in with a smile too wide for her face, nodding excessively.

It’s convenient, they had said, the day you received your acceptance letter and scholarship offer from the university your brother attended. It’ll be good for you to stay with your older brother for a little, before going off into the world on your own, they had promised.

You hadn’t really wanted to go to this university—would’ve much preferred to go away to school in another country—but you didn’t. Keigo knew it, too, knew your desire to leave, to see more of the world, to experience it on your own without that hulking shadow with the wild hair. But he coaxed you into it, convinced you to stay, just like he always does, begging you softly not to leave your poor niisan all alone as gentle fingers pushed locks of hair from your face, trailing down your cheek and coming to cup your jaw, reminding you that you’re all each other has.

And you had nodded, nuzzled your face against his palm, sought comfort and relief in the presence of your big brother, just as you always do. He was right; you had your entire life to travel the world, what’s the rush? Why leave now? Stay with him, just for a little longer.

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. Keigo has always had a penchant for living fast, after all, seems to somehow incorporate conceptual and literal speed into all aspects of his life—his marks in school, his record-breaking track races, and now, his personal life, too.

It started in high school. He was in twelfth grade. You still don’t know who gave him his first taste, still don’t know why he decided to shoot up that night, but he did.

And it made him feel invincible. It made him feel like he could fly.

He hid it well, didn’t look like a heroin addict—at least, not what the words ‘heroin addict’ usually conjure up. His topaz eyes were bright as ever, even if his pupils were just a pinprick; nails cut so short it looked painful, to keep from scratching and scabbing his body; was always sure to keep his track marks well hidden, methodical in choosing his injection sites, and kept up with regular hygiene, even if his wild, windswept hair did get a little messier.

Yes, he hid it well.

But he couldn’t hide it from you for long, didn’t hide it from you well enough, becoming increasingly careless the deeper he spiralled into the addiction.

And it takes a while for you to truly acknowledge it. You didn’t want to—not at first, anyway—didn’t want to believe that your all-star, top-of-his-class, golden-child of a big brother was a junkie.

So you ignored it. You ignored the way he began recklessly disposing of the needles in the small trash can under his desk instead of hiding them in the kitchen trash whenever your mother asked him to take it out, ignored the burnt spoon you found in the sink and the bloody Q-tips you found littering the counter of the bathroom the two of you shared, ignored the way those tiny orange syringe caps had begun appearing in odd places, seeming to pop up more and more frequently.

Yes, you ignored it, until he stole one of the shoelaces off of your sneakers. And you still can’t explain it, exactly, can’t explain why that was the final straw, why that had you gripping a laceless shoe in a trembling hand as you stormed into the washroom uninvited and unannounced, catching him with the string between his teeth, just as the last of that disgusting orangish-brown liquid sunk into his veins.

The words disintegrate on your tongue, escaping in a pitiful little squeak, all of the fury you felt towards him for his behaviour melting the instant your eyes catch the end of the injection, wide and unblinking as they stare at the needle stuck in his forearm.

For a moment, neither of you are able to speak, Keigo’s mouth opening and closing a few times as his eyes flood with tears, the prettiest topaz shining in the warm washroom light as they frenetically search your face.

“Sit,” you tell him, finally breaking the silence, your voice not your own. His eyebrows knit together, and he shakes his head a little in misunderstanding, but you persist. “Sit,”

Shoulders deflating, he holds your gaze for a moment longer before nodding once and obeying, sitting on the closed toilet.

“We have to—” you stop as your chin begins to wobble, swallowing thickly against the sob crawling up your throat, quivering hands rooting haphazardly through a first-aid kit. “W-We have to clean those, so they don’t get infected,”

Glassy golden eyes watch you intently, his chest hiccupping just a little as he wordlessly holds his arms out to you, armed with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, the scent stinging your nose.

There aren’t many—only a few little pinpricks on each arm, some decorated with dark blooms of periwinkle and violet, but they still cause your tongue to crumble to bitter, suffocating ash in your mouth.

Tiny fingers encircle his wrist, your touch always so soft, so gentle, as if you’re afraid to break him, and he chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously similar to a sob.

“You don’t—You shouldn’t have to—” and he can’t even force the words out, breathing out forcefully through his nose as his tears finally overflow, glistening drops streaming down his cheeks, bleary eyes unblinking, focused on your little fingers as they continue their tender ministrations with so much care, with so much love it’s nearly stifling, and he can’t breathe, because he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve it—

“I want to,” a knuckle catches one of his fresh tears, swiping it across his cheekbone and leaving a glimmering trail in its wake. “Alright? I want to,”

And this—this becomes a habit.

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t tell Keigo about your relationship. Not at first, at least, conjuring up flimsy excuses that become more ridiculous as the days pass, as your disappearances steadily increase. Dabi doesn’t want to, makes up some bullshit excuse about how he isn’t ready yet. But you buy it anyway, and you wait.

Until the morning of one of your niisan’s big races, the ones where multiple trainers and coaches come from all over the country to assess his performance, when Dabi shows up entirely unannounced and uninvited, makes sure he’s in Keigo’s line of sight as he bounces around at the starting line, and kisses the life out of you, right in front of him.

That’s the only time he attends one of Keigo’s races.

The rest you continue attending by yourself. Dabi doesn’t like it, doesn’t like to have you out of his sight at all lately, but he knows it’s moot to argue with you. You’re going, you told him firmly, the night before Keigo’s next race, whether he likes it or not.

But, boy, was your niisan fuming by the time the two of you arrived home that day.

He hadn’t cared that he had, essentially, lost the race, hadn’t cared that he didn’t even manage to place in the top three for the first time in literal years, hadn’t cared that he just blew several chances with potential coaches and sponsors.

None of it mattered.

With a rough hand wrapped around your bicep, he all but yanks you out of the car, doesn’t care that you’re stumbling over your own feet as he drags you towards the front door, doesn’t care that he shoves you inside the house so hard you do trip, crying out as your hands and knees collide with the cold tiled floor.

And he’s yelling, yelling at the top of his lungs, the moment that white door slams shut, shut so hard the walls tremble.

“Fucking Touya Todoroki!? Are you fucking kidding me?”

You can barely see him through your tears as you quickly flip yourself over, beginning to inch away on your hands and feet as you stare up at him, breath hitching in your chest.

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

“Oh Jesus, don’t tell me—He didn’t tell you his fucking name?”

No, you shake your head quickly, chest stuttering as the name echoes through your mind, your big brother nothing but a blur of crimson and gold advancing towards you, mumbling to himself about how no, of course he didn’t, why would he? Of course not, as he drags nimble fingers through his messy hair.

“To-Todo—”

“Todoroki,” he spits, so harsh it makes you flinch.

“Your coa—”

“Yeah, I know his father,” Keigo rolls his eyes as he crouches down, catches your trembling chin between his thumb and forefinger, and you cease all action immediately, freezing in his grip. “You know his brother,”

Your brow furrows as you belatedly search your memory for any instance of the name, gunmetal grey and snow white flashing through your mind, but everything’s too foggy, too hazy with the fear of disappointing your niisan more, eyes squeezing shut as you hiccup at the mere thought.

But then he’s sighing, always knows when he’s gone a little too far—you are very delicate, after all, so small and naïve and in desperate need of someone to take care of you, aren’t you?—collapsing back on his heels and pulling you into his lap as soft hands smooth down your hair, murmuring it’s alright, it’s alright and niisan’s got you, niisan’s got you.

“What’re you doin’ with a man like that, my little songbird?” his voice is gentle as he rocks your bodies back and forth, after your sobs have calmed a bit.

What are you? you want to ask, front teeth sinking into your tongue hard enough to make you wince, keeping those three tiny words inside of your mouth.

“I like him,” you mumble instead, nuzzling your face into his chest and hiding from those bright, inquisitive topaz eyes.

“You—You like him,” he snorts to himself in disbelief, shaking his head a little.

“I do,” you respond, a little firmer as you pull back to stare at your big brother’s face, eyebrows knit together in determination, sparks of fury igniting deep in your chest at the thought of Keigo thinking he knows better, when he’s just as bad.

“He isn’t good for you—”

“He isn’t good for you,” you shoot back, tone clipped as you level your gaze, squirming a little in his arms. His grasp tightens, like he’s terrified you’re going to leave, honey eyes holding yours for a beat before he lets out a breath, looking away, defeated.

“That doesn’t mean you should be allowed to see him,” he mutters, glancing at your tear-stained face for a moment before his eyes flit away again. “But…” his chest rises with a deep inhale, pressing against you. “I guess…I guess it isn’t very fair of me to, uh, judge you, is it?”

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

He huffs out a soft chuckle, gazing at you from the side of his eye, a tiny smirk spreading across his face. “Stop being so cute,” he grumbles, squeezing you against him just a bit too hard, giggles spilling from your lips as your fingers curl in the cotton of his hoodie. “I’m trying to be mad at you, y’know,”

“Kei-nii,” you whine with a roll of your eyes, shoving his shoulder weakly, though there’s a smile on your lips.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s saying as lithe fingers brush some hair back from your face, palm resting against your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw rhythmically. “Just—Promise me, if he ever hurts you…You’ll tell me immediately, yeah?”

Blinking a few times, your eyes search his face, sobering up as gold bores into you. There’s something in his stare, something you’ve never seen before, something that you can’t decipher, and it sends chills pebbling across your skin. Swallowing thickly, you nod, little jerky movements as your eyes hold his. “Y-Yeah, promise, niisan,”

“Good,” he whispers, chin resting atop the crown of your head as he cradles you to his chest. “We’re all we have. Never forget it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You only question Dabi about his name once, lounging around on his bed in the early hours of the morning, tangled in his sheets, wearing his t-shirt, with his large hand resting on your bare thigh. His head’s tipped back against the headboard as he exhales smoke in pretty little curls that disintegrate into hazy nothingness only a moment later.

“T-Touya?” Your hearts thudding against your ribcage as you almost whisper the name, barely audible at all, but his head snaps forward, sapphire eyes finding yours immediately.

And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, that you’ve crossed some invisible line you hadn’t had a clue about, his glare scathing your skin; but then his features relax, and a little smirk spreads across his lips.

“Ah, so he finally told you,” his voice is quiet, and you can’t read his tone, eyes squinting a little as you lean towards him. “I don’t go by that name anymore,” he speaks up, voice ringing out clear and strong. “Don’t call me that again,”

The or else is implied, and you nod meekly, promising him softly that you’ll never utter it again.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s been gnawing at you all week, sitting heavy like a block of lead in your stomach, the cuticles on your left thumb bitten raw in agitation. You need to tell him. You’re going to tell him, it’s just…

It just never seemed like the right time to tell him—then again, is there ever a right time to tell your older brother that you’re spending the entire weekend at his drug dealer’s place?

But now it’s Friday, and Dabi will be here in a few minutes, and you still have yet to let Keigo know.

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

You hadn’t been expecting to hear the tinny laughter of a woman when you entered the house, arriving home after your last class of the day, hadn’t been expecting to walk into the living room to find said girl splayed across your niisan’s lap, staring up at him dreamily as endless giggles spilled from her painted lips, hadn’t been expecting him to be so completely enamoured with her that he doesn’t even greet you.

It burns up all of the anxiety that had been building inside you in an instant, turns it into boiling rage that bubbles and pops, noxious as it rises up your throat.

And so, you decide that you won’t say anything at all. If he’s too busy to even acknowledge you like he normally does every single day, then surely he doesn’t care if you leave, right?

“I’m going out,” you toss airily over your shoulder as your halfway out the front door, a small grin spreading across you lips as you spot Dabi leaning lazily against his car. He gives you a nod of acknowledgement, smug grin of his own forming on his lips.

Keigo shoots up immediately, nearly knocking the girl to the floor, moving faster than he ever has in his life as he catches your wrist and tugs, hard. A loud yelp sounds from the back of your throat and you stumble backwards, right into your big brother’s chest.

“Where? Huh? Where?” he growls out the word through clenched teeth, squeezing again. “With who? That—That fucking scumbag?”

At the sound of your yelp, Dabi straightens up instantly, usual lidded eyes now wide open and alert, zeroing in on where Keigo has ensnared you.

“Not like it matters to you, not when you have a whore to entertain,” you spit, and though your gaze is blazing, your eyes are filling with tears, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Right?” you push, after a few moments of silence.

His grip loosens, although he doesn’t let go completely, fingers still clasped around you.

“Princess, I…”

“No,” you snap, viciously pulling yourself free of him. “Don’t princess me. Not after ignoring me like that,”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Then so are you,” you cut him off sharply, already beginning to back away and blinking hard to clear your eyes of stubborn tears. “I’m spending the weekend at Dabi’s. I’ll see you on Sunday,”

Dabi catches you the moment you’re within reach, drawing you close to his chest for a second before pulling back. Calloused hands gently raise your wrist, sapphire eyes assessing the damage. His thumb caresses the rapidly bruising area rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth, and he frowns deeply, his gaze finally meeting yours.

“Does he do this often? Hurt you like this?”

And it’s startling, shocking, to see the overflowing concern in his crystal eyes, studying your face intently as you try to find your voice. You don’t think he’s ever sounded that serious before.

“I—No, of course not,” you shake your head, tongue tripping over the words. “We—Y’know, siblings fight, and stuff, it’s—he doesn’t know his own strength, sometimes, uh, forgets it, a-and I bruise easily,” you shrug, wincing a little at the serious expression still etched deep into Dabi’s face.

“If he ever puts his hands on you again, I’ll fucking kill him,” Dabi says slowly, softly, as if he’s reciting the morning news to you, dark eyes drifting up to refocus on the figure still standing in the doorway. “Do you understand me?” he asks, though his stare does not leave Keigo’s, voice still calm, almost serene. “I’ll fucking kill him,”

He won’t, you reassure him, countless times over the next few weeks. Niisan’s never intentionally hurt me, Daddy, he won’t, I promise.

And they’re all true, those words you repeat to him, over and over and over again, while you comb fingers through his inky hair or press chaste kisses against his scarred skin. They’re all true.

Until they aren’t.

You should’ve known, really, not to talk about it. He doesn’t—not when you’re cleaning his track marks or wiping sweat from his forehead, not when he lays his head in your lap as he’s coming down, eyes fluttering as your fingers thread through his hair, not even when you’re feeding him teaspoons of water to keep him hydrated as his body forces him to throw up nothing, again, lips dry and cracked, skin clammy and cold—and you shouldn’t, either.

“Have you ever thought about switching to pills?” You ask one night, casually, as if this is mundane, normal, to discuss while washing dishes. “I heard oxy is like, heroin in a pill,”

His jaw clenches, you can see the motion out of the corner of your eye, quickly refocusing your gaze on the bowl in your hands, the same bowl you’ve been washing for about five minutes now.

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

“And I asked why not,” you spit, dropping the bowl from your hands. It cracks as it collides with the aluminum of the sink, the sound piercing through the tense air as you turn to glare at your brother, soapy hands on your hips. “It would be safer—”

“Marginally—”

“That’s still better than nothing, Keigo! Christ,” you sigh, running a sudsy hand through your hair. “They’re all fucking opioids, what’s the difference!? They’re all gonna get you high the same way, aren’t they?”

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

You wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain to you. You wouldn’t understand that he’s already attempted this, attempted to switch from heroin to pills, and that it wasn’t the same—isn’t the same. You wouldn’t understand that oxy doesn’t give the same instantaneous rush as heroin does, doesn’t take his breath away like heroin does, doesn’t warm his entire fucking body the way heroin does.

No, you wouldn’t understand how most of the time he feels like he can’t fucking breathe until he shoots up, wouldn’t understand how, at this point, heroin feels like an old friend, safe and cozy and more comforting than anything he’s ever felt before, than even your arms are, wouldn’t understand how heroin makes him feel like he’s fucking invincible, like he can take on the entire world in one day, like he can continue living.

It makes him feel whole again, full again, put back together with no cracks or missing pieces. It distracts him from how irrevocably shattered his insides truly are, providing him with quick, fleeting relief, just long enough for him to keep going, keep striving, keep breathing. But you wouldn’t understand any of that. How could you?

He’s sighing as he walks away from you, raking both hands through golden hair.

“You don’t understand—”

“No, you don’t see what this shit is doing to you! It’s killing you, niisan!”

God, no, not the honorific. Not when you’re gazing at him with tears spilling from your eyes, little hands desperately pawing at his t-shirt, urgent just to make him understand, to get through to him for one instant.

“I-It’s killing you and all I can do is watch,” your voice fades into a whisper, breaking on the last word as more tears streak your cheeks, leaving small gleaming trails in their wake, fingers readjusting, knotting in his shirt and tugging, latching onto him as he keeps walking, jaw clenching again as he tries to ignore you. “Y-You have to stop—no, no, n-not stop, just—just slow down, yeah? Slow down a little, it’s—it’s too fast, niisan, you’re going too fast—”

But it’s building, and building, and his head is throbbing, and throbbing, and your voice is rising higher and higher, louder and louder, and it’s all just too much, and before he even knows what’s happening, his hand is cutting through the air, knuckles colliding with your cheek so hard it sends you stumbling backwards, tripping over your own feet as you fall on your ass.

He regrets it the moment it happens, the very moment his skin makes contact with yours.

But that doesn’t matter; the damage is already done.

He’s never hit you before. Sure, he may be a little rough sometimes, and his grip may leave a few bruises every once in a while, but he has never deliberately hit you, until today.

He never thought he would.

Golden eyes dart from his hand, still raised in the air from where it struck you, blood gleaming on his silver rings, to your face, small and terrified, crimson flowing down your cheek, mixing with your tears as it slowly drips off your jaw, and then back to his hand.

And for a moment, he swears, the whole world stops.

Then, a mere second later, his whole world shatters.

You’re trying to form words, staring up at him with impossibly wide, unblinking eyes, but they’re just escaping your lips in little mumbles, half-formed and coated in spit.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, nothing more than a pitiful huff of air formed in the shape of a curse leaving his lips.

It takes your mind a moment to register what’s happened, numb with dizzying shock, stupid with the most heartbreaking pain, dazed as tiny, trembling fingers raise to tenderly prod at the wound, wincing the moment they make contact. But the throbbing of your cheek brings you back quicker than Keigo would’ve liked, and then your eyebrows are knitting together, mouth settling in a wobbly line, blinking hard to clear your eyes of pesky tears.

And all he can do is watch, watch as you shakily push yourself to your feet, watch as your hand grips your phone like it’s a fucking lifeline—a lifeline he very briefly thinks about diving forward and snatching out of your grasp—watch as you turn on the balls of your feet and disappear down the hall, the slam of your bedroom door echoing a moment later.

You barely make it into your bedroom before your collapsing on the floor, wheezing out uneven breaths, sharp, hard huffs of air that slice through your tight chest with each exhale, vision blurry with stinging tears as you stare down at your phone, cradled in quivering hands.

You know that if you make this phone call, Dabi will never let you come back. You know that if you make this phone call, this is it. Trembling fingers hesitate over his name, those four glowing letters staring back at you, an unnecessary amount of various heart emojis cushioning them.

He doesn’t pick up the first time. Maybe it’s a sign, you think to yourself, a sign that you shouldn’t leave just yet, that you should stay and rot away with him for a little bit longer, remain with him for a little more and give him another piece of your soul that he can add to his prized collection as he slowly steals your life force from you.

But then searing pain radiates through your entire face, along your jaw and to the back of your head, and the coppery smell of blood stings your nose, and you press on Dabi’s name again.

✰ ✰ ✰

If he’s being honest, he would’ve never picked up for anyone but you, probably would’ve killed the idiot that thought to interrupt him during one of the biggest deals of his career—of his life.

“What?” he snarls as he answers, pacing along the wall outside the warehouse like a rabid dog, anxious and eager. “This better be important, sweetheart. You knew I was meeting with one of the bosses today—”

“He hit me,”

It’s hard to understand you when you’re still sobbing, words all wet and garbled, and Dabi squints as he focuses his concentration, feet skidding to a stop as his heart begins to pound.

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

And then, his blood runs cold. His ears are ringing, vision fading in and out of focus as red tinges the edges, breathing beginning to accelerate, exhaled harshly through flared nostrils. The thin skin stretched taut across his bony knuckles has turned white as he grips his phone so tightly he’s surprised it doesn’t shatter in his hand.

