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stcrgazings · 2 years

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like a tattoo ➳ (c.l)

part two is up and you can read it here

note: sooooo I literally wrote this out of nowhere, but i like how it turned out, it’s nothing like the song really buttt it has some of its lyrics so it only seemed fitting to name it that. thx to my girly @hey-kae who was my beta reader, and convinced me to post this, love ya. happy reading and don’t be a ghost reader!

pairing: charles leclerc x female reader

summary: in which you’re having a very hard time trying not to think about your ex-boyfriend charles, and with his dnf in the first race of the season, everything seems to remind you of him.

warnings: use of alcohol, lots of swearing (mostly fuck), a very heartbroken reader, mentions of a dick-ish charles, smoking ¿?? kinda

word count: 1,5K (it’s a shortie but I promise is soooo good)

“and it’s a Ferrari slowing down guys, and it looks like it’s Leclerc” the commentator in the tv says and your heart immediately drops.

Yes, you hate him, and don’t even wanna look at his face ever again but your heart still aches for him and the way his team is failing him yet again in what is barely the first race of the season.

Your model friend turns to look at you as the stylist sips you up over the black tube dress and fixes your hair in the tight ponytail that adorned you head.

“That’s karma” says the girl besides you, as you inevitably roll your eyes.

“That’s one way to call it” you say and everyone in the room that was starting at you bursts out in laughter.

You wanted to hate him, you really did, but you couldn’t help but wanting to text him after that awful race for him.

But fuck him, right?

He had a championship to win, at least that what he said when he broke up with you cold blooded, so yeah, fuck him and his stupid unreliable little red car.

you look at yourself in the mirror and smile at the reflection, you’re pretty, the most wanted model of every single luxury brand, and you eventually will get over him.

So you say your goodbyes as you exit the Prada building after signing yet another contract to add to your portfolio, your girl best friend hooked in your arm as you both giggled softly about where you both will be partying that nigth.

“But in Monaco right?” She asks as you both enter the limousine waiting for you at the front.

“Yeah I guess” is all you answer as you manager turns to look at you both.

Your hand lingers through your phone and eventually Charles contact, you wanted to text him, but at the end you decide against it, but something in the back of your mind tells you to unblock him and so you do.

Maybe some vodka will give you the courage to text him, or at least to hook up with someone else to forget about those haunting green eyes.

“We’re going to a club” you answer, finally lifting your eyes from the device your managers face quickly going pale.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” He asks serious, you roll your eyes.

“Why?” You play dumb as your friend besides you giggles.

“Bella don’t support her!” He complains.

“I’m actually curious why not?” The model asks again, also playing dumb, the man in front of you squeezing his fists as the both of you gang up on him.

“You going out partying and getting hammered when your ex just got his ass kicked at the race, how do you think the media would react to that?”

you meant this with absolutely every bone of your tiny body, when you say this;

“Do you really think I care what the media thinks? Fuck them for all I care” You spit and Bella besides you claps and cheers and picks a fight with your manager who is clearly unhappy with your plans of the night, he lists all of the cons and the reasons you should stay at home tonight.

“It’s a Sunday y/n, for gods sake!” He says but you didn’t listen and truly did not care a bit.

This is what you’ve been doing for the pasts weeks to try and cope with what he had done to you, and you hated yourself for not just getting over him.

Because it’s not like he was boyfriend of the year when you two were together, in the last months of your relationship he barely even acknowledge you, and he had dump you over call after what it was the biggest fight of your relationship.

Because you had exploded out frustration from his constant indifference, and dick ass attitude, and then ditched the apartment you both shared together.

So naturally when when he called you hours later you thought it was maybe to fix the things between the both of you.

But boy were you wrong.

Somewhere along the lines of “you’re just a model you don’t understand anyway” and “text me when you come get your things” the person you had love the most for the longest time broke your heart and didn’t looked back.

And so you went into self defense and destructive mode and if he didn’t looked back neither did you, blocking him in every social media known to men.

And like that you were strangers with who one was your favorite person in the entire earth.

And so if you wanted to go and get completely hammered after he lost a stupid race you would.

(…)

The Weeknd was playing as you downed another shot with people surrounding you as they cheered you on.

you were pretty wasted, but you still couldn’t get the Ferrari driver out of your mind.

All that you could think about was him, how much you missed him, and how much you wanted him right now.

As you danced with strangers hand all over your body you couldn’t help but remember his.

You remembered his hands, the way you would squirm under his touch, how he would show you how the stars looked like with just his fingers, the way his hands fit practically like they were meant to be holding yours, how good it feel when they were wrap around your neck, and how he would woke you up with them as he tickle you in to his arms, the way he held you at night as you both talk about your days and how much you missed each other.

Suddenly it all feels like too much, you pushed the stranger away from you, his grab in you becoming overwhelming and you need air, a single tear running trough your cheek and you can’t breath and it’s so unfair.

It’s unfair because you’ve had the worse months of your life and he had just moved on, with who used to be one of your best friends.

(Or at least that’s what every single media outlet said)

And you probably shouldn’t believe it but you still remembered the bile coming up your throat as you stared at the pictures of them at the Paris Fashion Week.

So you sit with your head thrown back in on of the sofas of the private booths at the club, and as the air conditioner hit your face, you remembered his hands and the way the mountains looked when you took that trip to the French Alps last Christmas, and you wanted to sob because of how awful it all felt and how much your body ache for him, you close your eyes and take some deep breath, and you can almost feel his lips against yours, you can almost see the life shooting diamonds from his eyes, his beautiful eyes.

The ones that would haunt you at night when you couldn’t sleep because all you did was think of him, how he was doing, if he missed you as much as you did him.

“You want a cig? Looks like you need it” a stranger asks in front of you, you mumble a no as you can, being so lost in your own head.

For the longest time Charles was by far, in your books at least the best person in the world, always so happy and perky, his smile lighting up your days, and nights, always so hungry for life, wanting for you to know the world the same way he did, always so passionate about the things he loved, always so passionate and loving of you.

You can’t help but wonder when it all went wrong, maybe somewhere between France and Abu Dhabi, the last being the last time you remembered being genuinely happy beside Charles, because yes he had come second in the championship but you remembered the way he held you up and kissed you in the hotel room and for a moment you thought you both will be fine.

But when you reach the top, it comes the fall.

And it was all fighting and misunderstandings and misery because you just wanted to be with him but he just wouldn’t let you.

Now you were there, still falling, wanting to forget about those times when you were happy with him.

He moved on, why couldn’t you?

Sitting there you beg for the universe to help you, to give you a sign, anything really, that eventually things would change, that you would stop feeling this way, that the hole inside your chest would disappear and finally the air would feel the way it’s supposed to and breathing and waking up in the morning wouldn’t be as hard as it had been lately and happiness would return your way and things would get better.

Obviously the least that you expect is your phone screen lighting up.

Especially with the name of the one that hadn’t been able to leave your mind in the entire night.

Suddenly an “I miss you” text from Charles hits you out of nowhere like a brick in the face.

Maybe you’ll take that cigarette now.

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #f1 oneshot #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc one shot #f1 fic #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc drabble #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x female character #f1 x reader #f1 angst #ferrarri #charles leclerc angst #bahrain gp 2023 #f1 one shot #f1 x oc #charles leclerc x reader

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shizucheese · 4 months

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Hey everyone! I finally finished the first fanfic involving Astarion and my Tav, Lysander, a half-drow death cleric of Kelemvor! Enjoy!

Fic description: After Shadowheart brings up Astarion's smell, he gets self-conscious and worries about whether or not it bothers Lysander. Lysander explains to him just how much of a non-issue it is. Astarion realizes that for all he and the others have talked about their pasts before the Nautiloid, he doesn't actually know a whole lot about Lysander. Backstory ensues. Full story is also below the cut!

Anxiety coursed through Astarion as he walked after Lysander as he led him to a quiet corner of the park.

It hadn’t been long after they had all eaten dinner that the young half-drow had approached him and asked if he could speak with him in private. And now a thousand thoughts were racing through his head. Was this it? The first meaningful relationship he’d had in two hundred years, and it was over?

Lysander stopped when he deemed they were suitably secluded, ran long, pale blue fingers through his pitch-black hair, and turned to face Astarion.

“Did I do something to offend you?” Worry clouded Lysander’s drow-red eyes. Astarion was stunned.

“What?”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day. Every time I come near you, you get all tense, and normally you’ll make some kind of joke at dinner about saving room for desert or having me for dessert, but tonight you didn’t say anything. Did I do something to make you uncomfortable? Did I push too far? If I did, please tell me, I don’t want—”

“Lysander, Darling, shh.” Astarion stepped forward to close the gap between them and cupped Lysander’s face in his hands in an attempt to sooth him. “You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise.” He was about to pull the other man into his arms, when he caught himself and flinched away. Lysander gave him a sad, deprecating smile, his point made.

“It’s just...Gods this is embarrassing…” Astarion looked away as he struggled to find the right words, before he decided the best course of action was to just come out and say it, and met Lysander’s eyes once again. “Does my smell bother you?”

Lysander stared, his mouth hanging slightly open.

“What?”

“My smell. I know I cover it up quite well, but I do smell like a corpse under it all, Darling. That doesn’t bother you?” He had played it off cooly enough when Shadowheart had brought it up, he thought, but he’d spent the rest of the day self-conscious about it.

Lysander let out a short, punctuated laugh and quickly covered his mouth.

“I’m sorry it’s just…Astarion.” The way he said his name reminded Astarion vaguely of someone scolding a child, or explaining something very simple to one. “I’m a death cleric in the service of Kelemvor.”

Lysander said this as if this should have explained everything. When all he got in return was a blank stare, he went on.

“I’ve lived in the dormitories of a temple of Kelemvor since I was 15. Our back yard was a graveyard? Most of the magic I use is necrotic. I’m so used to the smell of dead bodies that it didn’t even register to me that that’s what you smelled like under the perfume until Shadowheart brought it up earlier today.”

“Oh.” Well, now he felt ridiculous.

“Honestly, I’m surprised I don’t smell like a corpse, all things considered.” Lysander said this in that way of his where Astarion could never be entirely sure if he was joking or being serious, and then lifted his wrist up to his nose and gave it a sniff for good measure.

Astarion chuckled and wrapped long pale fingers around Lysander’s upheld wrist, and pulled him into his arms, overwhelmed with relief and the love he felt for this ridiculous man, and kissed him, careful not to nick tender skin with sharp fangs.

They stood like that for a while, just holding each other, and Astarion took a moment to take in Lysander’s own smell. The smell of the incense he used in his worship clung heavy to his skin, along with things that Astarion had never quite been able to identify but, now that Lysander brought it up, he now recognized as the herbs and flowers used in burials. But there was something else there too, something that made him think of flowers left forgotten at gravestones, of rotting leaves and other dead things that might litter a forest floor as bare branches reached out like clawed hands towards the sky above them. Death and decay. If sorrow and grief could have a smell, Astarion imagined this would be it.

Astarion took a step back and smiled at him guiltily. “You know, Darling, it occurs to me that for all the rest of us have spoken about ourselves and our pasts, I hardly know anything about you.”

There was something sad in the smile Lysander gave him in return. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything? Everything. Whatever you want to tell me, Darling.”

Lysander nodded at that and his gaze drifted from Astarion’s face to a stone bench nearby, then he took Astarion’s hand and lead him over to it. They both sat down, and Astarion angled himself towards his lover, his hand still holding Lysander’s, his gaze intent on his face. Lysander let out a puff of breath, staring straight ahead of him, into the distance, and began to speak.

“I was born in Neverwinter. My mother is a drow who fell in love with a human and left the Underdark to be with him. My father was the human merchant she fell in love with. When I was three his caravan was attacked by bandits and he died. I hardly remember him.” Astarion squeezed Lysander’s hand in sympathy and encouragement. He hardly remembered his own family beyond shadows of faces, those memories long buried along with the man he used to be, before…well, before.

Lysander continued.

“I had a twin sister, Leora. She was the brave one between us. If anyone ever gave me any trouble, she would make sure it never happened again. She wanted to be an adventurer someday. Protect people, make money doing it, and send the money back home to support me and Mama.”

Lysander went quiet then, staring off into the distance. Gone was the jovial, rambunctious cleric to a death god that Astarion had fallen in love with, who just minutes ago had laughed at Astarion’s suggestion that his smell might bother him and cracked jokes about smelling like death himself, and in his place was a young man who had clearly experienced far too much grief for his age.

“When we were old enough, we would help Mama by running errands for her, and doing odd jobs around town to earn money. Selling flowers or newspapers or doing deliveries, stuff like that. One day, when we were twelve, she didn’t come home. They found her body in a ditch.” His voice came out bitter. “They never found her killer.”

“Oh Darling, I’m sorry.” Astarion pulled his lover into his arms then. The instinct to comfort was still new to him, but then, a lot of things about his relationship with Lysander were new to him. Lysander rested his head on Astarion’s shoulder, but still didn’t look at him.

“It was her face he used when he first appeared in my dreams, you know? It’s why I can’t forgive him. Can’t trust him…” It took a second for Astarion to understand who Lysander meant, but then his face darkened.

“The Emperor. He appeared before you as a twelve-year-old?” Lysander laughed bitterly.

“No. I’ve dreamed about her before. About the woman she would have become if she hadn’t been killed. Strong and beautiful and full of life. That’s how he appeared to me in the beginning. To try to manipulate me.”

Guilt washed over Astarion. “I tried to manipulate you too, you know…”

“You’re different.” Lysander cut off the rest of what Astarion was going to say. “You didn’t try to use my dead sister to lure me into your bed, for one thing. And truth be told, when you and I first began our…arrangement, I wasn’t looking to fall in love anymore than you were intending to. It was just supposed to be a bit of fun, a diversion from everything that was happening. I’ve had plenty of partners, but I never expected to fall in love again after…” Lysander stopped himself and bit his lip. Then sighed, and looked away again.

“After Leora died, I fell in with a bad crowd. We’d steal, pick pockets, con people...Mol reminds me a lot of myself from back then.” Astarion couldn’t stop the snort he let escape. That most certainly put Lysander’s interactions with the little menace and her crew into perspective. “There was…a boy.” Lysander was quiet again for a moment. “He was an older kid who was part of the crew I ran with. I was 14 and thought I was in love.” Again, another pause, and this time a shaky breath. “One day he convinced me we should steal the offering box at the local Kelemvor temple. The plan was supposed to be that I would do the sneaking in and stealing while he stood watch. I got caught, he didn’t. I never saw him again.”

Lysander looked Astarion in the eye again with another one of his sad smiles. “The rest is history. The priest at the temple took pity on me and my only punishment was to do volunteer work at the temple. He ended up taking me under his wing and I found I took comfort in Kelemvor’s teachings. I became an acolyte and moved in to the temple dormitory at fifteen and two years later got recruited into the Death Clerics.”

Astarion thought about what he knew about the Death Clerics of Kelemvor and winced. “They made you a Death Cleric at 17? Why not a Grave Cleric?”

Lysander laughed ruefully and looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “Apparently my experiences with death at such a young age and my…background, made me better suited for wielding the powers of death itself to hunt down necromancers in the night and deliver Kelemvor’s judgement than to guarding graveyards, overseeing funeral rights and providing succor to the mourning.” Lysander took a shaky breath, and then looked at him with a weak smile. “Anyway, that was five years ago and now here we are today.”

Astarion blinked rapidly as he did the math. “Wait…that would make you….you’re 21?”

“Yup.”

Astarion winced, horrified. He knew his lover was young, but he hadn’t thought he was that young. And they had all put so much on his shoulders. He also couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about their relationship; Lysander had his whole life ahead of him, and he had chosen to fall in love with him of all people?

And then a thought occurred to him.

“Wait….me being a vampire, shouldn’t that be a problem for you? I am undead, after all.” Lysander’s expression darkened.

“Cazador’s the abomination, not you. You were his victim.” Astarion flinched. Being a victim was most certainly not how he wanted to be seen by anyone, most certainly not his lover.

“And when I kill him and take his power for my own?”

Lysander straightened and looked him the eye. “You know my feelings on that. You’re better than that, I know you are, and when the time comes, I have faith you’ll make the right decision.”

“Your confidence in me is touching, my dear, I assure you.” Astarion said dismissively. They had had this argument enough times, he really didn’t want to get into it again now. “But let’s say you’re right and I don’t take Cazador’s power. I’ll still be a vampire, and once we’re free of the tadpoles I’ll be back being trapped, unable to go out in the sun. You have your whole life ahead of you. Do you really want to throw it all away by being with someone like me?”