“Pack your shit,” he tells you, voice oddly calm, cold and sterile and sending shivers skittering up your spine. “I’m gonna fucking kill him,”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #dabi #takami keigo #bnha smut #mha smut #aaaaaah fucking MONSTER #anywayyy cant wait to hear what u all think!!!#dabi don't get mad at me i lost track of time editing n i've been real good going to bed on time #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw daddy kink #tw drugs #tw:abuse

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ah-ga-seven · 3 years

Text

No More Pain | Jung Jaehyun

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Fem!reader

Synopsis: The lingering wounds of your miscarriage have reopened. Now that you are broken up, an unforseen change in Jaehyun’s life has brought him back to your doorstep. Will he be able to fix you this time? Or will he fail just the same as before?

Genre: Angst, One Shot.

Warnings: mentions of the reader having a miscarriage, depression, alcohol addiction and heartbreak.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Probably one of the heaviest angsts I’ve written. I know the subject is rough but the idea came from a dream so I just had to write it down.

This was a different kind of pang to your heart.

You’ve had your fair share of tragedies, heartbreaks and disappointments, but this…

This feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever felt before and quite frankly, you wouldn’t wish this upon your greatest enemy.

It was a Thursday night, one like many where you decided to stay in and recharge from a busy day at your demanding job.

You were seated on your couch with a hot cup of tea as you mindlessly scrolled through your Instagram feed. Completely wrapped in the warmth of your favorite fleece blanket. But even the thick fluffy material couldn’t protect you from the cold shivers that ran down your spine.

You blankly stare at the post your best friend forwarded to you via dm and stiffened.

Memories of the night you miscarried 4 months into your pregnancy flood back to you as you stare at his comment.

You remembered how broken he looked when the doctor couldn’t find the baby's heartbeat anymore.

You remembered how he held you as you cried in his arms, promising that he’d love you just the same as he tried to console you to his best ability while suffering himself.

You remembered the pain and the relief of having Jaehyun by your side through it all. Glad that even though your life was about to change forever, he’d be the one constant thing you could rely on.

You remembered all of these moments like they happened yesterday, wishing future you could mentally prepare past you for what was going to be the hardest time in your life.

The man who swore never to leave you did just that, and not even 6 months into his new relationship, your biggest insecurity was made into a reality.

He had moved on for good, and even though you have no ill feelings towards him, you can’t help but feel anger over sadness right now.

It was that easy to replace you. And that easy for him to find someone that could give him what you couldn’t.

Even though your miscarriage wasn’t the direct cause of why he left, the effects of the incidence on your mental health dragged him down with you. So both of you felt it’d be better to part ways for the sake of not wanting to hate or resent each other in the end.

But God…you hated and resented him now more than ever.

It didn’t matter to you that both of you started to date new people, because a part of you always held on to the fact that you’d somehow find your way back to each other, though the probability of that ever happening again turned to ash.

Your miscarriage broke you.

No appetite for weeks, no motivation to get yourself out of bed and no cure for the monsters in your head who told you that Jaehyun was only sticking around out of pity for your broken state.

That same insecurity is what drove him into the arms of the women he told you not to worry about, and now they’re having a fucking child together.

Knowing that that should’ve been you was a thought that was just too much to bear right now. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, tears prickling your eyes as you rub the spot on your belly where the mini bump used to be 8 months ago.

You were finally doing better, thriving in your job and social life. Meeting new people and dating a few loose ends here and there, but you can already feel yourself spiraling back into old depressional habits as you stare at the picture once more.

You pettily decide to like it, hoping it would spark interest from none other than your ex, and much to your surprise, it did.

Not even 20 minutes later your phone started to buzz on the counter as you poured yourself a glass of wine. You mindlessly retrieve it, expecting it to be your best friend but when you see his name as you take a sip you almost choke.

Is he serious?

You try to come up with what to say for the next 3 to 5 minutes but nothing in your head seems to translate your exact feelings to your fingertips.

You sigh in agony while leaning over on your kitchen counter with your phone still in your hands, reading his messages over and over again. You subconsciously start to bite your lip in deep thought, getting startled by your ringtone as your phone starts to ring in your grasp.

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, taking a big chug of the alcoholic beverage in front of you, putting on the bravest face and straightest posture to make yourself feel better before accepting the call.

You knew you didn’t have to answer, but you were dying to hear what he had to say under these circumstances.

“Y/N? Is that you?” His voice was unchanged. You didn’t know why, but you expected him to sound different, be different. Yet the same worry he’s always had for you was evident in his tone this time as well.

You clear your throat to avoid a voice crack and sigh. “Congratulations,” you tried to sound as genuine as you could, but you knew you sounded like shit.

You start to play with the ends of your hair out of anxious anticipation, waiting for him to respond on the other end of the line.

“I meant to tell you,” he starts. “I just…I didn’t know how and Chaeyoung suddenly uploaded the picture and-”

“Jae…please spare me the details,” you interrupt him. Saying his name like you used to felt like speaking a foreign language. He stayed quiet upon hearing your voice again and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you still live in the same apartment in Itaewon?” he suddenly asks, immediately alerting you to stand up straight because he could only be asking for one reason and one reason only.

“Y-yes.”

“Good, I’m on my way.”

Just like that, he hung up and just like that your heart rate starts to race uncontrollably.

You down the remnants of your wine glass and hope he’s isn’t too close because your place looked far from neat. For the next 15 minutes, you run around, shoving things into random cabinets. Whether those items belonged there or not was the least of your concern and just as you fluff the last pillow on your couch, your doorbell rings.

You take a deep breath, calming your nerves as you walk up to your front door, taking it off the lock before you open it with a dramatic swing.

There he was. Jung Jaehyun.

As beautiful and put together as he always looked, no matter the circumstance. You forget how to breathe when you lay eyes on him and gulp. It’s actually him.

His big dark orbs widened as he laid eyes on you after months of not seeing you. His facial expression softened, slowly parting his lips to speak but you beat him to it when you broke out of your trance.

“What are you doing here?” your shoulders fall as you look into his eyes for answers. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love and adoration, but right now his pupils were stressfully darting back and forth, trying to read you like he used to be able to but he had no idea what you were feeling right now.

“Because I feel like shit y/n. Please let me in and let me explain,” he pleaded with a defeated tone.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “What is there to explain? You knocked up your girlfriend and finally got what you wanted. Why bother coming here? To rub it into my face?”

Your plan of staying calm and collected went completely out the window just now and you could tell by the shock on his face that he did not expect you to be angry with him.

He took a step forward, backing you into your own hallway. His height towered over you when you stepped back and without looking back he closed the door behind him.

“Y/n. I would never purposely do that to you. Ever.” You ignore his statement, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t remember inviting you in Jaehyun. Does she even know you’re here?”

You hold your ground, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to counter your attack, but he simply shook his head. Knowing damn well that you’re acting tough just so you won’t get emotional.

As he’s scanning the premises, his eyes linger on the red wine bottle on your kitchen counter and with a look of utter disbelief, he averts his attention back on you.

“You’re drinking again?” he asks with an almost condescending tone.

“Did you come here to practice your parenting skills because no thanks Jae, please leave,” you bite back as coldly as you could, but he wasn’t having it.

“That shit almost killed you and you’re just casually drinking again?” He runs his hand through his locks out of pure frustration, not knowing what to do with the misplaced feeling of still caring for you just the same, while also knowing he has no business to tell you how to live your life.

The truth is, Jaehyun had no idea what he was doing here. Everything about the situation felt wrong and he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Ever since Chaeyoung told him she was pregnant; he couldn’t be fully happy about it. He couldn’t commit to fatherhood knowing how much it broke your relationship. How much it broke the women he loved most to this day.

“A little red wine didn’t hurt anyone,” you mumble under your breath and that comment alone send Jaehyun’s emotions into overdrive, unable to hide his disappointment and worry for you any longer.

“IT HURT YOU Y/N. DAMN IT!” He raised his voice at you as he roughly grabbed your arm to make you look at him, which is the last thing you expected. He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. Mad at the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most and mad at the fact that this is what your lives had come to.

You might have previously dealt with your pain by drinking, and you might have mindlessly mixed your anti-depressants with your drink once, which…just might have earned you a trip to the hospital, but that was your lowest low and you made sure it’d never happen again.

You beat your demons by yourself when he had already moved on, so he had no place to waltz back into your life when he felt like it, just to judge you.

You’re absolutely fuming by now because of that same reason and much to your dismay you feel new tears well up in your eyes.

“NO, YOU HURT ME!” you yell back at him as you smack his chest, the salty droplets streaming down your face as you kept hitting his chest to make him feel your pain. “YOU LEFT ME.”

Your knees got weak and you knew you looked absolutely pathetic as you crouched down in front of him. Shock took over his features as he got down on his own knees just as quickly, pulling you into the comfort of his arms. The warmth that you used to call home and the warmth that always seemed to calm you down engulfed you completely, a feeling your favorite fleece blanket from before could hardly imitate.

He patted your head with assuring strokes, whispering sweet nothings to you as he held you on the floor of your apartment. Letting you sob the pain away in his black shirt. “Shhh, it’s okay…” he kissed the top of your head, caressing your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

You calmed down slowly, ignoring the suffocating ache in your head and heart while he made you feel safe and sound like he always did. You sat there like that for God knows how long, letting your minds go into overdrive as silence comforted the both of you.

Ironically enough, this scenery was the exact same as the one in the hospital 8 months ago. You cried in his arms just like this when you had lost your child, but now you were crying because you had lost him. For good now.

“I would never purposely plan to have a baby this quickly y/n, you have to believe me. Chae was on birth control but it just…happened,” he whispers, finally breaking the agonizing silence.

You stay quiet, closing your eyes to the sound of his low voice, letting his words register. “I was going to tell you. I was planning to ask you out for a coffee but as soon as she passed her first trimester, she was just so excited and made the announcement…it was just bad timing.”

“All of this is bad timing,” you mumble, which made him nod in agreement. He sighed into your hair as he continued to explain. “Y/n, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care for you anymore. I wish things were different, but they simply aren’t and I’m sorry.”

You sniff, dabbing your tears and your nose with the sleeves of your blouse before looking up at him through your lashes.

“You don’t have to apologize for moving on and being happy Jaehyun. It’s all I ever wanted for you.” You wipe the single tear that remained on the corner of his eye, not having realized that he shed a few tears himself too.

He leaned into your touch as he looked into your eyes before closing them, leaning his forehead onto yours while taking a deep breath.

“I just want you to be ok.” He says suppressing a sob. “I can’t live this picture-perfect life knowing that you’re in pain y/n. It makes no sense; you deserve so much more it’s not fair.”

Your lip starts to quiver as his words hit you, and you build up the courage to look at him again.

He stared at you longingly and lovingly for the first time since forever and you knew a mistake was about to be made when he inched his face closer to you, but it was too late.

His lips made contact with yours and you completely gave in. Letting him lead you into a slow yet passionate kiss that took both of your breaths away. Before things could get more heated, you realize what was happening and froze.

You take a hold of his wrists as you pull away, your eyes staring into his equally electrified ones as you recompose yourselves.

“I-I’m sorry,” he started. “I should’ve never confused you like that. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing.” He covers his mouth as he got up. Frustrated with his own behavior, he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands to suppress the urge to swing at your door or any other object in sight for that matter.

You get up just as quickly as well. Straightening out your clothes before shaking off the nerves of what just happened.

You take a deep breath followed by a shaky exhale as you opened your front door, turning around on your heels to look at an equally distressed Jaehyun.

He was about to speak; about to confess that he still loved you, but you stopped him by raising your hand, motioning for him to keep whatever he was about to say to himself.

Your eyes find his own and you take one last glance at the man that was supposed to be the pillar to your family. The man you used to call yours, and the man that you had hoped to still have a future with, despite everything.

But you knew better.

You knew what was right and you knew what you had to do before things would start to spiral out of control again.

You stepped aside so he could pass by you, trying to avoid eye contact all while you could still feel his burning stare lingering on your fragile state.

You swallow harshly, licking your lips before you spoke as clearly and steadily as you could.

“For the sake of your family, please leave Jae…and never come back.”

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

Text

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 2

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: Explicit Language and Angst!

Author's Note: It's amazing how much one can write when they've got a story to tell, eh? Enjoy! -Thorne

Set Three Years After PT. 1:

Life for her revolved around work in the A.M. and community college in the P.M. If she wasn’t brewing cappuccinos and baking apple turnovers, she was writing research papers and taking physics exams. It was hectic and it was hard, much harder than anything she’d done, but it was her life, and she was going to make the best of it. The money she’d taken from her savings account had only lasted her long enough to get a decent one bedroom one bathroom apartment in a small complex and the rest went towards tuition. The coffee shop two blocks from her building had fortunately been looking for a new hire when she arrived, and she took the chance where it was, not going to look the gift horse in its mouth.

The life she lived now was a complete 180 from her old one. Back then, she didn’t have to work (though she did at a high-end department store in the mall—her father got her the job but at least she had one) and there wasn’t anything she couldn’t get with a swipe of a credit card. Now she was on a budget that consisted of five and ten tips and the last time she actually bought a new pair of shoes over a hundred dollars had been last year when she needed them for an interview, and even then, it cost her a limb.

Everything was so different, but she didn’t want to go back, preferring to be on her own and away from Gotham. From the newspapers and media, her family had convinced the world that she’d taken a few years to go overseas and spend time in Europe. A mental reprieve, they’d called it. Partially true if she was honest, but she wasn’t going to open her mouth about it lest they learned where she was. She didn’t go through all that trouble to be found within three years.

“Melisandre.”

Maybe I should move again?

“Melisandre?”

Moving would take a long time but it would be effective.

“Melisandre!”

Someone grabbed her arm over the counter, and she jerked with a start, eyes widening as she finally realized someone was standing in front of her.

“Barry?” she asked, and he smiled.

“Finally,” he snorted. “I’ve been calling your name for like ten minutes now.”

She felt a flush creep along her cheeks, and she smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I was thinking about something. Usual?” she murmured, marking a disposable coffee cup with a marker.

Barry nodded with understanding and handed her a credit card. “I hear you. How’s studying going for that physics exam?” His blue eyes darted to the science book she had sprawled over the counter.

“It’s going,” she muttered and turned, starting to mix together his latte. “I still can’t get the thermodynamic laws down. They’re a bit confusing.”

“Yeah, it’ll take a while. You know if you need my help, all you gotta do is ask, right?”

Shrugging, she glanced at him as she poured. “You’re a busy man, Barry. I can’t have you trying to help me while trying to solve cases too.”

Barry chuckled and accepted the freshly poured latte. “I’m an excellent multitasker, Melisandre. Besides, you don’t have to worry about it messing with my work.” She opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off. “Seriously, shoot me an email about whatever questions you’ve got, and I’ll take a look at ‘em, okay?”

Her eyes narrowed warily, and she inquired, “You’re sure it won’t interfere? I’d hate for you to get in trouble for working on non-work-related things.”

“I promise, Melisandre,” he smiled and accepted a bag of apple turnovers too. He couldn’t help but pull one out and bite into it, letting out a delighted noise. “God, what do you put in these things? They’re phenomenal.”

She giggled and winked as he handed her a twenty. “A baker never reveals her secret, but if you really want to know, I use a little vanilla extract.”

Barry shook his head with a chuckle and started making his way to the door. “See you later, Melisandre!”

Waving at him, she called, “Bye Barry! Take care!”

Just as he opened the door, he stopped and spun around, suddenly asking, “Hey, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Blinking, she glanced at the physics book then back to him. “Well, I was going to be studying for the exam…why?”

“My nephew is in town and I wanted to introduce him to you. I’ve already mentioned you a bunch of times and he wants to meet you.”

Her face pinched. “Barry Allen, what did you tell that poor boy?”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “That there’s a lonely college student who has no friends but has the greatest baking abilities in the world.”

“I cannot believe you told him I had no friends! Why!”

“You don’t.”

“Well, yeah! But still! You don’t just tell someone that! It makes me seem like there’s something wrong with me!”

Barry waved a hand. “Relax. Wally’s the least jerky person you’ll meet.” He smiled. “You’ll like him.”

She frowned. “I still don’t think this is a good idea, Barry.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he’s here to see you and your wife, not come meet the person who feeds your apple turnover addiction.”

The blonde’s cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson and he spluttered, “It is not an addiction!” he spun around and marched through the door. “I’ll send him over tomorrow! Bye!”

And he left before she could even say a word.

***

It had to be hieroglyphics. It was either that or some ancient cuneiform he’d recently taken up interest in, because there was no way whatever he’d written on the paper was English.

She cocked her head to the side, muttering, “Jesus Christ, Barry, did you write this on a caffeine bender? Your writing is like chicken scratch.” She tipped her head to the other side trying to decipher it when someone leaned over her shoulder.

“Which problem do you need help on?” they asked, and she pointed to the sheet.

“I have no idea what that says.” She turned and saw a red-haired stranger. “If you think you can, be my guest.”

He took it and read over it a moment, green eyes scanning over the page then he said, “Let’s see, he wrote first, ‘The third law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of a system at absolute zero is a well-defined constant. This is because a system at zero temperature exists in its ground state, so that its entropy is determined only by the degeneracy of the ground state.’”

Pausing, he scanned it again and added, “Then he marked a note beside it and wrote, ‘In simplistic terms, if an object reaches the absolute zero temp. of (0 K = -273.15C = -459.67°F), its atoms will stop moving. In other words, at absolute zero, the entropy of a perfectly crystalline substance is zero.’”

Glancing at her, he smiled. “Make sense now?”

She huffed and nodded, taking the sheet back. “Yeah, thanks. I don’t even know how you managed to get all that from his writing.”

He nodded. “Yeah, Barry’s handwriting is deplorable.”

Her eyes went wide, and she immediately questioned, “How did you?”

Sticking a hand out, he greeted, “Wally West. I’m Barry’s nephew.”

Shaking his hand, she couldn’t help but laugh. “I can’t believe he actually told you to come up here and meet me.” A smile came across her lips. “I’m Melisandre Hale.”

“That’s a pretty name, Melisandre.”

“Thank you,” she grinned and waved him to one of the bar-stools on the adjacent side of the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll get you something to eat and drink.” As she slid behind the counter, she inquired, “Anything specific?”

Wally stared at the bored, offhandedly mentioning, “Barry said something about apple turnovers that could make you cry with joy, so I’ve gotta have one of those.” His evergreen eyes met hers. “Maybe two if I’m being honest.”

She grunted, but a grin crossed her lips, nevertheless. “Barry exaggerates a lot, Wally. They’re good, but they’re not mind-blowingly good.”

“Then I guess that leaves me to be the judge,” he countered with a smirk. “What should I drink?”

She thought for a moment then offered, “Have any judgments about drinking before five o’clock?”

He let out a startled laugh and shook his head. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

With a grin, she turned and started working her magic and a moment later, she was sliding a plate with two iced apple turnovers over along with a clear steaming mug of dark coffee with cream on top. She leaned her hip on the counter and watched him pick up one of the apple turnovers and take a bite.

Immediately his eyes went wide, and he exclaimed, “Holy shit.” He gaped at her. “This is delicious, Melisandre!”

Despite herself, her cheeks warmed, and she gave him an easy smile. “Thanks, Wally.” She nodded to the crystal mug. “Try the Irish coffee.”

He did so and tossed his head back, letting out an exaggerated groan that had her laughing until her stomach hurt. Wally was on his second turnover and he looked at her.

“You’ve gotta open up a bakery or something, Melisandre. Your pastries are awesome.”

She huffed and took the plate from him as he finished the last bite. “Let me get through college first and then I’ll wonder how to rack up enough to open a shop.”

“What are you studying?”

Pausing, she tossed a quick glance at him. “There’s no specification right now. I’m just doing general studies to get all the basics out of the way.” She put the dish in the sink and started rinsing it. “I’m at the four-C right now.” His brows pulled together, and she added, “Central City Community College.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right! It’s been a while since I went to the four-C.”

Her eyes found his and she curiously asked, “Did you go there?”

“Yeah, a few years back.”

“You don’t look that much older than I am. How old are you, Wally?”

He sipped his coffee and set it down as he replied, “I turned twenty-eight a month ago.”

“Happy belated birthday,” she smiled, and he gave her one in return.

“Thanks. How about you?”

“I turned twenty-one a few months ago.”

“Hmm, happy belated birthday to you as well.” He grinned, quipping, “How’s it feel to finally be able to legally do all the things you were doing before you turned twenty-one?”

She shot him a look. “Shame on you, Wally West, for assuming I was doing illegal things.” He chuckled and she shrugged. “But to answer your question, it feels great, so thanks.”

Wally snorted at that. “My best friend and I got absolutely hammered on our twenty-firsts and swore to never drink hard liquor again after we woke up in the bathroom in our underwear after passing out on the floor.”

A shudder passed over her at her own memory of waking up beside the toilet after her birthday celebration with a bottle of white rum. She cocked a hand up with her water bottle in it. “Here, here,” she toasted and took a sip as Wally raised his coffee and drank too.

She glanced at him. “Are you in school, or are you done?”

“I finished a while ago. I work out of a tower with a group of friends in Manhattan.”

For a moment, her eyes drifted to the simple pair of jeans and graphic shirt he was wearing. She lived in the upper area of Gotham and she knew what uptown Manhattan was like, and it wasn’t jeans and t-shirts.

Evidently, he did too because he scowled, “I have suits and ties, thank you very much.”

She snorted and took the empty mug from him. “I didn’t say anything, Wally.”

“You made a face.”

“Is a face a ground to be hostile?” she grinned. “I was just wondering what type of business in Manhattan ran on flash t-shirts and skinny jeans.” She eyed him. “Tech?”

He shrugged. “It’s…a bit of everything if I’m being honest.” It sounded like he didn’t exactly want to say, and she let it be, rinsing out his cup before setting it to dry.

A buzz sounded and she felt for her phone when he said, “That’s mine.” Wally pulled his phone out, read the message, and stood up. “I’ve gotta go, Melisandre.”

She nodded and took the twenty-dollar bill he handed her, waving her off when she tried to hand back the change. As he started towards the door, she called, “Wally?”

He turned on his heel and waited and she felt foolish for saying it, but she admitted with warmth in her cheeks, “It’s been a while since I had any semblance of a friend…so thanks for this afternoon.”

Wally gave her a pearly white grin. “Barry said you’d say something like that,” he chuckled as she scowled and he added sincerely, “Can never have too many friends, Melisandre…and I hope you’ll become a great one of mine. So far, you already are.”

She smiled, “Same here, Wally.” The bell signaled his exit and she let out a heavy sigh as her heart warmed in her chest at the feeling of a newfound friendship.

***

She was dead on her feet when she finally got through her front door and into her living room, practically collapsing onto the couch. Though it wasn’t far from the truth as she flopped down and toed off her shoes, heaving a long and winded sigh as she stared at the dark ceiling. She wanted to turn on the lamp on the table beside her, but she didn’t want to move. Hell, she barely wanted to get up and take a shower, so she didn’t go to bed sweaty.

Just a moment. She thought. Just a moment to close my eyes and I’ll get up and go shower.

Of course, the second the shut them, she was opening them to her phone telling her it was two A.M. She groaned and picked herself off the couch to shuffle into her bedroom, and when she got there, she peeled off the clothes from her body and let them fall, not caring about the hamper just a foot away. She’d do it tomorrow after class.

The shower was quick, and she crawled into bed a few minutes later, glancing out the window at the stars that were still in the night sky. Even if she tried to avoid thinking about it, she couldn’t, and her mind drifted to when she was a young girl and would stare out the window in her bedroom back in Gotham, watching the spotlight come alive and paint the silhouette of the bat symbol against the night sky.

She missed them. She missed them a lot. Missed eating meals at a full table and the laughter in the manor. Hell, she even missed being ignored, because at least then she could see familiar faces every day. Now, it was wake up, go to work, go to class, then come home. And the process repeated every morning. She was alone in a city where she didn’t know anyone except for one forensic scientist and his wife, going to a college that didn’t even have her real identity. She’d not even said the name “(Y/N) Wayne” out loud for fear that someone with super hearing would hear her and tell her father, instead going by “Melisandre Hale”, a twenty-one-year-old born and raised Central City citizen going to community college. It pained her to admit, that with her decision to grant herself the freedom she desired, it came with a heavy price, and that was the loneliness. And it was worse compared to what it was like back then.

Sighing, she rolled over and pulled the covers up over her head, hoping that when she shut her eyes, she’d stop thinking about what she left behind. Unfortunately, the universe and her mind were never kind, and as she drifted to sleep, she saw the pained faces of her family.

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is.

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?”

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real.

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark.

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become.

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created.

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt.

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?”

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.”

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.”

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long.

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.”

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me.

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand.

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want.

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.”

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.”

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.”

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.”

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie.

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?”

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.”

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

His confidence sparks something angry within me. “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.”

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.”

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.”

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me.

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.”

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips.

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.”

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.”

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.”

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.”

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.”

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.”

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.”

#shadow and bone #grisha #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #sab imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morovoza #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morovoza x reader #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you

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hockeylvr59 · 3 years

Text

Collide Part 2 || Sidney Crosby

Summary: Life as a single foster mom and a pediatrician didn’t leave much time for dating. But when Dr. Erin Lancaster becomes the pediatrician for Pittsburgh Penguins Defenseman Brian Dumoulin's baby boy, her association and quick friendship with his wife Kayla turns her crazy but quiet life upside down.

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: Apparently my brain is just on a Sid kick lately. First a blurb update, now this one. Let me know what you think.