Lysander’s eyes widened in shock. “Astarion, I’m not throwing my life away. I love you. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me. Unless…” Lysander trailed off. “Does my age bother you?” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and vulnerable. He bit his lip, and fidgeted nervously.

“What? Darling, no, of course not!” Astarion cupped Lysander’s face in his hand, and used his thumb to coax his lip out from between his teeth. “Whatever it is we have between us, I want it to continue.” He tilted Lysander’s face up, so he was looking at him, and leaned in to kiss him chastely on the lips.

After a moment, he felt Lysander smile against his lips, and when he pulled back, he was grinning.

“I mean…if you really were worried about our age difference, I would understand…” “Wha—” As grateful as Astarion was that Lysander seemed to be back to his usual self, he wasn’t sure he liked where Lysander was going with this. Lysander got up, stretched, and started following the path they had taken earlier back towards the entrance to the park, a sway in his hips. He looked back at Astarion with a grin.

“I mean…of course you would be worried about it. I’m just so young and full of energy, what if you can’t keep up? What if I tire you out, in your old age?” “Excuse me, I am not old,” Astarion sputtered in indignation as he stood up to follow after Lysander.

Lysander laughed, face open and happy, and for just a moment, Astarion almost thought he looked his age. Then the moon came out from behind a cloud, and Lysander’s pale blue skin almost looked like it glowed in the moonlight. Something stuck in Astarion’s throat at the sight of it, and while the whole concept was still rather new to him, he thought it might just be love.

Astarion let out a huff somewhere between annoyance and affection and he walked down the path behind Lysander. Whatever was he going to do with this boy?

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #Astarion #astarion ancunin #Tav: Lysander #Astarion x Tav #astarion x tav: lysander #astarion x oc #astarion romance #no beta we die like men

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alvfr · 3 months

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The Ex from Hell - Part 2

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

I think this is related the demonic ex prompt I wrote here. I’m not sure if this goes before or after, but I’ll figure it out and link accordingly. I'd love to hear your thoughts if you take the time to read and feel free to reblog if you want <3

WIP: The Ex from Hell Excerpt rating: T Word count: 1.74k

It was a dull Sunday in March when Cousin Kathy knocked on my door. The sleet of a poor man’s winter clung to the black felt of her wide-brimmed hat, and she huddled in her fashionably oversized coat, also black, where she stood on the steps of the sober living house I currently called home. She looked like the singular inked character in a pencil sketch, all sleek black lines separating her from the muted gray background that made up the neighborhood. The deep, rich black of her clothes clashed with the vivid red of her hair, toning into her pale skin that tinted pink from the nippy weather.

“I would say it’s good to see you,” she said after being ushered inside, her voice thin and girlish. Just like her face was seventy percent eyes and two percent nose. So pretty, she almost looked fake. A doll. “But that would be a lie, so I’ll abstain. I would also say that you look good, but alas, another lie. You’ve gained weight.”

“You know, for a second, I was actually happy to see you, Kath.” I left her standing in the hallway that was under constant maintenance and always smelled of paint, and I trudged up the stairs. All too aware of how my steps made the old wood creak with discomfort and remained mum when Cousin Kathy flittered up to follow me. “Not surprised, though. Figured it was only a matter of time before one of you showed up to gloat.”

“I wish I was here to gloat.” Like the rest of her, Kathy’s voice felt foreign in the somber house. Too thin and too sharp, like a stiletto dagger piercing the delicate ecosystem within the walls. Disrupting the relative peace of people like me just existing. Shuffling around and doing their chores, trying to get one day to turn into the next. Kathy kept her hands inside her coat pockets and gave the impression that if she’d had a handkerchief, she would have held it over her nose and mouth. Like she had entered a phthisis ward and not a sober living facility. “Alas, I have come for more serious business.”

If the house was a sanitorium, my room was the plague pit. Kathy visibly recoiled when entering, the bare landlord-white walls and naked linoleum floors apparently too much for her sensitive disposition. I would be the first to admit that it was not much to look at — a bed, a nightstand, a desk, and a chair — but it was clean and organized, all of my meager belongings safely tucked away in the closet. Orange floral curtains, probably donated by a previous resident, covered the windows, and I could picture someone adding the pop of color as an afterthought. Maybe hoping it would help brighten the place up and instead only emphasized the dreariness of the room.

I kicked off the soft slippers I wore indoors, sat cross-legged on the bed, which I made every morning before inspection, and gestured for Kathy to have the chair. It was the polite thing to do, after all. Seeing her squirm, caught between gentility and repulsion, was just an added bonus. She ended up perching on the very tip of the chair, trying to sit on it and not touch it at the same time, and folded her hands neatly in her lap.

It had been years since I last saw Kathy, and I knew those years had been less kind to me than her. Both in our early thirties, we looked roughly two decades apart. Some due to genetics, and the rest probably due to makeup and other kinds of camouflage.

It would be a tough sell to convince anyone about both our shared age and our relation, so opposite in every sense of the word. Kathy’s red hair swept around her face, so perfectly blown out it belonged on the cover of a magazine. In contrast, my curly locks hung limp around my face, scrubbed of all volume and shine from the industrial-strength shampoo provided in the communal showers. And while Kathy’s skin could be described as porcelain, white, and smooth, I was more like an old tablecloth, pale and riddled with mysterious spots. Only our eyes were alike, light gray and unblinking, with one pupil slightly bigger than the other.

“So, what’s new?” I leaned back on the bed where my gray sweatpants blended in with the bed sheets that had probably been white a couple of hundred washes ago. “What serious business brings you all the way across town?”

“We think it’s time you come home.”

Once, those words would have slapped me right into sobriety. Pity I had taken the hard way there instead. It cost every iota of self-control to keep still, to avoid bursting into laughter or tears or hysteria at those senseless, reckless words she had just uttered like she was commenting on the weather. That was Kathy for you, she did not beat around the bush.

“I am home.”

Kathy narrowed her eyes slightly, squinting in hopes of seeing me more clearly. As if her dear old grandmother suddenly had grown pointed ears and a mouth full of fangs. I did not move from my spot, biting my teeth together as hard as possible and hoping she did not see how my jaw tightened. It was not a lie, I reminded myself. Technically and legally, this was my home.

“You know what I mean,” Kathy eventually said as if daring me to contradict her. “We feel that now that you have served your sentence, you are ready to return to the Manor.”

“Which one?”

“There is only one Manor, Cousin.”

“No, no, I mean, which sentence are you referring to? My two-year stint in Pollwood or my lifetime banishment from our family?”

She stared at me while I stared back, neither of us blinking for an unnaturally long time. A game we had played as children and brought with us into adulthood. A game I had always excelled at, and sure enough, it did not take too long before a hint of a nervous smile played upon her doll-like lips. “Both.”

“Lifetimes sure aren’t what they used to be,” I said and kept staring unblinkingly at her to look for any clues. “What’s changed?”

Kathy’s little mouth pursed into a pin-prick before she answered, clearly choosing every syllable with care. “We need you back.”

“Need is not the same as want.”

“I never said it was.“ She rose from her chair, smoothed her hands over her coat, and nodded to herself. “A taxi will come around tomorrow at eight. That should give you plenty of time to pack and settle whatever affairs you might have.”

“Yeah, uhm, I’m not leaving.” I settled further in the bed, subconsciously emphasizing my words. “No matter when the taxi comes around, really. So you just run back to the Manor and let them know that, as far as I’m concerned, my lifetime is still rolling. I’d thank you for stopping by, but I won’t.”

Kathy paused, looking like a magazine clipping pasted into the trepid room. “You are aware that your accommodation is sponsored by our funding.”

Not a question, did not beget an answer and yet I failed to keep quiet. “My inheritance after Granny pays for my accommodation.”

“An inheritance that is managed by the family, as stipulated quite clearly in Grandmother’s will. A copy was sent your way, but I suppose you were too busy to bother reading it. Like you were too busy to attend her funeral.”

“Funerals are for the living,” I said, a mockery of the whole truth, but an acceptable substitute ever the same. “But I managed without your cash for about ten years. I think I’ll be okay.”

“Managed.” Kathy smiled, showing off teeth that seemed too large for her head. “I suppose you can call it that. But I don’t suppose you have a plan. Except maybe taking your ex-husband back to court, see if there’s a chance of reinstating the alimony? I would suggest hiring a proper attorney this time. He did get out of your previous deal quite fast. Just as the marriage itself.”

“So you have been keeping tabs on me all these years. Good to know. I don’t recall seeing your name on the registry for our wedding though. Not that you were invited, of course, but when has that ever stopped Katherine the Great?”

“Never.”

“Yeah. If you must know, I’d rather cut off my own arm than accept any kind of help from him again. And I would cut off my other arm rather than return to the Manor. You can quote me on that when you go back to kiss Hester’s ass.” As predicted, Kathy recoiled at my crude word choice. “Close the door on your way out, please.”

She remained immobile where she stood on the floor. “This is non-negotiable, I’m afraid.”

With a shrug, I picked up my phone and swiped through non-existing notifications to feign disinterest. “It often is with you guys.”

“You guys,” Kathy parroted and my neck prickled from the power of her stare. My phone screen flickered and went black, forcing me to look up at Kathy’s pinched face. “You guys. How many days do you have now?”

“Ninety-one.”

“Not those days.” Kathy swivelled back to face me, feet and hands together, like a ballerina. “Don’t give me that look, you know what I mean. Don’t make me ask you outright.”

“Like I said, it’s been about ten years now.” I tried to shrug, to give of the impression of ease, to distract from the way my teeth ground together. “So three thousand days, maybe, give or take.”

“Three thousand days since you practiced,” Kathy’s head tilted to the side, like a predator catching the distant pattering of prey, “or three thousand days since you tried?”

The strain from my jaw planted up to my temples, setting off thumps of a brewing migraine. “Yes.” We stared at each other, waiting for the other to blink, but now Kathy had the upper hand and she knew it. I swallowed the sharp edge in my throat. “No.”

Instead of the victorious smirk I expected, Cousin Kathy’s eyebrows softened and she gave a sad nod. “Come home, Harmony. We need you to come home now.”

“Why?”

“Because people are dying and we need your help to stop it.”

#ex from hell #drabble #writing #writeblr #wip #tw weight

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lilyfrogisnotneurotypical · 6 months

Text

His Story (keep in mind I wrote this in 8th grade)

“Olive come on you’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Hi. My name is Olive. Olive Williams. I am 17 years old, and I am a senior in high school. I dab on a bit more blush and quickly start to pack up my stuff. I open the mirror cabinet to put my makeup bag away, and when I close it I see a boy staring back at me. Jumping and rubbing my eyes I look again, but all I see is my own reflection looking back at me. It was just a shadow or something. I tell myself. I’m just tired, that's it.

“Olive! How many times do I need to tell you! You’re going to be late, let's go!

“I know mom, sorry!” I run downstairs, grab my backpack, and try to catch the bus.

“I love you!”

“I love you too!” I say. That was my mom. Ever since dad left, she's said she loved me everyday. I think she's afraid I’ll leave too. I try to show her I won’t, but anxiety will find a way. I get to school and look at the building. Just one more year. I tell myself that because high school hasn’t been the best. I know that everyone says that, but I’m being serious. There’s this girl, Jessica, and her boyfriend Chad. Jessica is captain of the cheer team, and Chad is the quarterback for the football team. So your basic high school couple. Jessica has a hobby that involves targeting people and making fun of anything she can find wrong with them. Hair, clothes, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, money, a lot of the usual things, but I've also seen her bully a freshman for their school binder. She smells like Bath & Body Works too, but not the good kind the obnoxious kind. Unfortunately, I tend to be the target of her so-called hobby.

When I walk in I try to keep my head down, but Jessica finds me anyway, and soon I’m surrounded by most of the cheer team. Why me? That's what I’m asking myself while sitting on the couch with a bar of chocolate and ice packs. After the cheer team got to me, they warned me of what would happen after school. At first I thought it would be the usual verbal abuse, but this time she ordered Chad to beat me up. Good thing I’m on the track and the cross country team or I would be dead. Now I’m home and I have to cover up the bruises before mom asks any questions. I get up and walk to the bathroom. But once I get in I see him again. Like any level headed girl, I immediately put my fists up to defend myself.

“Oh darling, you’re not going to be able to use those.”

“Who are you! And what are you doing in my… mirror?” Once I stopped freaking out, I realized that he wasn’t actually standing there, HE WAS IN THE MIRROR.

“H-how, why..?” My life was crazy enough with having a boy in my mirror.

“Let me explain,” He said. “My name is Oliver Williams, and I am your mirror doppelganger.” Once I truly looked at him, he did look pretty familiar. Pale skin, green eyes, midnight black hair. He looked like me!

Clearing his throat, he said to me, “Let me tell you a few things.”

~~~~~~~

So apparently there's an entire other world in the mirror with genderbent versions of ourselves. Not sure how to take that, but ok! And Oliver also said he’d help me with my bully problems! He hasn’t told me how yet though. I end up talking to him almost every day before and after school. I can’t let my mom know though; she has enough on her plate. The bullying has only gotten worse. I hope Oliver tells me how to get rid of them soon. When I get home, I notice that my books weren’t on the table. That's weird, I left them there this morning. Maybe mom moved them into my room. I also notice that the bathroom light is on.

“Mom?” I call out.

“Hello.” I jump and spin around, but when I see who’s there I stop.

“Who- Oliver?”

“But I thought you couldn’t get through the mir-”

He stops me then says, “Well once I heard about your bully problems, I immediately decided to find a way through.”

“Oh! Thank you? But you barely know me.” Why would he help me? Maybe he has a life like mine and is being bullied too.

“Well I’ve been watching you for a while, trying to decide the best way to reveal myself.”

Little bit suspicious, but you do you boo!, I think.

“Now let me tell you the plan.” The plan was that we would scare them. Oliver said he had a gun with fake bullets, and we would just threaten them with it. I asked if they would tell and get me in jail, however Oliver said that we would also threaten them if they told on me. I was skeptical at first, but I really think this is gonna work!

~~~~~~~

After hiding Oliver in my room for a few days so my mom doesn't find him, we sneak out around 9:00 and go to the park I knew Jessica and Chad would be at at this time. When we get there, I see Jessica sitting on top of the play equipment like it's her castle and she's the queen.

She probably does think that, I thought.

Well that ends now.

“Go on,” Oliver whispers. “Go up to her.”

Handing me the gun, he pushes me into the light.

“Why are you here!” Jessica’s facial expression immediately gives away the fact that she did not expect me to be here.

“I’m done with you bullying me!” I yell. “I hate it, and there’s no reason for you to!” When I hold up the gun, that's what really does it. The look on Chad’s face is of pure terror.

“Jessica I don’t want to die!” he pleads.

“Oh be quiet you wimp! It’s obviously not a real gun, she’d never be able to find one, the goody-two-shoes she is.”

“Try me.” I mutter, and then I shoot at Chad and Jessica.

“Yes!” Yells Oliver from the shadows, and when I look back at the pair, I see them on the ground, red stains on their clothes.

“W-what? I thought it was fake! How could I do this? I’m a good kid I-” Panicking, I realize who's fault this truly is.

“Why would you put real bullets in!” I look in Oliver's eyes, searching for answers.

“Well if I told you they were real you wouldn’t do it. Now you don’t have to worry about them ever again.” Looking over at the bodies he smirks.

“I just wanted to scare them, not- And what if the police come? I can’t go to jail!” I start to go into a panic, hysterically laughing, tears coming out of my eyes while crouching to my knees. The only thing I hear before I pass out is Oliver saying, “Come on, let's get you home.”

~~~~~~~

I wake up to the sound of my alarm just like any other day, but I know it isn’t any other day. Oliver is nowhere to be seen (no surprise there) and so I get ready like normal and head to school. When I get there, I half expect Jessica to come out of nowhere and start making fun of my clothes or something, but then I remember she's dead. And I killed her. I try to push the thought out of my head but I can still feel it burning back there. I go to my class and another day starts.

When I get home I start looking for Oliver. I look through every mirror in the house, but all I see is my own reflection looking back at me. Then I look in all the hiding places I know; finding nothing.

“You killed them.” I hear the whisper echo through the house.

“Oliver?!” I hurry out of my room and look in the mirrors. No one is there. Now, that makes me wonder. Why haven’t I seen my mom's doppelganger? Or why Oliver never talks about his world. Should I have ever trusted him? I was so hopeful for a friend, that I always believed what he said. Was anything he told me true? These realizations make me panic. How could I let this happen? What if this is someone trying to mess with my mind? Well it's working, I think. With the death of Jessica and Chad, it's only a matter of time before the police show up, asking for answers. I have to run. Yes, that's it! Racing back to my room, I grab my school bag and start shoving my phone, extra clothes, blankets, money, and anything else I can think of. I’m about to go downstairs to grab food, when I hear the door open and my mom yells,

“I’m home!” Well there goes my plan. I’ll just sneak out tonight like when Oliver and I- No! I can’t think of that. Not now.

“Hi mom” I say after I hide the bag in my closet and tromp downstairs. “How was your day?”

“Oh you know, the usual.” Going around me, she sets her bags on the counter and opens the pantry.

“Hey mom?”

“Yes honey?”

“You know I love you, right?” Now she’s listening. She turns around to look at me and says,

“Of course honey, and I love you too. Are you alright?”

“Oh yeah, just letting you know!”

“Ok..” This will make me feel ten times more guilty when I leave.