Warnings: alcohol consumption Word Count: 2,001

~~~~~

The weeks leading up to the holiday season were usually some of the best as a foster mom. The kids that I called my own, even temporarily, generally didn’t have a great experience with family holidays in the past and it was always exciting to teach them the magic of the season. The joy of watching the Macy’s parade and then football before having a big meal, going looking at Christmas lights, and everything else that filled the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

This year though, this year was tough. A few weeks ago, just days after my trip to the hospital, the seven year old I was fostering was moved to another placement. More biological siblings had popped up in the system and taking them would have placed me over my permitted limit. So instead, the rambunctious boy I was finally starting to make strides with was moved so that he could be with siblings he had never met, all because of the preference of keeping siblings together. A week later, my five year old was transferred back into the care of his mother who had successfully completed a rehabilitation program. I wasn’t sure the woman could be trusted but the court had decided she was fit enough to regain custody and there was nothing I could do about it.

Finally, yesterday, my newborn had been deemed stable enough to be placed with a paternal grandmother now that he was completely off the drugs. I had done my limited job of making sure that he got elevated care and now he was in the placement I knew he’d end up in all along.

It was the weekend before Thanksgiving and for the first time in a long time I didn’t have any kids under my roof. Honestly, I couldn’t remember the last time I didn’t have any kids placed with me, it had been that long. Yesterday, it had been easy enough to ignore, I went into the office to catch up on paperwork, I picked up dry cleaning and went grocery shopping before drinking half a bottle of wine and falling into bed exhausted.

Today though, things were quiet and now that the world had stilled around me, my normally thick exterior cracked and I found myself sobbing steadily. I loved being a foster mom, I really did, but it was heartbreaking to know that these kids would never be mine for one reason or another. That while most days my house was full of laughter and as much love as these kids could manage, days like today would always be waiting at the end of it all.

While drowning my sorrows with a pint of ice cream I definitely didn’t need to be eating at 11am, my phone buzzed beside me with a message from Kayla Dumoulin. She had texted more than once over the past few weeks with worries such as whether Brayden’s cord was healing normally and whether she could cut his nails because he didn’t like the mittens but she didn’t want him to cut himself. Through our text conversations she had learned of my rapidly emptying house and her message this morning was just to check in and see how I was doing.

She was such a sweetheart and I replied with a shrug emoji declaring that if sobbing over a pint of ice cream at 11am was normal then I was doing just fine. The phone rang a moment later and I sighed seeing her name pop up because the message wasn’t intended to make her feel guilty or anything, it was just genuine honesty. Still, I answered the phone, setting the pint of ice cream aside for a moment.

“It sounds like you need some baby cuddles.” Kayla stated, the sound of soft chatter coming through the line. “Why don’t you come over. Brayden wouldn’t mind seeing his favorite doctor.” She suggested.

“That’s sweet but I’ll be okay.” I assured her. “I don’t want to impose. I’m sure I can find something to do.”

“You’re not imposing.” Kayla insisted. “Me texting you at 2am with a breastfeeding question was imposing.” Her voice was teasing and I sighed softly remembering being up with my own newborn when she had a question about hers since Brian was on the road.

“Seriously.” She continued. “Come over, snuggle Brayden, and give my husband a second opinion on this bottle of wine he just got since I can’t drink.” She suggested. Sensing that she truly meant it, I sighed and agreed reluctantly telling her to send me the address.

____

45 minutes later, I had cleaned myself up so it didn’t look like I had spent the last few hours sobbing. After putting on some light makeup, I had thrown on some black jeans, a striped long sleeve tee, and a tan pullover before deeming myself decent enough to head out.

Plugging the address in my phone’s gps, I drove over to Kayla and Brian’s neighborhood, parking down on the street in front of their house. It didn’t even register that there were approximately a half dozen cars spread between the driveway and the street already as I made my way up to the front door.

Kayla greeted me after just a minute and I gently teased that if I didn’t know better I wouldn’t believe she just had a baby as she let me inside. That made her smile, and as she guided me to the kitchen for a glass of wine I realized that there was a significant amount of noise coming from the living room. It wasn’t until she was murmuring for me to make myself comfortable that I realized the living room was occupied by almost a dozen Penguins players, football pregame on tv.

“Alright Muzz, you can give my baby back now.” Kayla declared half-joking, half-serious. As soon as the goalie handed the baby over, Kayla was crossing the room back to me and handing off the little boy who just snuggled into my chest as soon as he was placed there. “There...baby snuggles.” She murmured.

“Thanks.” I whispered, resting a hand over the infant’s back before taking a sip of wine feeling slightly uncomfortable as eyes slowly landed on me.

“Hey doc.” Brian greeted appearing from somewhere else in the house. “Let me know what you think of that wine, not sure if this brand is a keeper or not.” He stated simply portraying the feeling that I wasn’t at all anywhere I didn’t belong and that this was a normal occurrence. Nodding I promised to do so before just focusing back on the baby in my arms. The physician portion of my brain noted that he was doing well and had certainly been growing while the rest of me just found myself relaxing at the feeling of a baby’s steady breaths.

Most of the guys paid me no mind as the game started. Yet I felt one pair of eyes linger. As I stepped outside after handing Brayden off to feed just before halftime, a four legged companion joined me and I chuckled petting the Dumoulin’s dog Roo while sitting on the steps of their patio nursing my second glass of wine.

The patio door slid open and then shut before a body slid down next to me on the steps.

“So where are your foster kids?” A familiar voice asked and glancing over my eyes met those of the Penguins Captain.

“With another foster family, with their mother, and with their paternal grandmother.” I whispered, quickly taking another sip of the wine to try and push back another round of tears. “The sucky thing about being a foster mom is they always go away in the end.”

“I...I didn’t know.” Sid mumbled after a moment and I waved him off petting Roo and wiping at my eye with the back of my hand.

“I didn’t expect you to.” I stated simply.

“So that’s why…” Sid trailed off, stopping when I nodded.

“Baby cuddles to try and make everything better.” I shrugged. “To fill the three new cracks in my heart. It’s been a long time since I was childless.” I whispered. “I’ve been trying to recall when it was and I honestly can’t remember. I feel like it had to have happened at least a few times but I really can’t recall not having anyone since I became a foster mom in the first place.”

“How long is that?” Sid asked, tone softer now than it had been that day at the hospital.

“Two...almost three years. I applied to become a foster parent toward the end of my residency.”

“Can I ask how many?” Sid questioned.

“36.”

“In three years? That’s...wow.” Glancing over I could see the genuine shock on his face.

“I don’t know what the turnover rate is generally but I’m fairly certain my rate is higher than average. I get a lot of the drug addicted babies because of my skills and they’re generally only with me 2-3 weeks until it’s safe to move them into a more permanent placement, often with other family members.”

“How do you handle that?” He murmured, reaching down to pet Roo as well who had rolled over onto her back for belly rubs.

“Usually I just focus on my patients, on the kids that I do still have with me because they deserve all of my love and attention. This time? Crying over Ben and Jerry’s at 11am until Kayla insisted I come over.” A smile cracked Sid’s face and he apologized quickly declaring that this isn’t something to smile about.

“No it’s okay. You can find it amusing, I know it wasn’t the most healthy coping method.”

“Are you going to be okay?” He inquires softly.

“Yeah. Well, I should probably lay off the wine. Dumo has really good taste.” Sid’s eyes crinkled a little bit and he looked at me like be serious. “I will be. I mean it’s only a matter of time before I get the call that another child needs me.” I assured him. “I just...sometimes...days like this...they make me wonder whether I still want to do this, you know…”

“Go on…” Sid urged.

“I just...it’s so hard. Never knowing whether I’m going to wake up and have to say goodbye again. Constantly giving away pieces of my heart that I’ll never get back. Days like today make me just want to be a mom. Not a foster mom but a mom. To have my own kids who won’t be there one day and gone the next.”

“I get that feeling.” Sid murmured after a moment. “Not the ‘here one day gone the next’ part, but uh, wanting your own kids part, that I get.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke before dropping his hand back down to pet Roo, his fingers brushing against mine. Immediately my mind flashed back to the feeling of his hand wrapped around mine and I quickly pushed that aside.

“There you are!” Kayla exclaimed, popping her head out the door, her eyes shifting back and forth between you and Sid and noting how close you were sitting. “We just put out some food if you’re hungry and want something other than ice cream.” She grinned, dipping back inside looking like she was about to burst with what she just saw even if it was absolutely nothing.

When Sid stood he offered a hand out to help you up, murmuring for Roo to come inside and he’d see if he could find her a treat. The bulldog was eager for that and followed after him as you brushed yourself off and picked your wine glass up moving to rejoin the group.

Ridding of your buzz with some food and water and more baby snuggles you finally headed home with the feeling that there was something more to your conversation with Sid that you hadn’t put your finger on.

Outfit:

#sidney crosby #sidney crosby imagine #pittsburgh penguins #pittsburgh penguins imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #ppenguins #019

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riddlecrux · 3 years

Text

Historical AU

Day 7 of Elriel Month!

Summary: Blue and violet material rustled as she stared at three stars and three mountain peaks which sparkled in the daylight. The place that called her home. Velaris knights galloped through the forest with grace and dignity. At the front of the formation, she spotted him. Note: This is a snippet of my upcoming multi chapter Medieval AU Elriel fanfic!

There was talk in the town.

A gossip about one particular knight was spreading among ladies like a wildfire, fast and unforgiving. Whenever she went out, for a trip to the market or tailor, the words were often hushed and clipped. As if saying them outright and loud would bring the said person stumbling through the door - unannounced and feared. It was as if a shadow of a knight lived among the elites, constantly watching their lips, ready to strike from the darkest parts of the room. She had thought that gossiping was a rather boring thing to do, especially during the daytime - she much preferred spending her free time gardening and walking through the nearby forest.

The solitude she yearned for was always waiting for her, embracing her in silence and wisps of spring wind. A book under her arm, the hem of her skirt tucked between her fingers as she moved through the green maze with a blush covering her pale skin. It was something completely different from the small, claustrophobic ballrooms filled with perfumed guests and men trying to catch themselves a woman, a wife, a person that they were going to tame. A woman, later barely a doll. Empty shell filled with her husband's desires, placid and neat. Never free, never wild - an object that men love to present as a trophy.

Elain huffed, long steps halting as golden brown tresses slipped from her modest braid - her blue dress wrinkled and dirty, the mud sprinkled even her undergarments as she maneuvered through the forest road. She glanced behind her, a nervous tick, and with a soft frown on her forehead, she leaned against the rough tree. Few flowers slipped from her hand as she closed her eyes, breathing the scent of nature which coaxed her troubled mind.

She knew that the day would come, sooner or later - she prayed that her resolve and kindness would prevent her from marriage without love but naive as she was she knew that it was only a matter of time before her mother chose her a fiancé. Preferably rich one, from a distinguished family with a house close to the city market and church. Those arguments were vain and so ill-matched in Elain's opinion. She didn't care for money; she wanted to be loved. More than anything else she wanted to be chosen because of her personality - not too extravagant, timid, and simple as her father once said. Nesta always had a spark in her, steel that made men tremble before her, a woman made for a king or a duke. Her older sister was always the example of everything Elain wasn't, yet the day before Nesta's arranged marriage it was her older, wiser, dutiful sister that ran away - leaving a letter in which she chose love over duty.

I do not wish to be shackled by a man that does not deserve me. Women are much more than cattle you breed to sell. I part with a heavy heart, not because of my decision but because of the future of my sisters.

Elain had read the letter thousands of times, tracing letters with her fingers - remembering Nesta's coldness and silent form of love. She envied her older sister. If she was more courageous, less soft she would, perhaps, repeat her sister's steps.

Sighing through her parted lips her head hit the tree behind her. I do not wish to be shackled by a man that does not deserve me. She murmured under her breath like a prayer staring at the empty road that led to her little town. Gripping the old book by its edges Elain willed herself to pray. Pray that the man her mother had chosen would not like her. Pray that her resolve would show her the correct way, an answer to her broken promise. Pray that…

Her eyes opened at the sound of horses coming down the road. Glancing behind her cover she saw four riders, all dressed in black robes - all of them being knights. Her grip on the branch tightened as her mouth parted once again at the sight of a very well-known flag that was flowing in the air behind them. Blue and violet material rustled as she stared at three stars and three mountain peaks which sparkled in the daylight. The place that called her home. Velaris knights galloped through the forest with grace and dignity. At the front of the formation, she spotted him.

A knight dressed in black armor, iron spikes coming from his shoulder pads, and even sharper ones adorning his helmet. His gauntlets tightly clenched around his horse’s harness, dark and utterly beautiful. The breastplate was wide and devoid of any ornaments safe for three stars on each side of his armor. On his left side an extraordinary sword. Its majestic hilt covered in small, blue gems which were reflecting sunshine as he moved on the massive, gorgeous stallion. It was her gasp that made him snap his neck in her direction - she quickly scrambled and hid behind the tree wishing that he hadn't seen her. As the sounds of hooves started to ease with their every step, Elain slowly crept from her hiding position. Her heart beating so loud that the bird sitting on one of the branches fled from its resting spot.

The talk of the town - The Scarred Knight, came just in time for the tournament.

3 YEARS EARLIER

The summer was hot and stuffy.

Elain shot a quick glance behind her shoulder as she ran through the crowded streets of the town. She could hear Lucien's screams and his brothers’ laughter, however, she didn't stop. Her feet adorned with leather booties moved even faster, as long as she lost the gingers she would be safe. She turned right, stumbled because of the moving wagon, and sprinted towards cathedral alley - people were staggering when she turned in another street, her hair falling from her up-do in waves of molten gold. The freedom in her lungs was addictive. She felt like a bird, freed from its beautiful cage that it was trapped in for its whole life.

Her feet hit the muddy ground as she scanned moving peasants and with a resolution on her delicate features, she whirled around and ran straight towards the training grounds. One step, two steps...

She gasped when she collided with a solid body, her feet getting caught in the lace of her dress, making her fall on her backside with a loud thud. Her forehead was hurting and she could swear that the world around her wavered as she finally decided to glance at the reason for her fall. It was a knight, a tall and very deadly one. His violet eyes scanned her for injuries and with a slow sigh, he presented her a gloved hand.

"My lady," his sensual voice rang in her ears as she gracefully - at least she hoped so, gripped his fingers and stood up. Her beige dress was dirty and ruffled at its edges. Her mother would have scolded her till her calves were raw from the beating. The sight of her so utterly ungracious and dishonorable would shake her so much that Elain would have had to beg her on her knees to stop. Nevertheless, as she looked at her skirt she saw few droplets of blood and with a frown, she deduced that she, in fact, sliced her palm when she tried not to stumble.

Snapping her attention back to the knight in front of her, she slowly bowed and smiled. Her curls created a halo around her heart-shaped face when she finally looked him straight in his eyes. He was tall, well built and had brown skin. It was a beautiful color, she mused trying not to think how handsome he was.

"Sir Knight, pardon my intrusion," she cocked her head as another knight appeared in her peripheral vision. He was even taller and bigger than the one from before. His long hair flew on wisps of wind as he chuckled seeing her state and dirt on her dress. One dark brow rose with a flicker of amusement in his bright eyes.

"It's a rather peculiar sight to behold," he murmured as another wave of deep laughter erupted from his throat. She could feel redness coming up on her cheeks and with a swift movement, she ducked her chin down. Her mother would have simply perished if she saw her right now. What a disgrace for her perfect family.

"Cassian, the lady is hurt," she still didn't dare to look up, and when the newcomer left as quickly as he appeared she stole a small glance in the direction of soft sounds.

On her right, the training grounds were almost empty safe for a knight in black armor, kneeling on the ground. His hands were bare and visible to her eyes - scars, horrible and painful ones adoring his long fingers and gentle palms were a stark contrast to his dark attire. However, what caught her initial attention was the way he was slowly but surely trying to feed a stray kitten that aimlessly wandered here. His kneeling person, sharp against the tiny creature barely visible to the human eye. Two oddities coexisting in that nanosecond of time seemed to stop for her as she devoured the sight of this blindingly pure kindness.

"My lady," she heard the other man from somewhere far away. Her tunnel vision focused on that one person, his act of gentleness amidst the blazing sunlight, and… the way his scarred fingers were trembling while he placed all of his weight on his knees. As if he was scared and ashamed of their appearance, even before that small animal hissing in his direction. "My lady?" Her doe eyes found violet ones and with a soft gasp, she came to her senses.

"Please do forgive me for my ignorance," her voice shook and she hated herself for that. For that slight hint of distress slipping through the cracks of her perfectly molded mask of courtesy. The knight rose a dark brow and with frivolous joy watched her behavior as if he had solved a mysterious puzzle. Deep down in her chest, her heart sang an unknown song that made her spiral even further into herself.

"Azriel!" A sharp command slashed the air as she whipped her head at the source of that loud noise. The violet-eyed knight bowed elegantly as the kneeling man slowly stood up, even taller than previously acquainted knights, and slowly made a way towards them. His armor was loud, yet mesmerizing - she felt her bloodstream tickle, surge as the earth shattered under her legs with the force of warmth and longing she suddenly felt. An intake of breath caught in her lungs made her frozen as foreign yet so well-known hazel eyes stopped on her person. As if she had dreamt about them, as if they were forever imprinted inside her like a burst of thousands of stars. The slits in his helmet allowed her to see his long eyelashes, dark and dangerous, as he inclined his greetings.

"Sir Knight," she breathed out, like a bird singing for its designed mate. The knight's burning gaze left her shaking - as if her soul suddenly came down on earth and wished for a moment of utmost closure.

"The lady is hurt," the shorter one supplied glancing between both of them with a smirk. "Please attend her while I gather supplies," and with a swift nod, he left both of them alone. She supposed that time became only a fraction of surrounding her world when Azriel only stared at her, his scarred hands tucked behind him as if the sight of them might have somehow offended her.

"Sir Knight," her lips parted with a silent echo of yearning. "You have truly beautiful hands," his eyes widened, a golden hue covering his irises as his armor rumpled with the stretch of his muscles.

"It's a far-fetched compliment, my lady, yet I'm declaring my thanks," he blinked as she fought with an overwhelming feeling dancing in her chest. He was so close to her and yet she felt as if he was a whole ocean away. Maybe her soul, the one who often whispered in her ear about soulmates, tricked her and made her a fool. Maybe because of that she wanted to say something, anything that could last - to make him remember her, a wild girl with flowers in her hair.

"It's not," she urged and let herself smile. "For what I have seen, Sir, you are gentle-natured," a gust of wind ruffled her tresses and when she tried to fight with them, scarred digits arrived next to her ear.

"And you, my lady, are indisputably a spring ready to conquer the already fading winter," he whispered urgently. Her heart trembled at his words, it was as if he had spoken to her spirit, to the gaping wound of her hidden longings and dreams. As if he had known her, right now and all these centuries before. The time was crashing into her like waves of that unknown feeling that overcame her, however before she could answer the loud yell of her name startled her like a deer.

"I must," her ragged breathing stopped when she saw red-haired men stumbling onto training grounds. Wide-eyed and breathless she stole the last glance at her starry-eyed soulmate and turned around. Even if all laws of this world told her to stay, screamed at her to turn around to see the universe crashing inside those hazel eyes, she didn't.

She left him there, a tray of sunlight and starlight glittering behind her as he watched her till she became only a speck of dust in the blazing heat.

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #elriel #pro elriel #elriel fic #elain x azriel #azriel and elain

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iguessweallcrazyithinktho · 4 years

Text

Live with the goldfish

Summary: Chris goes live and he of course gets interupted by the one and only Nora

Warning: Fluff

Title: live with the goldfish

Word count: 700+

A/n: thanks to whoever gave me this idea

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader, dad! Chris

Masterlist | request closed momentarily

Goldfish

Please don't post any of my content anywhere else without my permission. Comments and reblogs welcome!

You promised Chris you were going to keep Nora out of the way while he was live streaming. She wanted Chris' attention always, with her being a Daddy's girl. You understood it, but sometimes she couldn't be with him all the time and that wasn't easy for a two year old.

"Daddy has to do some work. You can stay with mommy and I'll be back here in a few minutes." Nora looked up at him, Stroking the hair of her doll. "Otay." she fully didn't understand what he was saying, but she said it anyways.

Chris smiled and kissed her head. He turned to you and smiled. "I'll see you two in about 30 minutes okay?" You nodded. "Alright." Chris quickly gave you a kiss before pulling away and walked to his office.

He sat up his computer and started the live. People started popping in and saying hi. "Hi everyone. I'm going to answer some questions." He said waving at them. People kept streaming in and Chris started answering questions.

-♥-

Nora was growing cranky. She wanted Chris badly.

"Mommy I want Daddy." She whined walking up to you. You sat your book down beside you, "I know sweetheart, but you gotta wait."

Nora huffed, crossing her arms, turning her back to you. You looked at her, "hey Nora it's okay. Daddy will be done soon. Hey,"

she turned around. "I know what will make you feel better," she looked up at you with her h/e/c eyes . "Goldfish!"

She tried to hold back her smile, but couldn't. "I want goldfish." You smiled, standing up. "Ok, let's go get some goldfish."

She walked behind you as you walked into the kitchen. You reached into the cabinet in search of the goldfish. When you found them, you pulled the bag out.

Nora was jumping up and down as you turned around. You chuckled, "here you go sweetheart." You handed it to her and she hugged it tightly. "Fishy."

She pulled the bag away from her chest and handed it to you. "Open it peas." "Okay." You took it from her and opened it. When it was open you handed it back to her. She took it and grabbed a few out of the bag shoving them into her mouth.

“mhm so mummy. “ she tried to say yummy, making You laugh. “Okay you eat your goldfish, mommy needs to go to the restroom.” she nodded and kept munching on her goldfish. You walked to the bathroom and shut the door.

Nora heard the door close and took her opportunity. She made a beeline for Chris's office. "Daddy!"

Chris stopped mid sentence, he whipped his head around and looked at Nora as she entered the room. "Nora sweetheart what are you doing here?" Everyone on the live was blowing up from how adorable she is.

Nora walked up to Chris. "I got goldfish." Chris exhaled. "Sweet pea Daddy's working. You wanna say hi to all the people." He pointed to the computer. Nora's little figure, looked over the table at the screen.

She started to get shy once she saw that people were watching. "Hi." She buried her head into Chris's side, hiding. Chris laughed. He picked her up and sat her on his lap. "Are you going to finish your goldfish while I finish this." She nodded.

-♥-

You exited in the bathroom, "Nora." You called out. You got no answer. "No no no." You said under your breath. You know exactly where she was. You walked to Chris' office. His door was cracked open which meant she was in there.

You peeked your head in seeing Nora on Chris's lap eating her goldfish. You Cleared your throat making Chris turn around. "Oh hi honey." You walked in. "Sorry." You muttered. Chris shook his head.

"It's alright. Come sit beside me." He patted the seat beside his. "Yeah mommy, sit." You snickered under your breath at her instigating. You sat in the chair beside him waving to the people on the screen. Chris went on with his life. Nora kept eating her goldfish, every now and then moaning at the taste and feeding Chris some goldfish. The stream lasted for an hour, but Chris didn't mind. He got fed warm goldfish from his little one, what's a better live than that.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

@badbo1-evans @princess-evans-addict @patzammit @bval-1 @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @raveviolet @rynabarnesrogers-reading @enn-j @london-dreamer71 @harrysthiccthighss @captainamerica-is-bae @la-cey @weirdowithnobeardo @lovepeacefood @baby-i-am-fireproof @denisemarieangelina @evans713 @smyfmj @thereisa8ella @jillanaholland @rororo06 @briannab1234 @keiva1000 @ughitsnic @kianifan @adriannajackson @boojack73 @marvelnaturalock @notyourtypicalrose @dummiesshort @onetwo3000

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagines #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans x black reader #dad! Chris Evans

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wistfulcynic · 4 years

Text

relationship goals

Dipping the toe into fic again just for a second, to fire up some tired synapses and also because I saw this earlier and if it isn’t a CS prompt then I don’t know what is:

Enjoy!

Words: 1.2k Rating: G Tags: couples goals, relationship goals, married CS, committed relationships can still be fun you guys

On AO3

relationship goals:

It’s an offensively bright Monday morning and Ruby’s working her first shift of the summer at Granny’s new drive-thru when at just past eight a.m. a man pulls up to her window and blinds her with his smile.

“Good morning,” he says, accepting the cup of coffee she hands him. “How are you today, lass?”

“Um.” Ruby blinks. It’s far too early for her to be dealing with eyes that blue. And though she’s pretty much exclusively been into women these past few years, this guy’s face could probably convince her to give men another go. “Fine, I guess.”

“Listen, Ruby.” She’s startled for a moment when he calls her by her name, then recalls she’s wearing a name tag. Duh. Seriously, it’s way too freaking early for this. “Could you do me a favour?” he asks, with a smile she’s pretty sure no one who’s into dudes even a little bit has ever said no to.

“What kind of favour?” she asks warily.

He hands her a twenty. “I’d like to pay for the woman in the car behind me,” he says. “And tell her I think she’s hot.”

“Sir, I’m not sure that’s—”

“And keep the change.”

He gives her a wink—a terrible excuse for a wink, actually—and drives off.

Ruby hesitates. She’s not about to help some dude sexually harass another woman, no matter how blue his eyes, but he’s left her something like a twelve-dollar tip and he didn’t seem that creepy. She watches carefully as the next car pulls up. The woman behind the wheel is definitely hot—creepy-ish dude has good taste—with long, blonde hair curled in princess ringlets and an expression that looks just how Ruby feels—that it’s way too early in the morning for any species of bullshit.

“Hey,” she greets the woman, handing over another coffee. “Um, it’s already paid for.”

“What?”

“The guy in the car in front of you, he paid for your coffee.”

“Did he?” says the woman with a scowl.

“Yeah. And he, uh, he said to tell you you’re hot.”

Ruby figures this woman can take care of herself. She looks like she could flatten Mr Blue Eyes if she put her mind to it, and if he’s being a creep she deserves to know.

The woman heaves an annoyed huff and rolls her eyes. “Thanks,” she says. “I’ll handle it.”

Ruby gives her a nod and even manages a grin despite the early hour. She likes this woman.

—

The next day at about the same time, the same man with the same blue eyes and a face that Ruby decides could actually be classified as an offensive weapon pulls up to her window, the twenty already held out between two fingers.

Ruby glances at her list of orders. “She’s ordered a really expensive drink today,” she informs Blue Eyes. “Blended coffee with two shots of the specialty espresso and like four kinds of syrup, plus whipped cream and praline sprinkles.”

Blue Eyes laughs. “Well played, love,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and pulls another ten from his wallet. “Tell her she’s devastatingly beautiful and her clever tricks only serve to further inflame my passions.”

Ruby chokes. “I can’t tell her that!”

Blue Eyes widens his blue eyes and lets his lip quiver slightly, like the fucking cat from Shrek, Ruby thinks grumpily. It’s still too damned early to be dealing with this. “Fine,” she huffs. She snatches the thirty bucks from his hand and exchanges it for his drink.

He shoots her a lopsided grin that has her heart actually skipping a goddamn beat and another terrible wink, then drives away. A minute later Princess Curls pulls up, already looking resigned.

“Apparently you are devastatingly beautiful and your clever tricks only serve to further inflame his passions,” Ruby informs her as she hands over the monstrous coffee drink. The woman’s eyes narrow.

“So that’s how he wants to play it,” she says. “Thanks.”

Ruby grins. “No problem, hot stuff,” she smirks, with a far better wink than Blue Eyes could manage. Princess Curls laughs.

“Not you too,” she protests.

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” says Ruby. “Have a nice day.”

“You too,” Princess Curls replies, and drives off.

—

The war of wills continues for the rest of the week, escalating to the point where Ruby begins to worry that the diner won’t have the wherewithal to handle the stakes of the warfare. On Wednesday, Princess Curls orders another massive coffee with a side of chocolate chip pancakes. On Thursday Blue Eyes gives Ruby a fifty and a slip of paper on which grilled cheese, onion rings, chocolate milkshake is written in such perfect handwriting Ruby is half convinced it’s a font.

“She’ll call in this order at about twelve-thirty,” he tells her. “Make sure she doesn’t lay down a dime.”

On Friday Princess Curls orders three coffees and enough breakfast food to feed an army. Granny chuckles to herself as she cracks eggs on the grill and Blue Eyes hands Ruby a crisp hundred-dollar bill with a flourish. “Tell her that her beauty puts the dawn to shame, and add a fruit salad to her order,” he says with a smirk. “Chocolate chip pancakes and extra-crispy bacon doth not a healthy breakfast make.”

“No,” mutters Ruby, “I don’t suppose they doth.”

—

On Saturday she’s off drive-thru duty and feeling a bit let down. She didn’t realise how much the romance of Blue Eyes and Princess Curls brightened her morning until she found herself facing a busy weekend without them. And she has Monday off. She gives herself a bracing pep-talk then swings through the doors from the kitchen with a pot of coffee in each hand, stopping short when she sees Blue Eyes grinning his weapons-grade grin as he leans against the counter.

“Regular for me,” he tells her, just as the door jangles and opens to admit Princess Curls. “She, on the other hand, has become addicted to those sugary monstrosities.” His grin softens as Princess Curls approaches and he slips an arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Hold up.” Ruby sets both pots down on the counter and puts her hands on her hips. “Hold the fuck up. Are you telling me that all that crap with the buying your coffee and the telling you you’re beautiful—that actually worked?”

“It did,” laughs Princess Curls. “About ten years ago.” She holds out her hand to Ruby. “I’m Emma Jones and this is my husband, Killian.”

“Husband,” repeats Ruby faintly, shaking the proffered hand.

“Afraid so,” says Emma, and Killian gives a long-suffering sigh.

“Can I help it if after ten years my wife is still the most beautiful woman in any room?” he asks. “No offence, Ruby.”

Ruby holds up her hands. “Absolutely none taken.”

Emma and Killian find seats in a booth and linger over their breakfast—more pancakes for her, toast and poached eggs for him—and when they come to the counter to pay, Ruby waves their money away.

“You’ve tipped me so much this past week, it’s my treat,” she says. “Just—never change, you guys, okay?”

Emma and Killian exchange a look, then wrap their arms around each other and turn back to Ruby. “We won’t,” Killian promises, with more solemnity than Ruby expected from him. Emma nods in agreement.

And they never do.

#cs fic #cs ficlet #cs ff #cs ff au #ficlets #profdanglaisstuff #based on a prompt #happily married couples are still hot #relationship goals

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agathasangel · 3 years

Text

you deserve to feel good all the time (sally mckenna x reader)

for anon who requested: “oh okay so me and my overactive imagination have a new autistic reader idea 😅what about reader and her parent(s) goes to Hotel Cortez. her parent(s) aren’t the best, maybe they’re kind of abusive and don’t accept reader because she’s autistic. well, Countess ends up feeding on her parent(s) so reader is left alone. reader finds out and maybe has a meltdown, but Sally is there and surprisingly knows a lot about autism so she’s able to calm reader down and help her through it. reader has to either stay at the hotel or go live somewhere else because her parent(s) were all she had so Sally makes the decision to have reader stay at the hotel and take care of her because obviously she would do a better job than Countess because Sally knows more about how to help someone who’s autistic. and reader ends up bonding with Sally too because of how accepting she was and her parents were never like that. i know this is super specific and you don’t have to do it, but i thought i would share in case you were willing to do it. 😊”

so yeah basically that’s the summary ^^ also this is kind of an AU because the timeline I’m using does not line up with the show at all lol.

Trigger Warnings for meltdowns, death, ableism and mentions of sally’s drug addiction

I myself am autistic (at least according to my therapist) and a lot of these reactions/experiences that the reader has related to her autism are my own or close to my own. Hopefully I do this request justice and do a good job and don’t oversimplify anything.

You ran through the hotel, searching for your parents, but they were nowhere in sight.

Breathe, you thought to yourself, don’t break down, they’re probably just out getting food or something and didn’t want you bothering them. You just have a couple hours of freedom, you can let yourself enjoy it.

You tried to enjoy the few hours you got to yourself without your parents. Without them mocking the way you talk or walk or move your hands, without them grabbing you with full knowledge of how uncomfortable it makes you. No cracks about how you had to leave college because you “can’t take care of yourself”.

The first words your dad said after you checked into the hotel were “God, it would be so much easier if we had a normal kid, wouldn’t it?”

As if you didn’t have feelings. As if you weren’t a human being who could fucking hear them.

It was 4pm. Your parents didn’t come back.

6pm. Nothing.

10. No sign of them. Neither one answering their phones. Maybe they’re finally abandoning you the way they’ve threatened to for ages.

Midnight. Still nothing.

2am and you started looking again. You couldn’t find anything.

What happened?

You started to panic and could feel a full-on meltdown coming on.

You tried to be still and silent, but it proved impossible. You began to cry and cry uncontrollably, rocking and hitting your head, unable to stop. You felt like your life was ending.

Two women showed up beside you. One was older and appeared to be the manager of the hotel, the other was a bit younger, with crimped blond hair and heavy makeup. You barely noticed either of them, however.

The older one touched your back and you screamed. You hated when people touched your back.

“Hey, do you want to take my hand, honey? It’ll be alright, I promise.” said the blonde woman. You obeyed her.

“Wh-Who are you? Where are my parents? Do you know?”

“Your parents... died. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. It was The Countess..” said the older woman.

You couldn’t speak, but you had about a billion questions for the two women. For example, Who the fuck is The Countess?

“You don’t need to speak. Just breathe, okay? In and out, good. Good girl. I’m Sally, by the way. This is Iris. You’re gonna be okay, I promise. I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

You waved, not knowing what to do, completely overwhelmed.

“You know what, it’s late. I’m gonna take her back to my room and have her rest. We’ll deal with the rest of this shit tomorrow when she can talk and isn’t so clearly exhausted,” said Sally.

“I-I.....can..... talk. It’s...okay.” you said, each word making you more spaced out and tired.

“No. You’ve been through too much. I’m taking you up to my room and you’re gonna rest. You don’t have to speak or do anything you don’t want to do.”

You followed Sally, so scared and tired and in need of some damn sleep.

“You’re safe with me. I promise. Here’s, um, the bed. Get some sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything. The Countess doesn’t want to hurt you either, I think she wanted to- it doesn’t matter now.”

“Who is... The C-Countess?”

“It’s a long story and you likely won’t believe me until you meet her. But it’s alright, you’re safe. I’ll protect you. Can I come over there and hold you?”

You nodded. Sally got on her bed next to you and put an arm around you. You winced as she touched your upper back.

“You don’t like when people touch you there, do you?”

You shook your head no, and she put your arms around your waist instead.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, I understand.”

Sally made you feel more comfortable speaking and you said,

“My parents didn’t understand that. They used to touch me there as much as they could, just to upset me. They laughed at me trying to keep my wet hair off my back when I took a shower. They thought it was funny.”

“What does that feel like to you?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t, like, hurt, but it’s terrible, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.”

“Aw, honey...”

“It’s dumb, I’m sorry I’m so sensitive.”

“Hey, no, don’t apologize. You know, you remind me of my baby sister. I loved that girl so much when we were growin’ up. I practically raised her. So God only knows how she turned out as good as she did. Our parents were terrible, they were never there. She was the only one who stayed with me. Until she didn’t.”

“What happened to her?”

“It was all my fault, really. I put her in danger. I sold drugs in the 90s, and I started using when we were living together. She was in school, and I had to find her somewhere safer to live. So I did. She’s okay, very successful actually, and she’s still alive. I’m the one who died young. I miss her.”

“You... died? What? I’m sorry, you-”

“Yes. I’m a ghost, The Countess is a vampire, I think Iris might also be a vampire now too? I don’t know. I know you think I’m crazy now but trust me.”

Sally saw your look of disbelief, then held out her hand and said, “Watch.”

As she spoke her fingers began to disappear and reappear.

“What-”

“I’m a ghost. I can alter the way I’m seen by others, if I want to. I’m surprised other ghosts don’t do it more often really. One time I scared some kid by making all my teeth fall out. It was awesome. I didn’t wanna scare you though. I like you.”

“Thanks?”

“Sorry, I-”

“No, it’s- um, how did you die?”

“Iris fuckin’ pushed me out the window.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“What was your sister like?”

“She was the best. Sweet, talented, sensitive. But people didn’t understand her. I did, though. At least best I could. We only had each other. Our parents didn’t care, the kids at school bullied her relentlessly. I had to protect her. She sometimes had meltdowns like the one you had earlier too-”

“I’m sorry-”

“No! It’s not your fault! You were terrified. Anyone would be. It was pretty intense though, I was worried.”

“Was your sister autistic like me?”

“She was. We didn’t know for sure until after she stopped living with me, but we both kinda knew.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, it’s almost four in the morning, you really gotta get some sleep. Come here.”

You did, and you fell asleep in Sally’s arms.

When you woke up, Sally was still there, as well as another woman, blonde and glamorous. They were arguing.

“What do I do then if you don’t want me to turn her? Kill her-”

“Please don’t hurt her, I can- she-”

Sally noticed you were awake, and saw your scared face.

“It’s okay, no one’s gonna hurt you. I’ll protect you.”

The blonde woman who you assumed was The Countess approached you.

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You shook your head no. Sally spoke up for you, intuiting that you must be stressed.

“She can stay with me. I’ll make sure she’s safe. She won’t bother you or anything. She’s sweet and quiet and-”

“Sally, it’s okay. You want her, you keep her.” said The Countess.

“Alright. Thanks. Can you get out of my room now? You’re freaking her out.”

She left without saying a word.

“I’m sorry about that, (y/n). You’re safe here. You can stay as long as you need to. I’ll be here. This is a dangerous place but I’ll make sure you’re safe, alright?”

“Okay.”

You still felt sad. Not about staying with Sally, you liked her, but about the way The Countess talked about you. The way your parents talked about you.

“Hey. I just want you to know that I don’t see you as some kind of pet or anything. I know that’s what you’re thinking, that’s how people treated my sister sometimes too. It was awful. No, I just want- I just want you to be okay. I want someone to spend time with. it’s awful lonely being a ghost, but I thought maybe if-”

“I understand, Sally. I like you a lot, and I want to stay here. It’s just sad the way most people see me.”

“It isn’t your fault, you know. I need you to know that.”

“I do. You make it easier to feel okay because you’re so nice to me.”

“I’m glad. You deserve to feel good all the time.”

You started to tear up a bit. No one had ever said that to you before. You were always expected to make yourself uncomfortable, speak when you didn’t want to, shut up when you wanted to talk, wear clothes that pinched, let people touch you when it made your skin crawl, and you were still made fun of because still, somehow, none of it was enough. But with Sally you didn’t have to do any of that, and yet you still felt loved by her in a way that you never have been before.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry. You’ll be okay. I’m gonna make sure of it. I can’t actually leave the hotel, but I can make sure you get everything you need. Are you a picky eater by any chance?”

“A little bit, but not as much as I used to be.”

“Alright. And you’re good on clothes?”

“I think so.”

“Good. I’ve gotta say, I’m excited. It’s been so long since I’ve felt a real connection to anyone here.”

“You really feel a connection with me?”

“Yes, honey, I do. Do you.... feel the same way?” Sally asked you. She said it as if she was worried you may say no.

“I do, Sally. I really do. I know how it feels to be lonely like you are. It’s how I’ve felt my whole life. Maybe... I...”

“Maybe you’ll learn to love it here. Once you’re comfortable I’ll introduce you to the other ghosts. They’re annoying, but we’re still a family or whatever it is they call it. They’ll like you. I promise.”

You spent the rest of the day in Sally’s room with her, barely talking, not really even needing to talk. She was the one who broke the silence by telling you

“I like this. Just being here.”

“Me too.”

“I want to kiss you. Can I?”

“Yes.”

You had never been kissed before, but you let Sally be your first. You felt so... loved by her as she kissed you and held you lightly by your waist.

You stayed in the hotel with Sally, and it quickly felt more like home than anywhere else you’ve ever lived. You became a part of the family, and you and Sally fell deeper in love. Sally protected you, knowing the dangers of the hotel, and made sure you felt okay. Your meltdowns became far less frequent as you were no longer being forced to be someone you weren’t.

#my fics

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Text

Bankrupt | dark!40′s!Stucky x reader

Your husband’s gambling addiction quickly got him in hot water with the mob, and you by extension. When some debt collectors come by to settle what is owed, you realize that you have a lot more to worry about than money problems.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: non con, dub con, DP, anal sex, coercion, a lil bit of knife play, basically everything awful you can imagine, please don’t read if you would find it upsetting.

@hnryycvll thanks for watching me write this live lol

moodboard by @nsfwsebbie

You knew something wasn’t right when Bruce left in the morning. He kissed you on the forehead, which was normal, but just before he stepped out for the day he turned back.

“You know I love you, right honey?” he asked nervously.

“Uh, yes, of course I do,” you answered with a raised brow, “I love you too.”

“Good,” he nodded, stepping out the door again.

“I’ll see you when you get home,” you smiled.

“Of course,” he agreed, and shut the front door behind him as he walked to his car.

You’d seen that look before, and you knew he’d done something. But it felt different this time. You wouldn’t be shocked if he came back with a few bruises, claiming he had tripped when you knew he had been roughed up by mob thugs over his gambling debt. He had told you before that he’d settled the debt and that it was going to be fine, but you weren’t sure you could really believe it anymore… after years of lying and stealing to feed his addiction, you had lost a lot of trust. But you always tried to stay positive.

That said, a knock at the door an hour later made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You really considered not answering it, and yet you were already unhooking the latch and turning the knob before you knew what you were doing.

Two men stood outside, dressed much nicer than a visit in this sort of neighborhood merited. You nearly had to crane your neck to look at them: they were so tall. And you could tell that underneath the three pieces, they were carrying a lot of muscle.

You’d seen guys like this hanging around before. You knew what they did.

“My husband isn’t home,” you instantly informed them.

The blonde one standing in the front smiled. The dark-haired one in the back took a last puff of a cigarette before dropping the butt and stomping it with his shoe.

“That’s no trouble,” the blonde explained. “Why don’t you let us in and we can talk to you?”

“You can go hassle him at work, if you want,” you shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We’re not here for your husband, sweetcheeks,” the other one interjected with a tone of irritation.

“Just invite us in for a drink, won’t you? It’s hot out,” the blonde requested.

You didn’t get the sense you had much of a choice. You stepped back and opened the door. The two of them nodded as they filed in, giving your living space a cursory glance as you shut the door. You knew it wasn’t much. You hoped they felt guilty for taking all your money and leaving you with so little that you had to live in a place like this.

When you turned back to face them, you caught their glances moving up your body. You tried to ignore it.

“Do you want ice water? I think I might have some tea--” you began.

“It’s fine,” the blonde dismissed, “we’ll make this quick. We just need to have a little chat with you.”

“What about?” you asked nervously.

“Your husband owes a lot of money to my employers,” the dark-haired man explained through a thick Brooklyn accent.

“I don’t see why that’s my problem,” you frowned, crossing your arms.

“It’s about to be,” the blonde chimed in, his tone lacking in any sense of mocking or deridition… which somehow made it even more sinister.

You did your best to keep a brave face, not show any fear. You knew that’s what they wanted, and you had no intention of giving them anything they wanted.

“What, you gonna beat me up?” you asked incredulously, rolling your eyes.

“No, sweetheart, that’d be a waste of a pretty face…” the dark-haired man looked you up and down with a grin, “...and a great body.”

“Let’s start from the beginning,” the blonde suggested, cutting through the tension. “I’m Steve, and my associate here is Bucky. We’ve become quite acquainted with your husband.”

“Heard a lot about you,” the other-- Bucky, apparently-- added as he took a seat on your sofa like he owned the place.

“Only good things, I hope,” you chuckled nervously.

“Only great things,” Steve confirmed.

“Come sit on my lap, doll,” Bucky smiled, patting his leg.

“N-no, I’d better not,” you denied, stepping back only to bump into Steve’s towering form. He pressed his body against you and you gasped as you felt the hard outline of a gun by his waist.

“Go sit on Bucky’s lap, sweetheart,” Steve recommended with a low voice, his eyes scanning you hungrily.

You nodded a little as you obeyed, watching Bucky’s face as you uncomfortably stepped towards him and sat on his knees. He slipped an arm around your hips and pulled you back until you could feel what you hoped was a gun against your thigh.

“You seem like a good wife. Obedient,” Steve praised, stepping a little closer.

“Loyal,” Bucky added, his voice reverberating over your neck as you felt the heat of his gaze. “Stickin’ with him even when he spent all your money. You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“Yes, well,” you swallowed, “marriage requires… sacrifice.”

“You’re more right than you know,” Steve laughed.

“I don’t underst--” you began.

“Buck, hold her legs open,” Steve commanded as he started to reach for his fly.

Before you had a chance to attempt to squirm, Bucky obeyed and grabbed your legs, wrenching them apart with a brutal strength that you had no chance against. Your skirt rolled up your thighs and you tried desperately to cover yourself but it was futile.

“No, please,” you began to beg, the illusion of fearlessness finally cracking.

“Does your husband ever get rough with ya?” Bucky asked with a low voice right against your ear that sent crawling chills up your spine strong enough to make your back arch. “This’ll be like that. Only better.”