~~~~~~~

My alarm is set to 2:00 am. I quickly turn it off after I wake up and get the bag from my closet. Making sure I have everything, I sneak downstairs and start putting food in it.

“Killer. How could you?” Spinning around I whisper,“Who’s there?”

But of course no one answers. He never does, no matter how much I call out to him. I grab my car keys and try to keep the door quiet as I close it. Also, yes I have a car, and am just as liable to cause an accident when I’m tired as when I’m awake, so that's why I don’t drive it to school. Why am I driving it at 2 am then you ask? Well I don't know man, I’m not really thinking about what I do anymore. Thankfully the car is parked outside, so I don’t have to deal with the noisy garage. Starting the car I drive off. I’m not really sure where I’m driving, but somewhere out of the state.

It’s been four days now. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been hearing the whispers even more often now, even though I’m out of the house and out of the state. I feel so alone, and I know nothing can save me from this. When I look in a puddle I see him, when I see reflections in the light I see him, I’ve even seen him in an old shiny spoon I saw. I had always heard of people being driven out of their homes by “ghosts”, but I had never believed it before. I sure do now. I found an empty field to stay in, and I’ve just been sleeping in my car. I found a well for a water source, but I’m going to run out of food soon. I’ll need to go into the city to buy more supplies, however I’m dreading it. Whenever I see Oliver I jump and scream, so if I see him while in the city who knows what might happen.

Gathering my courage, I start the car. The closest place is a gas station, so I’m going there. I park in the parking lot, and walk into the gas station, bearing in mind what could happen. The clerk shouts out a lazy hello, however I ignore her. I have a mission, and I must complete it before it's too late.

Protein first, I think.

That and carbs will keep me going. Once I get that, I move back to the fridges to get energy drinks. When I try to open the door, I look up up and see-

“Hello there, Olive.” He leans toward me and the next thing I know, he reaches out and touches my face.

“I’ve missed you.”

“No. No!” I fall and scramble back.

This can’t happen. I know I was wary of it, but I thought I could control myself. And yet here I am, scrambling on the floor like a crazy person. I’m not crazy! What would ever make you think that!? The store clerk comes running and asks if I’m ok.

“Oh I’m fine” I say. “I just saw my mirror doppleganger and he gave me a fright is all!”

“Oh, ok! You stay right here, and I’ll be back with some ice” She says with a smile.

That's so nice of her! I’m glad she doesn't think I’m crazy. I sit there for a while, And after a bit, I’m wondering when she’ll come back. I get up and walk to the counter. But before I can reach it, I’m suddenly grabbed from behind.

“Hey!” I shout. I struggle, but whoever is behind me is very strong, and soon enough I’ve been wrestled into handcuffs.

“Hey, why am I being arrested!” When I twist my neck to see who's behind me, I see a police officer with a gruff face.

“I’m sorry ma'am” He says. “All patients must be temporarily restrained before they get to the hospital, not my choice, but that's how it is.”

“Hospital! I'm not crazy! Just look, he's there, right there!”

But when I look, Oliver isn’t there anymore. The officer drags me out the door and puts me in the back of his car. When I look out, I see they’re towing mine.

“Why am I going to a hospital! I don’t need it, please you have to believe me, he’s real!” I plead.

But he’s not talking to me anymore. If I'm going to a hospital, then will they call my mom? It would be nice to see her again. I don’t know if they’d let me though. We start driving, and I notice how dark it is outside. Didn’t I come in daylight? I think.

“Can’t you at least tell me what time it is?” I say.

“It’s 4:00 am” He says.

Woah. Was I there for that long, or did I just not notice it was dark? When we get to the hospital, nurses come out and take me. When we get inside, they immediately put me into different clothes and whisk me away to an all white room with a simple bed and a reflective surface that's almost like a mirror. Wait, a mirror! Before I can say anything, they leave me and lock the door.

“No! You can’t leave me in here with the mirror! Please, no!” I scream and punch the wall, but no one comes.

“No, please, no” I sink to the floor with sudden exhaustion, however before I can fall asleep I hear,

“Welcome back darling.”

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

Yeah so that was terrible but have it anyway.

#original character #original story #writing #creative writing #doppleganger #mirror #creepy #scary stories #cringe #8th grade

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messers-moony · 3 years

Text

Annotated Books & Sleek Hardcovers | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Fem!Lupin!Reader

Summary: Everything told them to be apart, but they said fuck the world.

Inspiration: Click

People would describe the younger Lupin sibling as warm and bright. She shined like the sun and was warm like a sunny summer day. She was the breeze on a warm summer day and the sun on a chilly autumn morning. She was worn books with annotations in the margins, highlighting, and scribbles. She was dependable, sweet, kind, and loving.

Dependable like a best friend. Sweet like Honeydukes chocolate. Kind of like a puppy dog who had been just adopted and as lovable as soft blankets. Her brother was no different. He oozed shyness, charisma, and intelligence. His tousled sandy hair and gleaming green eyes made everyone bend to his will. He didn’t even know that he was doing it.

But by fifth year, Remus Lupin had come out as gay. A month later, Sirius Black was on top of the Gryffindor table with a blushing Remus announcing their relationship. Remus had given his sister a sheepish look as he sat back down. Y/n had just kissed his cheek and smiled.

Y/n and Regulus had been sitting beside each other when Sirius had taken the Great Hall by storm. Instinctively, Regulus tightened his grip on her hand, and Y/n allowed her thumb to run along his. She watched as his shoulders relaxed a prominent amount.

“Well,” Regulus whispered, “I wasn’t expecting that. Did you know?”

Y/n shook her head, “No, but I’m happy for them. Are you?”

“I ‘spose.” Regulus shrugged, “When do you think they’ll find out about us?”

“Remus is a bit oblivious.” Y/n replied, “Sirius doesn’t really turn his head in your direction.”

Regulus looked down at his lap, “So if anything, we’ll have to tell them.”

“Do you think,” His voice was lower than a whisper, “That he’ll ever be my brother again?”

“I do.” Y/n leaned her head on his shoulder, “Siblings have a special bond.”

“I hope you’re right.”

She snorted, “I’m always right.”

At that, he cracked a smile.

Maybe it was her warmth that melted the ice surrounding Regulus’ heart. The icy, cold, Regulus Black. It wasn’t like they were hiding their relationship, but people were terrified to talk about it. They didn’t want to face the wrath of the young Black brother.

Regulus was described as the dark, cold winter nights people despised. The winter nights that were so low in temperature that even staying inside with the heat on, blankets on, and layers of clothes couldn’t warm. He was sleek, hardcover books and soggy leaves in the fall that left you disappointed when the satisfying crunch didn’t echo through your ears.

Regulus Black was everything but warm. He was your least favorite color. Your least favorite food. He was everything you hated. Perhaps it was Y/n’s sweetness that brought some of the crunchiness back to his leaf, the pen to his book, and the folded pages.

They were star-crossed lovers. Everything in the universe was trying to keep them apart from the colors of their robes and the clashing of their personalities. Regulus was the dry autumn and brash winter. Y/n was the prospering spring and hopeful summer. Perhaps they were the best of both worlds, and that’s why they worked together so well.

It wasn’t until their sixth year when their relationship had become the talk of the school. Regulus had begun wearing long sleeves even in the hot months, and people grew suspicious. Only he and she knew what laid beneath that crisp white button-up. Beneath the cold ice he kept around his heart.

Y/n looked around Platform Nine and Three-Quarters for her raven-haired boyfriend as Remus joined his friends on the train. When she did find him, it wasn’t pleasant. Walburga had been fussing with his sleeve, making sure it stayed down, and she had slapped the back of his head for slouching over. Regulus had rolled his shoulders to stand up straight. Orion didn’t look impressed, and Walburga murmured something along the lines of, “Good enough.”

“Now, what do we say, Regulus?”

Regulus caught Y/n’s eyes for just a split second, and he looked away hastily, “Toujours Pur.”

“Good.” Walburga stated, “Now go.”

He nodded and began walking toward Y/n’s general direction. Regulus took her hand in his directing her on another path, “Meet at our usual compartment.”

Y/n gave him a smile in response as she walked away. It left Regulus with a pink hue coating his usually pale skin. His stomach fluttered, and his heart palpitated. They entered the train on opposite sides and met in the middle at their compartment. She was already sitting down when he plopped down beside her. His head was leaning on her shoulder.

“Missed you.” Regulus slurred, sleep evident in his tone, “Wish I could’ve escaped.”

“I missed you too, Reggie.” Y/n took his left hand in hers, “But I know that we have a lot to talk about.”

He tensed, “I suppose we do.”

“Things like what’s on your left forearm?”

“Y/n, please-“

“I’m not mad.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

Her light laugh confused him, “I’m not either, actually.”

Regulus lifted his head to look at her, “You aren’t?”

“I just want to know what you plan on doing with that mark.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Regulus stated, slumping down again, “I have to serve him.”

Y/n hesitated, “You have choices.”

“What are they?”

“Be a spy.”

“A spy?” Regulus queried incredulously, “Are you serious?”

A silly smile graced her features, “Actually. Forget I asked that. Are you daft?”

“No.” Y/n replied, “I’m actually top of our class, so.”

“If he finds out I’m a spy. Then I’d be killed, Y/n.” Regulus said softly, “It’d be different if I didn’t care about anyone. If I had nothing to lose, but I do, and I don’t want to lose a chance at a future with you because of it.”

Y/n took his face into her hands, “You can’t do this. You can’t work for him. You’ll kill yourself slowly anyway.”

“I don’t have a choice.” He wiped a tear from her cheek, “This was bound to happen. This was my fate.”

“Who gives a shit about fate.” Y/n chuckled tearfully, “Professor Trelawney always said that you could change fate.”

Regulus cracked a tiny smile, “You would pay attention in Divination, wouldn’t you.”

“Someone’s gotta give Sirius the notes.”

“Sirius… I didn’t even think about-“ Regulus stopped, “He’s- He’s gonna hate me.”

“Hey, Regulus, look at me.” His breathing sped up, and his hands began to tremble, “Sirius isn’t going to hate you.”

He shook his head, “No, he’s- he’s gonna- I’m gonna-“

Y/n wrapped her arms around him. Regulus nosed at the crook of her neck, breathing in the sweet perfume. The fragrance smelt of crisp apples mixed along with her scent of caramel, chocolate, and marshmallow. It gave him something to focus on, and with his muddled mind, Regulus fell asleep.

Regulus was still asleep three hours later when Sirius came barging into the compartment stopping in his tracks. Y/n brought her index finger to her lips, ordering him to be quiet. Sirius shut the door and sat in front of them. Regulus’ face was out of view from his older brother's. His nose was nuzzled in Y/n’s neck, and his hair hid his face.

“So,” Sirius began quietly, the atmosphere had never been so thick, “How long?”

“Fourth year.” Y/n thought Sirius’ eyes were going to bulge out of his head.

“But you- and him- you don’t-“

“Don’t belong together?”

Sirius nodded, “Who are you to say? Technically I could say the same about you and my brother.”

“Fair point.” Sirius muttered.

It was quiet again, and all that was heard was the slashing of rain on the window of the train, “How- How is he?” Sirius’ voice had never been so quiet before.

“He’ll be okay.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

Before Y/n could respond, Regulus began to tremble again. He was trying to dig his nose deeper into her neck and reaching desperately for something to hold onto. Y/n allowed his hand to grasp hers tightly. His trembling subsided, and Y/n gently kissed the crown of his head, allowing him to relax finally.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“I never-“ Sirius looked shocked, “I could never calm his nightmares….”

Y/n gave him a soft smile, “Perhaps it’s a Lupin talent.”

“Perhaps.” Sirius replied, “But, is he okay?”

“He will be.”

“What does that mean?” Sirius questioned loudly, and Y/n hushed him, “They didn’t- did they?”

She nodded solemnly, “We’re gonna- We’re gonna work through it together.”

Sirius could see her swallowing the lump in her throat. Sirius could see the dullness in her eyes, the same dull that Remus’ eyes got after the full moon. Sirius could always read Remus through his eyes. They were a tell-tale of his emotions. It seemed that he could do the same with Y/n. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, untold trauma, and unspoken words.

“Take care of him, yeah?” Sirius requested quietly as he stood up to leave the compartment.

She nodded, “Yeah.”

He closed the sliding door quietly. It was a quiet walk back to his own compartment with the Marauders. The task of getting the summer homework to copy turned into an entirely new adventure. Sirius opened the door to his compartment to find James and Peter talking animately. Remus sat with his head against the glass and head in a book. He had some muggle markers beside him that Sirius liked to draw with.

Sirius slumped beside Remus putting space between them. That was the first tell. The second tell was that Sirius didn’t speak, and he stared out to the train's hallway. Remus closed his book, placing it back beside him, and wrapped his arm around his boyfriend's shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was low and hot in Sirius’ ear.

“Nothing.” Sirius replied, still not looking into Remus’ eyes, “Your sister was no help. Said I needed to do the homework on my own. Said I was a tosser for not doing it.”

Remus snorted and nuzzled his nose into Sirius’ cheek, “Well, perhaps I ought to tell her that’s not how she should speak to my boyfriend.”

“No.” Sirius hated how distant he sounded, “She’s got other things to worry about.”

The lycanthrope furrowed his eyebrows, “Like what?”

“Like you.” Sirius lied like it was nothing, “Who do you think puts hot cocoa and Honeydukes chocolate at your bedside after the full?”

“Then I should give her a sister of the year award.” Remus corrected, and Sirius nodded, “Perhaps you should.”

If only I could get a best brother award, Sirius thought. It was selfish. He knew that. It was wrong to envy Y/n and Remus’ relationship. Unfit to be jealous of his brothers relationship, but he couldn’t help it. Sirius wanted to be the one to chase all of Regulus’ demons away. Sirius wanted to hold him during every thunderstorm as he used to as children. Sirius should be happy for Regulus even if it weren’t because of him.

It took a month before Remus was storming into the common room and yelled insanities at his sister. Remus wasn’t thinking, words fell from his mouth so carelessly, and the entire common room stared as Remus had his sister pushed against a wall, hands holding her up from the collar on her shirt, seething at her.

“You must be one of the stupidest people I’ve ever met.” Remus seethed, and Y/n flinched, “You must be fucking insane.”

Sirius could do nothing but stare, “Maybe I should’ve disowned you as my sister the minute I saw you hanging out with him.”

Tears ebbed at Y/n’s eyes, “But I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I trusted you, and you betrayed me.”

James couldn’t tell what was worse, the fact that Remus was so calm and his voice was so low or when Remus yelled, “You were my everything. My sister, my partner in crime, my other half, and you fucking destroyed it.”

“Mate, stop.” James tried to interject, but Remus just shoved her against the wall harder, and streaks of silver appeared on her cheeks.

“Wonder what dad would do if he found out.” Remus taunted, and Y/n shook her head, “You know how much dad despises them.”

Y/n choked, “Remus-“

“Don’t.” He snarled, “My name isn’t allowed to fall from your mouth. Fucking traitor.”

Sirius had enough, “Remus, stop. That’s enough.”

Remus whirled around, Y/n sliding to the floor, knees to her chest, “Who are you talk? You did the same thing back in fifth year.”

“I’m not your bloody sister.” Sirius snapped, “She’s been there with you through everything. Maybe if you let her explain, then you could understand.”

Remus pointed at her and looked at Sirius with fire in his eyes, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.”

Sirius could remember the exact same words falling from his mouth only a year earlier, and it crushed him. Y/n was sobbing, and her knees were pulled tightly under her chin. James was trying to console her, but it wasn’t working as Remus and Sirius went toe to toe. Y/n didn’t deserve this for loving who she loved.

Remus scoffed when Sirius wouldn’t back down and stormed up to the boy's dormitory. Sirius knelt before her and lifted her head from her lap. His thumbs wiped away the tears, and he took her into his arms. So much built-up pain, built-up trauma, built-up lies. She was finally crumbling like a tower on an unsteady foundation. Y/n was a one-hundred-story tower that was collapsing from the bottom up.