“No, no please, you don’t have to do this,” you rushed as you saw Steve step forward, pulling his cock out from his trousers. You looked away, though as you did you realized you should look at it to prepare yourself as best you could. You gave it a glance only to whimper and look away again; it was big, and thick, and he was stroking it to its full size with ring-adorned hands. He laughed a little when he saw your intimidation.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart, I bet you’ll like it.”

“Please, I’m sorry, I’ll get the money if you need it, just don’t--”

You were interrupted by Steve’s hand roughly grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look him in the eye.

“You think this is a negotiation?” he growled. “It’s not. The negotiation happened yesterday, with your husband. He traded you for forgiveness of his debt. Don’t you understand? It’s over. You’re ours now.”

Before you had even fully processed the meaning of his words, tears were welling in your eyes and you began to sob. “It’s not true,” you denied, “you’re lying. He would never…”

“I’m a lot of things but I’m no liar,” Steve frowned. “Buck was there-- he sold her right? You remember?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “and pretty quick, too. It was his idea, actually. We didn’t even lay a hand on him before he offered you up. Showed us a picture and everything.”

You fought against Bucky’s grip again as you cried but it was useless: he managed to pull your legs up higher, hooking under your knees, and grab your wrists too. The position was uncomfortable but you couldn’t really worry about that as you screamed and cried at the feeling of betrayal. “No, it’s not true, it’s not true…” you sputtered, not making much sense anymore, and not really believing your own words.

“You look pretty when you cry, doll,” Bucky purred. You tried to kick at Steve and Bucky pulled at your legs harder, sending pain to your hips and causing you to yelp.

“Stop fucking fighting,” Steve hissed. “You understand that if your husband isn’t good for the deal he made, we’ll kill him, don’t you? So you’d better behave if you want to save his life.”

You froze. On one hand, this was the guy who had apparently traded you to these awful men as if you were his to give away, and you hated him for all the years of lying and sneaking around and, most notably, gambling away all your money until he was deep in the mob’s pocket.

On the other, you still, for some reason, loved him. You couldn’t stop yourself from loving him. You’d promised to stick by his side for richer or for poorer. You hadn’t known then that this was the poorest option, let alone one you would have to choose. But you couldn’t let these men kill him.

Steve held your face with his hands in a way that was both dominant and soothing-- or at least, an attempt at soothing.

“You’re going to be good, aren’t you? For your husband’s life?” Steve pressed.

You shivered a little, but took a deep breath and nodded. He smiled and patted you on the cheek.

He pulled a knife from his jacket and quickly sliced off your underwear. You sniffled as you tried to stop crying, fighting the urge to try to close your legs as Steve kneeled to look at you closer.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he cooed. “You know, at first I wasn’t sure this was a fair trade. I mean, he owes us a lotta lettuce. But now I’m thinking he’s the one getting screwed.” Steve stood up and wiped a tear from your cheek. “You know, besides you of course.”

“Just get it over with,” you whispered. They both laughed.

“What’s with the pessimism, sweetheart? Behave yourself and I’ll make it good for you.”

You whimpered a little as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, focusing instead on the hard grip Bucky had on your arms and how it would probably bruise tomorrow-- it wasn’t a pleasant feeling either, but much easier to handle than a near-stranger’s cock about to plunge into you.

He had to push pretty hard to get it to go in, barreling past the resistance of your walls until he was sliding into you. You gasped and cried out, feeling Bucky’s cock harden underneath you in response to the sound.

“Fuck, so tight,” Steve groaned. “If I had a wife like you I’d’ve never let you go, sweetheart. Wouldn’t even let you leave the house. Not when I could fuck this perfect little pussy all day long.”

“It’s that good?” Bucky asked with a husky voice.

Steve buried himself in you completely and savored the feeling of your muscles fluttering around him. You bit your lip and fought your tears.

“You’ll get your turn, Buck,” Steve promised, “but I can’t promise I can give her to you in one piece.”

He pulled back out nearly all the way before slamming back in, making you choke on a scream. He set a brutally hard, yet slow, pace as he fucked you senseless, stretching you open more than you’d thought was possible. You hoped you weren’t as loud as you seemed to sound in your own head.

“You like my cock, don’t you? See, this was what you always needed,” Steve purred. “A real man. Somebody to fuck you like a whore, just how you like it, huh?”

“Hnng,” you gurgled in lieu of a reply.

You relaxed into Bucky’s embrace as best you could, letting Steve use your body and hoping it would all be over soon.

“You ever gonna let me get a piece of that?” Bucky growled at Steve.

“Soon,” Steve nodded breathlessly, “just a little more… fuck, it’s so good.”

Steve made a noise when he pulled out like he was mustering all his restraint to do it. He gripped his cock once it was free, stepping back and watching Bucky adjust your body on top of him as he freed his cock from his suit pants.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be good, right?” Bucky pressed as he angled you to slip onto his cock. You nodded feverishly as he finally pushed into you, rougher than Steve had, making you wince. “Oh god,” he groaned, “you’re so wet. Your pussy feels amazing, doll. Jesus.”

You felt an unexpected sense of pride warm your chest. You refused to believe that you actually wanted to make him feel good. You decided it was just a tactical thing-- the more you pleasured him, the sooner this would be done with.

“Good, right?” Steve asked with a smile.

“So fucking good,” Bucky agreed, leaning you forward a little. “Come on, baby, bounce on that cock,” he encouraged. You set your legs on the ground and balanced your hands on his knees, lifting and dropping your hips with stuttered breaths as his cock brushed against something inside you that made your legs shake and quiver.

Bucky leaned back and watched you work, occasionally taking a moment to squeeze or slap your ass. His hands wandered over your back, your shoulders, even your thighs; Bucky’s touch explored you until you felt his thumb circle over the puckered opening of your ass and you jumped a little in shock.

“Not there,” you begged, stopping your movements. “Please, not there.”

“Wherever I want,” he corrected sternly. You whimpered a little as you felt him press ever so slightly, your tight rim expanding to accept the tip of his thumb.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You forced your eyes shut. “Wherever you want,” you repeated. “Wherever you want, Bucky.”

He hummed in approval, and pushed his digit in to the first knuckle. You suppressed a gasp.

“Did your husband ever fuck you here? Or did he try, but you wouldn’t let him?”

“He never… we never…” you began, shaking your head.

“Seems like a waste,” he replied in a low voice, pushing in a little deeper. “You’ve got such a great ass. First thing I noticed when I walked in.”

“Is this what you were thinking about?” you asked with a gulp. “Is that what you wanted to do the whole time?”

He chuckled darkly, and it was answer enough.

He pulled his cock from your pussy and you hated that you’d supplied plenty of lubrication all on your own. He held you up as he started to press the head against your tighter opening, watching himself penetrate you with dark eyes.

He pushed his hips forward, adding more and more pressure until he was able to break past the tight ring of muscle, and you gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“Fuck!” he yelped, his head falling back against the top of the couch. “So fucking tight.”

It stung like nobody’s business but you tried to keep your breathing steady as he pulled you down to the base of his cock, which was apparently even thicker and so much harder than you seemed to remember.

“Aw, I’ll be gentle, baby,” Bucky soothed as you whimpered, moving you on top of him slowly. “I don’t wanna break you. Yet.”

The pain took what must have been hours to subside, your toes involuntarily curling into the shag rug-- which made you realize your shoes must have fallen off at some point. Even when it hurt, you felt the pleasure underneath it all, his cock managing to stimulate places inside you even through the layer of your body in the way.

“She’s dripping, Buck,” Steve observed with a predatory grin. “She loves it.”

Bucky slipped his fingers between your legs and felt the wetness for himself, indeed as plentiful as Steve had promised, reacting with a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Fuck, you like my cock in your ass, don’t you?”

You shook your head even as you felt your hips moving with his involuntarily.

“Just admit it,” he growled, wrapping a hand tightly around your neck. “Admit that you love getting fucked in the ass, because you’re my dirty little slut.”

You sobbed, choking from the tightening grip on your throat. “Bucky,” you whimpered, trying to plead with him but not getting very far into it.

“Do it for your dear old husband, huh? God, what would he think if he saw you know?”

You closed your eyes, trying not to imagine the answer to that question.

“He’d probably be wishing he’d known sooner that his innocent little wife liked it up the ass.”

They laughed and you winced, feeling Bucky graze his teeth over the shell of your ear.

“Say it, doll,” he whispered, “say it just how I told you to.”

“I…” you began, but trailed off. You yelped when he slapped you right between your legs, sending a shock of pleasure-pain through your body. “I love getting fucked in the ass,” you finally stuttered out, “because I’m your-- your dirty little slut.”

Bucky moaned right into your ear, thrusting faster and deeper into you. “Yeah, that’s right. Dirty mouth on ya, too. Gonna fuck you there another day.”

“Please,” you whimpered, not entirely sure what you were asking for.

Every slam of his hips into yours made your body shake, and you whined when he stopped thrusting to hold you down and grind against you.

You moaned with every movement, unable to stop the tears from flowing as the pain and the pleasure became indistinguishable.

You were so lost in it that you didn’t realize Steve was standing in front of you again until you felt his fingers pressing into your pussy. You were so wet that it took almost nothing, but you still gasped.

“Damn, so wet for us. Such a good girl,” Steve groaned.

Bucky pulled your legs up again, stilling inside you to hold you open for Steve.

“You can let go of her now, I reckon,” Steve informed Bucky. “She’s done fightin’. Look at her, she loves it.”

Bucky nodded and let go of your legs and arms. You did try to shut your legs a bit, not out of any notion that this would stop: you were just trying to relieve the soreness in your hips.

It didn’t last long as Steve pushed your legs apart, freeing Bucky to wrap his arms around your waist.

You hadn’t even known it was possible to fit two cocks at once, especially two cocks like this.

You made a noise that was purely inhuman as Steve pressed into you again, feeling full beyond the brim, incapable of taking anymore-- and there was still so much of him left.

“I can’t,” you began to protest, but it fell on deaf ears as Steve continued to slide into your pliant body. “It’s too much! Steve!”

That got his attention, and he looked down at you with bared teeth. “You’re gonna take it, whore. You’re gonna take our fucking cocks. And you’re gonna say my name just like that when I come in this ruined little hole.”

You sobbed as he bottomed out, feeling your holes clenching around them as you struggled to fit their girth.

Both of the men groaned a bit as they felt your struggle, Bucky licking and kissing at your neck while Steve tore your blouse open and roughly palmed at your tits.

“So fucking perfect,” Bucky praised before pushing your face to the side, pulling you into a deep and sloppy kiss. You reciprocated instantly, though you struggled to put much thought into it as all your attention was on the peculiar and powerful feeling of two men inside you at once.

You heard your moans get louder and more unabashed as they were lost in Bucky’s eager mouth, echoing back until you weren’t sure who you were hearing anymore.

Steve’s thumb roughly rubbed at your clit and you nearly screamed from the overwhelming sensations flowing through your body; your head fell back on Bucky’s shoulder again, who kissed your temple and cheek in a way much too delicate for the situation.

“Didn’t I say I’d make it good for you?” Steve growled. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You would look back on this moment and try to convince yourself that you were immersed in your role, that you were just saying whatever he wanted to hear for your own safety. You would repeat over and over internally that you hated it and that you were just a hell of an actress with a strong sense of self-preservation. But you would know that it was a lie. Because what you said next was the honest-to-God truth, and deep down, all three of you knew it.

“It feels so fucking good!” you screamed. “Please don’t stop, oh my god, I’m going to-- fuck!”

“Yeah baby, come on my cock,” Steve praised. “His cock, too. Come for us.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck to brace yourself, “yes, yes, yes!”

Every part of you tensed up and tightened, your entire body like a spring pulled to its limit. And as the tension released and you felt yourself shatter in their arms, a gush of wetness pulsed out of you.

“Fuck,” Steve grinned, “look at our girl, coming so hard for us.”

“Bet her husband’s never made her do that,” Bucky laughed. “She’s clenching around me, Steve, I don’t think I can take much more.”

“Want us to come in you, baby?” Steve growled, nipping at your jaw. “You wanna be so full of us, don’t you? Wanna make us come?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, exhausted and weak, limp in his arms, “yes, Steve, please…”

Bucky lost it first, holding you so tight that you could barely breathe. He babbled praise against your ear as he spilled inside you, telling you how good you were for him, how you were gonna make him feel good from now on, whenever he wanted. You could barely process that as you felt Steve follow suit, moaning weakly as he pumped into you with stuttering thrusts, painting your insides with his spend.

“Yes,” Steve hissed as he began to come down from his high, both of them buried in you as deep as they could fit, all three of you panting like you’d just run a marathon.

You winced as Steve pulled out of you, your face feeling hot as you felt his cum begin to leak out of you.

Bucky helped you stand up and adjusted your clothes a little until you were covered up again… but you were sure you must’ve looked completely fucked anyways. He scooped you up into his arms; an hour ago it would’ve terrified you, but now you leaned into his shoulder and curled up into a ball in his embrace. He carried you out of the house and laid you down in the backseat of their car, with a tenderness you wished he had shown a little sooner.

He sat in the back with you while Steve drove you to Bucky’s apartment: your new home, they informed you excitedly.

The movement of the car rocked you to a place between sleep and wakefulness, and you tried not to listen to the men talking about the plans they had for you, or the ‘assignments’ they needed to complete this week. Steve talked about needing to go out of town, and they decided that he would take you with him to relieve his stress. “I’ll miss you though,” Bucky cooed, stroking your hair.

You were crying but there were no sobs, just tears flowing silently as you tried to think about the lines they were leaving on your face and not the fluids leaking from the rest of your abused body.

When the car stopped and you were carried into Bucky’s apartment, you felt your locket slip from your neck and fall into a grate. A picture of your husband was inside that locket. You got the sense you wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

#dark!stucky #dark!stucky x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky smut #dark!steve smut #chris evans x y/n #chris evans imagines #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans headcanons #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan headcanons #sebastian stan imagine

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toraashi · 4 years

Text

princess au ft. chuuya nakahara

Title: Untitled Princess AU

Pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x Fem!Reader

Warnings/Genre: Fluff and light angst. One of the awful aristocrats makes a comment about you eating too much, forbidden love *gasp*

Word Count: 1,754

Author’s Note: Hiii! Here it is, the princess au I keep hyping up. It’s actually decent, I won’t lie to you, so I hope you enjoy it! 16 year old me was the biggest weeb (I still am rip), so there is a Kamisama Kiss reference in here I’m cringing but I promise it’s not bad!! Please hmu with your bodyguard!chuuya brainrot to feed my lonlieness when you’re finished reading :)

She reached across the table to select a raspberry pastry, her fingers brushing against the red-head’s as they left her side. He visibly tensed, but she ignored it, along with the minute pang she felt in her chest. The dessert was flaky and crumbly in her fingers, it’s deep, striking red jelly oozing through the cracks in the glazed surface.

“My oh my, are you stuffing your face with delights again? How unsavory.” The person in question twisted her head, hiding her scarlet stained gloves behind her back.

“Lady Nikolina!” She elicited a wry smile from the woman, whose cold eyes disapprovingly darted to her out of view fingers.

“You really ought to think about that figure of yours more. Before you know it, you could be a cream puff! Suitors want slim ladies, dear, not large ones.” A strike of crimson striped her smooth cheeks and she nodded.

“Of course, My Lady.” The princess could practically see her devoted bodyguard’s seething gaze, he always had disliked Lady Nikolina, after all. The protectiveness radiating off of him was comforting, and soon the blush she beheld wasn’t being caused by the snobbish Marquiess before her.

“Speaking of suitors-”

“Actually, my apologies, Nikolina, but I’m afraid I’ve got a dance coming up, and I can’t possibly wait. We shall have to continue this lovely little talk at a later date.” Casting the woman a charming smile, she scurried off, pulling Chuuya along with her. He immediately split their hands.

“Princess.” Their gazes met, his swirling pools of cerulean reprimanding her without a single spoken word, but she got the message, and it burned another hole into her soul.

He couldn’t be with her.

He didn’t want to be with her.

Tears prickled her lashes like raindrops, but she pushed them back, refusing to show vulnerability amongst a crowd of powerful politicians and kings. She could see his hues soften, and then harden merely seconds later, his hand habitually reaching to adjust his hat. His familiar mouth looked so inviting, his orbs safe and comforting, but they were not hers.

When she had admitted her flaming affection to him, she had been sure that he had reciprocated those passionate emotions winding around her heart, but he had swiftly shut her down, all of the fleeting touches and lingering bouts of eye contact dissipating like boiling water, vanishing like a ship at sea, breaking like her fragile heart.

Sweeping her scarlet skirts up into her hands, she traversed the expanse of the ballroom, waving politely to trading partners and their stunning wives, nearly tripping over her golden heels if it weren’t for her companion’s lightning reflexes. A murmured ‘thank you’ kissed her lips, but she was quick to continue walking, her dance card heavy in her pocket.

“Princess! It’s almost time for our dance! Wherever have you been?”

“Lord Mizuki. I was conversing with the lovely Lady Nikolina, I’m afraid.”

“Ah. And what positively thrilling topic did you discuss this time?” A laugh escaped her lips as she gazed up at the snow-headed boy.

“My less than attractive addiction to the cook’s tarts, per usual.” Mizuki's emerald colored eyes followed her every moment as she chuckled at her previous encounter; he held his ivory hand out to her.

“Let’s dance, shall we?” The only person she wanted to dance with was Chuuya, but she obliged, letting her dainty palm rest against his. To say she was shocked when he reached forward and urgently grabbed her forearm was an understatement.

“Chuu...ya?” He immediately released her.

“You better come back right after.” She huffed, swiveling her gaze away from his alluring eyes and letting her suitor tug her away.

He swept her out to the dance floor with grace and agility, weaving through the herds of human beings like a serpent, one hand resting on her corseted waist. Once the waltz had begun, he twirled her and moved her with ease, his grace and royal privilege shining through like the golden sun. His firm grip on the curve of her body was relaxing and coaxing, as if catching her hesitance and disliking for the ordeal.

“My lady, what was that all about with your… bodyguard, is it? I’ve heard he is quite extraordinary.” She let her eyes flutter up to meet his, mind breezing towards Chuuya’s form, his strong arms and beautiful hues.

“You are correct, Lord Mizuki, Chuuya is quite effective. He has his faults, for example, his extreme impatience and impossibly short tempered, but I’ve known him since I was a child.” She looked fondly over at his tense form, narrowed eyes and locked jaw. “He is awfully protective.”

“As I can see.” She averted her eyes back to her dance partner, whose own were sharp and limpid, staring directly at the opposing man.

“Mizuki… you’ve stopped dancing.”

“Ah! Yes, my bad, pardon me, Princess.” He quickly got back into the flow, keeping in sync with the plethora of other couples.

Once the music had faded out, she curtsied slightly towards her companion, immediately leaving the marble beneath her feet and heading towards the sidelines. Rather than immediately treading back towards her designated “lap dog”, a plan formulated in her brilliant mind, one she wouldn’t have been able to pull off with the ability user around.

Hues flicking to Chuuya’s position (he was clearly searching for her), she scurried towards the back stairway, grabbing Lady Nikolina’s garish hat directly off of her head as a disguise. Swinging her hips in the Marquiess’ fashion, she easily traversed the velvet carpeted steps, gloved hand delicately running up the glass railing, tracing each intricate design and emblem. Lady Nikolina’s rooms were just down the hall, so she presumed that if she headed left she could discreetly loop around without causing a commotion. Chuuya wouldn’t risk a confrontation with Nikolina even if he suspected it was the princess. She flicked her hands towards the guard discriminatingly, as a sort of greeting so he knew where she was headed off to, which she hoped he assumed was her chambers. Refraining from viewing the astounding paintings of her heritage lining the towering walls and sky-breaking ceiling, she stepped forward with urgency, gold slippers clicking on the obsidian beneath her feet. She could practically feel freedom in her hands, the balcony merely meters away, she could feel the cool autumn air piercing her lungs, the comforting hum of crickets and light gabber of guests still entering her father’s party.

The shining glass french doors were open in moments, and she spun in euphoria; no more pining suitors, no more reprimanding love interests, no more chastising Marquesses; her plan had been utterly foolproof. Except for one little detail.

Just as she had gotten used to her balcony experience, the entryway slammed open again, a deep, familiar voice slicing through the silence like a bomb, loud and uncontrollable.

“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing out here?! Running away like that? Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to recognize you with someone else’s hat on?!” She gulped bracing herself for the lecture to come. “You’re such a stubborn little shit. First you insist on wearing that absurdly fancy dress, then you decide to waltz with that sly snake Mizuki, and for some reason you still have the nerve to sneak away from the ball- from me!” His glare could kill the fluffiest of bunny rabbits, but it didn’t faze her.

“Well, maybe you should stop being a prick about your actions! I could care less whether you held my hand, you idiot!” She thrust her arms down to her sides. “And what does my dress or Lord Mizuki have anything to do with this?! Are you just jealous or something?!” A low growl rose from his throat like the impending rumble of distant thunder, but she was unperturbed. “I’m not stupid, Chuu! I know you feel just the same way I do! I’ve known you for years, you dumbass!” A wisp of hair tumbled in front of her eyes, shielding the building tears from the man. They rebelliously streaked down her rosy cheeks moments later anyway, like rain pouring from (e/c) clouds. She swore she heard a relenting sigh puff out into the silence, but her own quiet whimpers made her unsure of his intentions. Abruptly, one lithe arm looped around her waist tugging her in, his head balancing on top her hers and consequently sending her glittering tiara tumbling to the floor.

“Listen up, [Name].” She felt a bout of dizziness waft over her as she breathed in his addictive scent of cologne and wine, her corset suddenly felt wound too tightly, and she couldn’t breathe.

“Chuuya…”

“You’re a princess. I’m your bodyguard. You are supposed to be married off to a wealthy prince, not your me.”

“I don’t care.”

“See? That’s the problem. I care because my job is on the line.” Craning her head up, she met her eyes with his shockingly blue ones, pleading from the depths of her heart.

“You’d choose your job over me?” He grumbled, fixing his hat.

“You are my job, dumbass.” Continuing to look up at him through her lashes, she tossed the bait.

“Are you saying you don’t want to lose me?” Hook. Line. Sinker. He peered back at her, a light flush across his cheeks. His gaze never left her, and they sat in a forcefield of quiet for five minutes before she made a move, leaning forward into his space. Allowing her lids to flitter closed, she met his lips boldly, the warmth from him enveloping her entire being, drawing her in, and he managed to kiss back, soon becoming more passionate than her. Hands flying to her waist, he tugged her flush against him, her arms winding around his neck and plunging into the forest of orange that topped his head.

“[Name]...” He murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. His longing was simple to spot in his deep, flaming smooches against her lips, and she was feeling the same emotions course through her. He loved her. She loved him. They had known since they had both realized it within themselves.