Debris falling everywhere and soot clouding the atmosphere. He could see the smog slipping in her mind, clouding up her judgment and thoughts. Sirius could see the debris cluttering and scraping away at her heart. With every scrap and every tear, her heart began to give out. It felt like being crushed in an elevator, with no room to breathe and no room for moving. She was stuck, and that was it.

Y/n couldn’t remember much after feeling Sirius’ lips on the top of her head. But she woke up on the plush of the common room couch. The rough maroon fabric was felt beneath her fingertips. Beside her was a boy in an armchair. He was curled up, and a black fleece blanket covered his body from the coldness of the Gryffindor common room.

Beside her was a glass of water and a note. She picked up the water and allowed it to glide down her throat, soothing the ache from her earlier crying. Her nose still felt stuffy, and she willed herself to sniffle quietly, trying not to wake the boy beside her. The parchment was ripped at the edges and was written in beautiful calligraphy.

"Il y a toujours des ténèbres avant que la lumière brille."

She folded the note and placed it back on the side table with the empty glass. The fire had gone out fully in the common room, allowing the temperature in the room to fall. It was cold, dry, and dark. Y/n had never seen the common room so dark. Not a candle was lit, and no light was shining from the windows. Just the slightest bit of moonlight. Gently she stood up and reached for the boy's hand in the armchair.

“Reggie.” Her voice was smooth and soft, “Reg.”

He stirred and opened his eyes to meet his girlfriend's warm ones. Sirius had rushed to the Slytherin common room despite all prejudice. Some of the Slytherins spat at him when he asked for the password. It took ten people before Regulus finally answered to the incessant knocking. He was shocked to be met with his older brother.

There Sirius had told him what happened, how Remus had shoved his sister against the wall accusing her of betraying him for dating him. Regulus felt ashamed. He didn’t want to be the reason they didn’t get to be civil with each other. Sirius even uttered the exact words Remus had, “She isn’t my sister. She’ll never be my sister again.” Regulus had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

People stared at the younger Black brother as he walked into the Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindor’s glared, spat, and insulted, but he didn’t care. He found his girlfriend lying on the couch with a thick red blanket surrounding her. Sirius had claimed that Marlene had brought it for her, and Sirius had been the one to move her to the couch. Regulus saw the dried tear stains, the swollen eyes, and the bruised lip.

“It wasn’t pretty.” Sirius had muttered, “Remus isn’t one to hold back.”

Regulus smoothed her hair back, “This is because of me….”

“Reg, no.” Sirius had replied, “Remus will come around. He just doesn’t know how to digest this.”

The common room was silent, and Regulus just held her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her hand softly. Sirius watched as Regulus went through a wave of emotions. He was hurt, confused, concerned, and terrified. It was like watching the seasons go by. Watching everything welt, die, grow back and prosper just to repeat the cycle. It was like watching a new book turn into an old one as the ink was embedded onto the pages, the papers getting folded, tabs being placed, and the spine being cracked.

Regulus appeared to be a sleek hardcover book, but she was his person. She turned him into a used paperback. One with highlighting, tabs, folded pages, a cracked spine, and a loved cover. His heart beat for her. She was the reason he woke up every morning, the reason he ate, the reason he got good marks. She was his reason.

“I tried talking sense into him.” Sirius confessed quietly, “He just brought up the incident in fifth year.”

Regulus closed his eyes tightly and tried to withhold his tears, “Maybe I should talk to him.”

“No.” Sirius said sternly, “You’ll be asking for death.”

“What do I do, Sirius?”

His blue-grey eyes were glittering with desperation, “Nothing… Take care of her.”

With that, Sirius left a kiss on his younger brother's head and left the common room, retreating to the dormitory. Regulus sighed and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. Tears slipped from his eyes and onto the material of the couch. Everyone was gone at that point. The common room wholly cleared and the fire slowly decaying in the fireplace as Regulus Black finally allowed himself to break.

He woke up on an armchair with a soft thick black blanket covering his limbs. Red rimmed e/c eyes met his blue-grey ones, and he felt a wave of relief. Y/n reached her hand out, and Regulus took it, keeping the blanket around his shoulders as she brought him to her dormitory. The girls were sleeping, and Y/n sat down on her bed, Regulus doing the same. She drew the curtains and muttered a silencing spell.

Regulus laid with his head on her pillow, pulling her to lay on his chest. He wrapped the fuzzy black blanket around them. Y/n nuzzled into his side, and he placed a kiss on the top of her head. They didn’t need to exchange words for expressing how they felt. They knew how the other felt. There was no need on elaborating. She fell asleep not too long after, and Regulus laid awake trying of solutions.

Even when the sun broke the horizon, Regulus still had nothing.

They continued the year like this. Remus and Y/n didn’t speak at all anymore. Remus went as far as to change his schedule and ignore the sweets left on his bedside after the full moons. Sirius would pretend it came from him, but Remus still would budge. He would chuck the chocolate in the trash even though he knew that Y/n barely had money in the first place to buy it. He’d dump the hot chocolate in the waste bin and smash the mug to get out any frustration.

Sirius thought that the worst part was Remus never grieved for his sister. He never saw Remus cry or get upset about what he did. It was like Remus had no remorse for what he did. Sirius had grieved. He had sobbed in the midst of twilight with shit silencing charms. Sirius had wailed and clutched his blanket close to his chest, hoping it would soothe the aching of his heart.

When they graduated, Remus didn’t look for his sister in the crowd. He didn’t care if she was there or not, but she was. Y/n was there holding Regulus’ hand tightly, watching her brother shake Dumbledore’s hand. She watched as Sirius embraced Regulus in a tight hug in the shadows. Y/n smiled bittersweetly at their embrace as Regulus took her hand back in his.

Sirius began to open his mouth, “No need to lie. I know he doesn’t care if I was here or not.”

Y/n shuffled on her feet, and Sirius took her into his arms. Sirius was shorter than Regulus, and he didn’t smell the same, but his hugs were just as comforting in a brotherly way. His hand caressed her hair, and Sirius couldn’t help the way his heart ached. He shouldn’t be the one hugging her, Remus should, but he isn’t. Sirius kissed her forehead and released her from his hug.

“I’ll write to you guys.”

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Y/n replied with tear-filled eyes, “I can’t imagine you gone.”

Sirius smirked, “Yes, ma’am. Don’t you know I always obey the rules?”

“She’s being real, Sirius.” Regulus didn’t crack a smile, “This war isn’t a joke, and I’d- I’d like to see you next year when I graduate.”

“I’ll be there.” Sirius said solemnly, “I won’t leave you guys. They won’t take me alive.”

Y/n cracked a smile, “Good.”

Regulus nudged his girlfriend, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “Protect him. He gets reckless and forgets about himself. Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Sirius could still hear Remus’ voice in their first Order meeting, “I swear on all Merlin if they touch her, they’ll be sorry.”

“‘Course. Don’t forget he’s still my boyfriend.” Sirius replied, and Y/n smiled, “‘S why I’m asking you and not James. Keep- Keep my brother safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They joined the Order of the Phoenix without looking back. Remus, James, Sirius, and Peter quickly became some of the best Aurors of the Ministry of Magic. Sirius had made the Daily Prophet multiple for putting Death Eaters in Azkaban. Many citizens of the Wizarding community thought of him as the next Alastor Moody.

Seventh year was the worst one yet. Most of the Slytherin Death Eaters were attacking the younger kids. Most of the older Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs had to defend them from the unforgivable curses. It seemed normal to hear the crucio curse being thrown away and seeing green flashes. It made Y/n sick to her stomach.

It got so surreal that Y/n and Regulus had begun sleeping behind tapestries or hidden tunnels. Dormitories and common rooms were no longer safe. Their backs ached, and body’s sore from lying on concrete, but it was better than dying. Graduation was not a celebration, and no one from outside was allowed in, but Sirius waited for them at Kings Cross.

The next time Y/n saw Remus was when she was being sworn into the Order, and he barely spared her a glance. Not long after the speech was being spoken, another person entered the meeting point. He was shockingly familiar with wavy black hair and blue-grey eyes. Remus jumped out of his seat, and James had to hold him back. Regulus released a breath and stood beside his girlfriend.

“Now. I’m sure there’s a lot of confusion.” Dumbledore began calmly, “Regulus has sworn to be our spy.”

Remus growled, “He’s a Death Eater.”

“Exactly.” Remus glared at the old Professor, “Therefore, he can enter and participate in their meetings. Then he can come back here and report what he knows.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do.” Regulus said, “I don’t want to put anyone in danger, but someone needs to do it.”

Remus went to speak, but Regulus cut him off, “Someone needs to protect your sister.”

Everyone stared in shock at the bold statement that came from the young Black brother's mouth, and Remus leaped from his seat, “She is a traitor. Just like you.”

Instinctively Regulus moved her behind him as Remus was now face to face with him, “She’s everything but. Wasn’t she the one who stopped Fenrir Greyback from killing you?”

“Shut up.”

“Wasn’t she the one who cleaned your wounds after the full moons before the Marauders?”

“I’m warning you.”

“Wasn’t she the one who used to make you hot chocolate when the nightmares got too bad that you couldn’t sleep?”

Remus snapped, and Sirius pulled him away from Regulus. But they all saw how Y/n cowered when he lunged forward, how she flinched back, covering her face with her hands. Regulus kept a tight hold on her hand, and they watched as Sirius calmed Remus down, bringing him upstairs. When Remus was gone, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Well, the first Order meeting will be announced in just a couple of days. It allows Y/n and Regulus to get in their positions.” Dumbledore announced, “It allows Y/n to get some training and Regulus to get Voldemort’s trust.”

Everyone dispersed. Y/n and Regulus apparated to a flat they had bought in London. It was relatively modern for the time and had everything they needed. The place was clean and brand new. When they landed in the living room, she went straight to the bedroom. Regulus prepared her a hot drink and set it at her bedside table with a warming charm. He laid beside her, placing her head on his heart.

“Je Vous Aime.” His french accent was so smooth and gentle, like a baby blanket, “Je t'aime aussi.”

Everything just got more stressful as time passed. Regulus’ job got more and more dangerous, making Y/n worry profusely. It got to times where they had to pretend to throw curses back and forth so he could prove that he was loyal to them. It wasn’t until a rumor of a spy for the Death Eaters came out that Regulus’ job became crucial. It took three more meetings, and on October 15th Regulus knew who it was.

He could remember the day vividly how Voldemort welcomed Peter Pettigrew to the Death Eaters with open arms. Regulus had stared in mock happiness but, in reality, had been shocked. Someone so close to the Potters had gone and betrayed him. So when Peter was absent from one meeting, Regulus brought it up.

“They spy is Pettigrew.”

“No.” James chuckled, “You’re lying, right?”

Regulus shook his head, “He plans to kill you, Lily, and Harry on Halloween.”

Everyone stiffened. The air was tense, but Dumbledore smiled victoriously, “Beautiful work, Regulus. We’ll apprehend Pettigrew when he’s seen again.”

They had set up a false meeting where Peter got sent to Azkaban only two days later after Regulus announced he was the traitor. That sparked the war between them, and this time, Regulus was on the right side, the side he always wanted to be on. A week later, and on Halloween, Voldemort was dead. Many people's lives were lost, but many were saved.

After the war, Remus had proposed to Sirius, and yet Y/n was still not invited to the wedding. Sirius had begged Remus to make amends with her. The war was over. This nonsense was not needed anymore. But Remus was stubborn, and Y/n was too afraid to approach him, so James gave her the invisibility cloak to watch her brother marry. Not the ideal way she planned on watching her brother and his love get married.

A couple of months later, Regulus and Y/n did the same. Except they did it alone, with Sirius being their only witness and the person marrying them. Sirius couldn’t help but feel awful for Remus not being able to walk her down the aisle, not to see her in the pretty dress she had picked out. It wasn’t until fifteen years later when Y/n had two teenage boys, and a little girl did someone came knocking on her door during the winter holidays.

Both boys were running around the house, and their little sister was trying to keep up. Two twin boys who were fifteen - Romeo and Romulus. A little girl who was just about ten named Ascella. Romulus was a carbon copy of Sirius. Romeo had the Lupin sandy hair and the Black family eyes with the Black family defined face. He was the best of both worlds. Ascella looked like a female Regulus.

Romeo was the Keeper of the Slytherin house for Quidditch. Romulus played Beater for Gryffindor, and little Ascella would get her Hogwarts letter in just about a year. Regulus and Y/n both predicted she’d be in Gryffindor with her brave, mischievous nature. Y/n was the one to get the door with her two boys behind her. Ascella had been called into the living room by her father.

Y/n was shocked to meet familiar green eyes, “Um- hi.”

“Hey.” Remus said nervously, scratching the back of his head, “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Both boys behind her looked confused, “Mum, who is this?”

A pang of hurt hit Remus, “This- This is my brother.”

“Brother?” Romulus questioned, “Like he’s our uncle?”

“Yes.” Y/n retorted, “Now you boys grab your sister. Go do something upstairs while we talk, yeah?”

Romeo looked crestfallen, “Mum, we aren’t five.”

“I know, but we have a lot of talking to do.”

Romeo sighed, “Fine but be safe.”

She kissed the tops of their heads, “Of course.”

Ascella was running to her brothers within seconds after Romulus called for her. Remus saw her black hair flutter around as she followed her brothers up the steps. Y/n smiled and motioned for Remus to come inside. The house was lovely and decorated for the holidays. Y/n walked through the hallway to the living room, and Remus followed.

“I apologize for the mess.” She chuckled, “Having the boys home makes the house messy.”

Remus saw the pictures on the wall, “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor.”

Y/n smiled, “Yep. Romeos the Slytherin, and Romulus is the Gryffindor. We have a feeling Ascella will be in Gryffindor too.”

He placed the picture back down and sighed, “Merlin, what did I miss?”

Regulus was still stiff and stern, “A lot if you couldn’t tell already. That’s what happens when you call your sister a traitor and decide to disown her.”

All three children were listening secretly and grimaced at their father's words, “But don’t worry. I’ve done your job. I’ve been there for her, protected her, and made sure she was happy.” Regulus snapped, “And Sirius did your job of being the children’s uncle.”

“He didn’t even tell me you guys had kids.” Remus muttered, “‘Course he didn’t. In case you don’t remember, you didn’t want anything to do with us.” Regulus retorted.

The children had never heard their father speak this way with so much ice in his words. Regulus was blunt and unapologetic, “We wanted you to be a part of our family, Remus, we really did. But we didn’t know how you’d feel.” Y/n informed.

“Plus, the last time you saw us, you tried to kill Regulus.” Ascella covered her ears, and Romeo ushered them to his room to stop listening, “Yeah, so forgive us for not inviting you to be a part of our family.”

Regulus punctuated his statement by putting his arm around Y/n’s waist, “I’m sorry.” Remus murmured.

“I’m really sorry for how I acted. It was immature and stupid of me.” He continued, “I didn’t know how to feel when I heard my sister was with a Death Eater at the time, and I was just scared.”

Y/n stood up and hugged him, “Remus. What you did isn’t going to be forgiven. I’m sorry.”

He had tears glazing in his emerald green eyes that dulled with age, “I know we were young, but that doesn’t excuse the words you said or how you acted. Trying to kill my husband and saying god awful things about me.”

Y/n took her seat beside Regulus, and Remus sniffled, “You did this. Not us.” Regulus reminded, and Remus nodded.

“Okay, I just- I’ll go.” Remus stood up from his seat and walked down the hallway to the front door; he took in every family portrait.

When he got to the door, Y/n opened it for him, and he walked out, “Remus.”

He turned, and Y/n hugged him one last time. His chin rested on top of her head, breathing in her shampoo that still hadn’t changed since third year. The same perfume from fourth year. Her arms fit around him just the same way as they had when they were little children running around the lake. Y/n kissed his cheek and released herself from his embrace.

“I may not be your sister.” Y/n repeated with tear-filled eyes, and Remus allowed the tears to fall; her two boys were standing beside her, “But you’ll always be my brother.”

The door had closed, and Remus decided that that was the end of his chapter. He had underlined, circled, highlighted, and folded every significant page, but this was the end of the chapter. He was flipping to the next page, where the new chapter began. The new chapter where he had to live without his sister or his niece and nephews.

Remus always loved fragile, cracked paperbacks.

3K notes · View notes

buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

Text

white wolf: “the story of a first date”

first part — second part — third part — fourth part (soon)

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

Sam helps Bucky to ask you out for a date and it's a disaster, but he gets it.

word count: 3.147 words. (not sorry, it worth it, i promise!!!)