She was the first to draw away, and he immediately tried to capture her lips again, but she held him back, smiling slightly. The snarky remark lingering on her tongue melted away when she met his eyes, her heart swelling at his adoring expression.

“You’re right,” He murmured gruffly, keeping her close. “I do love you.”

MASTERLIST

Request Here!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd chuuya #chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #chuuya fluff #chuuya princess au #chuuya bodyguard au #chuuya angst #chuuya scenarios #chuuya imagines #chuuya x you

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arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch (Pt 5)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!

Chapter warning: This’ll get a bit heavy; just a heads up. Please be aware of the warning tags.

Recommended Chapter Song: Put Me Under by Grandson

Part 1 Part 4

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 5 - The Beast

Dabi walked down a long hallway, dark wooden floors cast in a dim orange glow from the mounted wall sconces. Every feature was cast in heightened detail – the color of the walls, the pictures on them, the ceiling with its wooden planks mirroring the floors like a fun house. But something was off about it. The sound of his footsteps was strangely absent, the faces in the pictures blurred by a shadow that shouldn’t exist.

It was familiar, this place. It filled him with a strange longing mingled with vague trepidation.

The whisper of voices came like a mist, seeping from the walls and soaking into his skin, cold and clammy. The voices were familiar, voices he thought he’d long since forgotten the sound of. He couldn’t make out the words; they jumbled together, swirling into a single hum that vibrated his bones and made his pulse race. Through the din, he thought he heard the sound of crying, a mother’s wail.

Fear seized him, a paralyzing fear he hadn’t felt in years. He had to leave this place. He took the door closest to him, turning the handle to step into black nothingness and suddenly he was falling, falling. He screamed, his voice the sound of a boy, his hands small like a child’s, wrapped in dirty bandages grasping at nothing. Blue flames erupted underneath him, devouring him like an ancient beast come to take him down into hell.

Dabi sat up in his bed with a jolt, his nerves screaming and his sheets drenched in sweat as the sound of his heavy panting filled the room. It was dark, except for the moonlight that crept through his window carried on a cold night breeze with each soft billow of the curtain.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose in frustration as he tried to steady his pounding heart. The nightmares were coming back.

Dabi’s head pounded. Every muscle in his body ached, his damaged nerves on fire. A wave of nausea overtook him, and he rushed to the bathroom, retching and gagging in the darkness. Once he was sure there was nothing left, he flushed the toilet and sat down on the lid with his head in his hands while his dark world spun around him. He was a celestial body, knocked off its axis and careening into the burning sun of reality. There was no soft curtain between himself and the harshness of the cold floor under his feet, the sour taste in his mouth, or the loudness of the crickets outside his window. There was no comforting haze to cocoon himself in, his chrysalis torn from him before he could finish his transformation. He felt incomplete, broken, hungry.

Your pills weren’t enough. They had helped a little at first, but his body was already burning through them and adapting, wanting more. The addiction was a raging beast that couldn’t be satiated, and right now, in the stink of his bathroom with his sweat drying on his skin, he could feel its familiar pull. It was a siren’s song, played on the strings of his nerves in an off-tune melody that only he could hear. It sang of old promises, a promise of freedom from pain and suffering, a promise to protect him against his nightmares like a faithful guardian, a promise of sleep… if only he could pay the price.

He needed more. More of your pills, more of his own… just more. Anything to make this feeling go away, to put this beast to rest.

There was no peace for him when he was like this.

He thought of you. You had said he could come to you at any time. Did you really mean it? If he knocked on your door at this hour would you let him in? Would you give him what he needed?

Would you understand?

Desperation made Dabi pull himself up from the toilet, and he stared at himself in the mirror. Disgust filled him. In the dark of his bathroom, the shadow of his face looked downright terrifying. Would the sight of him late at night cloaked in shadow scare you? Would you scream?

You said it would be okay.

Another wave of nausea hit him, and he leaned over, his forehead pressed against the cold porcelain of his sink as he forced deep, long breaths into his aching lungs. He didn’t have a choice. He quickly rinsed his mouth with water to rid himself of the taste lingering in his mouth and made his way out of his room and down the hall.

Dabi stopped outside your door, hands in his pockets, his eyes trained on your doorknob.

He hesitated. A vague memory of your wounded expression drifted into his tattered mind. He had forgotten that he had hurt you, and he wondered if that would make a difference now. Were your words just words? Empty promises to be abandoned as soon as you got stung?

The beast of addiction growled threateningly. If you abandoned him, it would take what it needed by any means necessary. Its survival was paramount.

Not a lot scared Dabi. But in that moment, the thought of him hurting you to feed his addiction made him almost turn around and go back to his room. Or leave the building all together. Anything to get himself away from you.

But his feet wouldn’t move. They were rooted into the ground, his body poised like a blood hound who’d caught a scent. The beast knew where the drugs were and wouldn’t let him leave.

Maybe he’d apologize. He hated apologizing; he never apologized for anything. But in this case, it’d be worth it, if only you’d open that little bottle to alleviate his suffering so he wouldn’t have to do it himself. Shit, maybe he’d even mean it, if it meant seeing your smile again.

Just as Dabi was about to take his hands out of his pockets to knock on your door, a familiar grating voice cut through his mental fog like high beams on a dark road.

“You’re up late.” Shigaraki commented.

Dabi clenched his hand into a fist within the pocket of his sweatpants and turned to face the pale man staring at him in the hall with as much boredom as he could muster. “So are you.” Dabi replied.

“I’m always up late.” Shigaraki commented. He cocked his head to the side curiously, a glint in his eyes. “What are you doing?”

Dabi couldn’t tell him. Wouldn’t tell him. It was none of his business. Anger bubbled in his chest, a raging dragon threatening to spew fire. He bit his cheek hard enough to draw blood, feeling a metal ring clink between his molars. The pain cleared his head, but only slightly.

“Nothing.” Dabi replied. “I was about to head downstairs for a drink.”

Shigaraki stared at him for a moment longer, his gaze calculated. Dabi knew he didn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t give him the luxury of confirming his suspicions. Finally, the hint of smirk turned the corner of Shigaraki’s chapped lips, and he began to turn to leave. “Make sure you wash your whiskey glass this time. I hate hearing Kurogiri complain in the morning before I have my coffee.”

As Dabi watched his back disappear into his room at the end of the hall, he let out the breath he was holding. He stood there a minute longer to make sure he was gone. It was the most he could handle before his hand, with a will of its own, knocked softly on your door – loud enough to hopefully wake you, but not loud enough that others could hear it.

No response greeted him, and Dabi stared at the door, his blue eyes burning holes into it in anger.

You had said you’d be there for him. Why didn’t you answer?

He resisted the urge to pound on your door, waking everyone in the process. Instead, he leaned his forehead against your door, desperation filling him like an overflowing cup. “Open the door.” He whispered, as if his words could reach you in your sleep. The phrase repeated, over and over, like a chant. “Open the door, open the door…”

Did you lock your door at night? Or could he just open it and walk in? What would he do then? Would he wake you up, or just take what he wanted?

Just as his hand was about to reach for the doorknob, he heard shuffling on the other side, and he watched as light spilled out from under your door into the hallway where his own feet waited like tree roots. Sweet relief filled him and he mentally thanked whatever God existed.

You opened the door a crack, eyes bleary as you rubbed the sleep out of them. Light flooded across Dabi’s features and he closed his eyes against the brightness, his arm going up defensively.

“Dabi?” you sleepily mumbled. “What are you-?”

“Kill the light.” Dabi gruffly demanded. His tongue felt dry and heavy.

You closed the door, so it was open just a crack, and he unshielded his bloodshot eyes in time to see the light in the room go out. A moment later, the door opened again, and you stood before him, dimly lit by the hallway, in a tank top and pajama pants.

Your grogginess had dissipated like fog on a windy day, you senses on high alert to the man in front of you. Dabi braced himself against your doorframe as if to keep from falling, his tall, lanky frame filling the space. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, which clung to him with sweat – he hadn’t even bothered to change it before seeking you out; you wondered if it even registered for him. His breath coated you, a staleness to it that was unmistakable and made you want to hold your breath.

Your pills must have worn off already, and he was quickly descending deep into the throes of withdrawal.

Without hesitation, you grabbed him by his hand, taking note of the hot clamminess of it, and pulled him into your room. As you closed the door behind you with a click, darkness fell like a blanket, and all you could see at first was the outline of his tall, black form as his ragged breaths rattled from his chest.

You guided him to the edge of your bed, pushing him down gently by his shoulders. “Just wait here.” You said softly, your words just above a whisper. You retreated to your bathroom and closed the door to keep the bathroom light from blasting into your room where he sat. Immediately, you grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the cold water of your faucet.

You weren’t in there long. You came out a moment later, leaving the light on and the door cracked to let some of the yellow glow filter into the room without being overwhelming; you needed to see what you were doing, after all.

You should have known better; as you made your way to Dabi, you realized he had your supply bag at his feet, your pill bottle in his hand. In your grogginess, you had forgotten that you kept your bag next to your bed, to keep it within reach in case of emergencies. Of course, he’d be tempted by it in his current state.

Your heart pounded in your chest. “Dabi,” you warned. “Don’t.”

Dabi didn’t respond to you; his eyes stared at the bottle in his hand, his eyes reading over the name on them, realization rising slowly like a hazy dawn.

“These have your name on them.” Dabi stated.

“Dabi, give me the pills.” You ordered, your tone firm.

“Why do you have these?” Dabi asked. You knew the question was probably rhetorical – he was in no condition to really listen to your answer. Still, you bristled, the question too personal.

“Dabi. Give. Me. The. Pills.”

“I need them.” He replied, his grip tightening around the bottle.

You kneeled in front of him, and you got déjà vu of your visit in his room just a day prior. How quickly the addiction takes hold…

You placed a hand on his forearm, noting the texture of his scars under your fingers. “I know.” You said softly. “I’ll give you some. Just give me the bottle. Please.”

His grip tightened as your hand touched the lid of the bottle. “Trust me.” You whispered, trying to capture his downturned eyes with your own. His eyes finally caught yours, and you placed your other hand over his hot fingers and gently pried them open until he relinquished the plastic container. Once it was safely in your own hands, a breath of air escaped your lungs in relief.

You opened the bottle and handed him three pills. He stared at them.

“I need more.” He said.

Your heart throbbed painfully. “I can’t.” you replied.

“What do you mean, you can’t?” His eyes shot up to glare at you in betrayal.

“I have to make them last.” You replied.

“It’s not enough.” He said.

“I know.” You replied sympathetically. “Take these for now, and we’ll see how you feel in a little bit. We’ll keep a close eye on how long they last this time.”

You could tell he wasn’t satisfied with that, but he swallowed the pills anyway.

“Come on.” You said. “Let me change your bandages for you since you’re here. It’ll give the pills time to start working.”

Dabi didn’t have the will to fight you in that moment. His world was spinning, and his stomach was roiling against the drugs hitting his empty stomach. As if you could read his body like a book, a bottle of water magically appeared in his field of view.

“First, drink this.” You instructed. “And I have crackers I want you to eat.”

“I’ll drink the water, but to hell with your crackers.” Dabi grumbled.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, at least your personality is still intact…” you commented dryly.

You watched him like a hawk as he drank as much of the water as he could; about half of it remained. You wanted him to drink more, but you knew that his nausea was probably keeping him from finishing it. You really hoped he didn’t throw up the pills he just took; you had counted your pills and set a schedule. There was just enough to make sure you didn’t run out before your refills arrived in the next day or two.

Once you were sure he was done, you stuffed the pill bottle into the pocket of your pajamas. Dabi’s eyes followed your every movement. “We need to take off your shirt.” You said.

Dabi pulled the damp white tee over his head and letting it drop on the floor. Your pulse pounded shamefully in your ears; you couldn’t help it. Even with all that was going on, it felt surreal having him here on your bed of all places. You were still mad about what he had said earlier, but when he arrived on your doorstep looking two steps away from death, none of that mattered. You had promised him that you’d be there for him.

You watched him for a moment, taking in his shallow breaths and the way he gripped your comforter against the pain he was enduring. His suffering tortured you; all you wanted to do was to put your hands on him and pour your quirk into him, to caress the rings along his chest and follow your touch with gentle kisses… or to take his head into your arms and hold him close, to whisper that he’d be all right and you’d help him through this…

You pushed the ache away as you averted your eyes. No point in tormenting yourself over something that wasn’t even yours. Besides, right now certainly wasn’t the time for such thoughts. You had to let the drugs do the work… or at the very least, wait until he asked for you. He was vulnerable right now, not really in his right mind. He would go with anything you suggested, if it promised to alleviate his withdrawal. How would he feel later on once he got back to normal, knowing that you did things for him that he might not have normally wanted? Touching him outside of what he explicitly requested was a line you refused to cross.

“Lay down on your stomach.” You instructed.

He did as you asked without comment or complaint, his long body easily filling up the space, the bottom half of his legs hanging off the edge.

You placed the wet washcloth on the back of his neck, and a low, muffled groan fell from his parted lips into your comforter. You applied your quirk to his back before removing the bandages. It was supposed to still be active, lasting until late morning, but there was no way to be certain with his body reacting the way it was. ��You pushed a little extra into it, to make sure it would last a bit; he was already suffering enough as it was. You paused momentarily to see if he would ask for you to do more, but he never did; his eyes stared listlessly in the direction his head was turned, not really seeing; his body seemed to be in conservation mode. The bandages were starting to come off, losing their stickiness from his sickly sweating. They peeled off easily, like skin off a baked chicken. You scrunched up your nose as you threw the soiled items in the trash.

As you worked carefully, an odd silence filled the room, the kind that only seemed to exist late at night when all of the city was asleep. It was a time when noises were quieter, but shadows seemed louder. A time when everyday life felt muted while the ethereal danced in the streets, the streetlamps their spotlights.

Small sounds filled the silence. Dabi’s steady breaths, the shift of your body on your mattress as you reached for fresh bandages, the sound of paper tearing as you opened a new gauze patch.

You and Dabi were a liminal space, where neither of you lingered. It was a place of impermanence, a space to pass through, filled with brief visits without the intent to stay. Despite that, even now with all that had happened in the past 24 hours, it felt private… intimate. It filled you with an unspoken longing, a desire to capture the beauty of life’s fluidity like a painter captures a landscape. You wanted to take the impermanent and freeze it in time so you could appreciate its nuances in the shape of dark rugged scars and piercing blue eyes framed in wild hair. To be able to stare openly instead of stolen side glances, trying to catch a ghost in your peripheral vision. How did you end up being so drawn to him of all people?

His harsh words from the night before echoed through your mind, a rude reminder. You swallowed the lump in your throat. How cruel it was to be needed by someone but not wanted.

Despite that hurt, you knew wouldn’t abandon him; not like this. You had a responsibility.

“Dabi,” you whispered, checking the face of the man spread across your bed. His eye shifted to look at you, but he didn’t move. “You can get up now.”

Slowly, he sat up, and you handed him his shirt, the sweat on it cooled. You watched as he pulled it back on over his head, his back muscles rippling. A slight shiver passed over him as the damp shirt made contact with his sensitive skin. He paused for a moment, assessing himself. His body aches were lessened, and the nausea was milder. But it was still there, and his head still hurt. And the hunger… the hunger was there too.

“How are you feeling?” You asked.

“Better.” He replied. A half-truth. Or was it a half-lie? But weren’t all half-truths just lies in disguise?

“Good.” You breathed with relief. “Do you want me to check on you in a few hours? Or do you want to come to me when you’re ready?”

Dabi turned to look at you, really seeing you for the first time since he arrived. You seemed so kind, so pure… so trusting. A guilt nagged at him, but he couldn’t place it.

“I’ll come to you.” He replied. “I’m gonna go lay down.” He admitted. Why did he feel the need to tell you that?

“Of course. Get some rest if you can.” You replied with a nod.

Dabi stared at you for a moment, taking in your patient face, trying to place the feeling within him. Or was it feelings? Some good, some bad…

His head hurt too much to sort it out. Without a word he left your room, you following him to the door to give him a small wave and a “goodnight” framed in a gentle smile. Something about it seemed off - were you sad?

It was his fault, but he couldn’t remember how. Memories were too heavy to hold right now. Rest. He needed rest.

As you closed the door behind him, Dabi put his hands in his pockets. He felt something in them that wasn’t supposed to be there, and he pulled his hand out to stare at the contents.

Three pills sat in his hands, the weight of them strangely heavy. Or was that the weight of his conscience?

How did he get these? He stared at them blankly.

He couldn’t remember.

But Dabi knew for certain you didn’t give them to him.

A voice in his head told him to turn around and give them back. To apologize for breaking your trust, for violating the fragile agreement you had both mentally signed.

But there was another voice. One that swam in his blood like demons and controlled his muscles.

More, more, more.

He swallowed the pills.

_________________________________________________________

Part 6

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Taglist: @lemonfvck @vs-redemption @inanabsentia @sheedaabee @toshiuwuu @marydragneell @chillinwithmybakubros @genuinelytodorokisbitch @sam-i-am-1025 @redflannel @axerrri @necccomancy @miadraws0 @hot-pocket01 @hopelessdisasterr @dummythiccwitch @villainsdeku @aquzairus @officialtrashbusiness @hemdem018 @purplesweethart @doebopeepeebbod @ghost-of-todoroki @marvel-philosophy @lysawayne @udontneedtokno @citrussaurus

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x you #soft dabi #bnha imagine #mha imagine #bnha #mha #TW: drug abuse #TW: drug addiction #tw: withdrawal #dabi is not in a good place #dabi is touya #dabi is a todoroki #touch #dabi touch #angst

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jess-rewatches-prodigalson · 4 years

Text

Face Value (S2, E7)

My time-stamped thoughts for this episode. As always I reference Malcolm’s mental health. A lot. So if that’s going to be a trigger for you, don’t keep reading.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

0:05 - Hold your horses. Malcolm taught at Quantico?!? I mean, I realize that he probably just did the occasional guest lecture (like most profilers?) but I’m still stupidly proud of him. <3

0:50 - ngl Malcolm’s a good lecturer. Take it from a university student.

1:13 - “It’s okay. We don’t know what you did and it’s not that mu-....BREATHE” Holy shit. I’m torn between ranting about what a great actor Tom Payne is and losing my mind because this scene is heartbreaking. Look at Malcolm. I swear he’s reminding himself to breathe - not Ainsley. He’s completely panicking but he’s trying so hard to be strong for Ainsley. This boy is an absolute treasure. Brother of the CENTURY.

1:41 - “You’re right Ainsley. I screwed up.” NO NO NO NO NO. Can you hear the sound of my heart shattering?!? This scene is so much more devastating the second time. When you know Ainsley is putting ON A SHOW HERE. Look at Malcolm’s face. He’s devastated. He blames himself for AINSLEY’S actions. He’s starting to genuinely believe that he’s no better than Martin Whitly. Malcolm’s depression/anxiety is through the roof in this episode. I honestly won’t be shocked if Malcolm has a complete mental breakdown in the next few episodes. Hell, I don’t think I’d be surprised if he tries to OD on his meds. This boy is in crisis and I’m terrified for him.

1:44 - “I think I did too.”.....this line is interesting. Is this part of Ainsley’s act or is she showing some regret for putting Malcolm through this much emotional torment? She can clearly see that this whole situation is literally destroying her brother’s already fragile peace of mind.

1:55 - “Today could be the day!”.....the day that everyone finds out about Endicott and Ainsley.....seriously, Malcolm’s daily affirmations this season have done nothing but feed his anxiety.

2:04 - OF COURSE. A call from Martin. Malcolm is going to have a mental breakdown. It’s just everything. All at once. I’m getting secondhand anxiety FOR him.

2:35 - hahaha Martin is a crazy, evil, pain in the ass but damn is he entertaining.

2:55 - 1) Ainsley looks adorable in Malcolm’s hoodie. 2) Ainsley straight up leaves his loft later in this episode. Did she hid a change of clothes in the loft before Malcolm got home last night? Or does she actually leave her big brother’s apartment in his clothes?

3:05 - “Getting hit by a train might be better.” Yep. Malcolm is entering a dangerous territory. I know depression is different for everyone but for me, when I start joking - out loud - to people I love about death in passing....things are bad. Like I’m getting suicidal bad. I know Malcolm has a morbid job and he talks about death all the time but this feels like Malcolm is starting to consider suicide as an option.

3:34 - I can see Ainsley’s “You were trying to control me” perspective. BUT honestly? Take a step back and listen to the desperation and fear in Malcolm’s voice. Anyone with half a brain cell can HEAR how scared Malcolm is and how deeply he loves his sister. Ainsley has known Malcolm her entire life. If she was functioning on all cylinders - she would know that Malcolm is just being a protective big brother. He’s not trying to control her - just help her. But this has been a theme for Ainsley since season 1 when she brought up visiting Martin during family dinner. She seems to believe that Jessica and Malcolm think that she’s a “fragile flower” and that she can’t take care of herself. I understand how that could be frustrating but I also find it concerning that Ainsley doesn’t seem to understand that they aren’t treating her that way because they think she’s weak or stupid but rather out of love. Ainsley acts like a petulant child about this sort of thing (anger, whining, eye-rolling). Ainsley acts very entitled a lot, in the sense that if something doesn’t go her way she just throws a hissy fit (think reporting and/or any Whitly family squabble). Ainsley is messed up. Unlike Malcolm, she doesn’t seem to have any self-awareness when it comes to her behavioural eccentricities. Malcolm actively tries to improve his mental state. Ainsley just throws a hissy fit when the world doesn’t bend to her will.....and this stream of consciousness Ainsley rant just became wayyyyy longer than I had anticipated (sorry).

3:41 - “Promise me.” See that look? Ainsley is pissed at Malcolm. This girl’s anger is concerning me.......what if (crazy thought) the season finale is Martin escaping Claremont to stop Ainsley from killing Malcolm?

3:43 - I wish I could be happier about this hug. Malcolm is finally getting a hug but.....he instigated it and he’s not the one being comforted sooooooooo I’m still unsatisfied.

3:49 - “Hey, you look...terrible.” SCREAM IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS DANI!! God. I love how concerned she is about Malcolm. IDC how you feel about Brightwell. If you don’t think they’re good friends - you’re a moron.

4:05 - This is the moment when I went....oooohhhh yeah. LDP directed this episode. That’s probably why he’s not in this scene.

4:10 - JT is a GOOD husband. Give him a medal. Seriously - last season he was going to watch the Taylor wedding live with Tally (who was going to wear a hat <3 ), this season Mr. Masculine casually throws out stats about the Housewives. hahaha I don’t even care if JT genuinely enjoys the Housewives or not. I’m just so utterly delighted at the idea of him watching it with his wife and having a good time with her. <3 JT is the definition of a good husband and I’m HERE FOR IT.