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the cutest gentleman in the whole wide world, and sam keeping an eye on him.

author notes: as it happened with the first part, i'm not really happy with the result but i had so much fun writing it and i think that that made this writing perfect, so i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed it. none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

The car stopped because of a red light, a moment where Sam took the advantage to turn at his copilot, glancing at Bucky from top to bottom in complete silence. Analyzing him. The soldier tilted his head raising an eyebrow, showing his curiosity about what the hell he was doing.

“What are you gonna wear, uh?” Sam asked then, maintaining a serious gesture on his face.

“Clothes”. Unworriedly, he put back his eyes to the front window.

“You probably look good naked, but that’s not what I’m talking ‘bout”.

“Just… some jeans, a shirt, and a jacket”.

“And shoes, I guess”.

Bucky turned on his seat towards his friend, squinting confused for the interrogatory. “Who cares?”

“About the shoe—”

“About the clothes”.

“Man, it’s a date! Do you wan’her to remember this night as the night Bucky Barnes shown up as a Russian bum?”

“I’m from Brookl—”.

“Yeah, but you look like mother Russia just spat you to the world”.

Sam rolled his eyes as a sigh escaped his mouth. Shaking his head, he took the next corner to the fifth avenue changing the planes they had in mind. A good outfit meant a good date. A good date meant happy soldier. Happy soldier meant no trouble. See the point? So the Falcon would take care of the Winter Soldier today. If only Steve could see them. He’d feel proud, that was for sure. They visited a couple of shops, finally letting Sam take control over the situation and pick the clothes he would wear for you. He had good taste, everybody knew that, and Bucky couldn’t complain about his choices.

Even less when the distinctive black suit dressed his anatomy to perfection. Spinning around in front of the mirror, he felt different. He looked different. He looked good, but not as he’d like. Holding the bucket of flowers once he was ready, Bucky left his apartment straight to the garage under the building. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie. But he had that sensation inside him that made him believe everything would be okay for the first time since he woke up.

The road didn’t take him more than ten minutes, not really worried about the time given that he had planned to arrive a little sooner than accorded. Life seemed like it was smiling at him, finding a parking lot in the same entrance. Landing his blue eyes on the rearview mirror, Bucky took a last view at his reflection, brushing back his hair as he used to do in the forties. He grabbed then the flowers he bought for you and stepped out of the car, trying to remember the advice Sam gave him. Resting his back against the copilot's door, he waited impatiently for you.

“Hey, you”.

His heart stopped for a second, raising his orbs to the man coming closer. Before he could react, the man in question tucked a hand beneath Bucky's jacket. Patting him down.

“What the hell are you doing, Sam?” He questioned irritatedly, slapping his hands and causing him to laugh.

“Just checking you didn't bring the notecards again”.

“Yeah, very funny…”

“Man, look at you! Should be illegal to look this good, uh?” Sam helped him to put on the jacket again, receiving another slap from his friend.

“Don't touch me”. Scowling, he fixed the flowers in his left hand, wanting them to be perfect. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“Watch you till (Y/N) comes. Lemme take a picture, I feel like a proud father on his son's prom day”.

“You're not m— Get the hell outta here, Sam”.

“Fighting again, kids? Should I call your mama?”

As Bucky heard you scoff, his soul abandoned. His pupils dilated. His legs trembled. And he could swear that everything disappeared around him when he watched you going downstairs, swinging your hips unconsciously sensual, with a black dress fitting you like a glove. If this morning Bucky wanted to marry you, now he wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. Your makeup was on point, just like your hair, not being too formal but enough to run him out of words.

“Steve is off-duty, so, what 'you gonna do, soldier?” Sam mocked, an instant before noticing how pale Bucky was. He couldn't help but slap the back of his neck to bring him back to reality.

“I, uh… flowers… I bought you…”

“You're not Yoda”. Sam whispered as the other offered you the present.

“C'mon, stop messing with him”. You clicked your tongue, right before you drew an adorable smile on your lips, leaning to kiss Bucky's cheek. “Thank you”.

“You're welcome”. He just answered, responding to your same gesture while opening the door for you.

“Such a gentleman…” His playful murmur made Bucky frown and nudge him, trying to stop him from saying anything else and ruin the occasion.

“I'll bring him back at ten”. You joked palming his chest.

“The point is to not bring him back to me”. Sam cackled, shaking his head and taking a step back.

Once in the car turning on the engine, James joined the road after checking you were good. Never in his life he had driven with so much care as if he was carrying a bomb by his side. He set on the radio, not really knowing how to start a conversation, watching you through the corners of his eyes caressing the flowers over your lap. No one had bought you them before, thinking it was a thing that only happened in movies. But then, you met Bucky. An old-fashioned man, making yourself wonder how he was the same the news used to say he was a cold-blood assassin.

“What have you thought?”

“Uh?”

“About the date”.

“Sam told me about a rest—”.

“Okay, okay, Bucky. Pull over”. You couldn't help but burst into laughter, as his face was pale again thinking you were about to step out and end the date.

“Sorry, did I…?”

You swiveled at him on your seat, kissing your teeth and squinting inevitably. Studying his face you knew how afraid he was, and it was the most adorable reaction ever. You could have kissed at that precise instant, but it'd have been a little awkward.

“Where do you wanna go?”

The question didn't take him by surprise, actually. He was still getting used to doing the things he desired and not what other people asked him to do. The restaurant was a fancy place with a distinguished menu according to what his friend explained to him, but it wasn't the kind of site that he'd normally go, or that represented him.

“When I, uh… came back, I discovered that my favorite burger joint in Brooklyn was still standing”. Bucky told you, facing you after finishing the sentence. “They prepare the best burgers of the whole New York and you can decide what ingredients add, and the bread, and the kind of meat. And it still having the original decoration”.

You reclined on your seat, just staring at him talking with that kind of burning passion about something he loved. Puckering your lips, you nodded your chin. The fact that not only he wanted to take you to a different place, but a place that he used to go to when he was young made butterflies flutter within your belly. Bucky wanted to make you part of his future, but also his past. That made the difference.

“Sounds good to me”.

“Really?” He inquired funnily confused, wrinkling his nose and forehead.

“Really”.

The shine that appeared within his eyes made you place a hand on his cheek to urge him to turn his head and drive again. An innocent gesture that provoked him a lively giggle. If that man knew all the things he caused you, he'd have taken the step months ago.

As the night went on and Bucky was losing his shyness, he talked to you about the good old times. Before HYDRA, before the winter, before the war. When he was a kid with no worries more than keeping Steven safe from the bullies. It was nice to disconnect from the present, from the gazes around the two of you, from the back talks, only enjoying your dinner and your conversation. You talked to Bucky about how was to be raised on a farm, surrounded by open fields and animals, to join the army years later. Without going into details that could make him remember the old bad times, you told him about what you used to do, your missions, and how you were wounded in combat after being shot and fell from a helicopter.

Bucky felt confident enough to compare it with how everything started. Falling from a wagon to the snow. But as soon as his voice became lower, you couldn't help but hold his gloved left hand and intertwine your fingers with his. And you could swear you felt him shaking for a brief moment because of your touch.

“So, what, uh? It was a forties trend to jump into the void?” You tried to joke, wanting to feel relaxed.

“Yeah, seems like”. He mumbled curling up his lips. “Listen… I really want to… open up, and I know it’s easier with you because… y’know, you work doing this”.

“Hold on, Bucky”. You laughed waving your free hand, shaking your chin as you closed your eyes for a second. “That has sounded really bad”.

“Wait, wh— Oh, shit, no, no, no”.

For the first time since you walked into the small restaurant, his laughter was lively, unworriedly, honest.

“Take it easy, just kidding”. You grinned, nailing your elbow on the table to rest your cheek on your palm. “But… this isn’t work. We’re not doing therapy, we’re… knowing each other. And I don’t want to pressure you to talk about something you don’t feel prepared to, okay?”

“I know”.

Bucky couldn’t believe how much you seemed to empathize with him, not judging his acts nor his past, not deciding that the date wasn't a good idea nor running away. He couldn’t believe the less importance you were giving to his arm made of vibranium; usually, people used to freak out, to feel frightened somehow about the things it could do. But you were there, fingers playing with the others as if it was the most common and natural act in the world. And, for you, it was. That was you in all your best. Considerate, smart, patient, lovingly. The rainbow after a stormy life. Everything that Bucky needed in his life to start from scratch and be his better version. A shoulder to lean on and a reason to come back home.

“Was afraid of asking you out”. He confessed after some seconds admiring each other. Any person closer would say you had been dating for a long, long time by the way you had to keep silent and not feel uncomfortable.

“Why?”

“You came from war and made your world a place to live. I’m still stuck there”.

“I have my own red flags”. Clicking your tongue, you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, really? Please, surprise me”. Bucky teased you sitting up on his chair, not loosening the gentle grip around your left hand.

“I put the milk before cereals”.

“Oh… Oh, God”. He let out, pretending to be horrified and running a hand on his face. “Goddammit… you’re a monster, ma’am. I don’ think this is going to work”.

“Excuse me?” You chuckled, parting your lips in a breath while leaning over the table to palm his right shoulder. “It wasn’t me who added lettuce to the burger”.

“What? What’s the matter with that, uh?”

“Lettuce kills the savor!”

“Y’know what kills the savor? Ketchup. Today, people use ketchup literally with everything… And that’s disgusting”.

“Okay! Next time, no lettuce, and… no ketchup”.

“That’s a big challenge”. Bucky scoffed tenderly squeezing your hand between his cold fingers.

“I’ll live, Sergeant Barnes”. You narrowed your eyes and crinkled your nose at the same time.

“I was talking about a second date, not about your issue with ketchup”.

“So was I”.

A goofy smirk appeared on Bucky’s face, biting his inner cheek as he assented with his head. Seeing you again, knowing that you wanted it —that you wanted him—, made him trust Dr. Raynor’s words. He was having a second chance to do the right thing. To live and to be.

You wanted to add something else when the clock in his wrist started to beep. Curious, you raised an eyebrow. “We have to leave”.

“Why?”

“Sam told me you work tomorrow at eight, which means you’ll get up at six and a half… maybe seven. While I pay, take you home, all that stuff… I don’ want you to be tired in the morning”.

Bucky would never stop to amaze you, looking up to him in silence to contemplate how he called the bartender and beckoned his free hand to ask for the bill.

“What…? What are you doing?” He chuckled embarrassed, taking his beer to sip.

You cleared your throat when you realized how stupid you should look right now, shaking your head as you freed his cold hand from yours to find unlock your phone as soon as the guy brought the dataphone.

“Hey, no, no. I asked you out, I pay”. Bucky began to fight with you, provoking some laughs on the table as you tried to put your screen above the tpv.

“Well, welcome to the twenty-first century”. You hummed as the operation was confirmed.

“I’ll pay next time”. He declared licking his incisors, prior to his lips.

You wished the ride back home to last forever, not wanting to end the date. But the car reached your neighborhood in a blink of eyes. You couldn't help but sigh barely appreciably for your companion, gazing through the window until double parking in front of your apartment. You turned towards him, hearing the engine shut off. Bucky seemed disappointed like you, not being able to remember when was the last time he had a break, he had fun. The date was nicer than he expected but the idea of not knowing exactly when he was going to see you again was killing him from the inside.

“I'll accompany you”. He declared undoing his seat belt as you did to step out.

You reacted with a delicate smile, holding the bucket of flowers against your abdomen while walking to the front door of the building. That moment was a little uncomfortable, not being sure about how to say goodbye, just looking like two teens in love.

“Thank you for tonight, Bucky”. You uttered without thinking about it. “It's been the best night I've ever had”.

“Next will be better, I promise”.

“That's a big challenge”. You chuckled repeating his words a while ago in the restaurant.

“I'll live”. He nodded convinced, glancing at you bowing down your interest to the red roses between your hands.

How could you tell him that you were dying to be together again? That you wouldn't mind waking up sooner and having breakfast? You bit your inner upper lip, trying to find the correct words to say, without sounding like you were feeling something else to a physical attraction. Bucky was hot as hell, that wasn't up to debate, but he was the kindest and charmingest man you had known. He was sensible and strong at the same time. You both complemented the other like the pieces of a puzzle and you never thought something like that could happen to you. To find your other half and having it so clear you didn't want anyone else.

“I am, uh… free tomorrow”.

His words pushed you out of your thoughts, putting up your attention to a Bucky almost flushing, stroking the back of his head, and having the impression that he could scare you.

“Got a break for lunch, if you want”. You proposed without hesitation.

His eyes sparkled with happiness, holding your left hand with his to bring it to his mouth, placing a fond kiss on the back. Such a gentleman, like Sam said, inducing your cheeks to burn. And then, you saw him doubting about taking another step. You wanted it too to happen, tho, leaning forward to press your lips together. Your eyes snapped closed at that precise instant, not having any rush, tasting each other's and shortening the distance between both of you by his free arm getting wrapped around your waist. The kiss was innocent but passionate. It was warm, intimate, trying to transmit all the chemistry you woke up within the other with only one look, with only one smile. Breaking it —much to your regret— when you needed air to breathe. And even so, Bucky rested his forehead against yours freeing your hand to place it on the right side of his neck.

Neither of the two of you opened your eyes, extending the moment as much as you could. You felt he craved to spend the night with you, and you desired it too, but you also felt that he needed some time to get used to this new world he was living in. It wasn't easy. You thought back to the months after the war, the recovery, the loneliness you forced yourself to be in. You were in Afghanistan for three months. He had been fighting since nineteen forty. And he didn't want to ruin what you were building together.

“I should leave”. Bucky murmured against his wishes.

“See you tomorrow”.

At the moment you opened your eyes to meet the pale blue ones, your whole body felt weak. You saw the brightness in them after letting him know that the second date was going to happen and that it wasn't just a formality before disappearing, wiping out any minimal doubt by kissing him again. The last kiss. A good night, I'll dream with you kiss.

“I'm gonna play this on your wedding day, definitely”.

You screamed because of the unexpected metallic voice coming closer, clinging to Bucky's neck as his heart raced too. Redwing was suspended in the air some steps away from you, being controlled by Sam. Who else is not him, uh?

“I'm starting to think you have separation anxiety”. The soldier growled trying to hit the flying device with his flesh hand, hearing you laughing against his chest.

“Good night, kids”. You chuckled separating from Bucky.

“No kiss for me, soldier?”

“I'm not gonna kiss that thing, Samuel”.

“What about a howl, White wolf? Would be very appro—”.

“White wo—”.

“Please, don't. Don't ask”. Bucky begged you, licking his bottom lip while rubbing the back of his head, clearly ashamed.

“Hope you show me one day what it means…”

“Oh, he will… Just wait till the full moon”.

“Sam!” Bucky and you yelled in unison, you playfully, he annoyed.

feedback is appreciated, please, leave a comment to let me know if you liked it.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #james bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan fluff #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x you

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soulmate-game · 3 years

Text

Harley’s Plea for Help: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

“How long do you think it’s gonna take before she decides to sneak out?” Nightwing asked over his comms, lazily leaning against the balcony railing in front of him with his head resting on one hand.

“Dude, I started sneaking out almost twenty minutes ago,” a girl’s voice made Nightwing squeak and turn around, to reveal a teenage girl leaning against the door that led to the balcony he was on. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by doing unnecessarily showy gymnastics down from my hotel room’s balcony, no matter how much fun that would be, so I just snuck out one of the hotel’s back exits. Then I looked up to admire the moon and saw you here, staking out what is clearly my suite, and decided to come pay you a visit.”

“How long have you been there? And how did you even get behind me? I hope you didn’t break and enter, that’s an actual lived-in apartment behind us right now,” Nightwing asked, turning around to analyze the daughter of Harley Quinn for the first time in person.

She looked just like in her pictures, of course. Jet black hair like her father’s, except it seemed to have a bluish shine in the light. And her eyes were definitely Harley’s— thank goodness for that —vibrant blue and clearly analyzing him with the same amount of intensity as his did her. He had to bite back a chuckle. In a turn of complete irony, she really did look like a Wayne kid. Fit all of Bruce’s usual criteria to be adopted. But she was tiny, even smaller than Harley’s lithe form. He, Bruce, and Tim were of the hypothesis that the exposure both her parents had to Ace Chemical’s vats of acid likely had an effect on her DNA that stunted her growth. Perhaps there were other effects that they wouldn’t be able to figure out until they got to know her better, too, though it was clear that her skin was a likely one. It wasn’t unnaturally pale like her parent’s after their acid dips but it was paler than normal for sure, just a shade or two shy of being paper white.

And he could see, now, what Harley meant when she referred to Marinette as a powerhouse. It wasn’t very noticeable in pictures, but up close Dick could see the carefully honed muscle of an acrobat curling over her otherwise slim build. Combined with the knowledge that Marinette had been taught at least some serious self defense from a young age, he could see how such a tiny package could be a remarkable threat when necessary.

Marinette grimaced as the other Batfam, who were all nearby staking out her room from different angles, dropped onto the large balcony with them.

“Uh, well. I didn’t break and enter, I rather not get off to a criminal-ly start on my first night in Gotham, you know? But I realized that even though I was able to figure out the exact room you were staking me out from, I realized as soon as I got into the first floor of the building that I had no idea how to actually get to you. So I just climbed the stairs all the way to the roof and scaled my way down to this balcony, and pretended I’ve been here for a while when really I was barely able to hear you ask when I was gonna sneak out. I’m still out of breath, actually,” she put a hand on her chest and sure enough her breathing was still slightly fast. But not enough to be worrying or even all that noticeable. Yet another piece of evidence to show that she was a very active individual and had resistance built up to physical activity.

“Yup,” Robin groused grumpily, crossing his arms. “With all that rambling, you couldn’t be anyone else’s child but Quinzel’s.”

Marinette’s face immediately flushed pink all the way to her ears. “I’m sorry! I’ve been trying so hard to quit that habit, too!” She grumbled a bit to herself, putting her face in her hands. They all chuckled at the display. Red Hood ambled over, draping his arm over her shoulders (he nearly had to bend in half to do it, the height difference was that bad).

“As adorable as your freak out is, why’d you even come up here anyway? There’s no way you’d scale down a ten-story building just to say hello.”

She let out a heavy sigh at that, slowly peeling her face out of her hands. “Yeah, I recognized you guys right away. And honestly, as much as Momma Harley would be super proud of me for managing to give an entire group of vigilantes the slip, she’d also ground me for life if she found out that I saw you guys and still snuck away even though she probably swallowed her pride and asked you guys to babysit me, right? Self preservation. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually have some.”

“Wait,” Red Robin held up a hand, brows clearly furrowed under his cowl. “You expected her to ask for our help?”

“Well,” she made a so-so motion with her hand. “I didn’t think of it beforehand, but it all clicked once I saw Nightwing. I know how much my mom is worried about me, especially since you-know-who broke out a few days ago. She is more than worried enough to ask you guys for help. Even if she does complain about you guys, a lot actually, she also has made it clear that she trusts you guys with the stuff that actually matters.

“‘You know who’?” Batman repeated, arms crossed. If Marinette squinted, she thought there might have been a grin on his lips. “Is that how you always refer to him?”

“What else am I gonna call him?” she asked, face going deadpan. “Sperm donor? Source of a large amount of my self doubt and depreciation? The prime reason I haven’t been able to see my mom in person more often over the years? Oh, I know! How about I just always refer to him as ‘that bastard I wanna punch,’? That sounds good!” she rolled her eyes sarcastically. “Only one person in this world has the right to be considered my father in any capacity, and it sure as hell isn’t him. Genetics notwithstanding.”

Red Hood straight up guffawed at that, landing several rough pats on her back that made the girl stumble a bit. “Yep, I like this one! But as fun as it would be to see you give that jackass a mean left hook, it’s better if he never finds out who you are or knows that you’re here,” the vigilante’s voice got dark and serious very quickly. “He doesn’t forget people he finds interesting easily, and if he ever finds out about the connection you have to him, he’ll be a constant threat in your life.”

“I know,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “And if this conversation was happening two years ago, I’d say that my mom’s concerns aren’t unfounded. That I am too easily emotionally compromised and despite my deep seated issues and hatred for that man, I couldn’t guarantee he would be unable to get to me.”

Batman straightened up, as did all of his sons around him. None of them had missed the ‘if’ there. Batman’s voice went from charmingly deep to it’s usual gruff grumble. “What changed in two years?”

They all watched as Marinette gulped, taking a deep breath as she stalled for time, looking out at the view on the balcony before seeming to steel herself and return her gaze to Batman’s. When she did, it was suddenly full of iron will.

“I didn’t lie when I told Mom that I came to visit her— but that isn’t the whole truth, either. If I just wanted to visit her in Gotham, I would have waited until I was eighteen like we agreed. But I can’t wait, Paris can’t keep going on like this. I entered that contest because it was the fastest way to see you. I didn’t know if I would win, but… I had to take the chance. There was no way I’d be able to get to Gotham behind my mom’s back otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Robin hissed, stepping up to his father’s side. “Paris has been silent. If anything were happening, we would have heard about it by now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Marinette corrected, never losing that ironclad look in her eyes. “Because a combination of magic and politics is keeping it quiet. No news about Paris’ situation is able to leave the city limits. Magic makes any non-native who leaves Paris think that everything they experienced was just a crazy dream. Natives won’t forget, but politics has all of us under very strict NDAs if we leave city boundaries, and all of our local news and social media is blocked from being accessed by anyone outside the city. But, I figured a little breaking of the rules wouldn’t exactly put a stain on my family’s reputation or anything, so,” she dug in her pocket and pulled out a thumb drive, holding it up for all of them to see. She swallowed again, but never stopped her eye contact with Batman. She held out the thumb drive.

“I came to Gotham to ask for your help. This sped things up, I didn’t expect to see you on my first night here, but two years in Hawkmoth’s Paris has really taught me how to roll with the punches. This,” she shook the thumb drive. “Holds videos of every fight since HawkMoth first showed up. It has all the information I’ve gathered over two years, tracks his movements and lists all his targets and— everything. But I’m not a detective, I’m a designer. I make clothes, I spar on the weekends, I am not good at getting evidence to prove that someone is a magic-abusing villain holding an entire city hostage.”

“We’re gonna need some details, Little Q,” Red Hood finally removes his arm from around her shoulders, instead crossing his arms and looking down at her sternly. “If your city has a villain holding it hostage, is anyone fighting him? And if you do have someone fighting him, why don’t you need our help, or why didn’t they call the Justice League? The JLE should be in Paris, right?”

Marinette snorted, face scrunching up in obvious distaste. “I’ll have to answer those a little out of order. First; the JLE was kicked out of Paris. They moved their headquarters to Italy about five years ago, I’m just surprised they apparently kept that secret from you,” she gestured to all of them, who indeed seemed very caught off guard by that tidbit. But Marinette just sighed and continued. “Though that’s a good thing, actually. We do have heroes, it started out as just a pair but it’s grown into a small team out of necessity. They didn’t call the Justice League because the last thing we need is any powered heroes coming in and making it worse— your league doesn’t have the best reputation for letting newer heroes take the lead even on their home turf, you know,” she pointed out, which made Batman shift a bit guiltily. He knew the JL was often a bit… heavy handed in their methods.

“What makes the situation so bad that you don’t want to bring experienced heroes into it?” Red Robin cut in, sounding as if the whole situation was a puzzle he was determined to sort out. Which, really, was exactly what Marinette had been counting on. She shot him a finger gun, grinning.

“That’s exactly the point! Hawkmoth uses a magical artifact, like I said— but this artifact can brainwash anybody who experiences even the slightest negative emotion. Sadness, anger, fear— anything negative. And it gives them powers, but puts them largely under his influence,” her expression twisted again, this time into a wry little grimace. “I guess you can say that my momma’s psychiatry background has secretly come in handy a lot over these past two years. And Hawkmoth is exactly why I try to tell Momma Harley to stop visiting me— I have worked my butt off to keep her from finding out about his attacks or getting Akumatized. Every time she shows up it gives me a heart attack!”

“Akumatized?”

Marinette waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the term used for when someone is turned into a super powered villain because of HawkMoth. The brainwashing— really it’s more similar to a straight up corruption. The person usually lacks their usual moral compass, and just seeks to soothe whatever set off their negative emotion in the first place. Usually, that means they seek a bloody revenge. And if someone who already has extensive training or extremely strong powers gets Akumatized, guess what?” She made jazz hands even though her face was deadpan. “Extra powers, or amplified ones, for the metas or superheroes who are Akumatized. And imagine what someone with, say, Batman’s level of experience could do if he had powers and no moral compass,” the silence that followed her words was deafening. She just nodded, knowing she had gotten her point across. “I’ve been working my butt off to stay positive, because if I’m Akumatized…” her shoulders fell, and she had to swallow a lump in her throat. “... I have no idea what I’d turn into, but if you take into consideration both my training and my family history… it’s really best if we never find out what kind of magic-powered supervillain I’d make.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Nightwing said after another long moment of silence for that to all sink in. He gestured at her with an open palm. “You’ve been dealing with a terrorist for two years who targets emotional vulnerability, you apparently have never been corrupted by this magic at least to present day, but your mother still worries about you being very emotionally fragile. And your heroes are not detectives, which is clearly what you need or you wouldn’t have asked us for our help.”

Marinette nodded. “I used to be very impressionable. At the start of all this, I was a huge people-pleaser. I got attached to new people in a matter of minutes. My mom always said I reminded her too much of herself— but two years of fighting off a guy trying to get into my head—“

“Wait,” Batman nearly barked, taking a step forward. “He’s been targeting you? You specifically?”

Marinette nodded grimly, mouth a straight line. “Not from the beginning, but this past year it’s been painfully obvious. He might be able to sense the strength of people’s emotions, and unfortunately I don’t exactly experience my emotions very… gently. All of my emotions tend to the much more intense side of the spectrum. If that’s true, then he might know that any negative emotion I feel will make an extremely strong Akuma. Either that, or he’s going by process of elimination. All of my friends, except for one, have been Akumatized already. So has my Papan and my grandmother. But it’s obvious when he’s targeting someone, I’ve felt him try to override my will on several occasions. But I can’t just repress all of my negative emotions forever, so consider us working against the clock right now. That thumb drive has all the details you need about our heroes, how exactly Hawkmoth’s powers work, and so on.”

“Do your heroes know you’re asking for our help?” Red Robin asked, gaze burning a figurative hole through Marinette’s face. “Better yet, if this drive has as much information as you say it does, how did you get it?”

Marinette handed the drive over to Batman, who finally took it and tucked it in his belt as she answered.

“Momma Harley might have a lot to say about your detective skills, but you are all still strangers to me. So consider this a test of your abilities— I expect that you will all go to extreme lengths to verify all of the information I gave you anyway. After all, I’m still the daughter of your most hated enemy. Right?” She met each of their gazes, one by one, with a challenging one of her own. “You’ll just have to figure out my connection to the heroes on your own. And how I got the information, too. It shouldn’t be too hard for the so-called world’s greatest detectives. And maybe this can double as a trust exercise. I fully expect you guys to scour through every inch of my past, and dig up everything you can on me. I encourage you to try to find everything you can, so that hopefully you can decide to trust me on your own once you have all the details laid out in front of you. By the way, for your own sanity? I’d start with reading about all of our heroes’ powers and abilities before you watch any footage of past attacks.”

Red hood rocked back on his heels, trading glances with the other vigilantes before they all shared a nod. Apparently having decided their course of action, Red Hood leaned down and hoisted Marinette up into a princess carry. All traces of her previous iron will melted away in favor of the high pitched squeal of surprise she gave, and once more she became an overly flustered teenager.

“Alright, little cutie. Let’s get you to your mom’s place before she and her crazy plant lady fiancé come hunting us down.”

“I can walk! I can freerun on my own! Mon dieu please let me down! Eeeeek!” She squealed again as Robin slapped a domino mask over her eyes and Red Hood wasted no time jumping over the balcony railing with her still in his arms. The fact that they were lowered down by a wire wrapped around Hood’s waist didn’t seem to take away any of the fright that came with a sudden drop over an eighth-story balcony.

Part 1

@emotionalsupportginger @alysrose-starchild @emistar0 @kibastray @justanotherfanficlovinbitch @alyssadeliv @blackroserelina @blackstarlight-co @readingalldaysleepingallnight @maanae @aespades @jaybird-and-co @fleursroses @probably-a-hologram @misterpianoman (didn’t work sorry)

#dc x mlb #dc x miraculous #maribat #bio!dad au #Bio!mom Harley Quinn #Bio!Dad joker #mlb x dc #ml x dc #Harley’s Plea for Help #platonic brucinette #platonic jasonette #platonic Harley Quinn x Marinette

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inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰ ✰ ✰

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

✰ ✰ ✰

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

✰ ✰ ✰

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

✰ ✰ ✰

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

#todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #dabi x reader #dabi smut #touya x reader #dabi may be a scumbag but he loves his momma #tomura baby i’m so sorry #promise u don’t horrify me at all oof #pls come horrify me more #christ if dabi isn’t touya we’re all gonna look like goddamn fools #a buncha clowns #anyway this is my first time posting something like this #n i haven’t written smut in an extremely long time #so pls be nice #actually u should always be nice #so pls be extra nice #no one beta’d this so there’s a good chance i’ll come back to it n revise it or whatever idk i’m just sick of looking at it rn #the ‘he talks too much’ is inspired by ch 271 w hawks where he’s all ‘he’ll keep talking’#dabi shut the fuck up challenge #prone to monologuing this boy is #also sorry abt the crazy sentences with a thousand commas #apparently now i’m oscar wilde w these run on sentences #idk i still kinda like em tho #i like oscar #tw pseudo-incest #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw emotional manipulation #tw somnophilia #tw drugs

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chifuyuzu · 3 years

Text

leap of faith — sano manjiro x reader.

word count — 1.3k.

genre — fluff fluff fluff, i love sweet mikey.

contains — cursing, timeskip SPOILERS present, reader is gender neutral.

description — sano manjiro is in love with you, and he realizes how much he loves you at the ass crack of fuckin' dawn.

author's note — hey besties, this is my first published fic here, kinda short but mikey brain rot is heavy. i hope you enjoy this cute fic before i rip your hearts out with some angst in a few days :^) reblogs and likes are always appreciated! and please give me feedback in my inbox! hehe, enjoy.

“it’s late.”

you know. but you still wanted to hear the sound of his voice before bed.

“mm… i missed ya’, is that a crime?” your voice echos through the receiver, the sound of your duvet crinkling in the background as you shift in place. sano manjiro was a busy man. always has been, always will be. being the leader of a biker gang was never easy—let alone some “new age” criminal organization.

you didn’t understand why manjiro persisted to play this game of russian roulette with his life. but it was never your place to overstep, especially since this was his life. it was all he knew, all he understood. you’re not sure what he’s doing, or if he’s even allowed to talk on the phone at this hour, but you still wanted to hear him. just so you know he’s alive and well.

you hear him chuckle, the sound of his feet scurrying against whatever floor his sandals were clacking against. the background noise that accompanied him earlier has dissipated; you realized he probably went outside to hear you better.

“your crime is loving a fool like me way too much. don’t think you’re sane.” he’s right. you’re actually crazy for even pursuing him. there was a lot of push and shove in the beginning, both parties scared of being hurt and getting hurt. but you were always there, even when manjiro went through whatever darkness was eating at his soul.

“crazy for you.”

“corny.”

“you love me.”

a pause. eerie enough to send shivers down your spine. why wasn’t he responding? did something happen? did you smother him too much? is he regretting—

“marry me.”

… not what you were expecting. especially not over the phone.

“sano manjiro, did you just propose over the phone? what kind of shitty rom-com are we in?”

“is that a no?”

“... never said that.” you wanted to marry him. but you wanted him to put that lifestyle behind, for the sake of the family you might have in the future. kids, dogs, cats, etcetera. you wanted him to be in, one hundred percent. but you knew he was too deep into this world to run now—especially since he’s so well-known as the ‘invincible mikey.’ you still longed for a happy home with manjiro, and a normal life.

“maybe you’re right. it’s not my style to ask you this over the phone.”

“try again later. when you’re really ready.”

the gag is, he is ready.

manjiro hurries home, blond locks hidden underneath a thin, black hoodie. he’s shaking, like a pomeranian in the presence of fireworks. his hand meets the left side of his chest, back pressed up against the grey colored wall of your shared apartment as he slides down to sit on the floor. it was four in the morning, and manjiro was about to shit himself.

he gulps, eyes peering around for you, double checking that you were fast asleep before he makes a phone call. his fingers tapped the back of his iphone, impatiently waiting for the other caller to answer. though it was the crack of dawn, he still needed some moral support.

“mikey? fuck you callin’ for at this hour? haven’t heard from you in mo—”

“ken-chin. i’m proposing.”

a loud ‘flop’ rang through the receiver, accompanied by the bedsheets seemingly slipping underneath draken’s feet. it was a huge bomb to drop, especially when the duo has been separated for months on end. manjiro hears more shuffling, followed by a few curses. “you’re fucking lying. the one you’ve been one since—?”