4:34 - .......seriously? I thought Edrisa had realized that this crush is unrequited last season? I love Edrisa but her obsession with Malcolm is getting a little creepy. Like “13 year old in love with the 40 year old math teacher” creepy. It’s sort of cute but also like - gurl. No.

4:38 - Ok. Dani’s reaction to Edrisa hitting on Malcolm saves the scene for me. Lol.

4:51 - Ugh. That is a really creepy corpse.

4:56 - Look. We’ve all obsessed about it already but I have to bring it up: MALCOLM STILL HAS THE BRUISE FROM THE ELEVATOR. SOMEONE GIVE THE MAKEUP DEPARTMENT A MEDAL. THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR REMEMBERING MALCOLM’S PHYSICAL TRAUMA.

5:21- ......ok maybe I’m projecting my cynicism here but anyone who has framed newspaper clippings about themselves in their office is seriously egocentric. Maybe it’s just me - but that’s a massive turn off and takes someone out of the running for “angel” status.

6:10 - I’m sorry for every time I thought Jessica was a crazy rich lady during season 1. Birdie is so so so much crazier.

6:36 - “Only the men you date.” Bitch. OMG. Who says something that backhanded and cruel to their sibling?!?!? ......oh wait. I remember how this episode ends :|

7:15 - THANK YOU. I’ve been wondering about the status of Martin’s medical certification since I watched the pilot. SO happy to find out that he couldn’t weasel his way into keeping it.

7:37 - Like most of you, I’ve been creeped out by this whole Martin/Capshaw interaction since it was released as a promo clip. Seriously - it’s creepy. There’s an upsetting amount of subtle flirting here. I’m not sure what it is about Capshaw but her whole energy is just really unnerving to me. I immediately hated her in the promo. Istg Capshaw is an undercover serial killer or something. AND IF SHE BECOMES A LOVE INTEREST FOR MARTIN I WILL LOSE MY SHIT.

8:06 - Oh yeah. She’s either romantically interested in Martin or she’s a psychopath on the DL and is playing him.

8:12 - YAY!!! The Yankee mug returns!!! <3

8:34 - “Sometimes the most monstrous people are the ones hiding in plain sight.” Ouch. I know the writers like to project Malcolm’s emotional turmoil on the case of the week but hearing those words come out of Gil’s mouth?!? Ouch. That hurt Malcolm. Bad. It wasn’t even directed at Malcolm but damn. This is not helping his mental health. At all.

8:41 - Gil. Is. Concerned. <3 :) .....pretty sure Gil also suspects about Endicott and Ainsley by now too. .....hmmmmm maybe that comment about monsters was Gil’s way of trying to get Malcolm to confess (or to gauge Malcolm’s reaction)?

9:15 - I feel so bad for Malcolm here. He’s literally juggling everyone’s problems. Ainsley’s murder situation. Jessica’s personal drama. But is he dealing with his emotional problems? No. He’s too busy being a good son/brother. SOMEONE PAY ATTENTION TO MALCOLM. HE NEEDS A HUG.

9:35 - Deer. In. Headlights. Well....at least Dani knows Malcolm’s about to have a mental breakdown. This boy just got more information to help him crack a murder case and he looks confused, startled, and lost. He’s usually excited and motivated. This Endicott situation is slowly killing Malcolm. I don’t know how much longer he can struggle under the weight of the guilt.

9:48 - Look at this. Ainsley is pissed off that Malcolm isn’t paying attention to her. We know that this whole 2nd murder was a sham so WTF? Is she really just that hungry for attention? That sounds like Martin Whitly to me - the narcissistic psychopath who needs attention like an addict needs cocaine. Also AINSLEY’S acting here?!? We know that she’s lying to Malcolm but holy shit. She’s a really good actress/liar? What else has she lied about?!?

10:05 - Ok. So just when did Ainsley remember? I honestly think she’s known since at least 2x01.

10:20 - Look. I understand that Ainsley is pissed that Malcolm is trying to ‘control her’. But did she even listen to the desperation and fear in his voice? This boy wants her to stay in the loft because he’s scared of who she might hurt if she’s out in public, unsupervised. He’s not trying to abuse or hurt her - just protect her. Is he misguided -maybe? Should he have called the cops on Ainsley right away - probably. But he didn’t out of love. Ainsley doesn’t even seem to realize how much this whole situation is hurting Malcolm and that’s the biggest problem. She doesn’t show any remorse at killing Endicott. She’s just pissed off that Malcolm lied about it. SHE KILLED SOMEONE an she (outwardly at least) feels no remorse. This girl is a psychopath (sociopath?) and this will NOT end well for Malcolm and Jessica.

10:27 - This whole scene was awesome btw. Tom Payne flawlessly communicated Malcolm’s panic, fear, anger, and desperate attempts to stay calm. And Dani’s blatant concern (and suspicion) of Malcolm and his mental state. AND Ainsley being a little brat. Ugh. So beautiful.

10:45 - I love this scene. I love the fact that they have the type of friendship where Dani’s not afraid to call Malcolm out on his crap (trying to hide things from the team). I love that Malcolm isn’t offended that Dani called him out. He doesn’t lie. Ainsley is lost at the moment. Malcolm is more honest with Dani about how the whole Ainsley thing is affecting him than he is with anyone else. I love that Dani still looks suspicious and concerned. I love watching Dani piece this whole thing together. I’m honestly at a point where I think Dani is going to know about Endicott before Gil. I love that Dani gives Malcolm honest, judgement-free advise. Because she doesn’t like seeing how much pain Malcolm is in. I love that Malcolm isn’t completely shutting her out. <3

11:00 - “What if she already has?”.....yep. Dani is totally piecing the Endicott situation together.

11:09 - “I’m overthinking it.” THIS. There is a split second where you can see the betrayal on Dani’s face. She knows Malcolm is hiding something and she’s hurt that he doesn’t trust her enough to let her in. She’s also probably hurt because she views this as a lie - which brings back 1x20 memories.

11:35 - “Even when they’re as beautiful as you.” Ugh. I love this so so so so much. Look at how Dani absolutely lights up at Malcolm’s unintentional compliment. I relate to Dani in the sense that I’m a woman in a male dominated field (engineering). I can’t tell you how often men that she works with have probably objectified her, belittled her, and sexualized her. Malcolm isn’t doing this. He doesn’t call her hot. He doesn’t comment on her body or how she dresses. He doesn’t even acknowledge that she’s a woman. He just calls her beautiful. But he does it in a way that you can tell he’s being genuine. He doesn’t expect anything in return for the compliment. He’s not trying to play the long game. He’s just thinks she’s beautiful. He doesn’t even realize that he said it. BECAUSE Malcolm is in profiler mode. He’s focused on the murder - not Dani. He mentioned that Dani’s beauty off-handedly because 1) he believes it and 2) it was relevant to his profiling train of thought. BUT LOOK AT HOW MUCH IT MEANT TO DANI. <3 <3 <3

12:00 - Why is Chabra exiled to the corner of the room?!?! Someone explain this tomfoolery. Is it literally to just get across that Chabra is not the alpha in this corrupt plastic surgery business?!?

12:16 - Ew. Please never say YOLO. Ever. It’s cringy when kids say it but it’s so so so much worse when someone over 25 says it.

12:18 - hhahahahahahaha OMG. Dani’s face after he says “yolo”.

12:31 - Yep. This dude is an asshole. DO NOT try to convince Malcolm to get plastic surgery. The dude has enough problems without adding dysmorphia to the mix.

12:41 - Yep. Chabra is the little puppy that follows Donahue around and does the grunt work.

12:50 - LOOK AT THE NOD DONAHUE GIVES CHABRA when Chabra denies that stock has gone missing. Can you arrest someone for being a rich, corrupt, asshole?! Ugh. Hate him.

13:20 - Ugh. I really want to know more about Dani’s past. Who in the NYPD tried to belittle, micromanage, or sexualize her just because she’s a woman?

13:30 - “I want Donahue to be the bad guy.” PREACH SISTER.

13:48 - “Easy. We just isolate him with our own alpha males.” hahaha OMG. LET”S GO. I was so pumped when this scene cut to JT and Gil. BUT I was also a little sad. Malcolm doesn’t consider himself to be an alpha male (I mean, he’s not) but it really just drove home to be that Malcolm sees himself as broken. Gil has been Malcolm’s positive male role model for years. But Malcolm doesn’t think he’s anything like Gil. Malcolm thinks he’s broken where Gil is whole, weak where Gil is strong, and bad when Gil is good. It just sort of broke my heart.

14:00 - hahaha Chabra is just a wimp. Watching Gil and JT play angry cop, calm cop was so so so good though. <3

14:05 - This was the moment that I remembered LDP was directing this episode. I’m not usually someone who notices camera work or anything but this was a really cool shot.

15:00 - Oh c’mon. Seriously? Edrisa’s crush has gone too far. She knows he doesn’t like her romantically. Everyone knows it. Please stop this. I’m getting secondhand embarrassment.

15:16 - Did Edrisa think they were going to do it in the morgue?!? Those flowers?!? Like wtf. I can’t.

15:29 - I’ll give props to Malcolm here. He’s being really kind to Edrisa here. BUT HE NEEDS TO TELL HER HE’S NOT INTERESTED BECAUSE SHE’S CLEARLY NOT GETTING THE MESSAGE.

15:33 - Ugh. Look at how uncomfortable Malcolm is. This is upsetting.

16:08 - “What?!? How do you -” Panic. Pure panic in Malcolm’s eyes. Damn. This boy is spiralling. Someone needs to find out about Endicott. Malcolm can’t keep trying to protect Ainsley and Jessica alone. It’s literally killing him.

17:14 - “All she could see was the ugliness she felt inside.” “That’s a sad way to live.” .........the parallels between the plastic surgery, dysmorphia, and vengeful crime of the week to Malcolm’s current mental health and Ainsley’s crime is slowly killing me. I’m honestly getting annoyed that the other characters aren’t picking up on all the subtle references Malcolm’s making to the fact that he thinks he’s a monster. I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO COMFORT HIM. THAT’S ALL. WHY IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FEDAK!??!

17:30 - Another point to the Dani/Malcolm friendship. She takes out the gun and pushes Malcolm back. Is she trying to protect him? Technically, yes. BUT she’s just doing her job. I love that Malcolm respects Dani enough to let her take charge and do her job. I love that he’s secure enough about his masculinity to let her.

18:15 - Yikes. This woman is 90% plastic. Cosmetic plastic surgery is terrifying.

20:16 - Another reminder of the woman’s ward. Either Sophie Sanders or Ainsley is going to end up in that ward soon (I’m still half-convinced that Sophie is going to appear out of the woodwork and take the fall for Endicott).

21:49 - “...convinced her that she would never have a career unless she looked the part.” <3 Look at how disgusted Gil is when Dani tells him that. Gil is a good man and I love him forever. <3

22:33 - I love this. Dani and Gil are both concerned about Malcolm and communicating it in looks. It won’t be long until there’s a team intervention for Malcolm’s mental health (or at least, that’s my headcanon - if someone wants to write me a fic about it I’ll love you forever).

22:44 - WTF GIL. WHY AREN’T YOU ASKING MALCOLM WHAT’S WRONG?!?! IS IT BECAUSE YOU ALREADY KNOW AND YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO FEEL ABOUT IT YET?!?!

22:49 -.....soooooo does this mean that Gil already knew that Birdie existed?!? How often did Birdie appear after Martin’s arrest?!?! I WANT DETAILS.

23:06 - Holy shit. Look at that little smirk Ainsley shoots Malcolm when he first walks in and sees her. Ainsley is maliciously toying with Malcolm and I DON”T LIKE IT.

23:14 - Jessica is concerned. I promise you Ainsley and Malcolm have rarely - if ever - fought like this in front of her. I was raised in single parent home after my abusive dad left. I know how that changes the sibling dynamic. No matter how genuinely pissed off you are - you don’t stress Mom out more. If you’re just annoyed with each other and doing regular ‘sibling squabbling’ - then you whine and argue in front of Mom. But if you’re seriously angry with each other - you deal with it when Mom isn’t home to see it because no matter what - you both appreciate how hard Mom is working to keep what’s left of your family together.

23:28 - “Malcolm. Looking more like your father every day.” BITCH. Did she just say that because she watched Malcolm go off on Ainsley? Sure, Malcolm was a little controlling (probably similar to a situation Birdie witnessed between Jess and Martin back in the day) but HOLY SHIT. That is your nephew. Maybe he’s having a bad day. Maybe being told he resembles a serial killer is really damaging to his already fragile pysche. I don’t like Birdie. AND I DON”T LIKE THAT JESSICA DOESN”T STAND UP FOR MALCOLM HERE.

24:00 - I don’t like this. These Martin+Capshaw scenes are really hard to watch. Martin is still acting like Martin - manipulative, egotistic, manicA. But he’s also acting like a professional doctor (an asshole doctor but still). It’s really disconcerting to watch Capshaw take his medical opinion seriously. Plus - there’s something about Capshaw that creeps me out. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet. But I’m pretty sure she’s a bad lady.

24:16 - “What bit should I use?” - See this? No. Just...no. I don’t like how she’s taking Martin’s medical advise to heart so readily.

25:04 - Why was Martin allowed to watch the procedure?!? He’s clearly getting a sick amount of pleasure from the blood and drilling. Look at the way Martin grins at Capshaw too. Martin is planning out an entire scheme to manipulate Capshaw into helping him escape. You can see the metaphoric lightbulb above his head.

25:29 - This meal. Seriously. Was I the only one who got a glimpse of the meat in a red sauce and thought “human meat”?!? No wonder Malcolm’s main food group is liquorice.

25:44 - Poor Jessica. She is not having a good time. Jessica’s behaviour in this scene is really interesting though. Jessica repeatedly shoots apologetic looks at Malcolm. She looks at Ainsley with fear. She looks super uncomfortable. She’s not saying much because she desperately wants a relationship with her sister but she also doesn’t want to belittle her son’s career. She’s proud of Malcolm - in her own way.

26:00 - “The family trust fund would run dry.” hahahahaha YES MALCOLM. THROW THAT SHADE. hahahaha

26:23 - “Most of the time anyway” Wow. Uncalled for. I know Ainsley is mad but this isn’t cool. I have this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that Birdie has been approached by Europol about the Endicott murder. I have this terrifying notion that Birdie is trying to collect intel so she can sell the information to Europol. If I’m right (which I’m probably not) this comment will not help Malcolm’s case.

26:41 - hahaha look at how annoyed Jessica is. Is she annoyed because her children are openly fighting in front of their Aunt when Jessica wants to portray the “perfect, undamaged family”? Or is Jessica annoyed because what Ainsley just said was out of line and she’s scared of Ainsley right now?

27:02 - “Why would you do that? I told you I would handle everything.” This. This is why I will argue that Ainsley is way out of line. Yes, Malcolm is sort of trying to control her. BUT listen to his words, the desperation and fear in his voice. Malcolm is trying to protect Ainsley. Ainsley has every right to be annoyed with him but if she was functioning at an adult mental capacity she’d be able to see that he isn’t being malicious.

27:35 - The fact that Birdie is a backstabbing, lying bitch is so frustrating to me. Look at how badly Jessica wants to have a healthy relationship with her little sister. Jessica just wants a girl-friend to confide in and drink with. I’m heartbroken that Martin stole that from her.

28:05 - I know LDP was directing this episode but JT or Dani should’ve called Malcolm. Why? This conversation between Gil and Malcolm (WHEN GIL IS WEARING HIS COAT) just makes me wonder - where is Gil going? JT is at Donahue’s apartment. Dani and Malcolm are going to talk to Chabra. Where is Gil going?!?

29:07 - ....how did Donahue get the coke into the cheetah? Was there a release thingy (like in a piggy bank) that Malcolm just elected not to use in the panic of the moment?

29:14 - “What else would you hide in a cheetah?” hahahahahaha

29:40 - “No. No. Only if I got the dose wrong.” Yikes. Malcolm is operating in full panic mode here. This is not good for his mental health.

30:08 - “This is the worst cooking show ever.” hahaha this was hilarious but cooking show? What? Do I not watch enough of those? Because I don’t see the link.

30:38 - The moment when Malcolm looks at Dani with fear. He thinks he just killed Chabra and he’s terrified that Dani is looking at him with hatred. :(

30:46 - The two seconds when Malcolm thinks he killed someone. Look at his face. That boy is broken. Again - if he doesn’t have a full on mental breakdown soon I’m going to be so annoyed with the writers because NO HUMAN CAN WITHSTAND THIS MUCH TRAUMA THIS QUICKLY - WITHOUT ANY EMOTIONAL SUPPORT - AND COME OUT FUNCTIONAL.

31:03 - “I do not miss drugs.” :O Dani :( Sweetie <3 Ugh. This line was heartbreaking because it hurts to remember that Dani had a drug problem. But it’s also really great. She was just in front of 1 gram of cocaine. She didn’t grab for it. It didn’t reawaken the urge to use in her. She was strong enough to say “I don’t miss this life” and say it OUT LOUD in front of Malcolm. <3 Friendship. She’s starting to trust Malcolm more. This is good....until she finds out about Endicott.

31:45 - Wait. If Birdie knew about Endicott and Jessica.....does she know about Gil?!?!

31:49 - “Trust but verify.” That’s such a heartbreaking way to live. I hate that she has to live in a world without trust because of what Martin did. I want Jessica to be happy. So so badly.

32:06 - .....how did Jessica find out about the book?!!?! Seriously.

32:17 - “Mummy”. Mrs. Milton is alive?!?! What. OMG. So....but how? Jessica is living in the Milton family home. Jessica is rich. But Birdie has been cut off from the family money. However, it’s clear from this conversation that Jessica and her mother aren’t on speaking terms. So how did this work? When did Jessica move into the Milton family home and why? Where is Jessica’s money coming from? Did Jessica invest her trust fund money smartly and make a fortune? Does Jessica still have access to the Milton family bank accounts?!? AND WHERE IS JESSICA’S DAD?!!? I WANT MORE INFORMATION FEDAK.

32:49 - Malcolm is his mother’s son. Look at this. Jessica is so hurt by what Birdie has done. However, Jessica sighs, takes a breath and helps her little sister out at the cost of causing herself pain. Malcolm would do the exact same for Ainsley. He has.

33:40 - “And do we need to talk about last night?!?” Gil has been different this season. Less soft. More strict.

33:51 - Look at how Gil stares at Dani here. He’s annoyed and concerned. Concerned because she was in close proximity to drugs last night. Annoyed because he created a monster. Gil put together is badass, sarcastic daughter with his unstable, awkward son and they are creating a headache for him.

34:41 - “even for consultants?” hahaha

36:50 - The irony that our killer of the week is a woman who is in pain, feels disfigured, and murders in revenge is so so thick.

37:18 - “It’s enough to drive anyone insane”.....like the emotional pain that Malcolm is currently suffering from?

38:42 - “The best revenge is letting him live like this.” The moment Malcolm realized that Ainsley was manipulating him. Look at the hurt and fear on his little face. :(

39:00 - Ugh. I can’t tell who’s manipulating who in this whole Capshaw+Martin relationship but it’s all gross. I swear if they become romantic I will puke. These two are a psychopathic match made in heaven.

40:08 - I could write essays upon essays about this final scene but I need to sleep. So it’s going into point form without time stamps:

First off - Halston Sage and Tom Payne give us an AMAZING performance in this scene and they deserve an Emmy for it. Seriously.

Look at how Ainsley walks into the room. She’s self-satisfied. She feels no remorse. She’s pleased that Malcolm has been suffering.

Look at how utterly empty Malcolm is when he greets Ainsley. This boy is in shock. He’s so deeply hurt and he just had one of his greatest fears confirmed - Ainsley is like Martin.

“Do you have any idea what you put me through?!?” This. Yes, Malcolm is upset and hurt but there’s a part of me that genuinely thinks this question isn’t rhetorical. There’s a part of me that thinks Malcolm is desperately trying to get Ainsley to admit to feeling remorse so that he can convince himself that his baby sister isn’t gone forever.

“Do you?” Ainsley is mad. She has a right to be. Malcolm did lie to her. He probably should’ve told her the truth. HOWEVER, if Ainsley was a functional adult - she would’ve just confronted Malcolm about it. She has every right to be pissed but her behaviour has been downright petty, juvenile, and cruel.

“Underestimated me. For months.” Is this the root of Ainsley’s anger? She mentioned something similar in 1x6 when Jessica and Malcolm tried to stop her from visiting Martin. She resents Jessica and Malcolm for treating her like a child. For trying to protect her from Martin. On one hand, I understand - that’s probably suffocating and frustrating. On the other hand, Ainsley’s acting like a child so....why wouldn’t they treat her like one?

“I have given up everything for you!! I don’t even know who I am anymore.” This breaks me. Malcolm is screaming through tears. He’s so utterly broken (this doesn’t count as a mental breakdown Fedak....you better give me more). Malcolm is rightfully frustrated that Ainsley doesn’t acknowledge that he literally threw out his moral code to protect her. That when this gets out - his relationship with his only real friends since he was 10 years old (JT and Dani) will probably want nothing to do with him. Malcolm probably thinks that Gil will abandon him WHEN the Endicott thing comes out. Malcolm has thrown his fragile mental health down the drain to protect Ainsley. He thinks he’s a monster. Yes. Malcolm made the choice to protect Ainsley. Ainsley doesn’t have to be grateful. She doesn’t have to respect his decision. But acknowledging that his decision was made out of love would sure help. Malcolm wanted to be a good big brother so badly that he threw away his sense of self.

“Protect me? Or control me?” Wow. Okay. I get it. Ainsley feels controlled which is bad for someone who likes being in control. But Malcolm was never trying to control Ainsley. Malcolm was trying to control a situation. Not a person. Is what Malcolm did right? No, lying to Ainsley wasn’t a great choice. But telling her the truth also wasn’t a great choice. He was damned either way.

“For someone who spent the last few decades trying to recover from being gaslight; it’s ironic how quickly you resorted to it.” Uncalled for. Was Malcolm gaslighting Ainsley? Technically, yes. HOWEVER, one of the main criteria for gaslighting is that the gaslighter is aware that they’re gaslighting someone. I honestly don’t think Malcolm realized he was gaslighting Ainsley - look at his face when she mentions it: he looks heartbroken. BESIDES. How is AINSLEY NOT GASLIGHTING MALCOLM RIGHT NOW?!?! “That’s exactly what Dad would say.” She’s trying to convince Malcolm that he’s just like Martin. She’s made him believe that she murdered a second person. She made him an accomplice to her fake murder. She knowingly continued with this ruse after he came clean and told her the truth. And he was nothing but supportive and protective. Malcolm helped her hide a body. Why is Ainsley playing the victim?!

Look at the torture on Malcolm’s face right before he apologizes to Ainsley for lying to her. This boy is being gaslight and he doesn’t even realize it.

FURTHERMORE I DON’T RECALL AINSLEY APOLOGIZING TO MALCOLM FOR MAKING HIM 1) HIDE A BODY, 2) LIE TO THEIR MOM, 3) LIE TO GIL, 4) AN ACCOMPLICE TO A SECOND (FAKE) MURDER, 5) LYING TO MALCOLM ABOUT THE SECOND MURDER. She just says, “Maybe it was a little over the top.” Come on. No.

“I appreciate that.” SERIOUSLY. Ainsley doesn’t even have the curtesy to say “I’m sorry too.” or “I know you did what you thought was best”?!? Her response feels bitter and angry. She doesn’t forgive Malcolm. She’s still livid despite the fact that her brother is literally breaking apart in front of her. There’s no questioning the genuineness of Malcolm’s apology. That’s sincere pain and remorse.

This whole scene is super disturbing because Malcolm is on the verge of tears. He’s visibly upset. Yet - Ainsley is channeling a quiet, disassociating anger (similar to what she looked like right before she murdered Endicott). She’s completely consumed by anger. She’s not acting rationally and it’s really disconcerting to watch the contrast between the two siblings.

“I had to make sure that you were never going to mess with my head again.” .....you know, a functional adult human (hell, even a half-functional adult human) would just verbally confront their sibling about it. They probably wouldn’t fully trust or forgive their sibling right away but they wouldn’t pull a stunt as cruel and malicious as Ainsley just pulled on Malcolm. The problem with Ainsley’s behaviour vs. Malcolm’s is this: Ainsley is intentionally hurting Malcolm out of anger. Ainsley wants revenge. Malcolm reacted out of fear and panic to protect Ainsley. Malcolm just wants to be a good big brother. Neither of them are perfectly in the right but Ainsley is so so so out of line.

“You need to lighten up. We got away with it.” Ainsley is a serial killer. Say it from the rooftops. This is the first time she’s shown an emotion other than anger/disassociation all episode. Ainsley is happy that they got away with it. Malcolm is crumpling under the guilt and grief but Ainsley is happy.

“No one does this murder stuff better than us.” Holy shit. I can’t. Malcolm looks so so so heartbroken here. He just realized that his sister is gone forever. AND AINSLEY damn. This girl needs some serious help. She’s going to kill again. She liked it the first time. I bet you she slaughtered the pig just to get her fix. She could’ve boughten the pig’s blood from a butcher shop or something but I bet you she killed the pig herself. And I bet you she liked it.

Hoxley is a flamboyant gay and a cocky profiler. That’s just a fact.

I can’t. Alan Cummings will always be the villain from Spy Kids to me. I don’t know how I’m going to take Hoxley seriously.

Yoooooo Endicott’s head is creepy af.

Damn. This isn’t good. Hoxley is going to ruin Malcolm’s life. I can feel it.

Okay. I loved this episode. I have a lot of feelings about it (obviously). I’m so bitter that we have to wait until April 13th for the next episode. See you guys next time. If you read this far - thanks for hanging out.

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