“yeah. i’m crazy as hell. but i love them. head over heels. i’m a goddamn simp.”

“why the hell am i the first to know, man?”

“you’re m’best friend, even if i need to stay away from you. and, also… you’re not the first to know. i asked them already.”

“you WHAT? don’t fuckin’ tell me you did it some dumb way like over the pho— you did. you’re impulsive enough to do it like that, too.” regardless of how long it’s been, draken still knows and understands manjiro like nothing ever happened.

“yeah… not romantic. but i can’t see myself with anyone else. i trust no one else. but i… am…”

“scared? man, you’re the head of a criminal organization. ‘course you’re scared. you don’t want the love of your life… to get hurt…” his voice trails off and manjiro’s heart tenses even more. the memories of the past still felt fresh. all the people they lost in tokyo manji… could never be replaced. not in a million years.

but the living must live.

“i love y/n. never felt like this before. i’d quit everything. but i would have to make sure they’re safe and whatever future we have together is secure. i know i promised takemichi that i’d protect everyone and that future he worked so hard to save… but what about mine?”

manjiro really did sacrifice everything for his friends. being the type of person who carries everyone else’s burdens takes a toll on his mental. he felt selfish for wanting to leave it all behind. but maybe being selfish was beneficial once in a while.

“listen—”

“do you think i’m stupid?”

“mikey. you’re not stupid,” draken sighs, shuffling again in place. “you just want to love someone and be loved in return. nothin’ stupid about that. what is stupid though, is you proposing over the damn phone.”

he’s not wrong. it was a spur of the moment decision that could drastically change his life forever. but with you, he doesn’t care. as long as you’re his, forever.

“how do you think i should do it?”

“well. i guess, tell me some sappy shit. how do you feel about them, and whatnot.”

“i don’t think i could ever imagine me with anyone else. a lot of people have tried to grab my attention but i only have eyes for y/n. sometimes when shit gets real hard…” manjiro takes a deep sigh, fingers threading through his hair, tilting back the hood to let it fall onto his back. “i think of y/n and i remember that even in this shit world, someone is here for me. someone cares about me. they make me feel like i’m not alone anymore.

i have dreams ‘bout us, y’know? me and y/n… kids running around. a little mikey clone. pissin’ them off because we want little flags on our meals. going to the park and letting kids be kids. maybe i’ll teach ‘em at a dojo like gramps did for me and my siblings. maybe i’ll teach ‘em about bikes—with your help, of course.”

draken laughs, letting his friend continue his little speech as he gets comfortable in bed again. don’t think i’ve ever seen mikey like this, ever, draken muses.

“man, we can own a whole zoo if we wanted. chifuyu could hook us up, in secret, of course. still have to protect everyone,” manjiro is grinning from ear to ear, head resting against the wall. “i wanna grow old with them. honestly, i didn’t think i’d make it to my twenties. more so, i didn’t want to live past twenty-something. but now… things are different. wanna be old and gray. see grandkids terrorize our children. die together.”

the tension in manjiro’s chest has faded away, only left with warmth that only you could bring him. his free hand reaches into his pocket to fumble with a small box, snapping it open to reveal the engagement ring his grandfather handed down to him.

he wasn’t the marrying type. but for you, he was.

“that all? you sound good like that, man. make an exception and let us come to the wedding.”

manjiro wants that more than anything. his friends, you... all safe. all happy. but again, the fear creeps up. he doesn’t know what to do with himself if any of you get hurt.

“... how do i tell y/n that?”

“you already have.” your voice makes him jump, knocking the velvet box out of his fingers and onto the hardwood floor. his face pales, followed by a huge lump forming at his throat when he sees your figure emerge from your shared bedroom.

“i-uh… i thought you were a-asleep.” manjiro mumbles, earning a huge laugh from draken on the other side. he hears him say something along the lines of ‘my cue to leave. good luck. send me an invite.’

“i was waiting for you.”

he’s sweating now, a small bead forming at the base of his neck. his phone is now at his side, the screen flashing from draken’s caller id to the lockscreen photo of you on your first date together, a few years back. your eyes zone into the box, though.

“i was going to do this… better. god, i fucked up, huh?”

you’re laughing now, rubbing your tired eyes before you join him near the wall, picking up the box. “what makes you think that, dummy?”

now he’s confused. you wanted him to ask when he was serious, but in his head, serious meant rose petals, candles, someone singing celine dion in the distance.

without a word, you slip the ring onto its appropriate finger, holding up to the small rays of sunlight that peaked through the window from the approaching sunrise. manjiro’s hands fly up to your face, holding his whole world in his hands. his eyes are shiny, on the brink of tears. you nudge your noses together, foreheads connecting tenderly. your hands hooked onto the hem of his hoodie, bringing his frame closer as you whisper a soft ‘yes.’

“yes?”

“yes, i’ll marry you.”

manjiro’s lips curl up into the silliest grin you’ve ever seen him sport, before he presses a soft kiss to your lips. now he’s kissing you quite desperately. as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real, that this isn’t a dream. you feel his words vibrate against your lips, “gonna make you so happy, i promise. i love you. i love you so, so much.”

“forevermore.”

“forever yours.”

#tokyo revengers x reader #mikey x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers imagines #mikey imagines #🌧 — cloudwrites.#bro i love mikey sm please

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honeymooneyy · 3 years

Text

my sirius

summary: sirius loses his memories due to a potion mishap and james fails to tell him that he’s been dating remus for two years

Sirius had never really been good at potions.

He wasn’t one to follow the directions, and that reflected in his potion-making skills. He liked to make changes to the recipe, despite his lack of skills to make executive decisions like that.

So when he had been brewing a particularly tricky potion with James - one that renders the drinker void of any memories for an hour, he probably shouldn’t have tweaked the recipe.

But as Sirius stared down at the murky green goop, he wished for some pizazz. So he took matters into his own hands. A funky potion like this should look a lot cooler, he decided. Granted, it probably wasn’t a good decision to add that mystery white powder in the back of the cupboard.

The second it touched the surface of his potion, it erupted out and onto Sirius. What happened next, was utter chaos.

Slughorn was screaming at James to scourgify the cauldron, which he did with a shaky wave of his wand. Remus and Peter were on the floor in a fit of laughter, much like the rest of the class - even Snape was smiling. And Sirius, well poor Sirius wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Or who he was.

He turned to the tan boy next to him, who’s dark eyes were locked on his, worry evident in them. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Sirius?”

Serious?

“What?” Was the only reply he could muster. What was happening? What was serious? Who was this boy, and why did he look so concerned?

“Did you, y’know, get any in your mouth?” The boy questioned, tilting his head a bit. His glasses reflected a bit when he did so, no longer allowed him to see his eyes.

“Who are you?”

James deflated, turning to the man who was quivering in the corner. “Professor?”

“It’s all fine,” The supposed Professor announced, holding his hands up. “I have a couple counteractive potions. James, son, what did he put in there?”

“Er, I’m not sure, I didn’t see.” The boy, James, turns back to their cauldron before reaching for a small bottle of white powder. “I think it was this.”

The Professor squints at the bottle before sighing. “I’m not entirely sure what that was. We could try all three of the counter acting potions? They don’t mess with one another, and I’m sure one of them will work. Alright, I think we’ve had enough of this, class dismissed early, James stay here with Sirius. Please clean up properly!”

The class began to put their materials away, whispering different cleaning spells as to not disturb the silence that had descended upon the class. Sirius assumed his name must be Sirius and James must not have been speaking of the emotion earlier. He stood at the small table with the dark cauldron, awkwardly shifting his weight as the Professor sifted through his drawers.

In the end, he pulled out three small vials and handed them to James who brought them to Sirius. He flashed him a bright grin. “Drink up!”

Sirius didn’t ask very many questions, though he felt as if he was bursting with them. He simply tilted his head back to swallow the liquids back, one after the other, cringing at the taste of the last one.

James and the Professor continued to stare at him and Sirius stared back.

“What’s my name?” The Professor questioned after a moment of silence.

“I don’t- I don’t know, sorry,” Sirius apologized, his ears burning as he shrunk under their inquisitive gazes.

James sighed but the Professor didn’t seem to put off. “No worries, Black. I’ll take a look at that powder and I should have an antidote whipped up soon enough. Besides, if too much didn’t go wrong with your potion, you should get your memories back within the hour. James, why don’t you take him down to the medical wing to wait?”

He must’ve messed up the potion because an hour later, he was still unknowing to who he was.

James had filled him in on where he was - Hogwarts - and who he was - Sirius Black - but hadn’t given him too much information. He had assured that he’d get his memories back soon enough so there was no point. But the outcome was starting to look pretty bleak and soon enough, the nice nurse lady was sending Sirius away with James seeing as nothing could be done.

“It’ll be fine, Sirius, Slughorn will get you back to normal soon enough. I reckon you’ll remember everything by tomorrow, no worries. And Remus and Peter will love this!” James seemed extremely enthusiastic, despite the fact that his best friend had no memories.

“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Sirius was barely keeping up with James’ quick pace as he tried to absorb the castle he seemed to be in.

“Losing your memories? Not to any of us, but I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet. We’re always getting into trouble. We’re kinda known for our pranks.”

James seemed pretty proud and Sirius smiled at the thought of pranks.

“Anyway, we’re in Gryffindor. There’s four houses, but I don’t think you need to know the others, right now. The password is Ficklepuffs, don’t forget that or else you can’t get in.”

Sirius nodded, mouthing the word and hoping he’ll be able to remember it.

“Okay, let’s not stay in the common room too long. Better if you don’t have to deal with all the questions. Let’s go to our dorm room. We share it with Remus and Peter.”

Sirius followed him up the stairs wordlessly, ignoring the stares from the others in the common room. James pushed a door open and Sirius stepped into the warm room, his eyes flitting around before finding a boy sitting on one of the four beds

The blonde one looked up at him before directing his gaze towards James. “Is he all fixed up yet?”

James grimaced a bit, “No, we’re waiting for Slughorn to make an antidote. Poppy told us to bring him up here and make him comfortable until the potions wears off or whenever Slughorn makes the antidote. Whichever happens first.”

Sirius just stood in the center of the room, unsure what exactly he was supposed to do. All four of the beds looked exactly the same, and though James had taken the bed next to the blonde boy’s bed, the other two seemed too similar. James must’ve noticed his discomfort because he nodded his head towards one of the beds before speaking to the other boy in hushed tones.

The bed was large with thick curtains around it, probably for privacy. The bed was made neatly and Sirius felt bad as he settled on top, wrinkling the sheets. On the bedside table was a book or two that seemed pretty untouched, and a dog toy?

“Hey, Sirius!” The blonde boy waved to get his attention. “I’m Peter.”

“Hi Peter.” Sirius waved back only for the other boys’ jaw to drop open as he shot James a look.

“He can talk?”

“Of course he can talk, you dolt. He lost his memories not his knowledge. I bet he can still do maths and stuff. He just doesn’t know how he learned it, I think.” James turned to Sirius with a thoughtful look. “What’s four plus four?”

“Eight,” Sirius replied immediately, much to his surprise.

“See! You know how you learned that? Who taught you?”

Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “No, not really.”

James gave Peter a knowing look. “See. James is always right, that’s why we don’t question James.”

“Oh quit it with the third person.” Peter rolled his eyes though his lips were quirked up a bit in a smile.

James continued to speak in third person and Sirius watched the banter with a small smile. Eventually Peter shoved James away, speaking of some essay he needed to finish, so James came over to bother him.

“I know you don’t really remember me, but we’ve been best mates since first year. That’s when we were elven.” James fills him in, perching on the edge of his bed.

“And now we’re...?”

“Seventeen. Er, well you are. Your birthday was about a month ago, November third. Remus and I are still sixteen.”

Sirius nods, soaking in this information. “And we’ve been dorm mates since then?”

“Yep! Actually, you live with me now. But don’t worry about that, you’ll get your memories back soon enough,” James reassured though Sirius didn’t fully believe him.

His thoughts were broken by the door slamming open as another boy stalked in. He was muttering angrily and when he saw the Peter, he turned toward him. “My blasted book was on the other side of the school! This is what I get for trying to study for Charms!”

Sirius just watched, mouth agape, because he had never seen someone this attractive. He knew he hasn’t seen very many people in the past hour, his only memories, but he’s sure no one else could compare. Though his side profile is all Sirius can see at the moment, he still marvels at his golden brown hair and the flutter of freckles splattering his face. His cheeks are flushed pink, probably from his journey to the other side of the school, and matched his lips that were moving rapidly as he complains.

And then he seems to realize that Sirius is there because he turns to him, and Sirius squirmed under the intensity of his amber eyes. “Did Slughorn’s antidote work?”

Sirius can barely manage a shake of his head.

This seems to upset the boy further because he groans and falls back onto his bed, hands dragging down his face. Sirius can’t help but follow his actions as his jumper hitches up to reveal a patch of pale skin. A jagged scar peaks out from under it, and though it’s faded to a silvery white, Sirius internally flinches at the thought of how it felt.

Though James was still on his bed, he couldn’t help but continue to sneak glances at Remus. Something about him, and his presence, seemed comforting. But he seemed in distress and Sirius wanted to offer that same comfort he found.

“If he’s Peter, you’re Remus, right?” Sirius can tell Remus is upset and maybe he just wanted to talk to his friend? While Sirius isn’t really Sirius, he can try. And then he stupidly introduces himself, “I’m Sirius.”

“I know,” Remus replies flatly, still stretched out on his bed. “And you’re the biggest idiot I know.”

Sirius cringes back, regretting the choice to open his mouth. He glances at James who just waves it off.

“He’s not mad, it’s just Remus.” James leans back as he stretches his leg out to prod Remus with a toe, then squealing when Remus grabbed said toe and yanked him so he almost slid off the bed. “Oi!”

Sirius waited for him to get situated again before leaning in to hiss, “You didn’t tell me I was gay! Or that Remus is so attractive! What the fuck, mate?”

To his surprise James just laughs, “Oh, right. Sorry, it’s not something I thought I would have to tell you, I dunno, I didn’t think about it. And what? I was supposed to introduce Remus as the hot one?”

“Yes,” Sirius replied, genuinely. “This is important information!”

“Right, sorry. But you don’t have to whisper, it’s not really a secret.”

Sirius narrows his eyes, “Being gay or thinking Remus is attractive?”

“Both. They go hand in hand, really, if you think about it.” James nods thoughtfully before smiling again reassuringly. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

“Right. So he knows I think he’s hot?”

“I would hope so.”

Sirius frowns at this, “You hope so? What, does everyone know?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Wait a minute, what exactly are we?” This time the question is directed to Remus who has been lying on his bed, quiet but no doubt listening in on their conversation.

Remus turns his head over to look at Sirius, his eyes flickering over his face before a smile is pulling at his lips as he says, “Friends. Since first year.”

“Yeah, yeah, everything since first year.” Sirius visibly deflates at this information. What was Sirius With Memories doing? How could he bear to be just friends with someone like that? And now he had gone asking dumb questions, no doubt a problem that will soon arise.

It took a mere couple of seconds before the problem rose.

James stood up, dusting off his pants in a big show before turning to Peter. “Let’s head down to dinner, yeah? I think it’s better if we leave Sirius back here, Remus, you’ll stay?”

Remus hummed a reply, now turning to lie on his stomach, burrowing his head into his arms. He looked so cuddly Sirius itched to wiggle into his embrace.

“Wait! I want to come, I want dinner, I’m hungry.” Sirius stood too but James waved him off.

“Nah, too many questions. We’ll bring you back some food, Remus too. And Poppy said to make him comfortable so Remus, I dunno, tuck him into bed or something.” James didn’t leave much time to argue, slipping out of the dorm door with Peter close behind him.

Sirius just stood there, awkwardly, now unsure what to do. He glanced at Remus who still had his head burrowed in his arms, and then at the door, considering just running after James and Peter. Why did he have to say something about Remus being attractive? Even if James was right and Remus already knew, it was so awkward!

“Are you going to change?” Remus asked, pulling Sirius out of his thoughts. His eyes flickered over Sirius’ figure before glancing back at him with a small smile. “You’re covered in that goop. I can clean off your bed, go get changed.”

Sirius assumed the trunk at the foot of his bed must have his clothes, and much to his luck, he was right. He just reached for some random pants and a shirt before spotting a fuzzy jumper in the corner. He grabbed it too.

Remus was muttering some sort of spell on the bed and the green patches were slowly disappearing. Throwing him one last glance, Sirius entered the bathroom and quickly changed out of his soiled clothes. Once he was clean, he grimaced at the state of his hair. Thankfully, it had been spared from the potion, for the most part, but was a tangly mess, no doubt from his nervous fiddling. He tried to rake his fingers through it but it didn’t do much so he just returned to the room.

Remus had cleaned his bed and was on his own now, fidgeting with a comb. When he spotted Sirius his eyes brightened and his smile grew a bit as he waved him over. “C’mere, I’ll fix your hair.”

Sirius ducked his head bashfully as he approached Remus’ bed before gingerly crawling onto it, sitting down in front of him. He was acutely aware of how close Remus was too him and butterflies erupted in his stomach. Sirius forced himself to sit perfectly still as nimble fingers began carding through his hair, working through the knots.

“Oh, Sirius, how did this even happen?” Remus murmured, his voice quiet enough that it made Sirius blush. This whole thing felt so intimate and it didn’t help that Remus kept brushing against his back as he fixed his hair.

“I dunno,” Sirius whispered back.

“S’okay, love, I think I can get the knots out.”

The nickname slipped out so naturally it sounded as if he said it every day, but it didn’t stop Sirius from freezing, his leg pausing in it’s bouncing. Remus must’ve noticed too because his fingers stilled in Sirius’ hair.

“Shit, I couldn’t even go fifteen minutes, could I?” He tutted, before continuing to work through his hair. “Sorry, Sirius. Your face when I walked in was too priceless, I couldn’t not have some fun with it. I loved your reaction to me saying we’re just friends.”

Sirius wasn’t completely sure what was happening, but he found his voice. “So we’re not friends?”

Remus snorted at this, “No. We’ve been dating since fourth year. Almost two years, now, I think.”

“Oh.”

Sirius’ head was whirling. He was dating Remus? And the others really didn’t bother saying anything about it? Again, this seemed like important information! Your name is Sirius Black, you’re gay, you have a hot boyfriend...the basics!

Remus laughed again and ran his comb through Sirius’ now tangle-free hair. “All done.”

Sirius turned around so he could face Remus who was now settled back down and was leaning against his headboard. “Thank you.”

“Look at you, so polite. If only Sirius could be like this every day.” Remus shook his head but his words held no venom. “Do you want me to braid it so it doesn’t get tangled again?”

Sirius didn’t really know what to say to him, seeing as they were boyfriends though he had no memory of this. So he just nodded mutely, turning back around so Remus could braid his hair. He worked in silence and Sirius greatly appreciated it.

When he was finished he patted Sirius’ shoulder and he turned around again. Remus was watching him with a warm smile and it encouraged him to voice his thoughts, “Do you think Slughorn will we be able to make an antidote?”

“For you memories? I’m sure he will. He’s pretty talented,” Remus assured, his hands reaching out to brush a couple loose strands out of Sirius’ face. “Don’t worry too much. We’ll work it out tomorrow.”

Sirius nods but he doesn’t feel very confident in the Professor’s abilities. “This is scary. I don’t know anything or anyone. It’s weird, though, I kind of still have emotions associated with people? So I feel things but I don’t know why.”

“I’m sure it’s terrifying. But you’re safe with us, I promise you trust us when you’re normal. And for the emotions? It’s probably like muscle memory but with feelings? Can you describe it? Like me for example?”

Heat crawls onto Sirius’ face and he dropped his gaze to his lap. “You’re warm. Like, my chest feels all warm on the inside. But also kind of swirly, I don’t know. It’s positive, I know that. I cared about you a lot, I think.”

“You did. I care about you a load too.” Remus reaches out to gently link their fingers together. “I was kind of scared about you never remembering me again, but I don’t think Dumbledore would let that happen. He’s the headmaster here.”

“I wish I could remember you. You seem worth remembering.”

Remus’ mouth fell open a bit at his words and then he was pulling Sirius into a tight hug, holding him against his chest. “That’s so cheesy but so sweet, oh my god, Sirius.”

Sirius laughed at this, but wrapped his own arms around Remus, laying his head onto Remus’ chest. The embrace felt so natural he couldn’t help but melt into it, sighing softly.

And that’s exactly when James and Peter burst through the door, holding plates of food. When James caught sight of them he exclaimed, “Remus! Get away from him! He doesn’t remember anything, poor Sirius! You’re a stranger! He’s a stranger!”

“He’s not a stranger,” Remus protested, continuing to hold Sirius, chin tucked over the top of his head. “He’s my Sirius.”

Sirius smiled into his sweater at his words. He quite liked the sound of that - my Sirius.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fluff #remus lupin #sirius black #remus lupin x sirius black #sirius black x remus lupin #wolfstar oneshot #wolfstar drabble #marauders #marauders era #hp #harry potter

318 notes · View notes

shealwaysreads · 3 years

Text

Revelation

drarry | E | 1.4k | kinktober, uniform kink, strip tease, leather gloves, lots of buttons, a whisper of boot worship, auror!Harry, unspeakable!Draco

Summary: Harry gets caught watching.

Read on Ao3

“What are you looking at?” Malfoy asked, cut-glass accent perfectly disdainful.

“Nothing.”

Malfoy’s lip twitched, almost a sneer, almost. “You’re watching me, Potter.”

“I’m not.”

He was. Harry had been watching him since they were both eleven, but that wasn’t what Malfoy meant. No. Harry was watching him now and he wasn’t even being subtle about it.

It was only the two of them in the changing room that the trainee Aurors and Unspeakables all shared, everyone else had left the building ages ago. It was late. Later than either of them should be here; later than they would be if they weren’t both working more than they should, if they weren’t both trying to prove themselves.

Harry had been in the duelling room, sparring with the automatons. Malfoy had been doing who-knew-what in who-knew-where. But they had both ended up here—in the sweat-scented changing rooms lined with lockers on both sides of the room. Harry was sitting on the uncomfortable wooden bench in the middle and Malfoy stood—defensive and as likely to admit it as a snake—against his locker.

Harry hadn’t meant to look, at first. It’s just that he was tired, bone-tired, and Malfoy was a curiosity now. Proven not-dangerous and maybe-decent by his wartime spying on behalf of the Order, but still sharp and unknown. Not-dangerous was an overstatement, perhaps. Malfoy had shown himself to be just as lethal as Voldemort had hoped for, only it was by hamstringing Fenrir in the middle of the battle rather than by felling Dumbledore during their sixth year.

The Unspeakables only took on talented witches and wizards with rare minds and a proclivity for deep thought and ambitious magic. But Harry wasn’t thinking about Malfoy’s mind. He was thinking about the fact that he had never seen Malfoy in less than perfectly neat clothes. Even in the midst of Fiendfyre and battle, Malfoy’s shirt had been buttoned up to the top, long sleeves covering his arms.

Unspeakable uniforms were even worse. They didn’t wear loose robes—like the Aurors, their uniforms had been streamlined after ‘incidents’ involving overly long sleeves and too much fabric—but tightly tailored black with so many buttons Harry couldn’t count them. Malfoy was covered from his neck to his toes; he even wore gloves, leather gloves.

Harry had started looking because Draco took his gloves off like it was some kind of personal ritual. He used the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to pinch the tip of each finger on the glove covering his left hand, until it was loose enough for him to slide off. The revelation of his hand—pale skin, slender fingers, perfectly manicured nails—had caught Harry’s attention. Then Malfoy did the same thing to his other hand.

It was like a present being unwrapped. Only the present was Malfoy.

That’s when Malfoy had opened his mouth and Harry thought that would be the end of it. Malfoy obviously knew Harry had been watching, and Harry’s denial had been more about keeping to form than any real protestation. Malfoy would pick up his gloves, snort derisively in Harry’s direction, and then bugger off home—wherever that was, these days.

Only Malfoy didn’t do any of that. He threw his gloves down on the bench next to Harry and with that quirk of his lip that said you are so far beneath me he brought his hands—his uncovered, unclothed hands—to the button glinting just under his chin. It slipped out of its hole. His fingers moved down to the next. Nimble and quick. The buttons were smaller than a knut, black and shiny, and Malfoy had only undone two of about a hundred but Harry’s chest felt like he’d just run up three flights of stairs.

Malfoy showed no signs of stopping.

The hollow of Malfoy’s throat, framed by the black collar of his uniform, was as startlingly pale as his hands. But more than that. This was the first time Harry had so much as seen this part of Malfoy.

Harry’s pulse thudded in his ears. He was just sitting, watching, but it felt like he’d just discovered something.

By the time Malfoy’s nipples—light pink, like the bit of the inside of his lip that Harry could see when he spoke—were revealed, Harry was hard. He didn’t bother trying to hide it. Malfoy had slowed down, made a show of each button sliding from it’s fastening, each inch of skin revealed.

Harry thought it might be the stark contrast of Malfoy’s black uniform against his fair skin that made Harry’s brain slow and slide like molasses. Or maybe it was the unexpected trail of dark blond hair that started on his sternum and trailed down, and down. Or maybe it was the silvery trace of scars on his skin. Or maybe it was Malfoy’s grey eyes, watching Harry as he watched Malfoy. A twin observation.

“Do you like to watch, Potter? Like to see, but not touch?”

“I—” Harry swallowed. He didn’t know the answer. He’d never done anything like this before. Never tangled himself, even accidentally, with someone as complicated as Malfoy. Malfoy who could make getting changed after work into something like a dance, something like a minefield.

“Of course.” Malfoy’s voice had dropped into something lower, softer. “You want to touch yourself. Go on then, do it.”

Harry stared. Malfoy unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves, and then there were pale wrists on show. Harry could see the tracery of blue veins there, and wondered if Malfoy’s pulse was racing as fast as his own.

“Come on, Potter, I’m showing you mine.”

Harry moved almost without thinking—he certainly didn’t pause to wonder what would happen if someone walked in—he undid his jeans and pulled himself out. But Malfoy interrupted him before he could do anything more than that.

“Wait a minute, I need your help.” Malfoy stepped forward, the top of his uniform unbuttoned all the way—the shirt hanging open and his navel level with Harry’s eyes—and placed the tip of his foot on the bench between Harry’s spread thighs. “Undo my boot for me, Potter.”

He was serious. Malfoy watched, waiting as though he had reserves of patience where Harry was concerned (contrary to all prior evidence). Harry looked down at where the shiny black leather of Draco’s boot sat, right in front of his own cock, still hard and standing proud of his open jeans.

Malfoy’s boots were laced halfway up his calf, and the knot was tight, but the leather was warm under Harry’s fingers and Malfoy’s skin was responsible for the warmth. Harry undid the laces quickly, and held onto the heel of the boot as Malfoy pulled his foot out, then set it on the bench beside him and pulled Malfoy’s sock off too. Malfoy’s bare foot was as pale and elegant as his hands, Harry wondered if he liked having his feet rubbed, and what it would feel like if Malfoy pressed the ball of his foot against Harry’s erection. Malfoy brought him back to reality—even better than his imagination, for once—by placing his other boot in the same position, and patiently waited once again for Harry to do his bit.

“Only seems right for you to help me, before you help yourself,” Malfoy murmured, his eyes on Harry’s cock.

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he stayed quiet—it had worked for him so far, and it worked again. Malfoy almost smiled, and his hands went to the waist of his trousers; there were buttons there, too. Swiftly undone, they revealed more of that dark blond hair—curling and neat—and then Malfoy’s cock. He was hard. Maybe he liked being watched as much as Harry liked watching.

Malfoy nudged Harry’s thigh with the toe of his boot, dangerously close to his balls. “Come on, take it off.”

Once again, Harry pulled off Malfoy’s boot, and then his sock. Malfoy put his foot back on the ground, widened his stance, and then stepped forward even closer—till his open trousers were almost close enough to touch Harry’s face.

“Actually, I think you should properly help me. Seeing as I’ve so kindly let you watch the show.”

Harry looked up, and Malfoy’s eyes were dark, his lips slightly parted. He was serious.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked.

“Do it, Potter.”

Read on Ao3

October 2nd & 3rd from this prompt list 🖤

Read the series here on Tumblr or here on Ao3

#drarry #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #drarry squad #drarry fanfiction #things to read #kinktober2021 #revelations #my writing #mine #hp #a sharp twist series

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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

Ch. 3

18+ MINORS DNI

Pairing: Shigaraki x Dabi (just this part), Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader (very brief and vague reference to Dabi x Hawks)

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: smut and feels, it's literally just smut, blow jobs, friends(?) with benefits, blow jobs, anal fingering, light degradation (both for shigs and reader), could maybe be interpreted as slight dubcon, dirty talk, slutty dabi, dabi is an asshole, so is tomura, reader has gender neutral pronouns, I'm keeping it fem cause Shigs hates women and calls them that

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which the boys share in some good ole roommate bonding activities and Tomura has a blow job induced epiphany.

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg (shoot me an ask if you want to be tagged and make sure to check my rules!)

Dabi’s mouth was wet and so fucking warm as he swallowed around Tomura’s dick.

“Oh fuck…” he groaned as Dabi hummed around his length and did that thing where he flicked the ball of his tongue ring over Tomura’s slit.

Bright blue eyes stared up through deceptively long lashes, smirking at the way Tomura drooled as he got his soul sucked out the tip of dick. The mattress underneath him creaked despite the negligible weight of both their bodies. Dabi settled on his stomach between Tomura’s pale thighs leaving fingerprint bruises in soft flesh.

They did this sometimes, though he wasn’t quite sure when exactly it started. Dabi had been his randomly assigned roommate freshman year and he grew so used to living with him that the two of them had just silently, yet mutually agreed not to fuck something up that wasn’t broken. They both berated each other for their strange and somewhat disgusting habits—Dabi would say that Tomura was a gross shut-in creep who needed a fucking shower and Tomura called Dabi out on his slutty pastimes and obsession with piercing the hell out of every available inch of skin.

And sometimes they sucked each other off.

It was overall not a terrible arrangement—Dabi got his fill of dick and Tomura could no longer be made fun of for being completely inexperienced. Plus, as much as he was loathe to admit, Dabi was really fucking good at oral. Like, demonically good. He’d been going down on Tomura for so long now too that he’d learned all the things that had him spilling onto that pierced tongue in minutes.

Tomura jerked from his thoughts when two, lube slicked fingers prodding at his ass.

“Dabi, what the fuck are you—” he protested, wiggling his scrawny hips up the bed and inadvertently letting his cock slip out of the inviting heat between his roommate’s lips.

He couldn’t see much other than the shaking mop of black hair and pale hands with chipped black nail polish digging into his legs, yanking him back.

“Shut up freak,” Dabi slurred, words slick with spit and Tomura’s precum. Dabi said it tasted like battery acid, but it never stopped him from guzzling it like he did with cheap whiskey and cigarettes on the weekends. “I know you like it.”

He did like it, but Tomura wasn’t about to contribute to the fucking evil grin Dabi was giving him as he circled the tight ring of muscle, slipping in a finger to the first knuckle.

Tomura’s head flopped back on the pillows as he bit back a low moan, “Fuck off.”

“If you say so,” Dabi shoved his finger in roughly, squeezing a second in behind it and letting Tomura bask in the burn of being stretched too quickly before ripping his hands away.

“No!” Tomura wailed pretty fucking shamelessly and grabbed the retreating wrist, placing Dabi’s tatted hand back on his dick that throbbed and leaked painfully.

“Dude, what’s gotten the fuck into you?” his roommate asked, smirking still, but pumping Tomura's cock loosely nonetheless. “Our walls are thin as hell, you know I can hear you jerkin' it in here every night, and now you’re practically begging for me to suck you off. Usually I gotta come to you.”

He was infuriatingly right again.

Tomura had indeed asked for him to do this, which was definitely out of character for him. Most of the time when they ended up in this position, it was because Dabi spent hours hounding him about it or just fucking dropped to his knees and whipped Tomura’s cock out in the middle of a movie night or snuck into his room while Tomura was gaming and swallowed him whole just to laugh at the way his online friends reacted to the noises.

He’s just been so pent up lately, and you insisting on fucking touching his arm or sitting on the floor between his feet at League meetings was really not helping it.

“I don’t know,” Tomura lied, both to Dabi and himself in the hopes that the head of black hair would just go back to bobbing on his dick like he so desperately needed it to.

“Bro, I have fucked with enough people to know when they’re wishing I was someone else,” Dabi scoffed and ran a blessedly hot tongue from base to tip and suckled softly at the blush pink head before pulling back with a wet pop. “So who is it?”

“I’m not fucking thinking about anyone,” Tomura hissed, fisting Dabi’s spiky, black locks and thrusting into his mouth till he felt the contractions of Dabi gagging around his length. “Usually you're jumping at the chance to get dick in your mouth, so why does it matter?”

Dabi pulled back, wiping the silvery string of spit leaking past his lips away and scowling as his fingers ghosted over Tomura’s balls and sank back into his pliant ass.

“Seriously creep, I’m five seconds away from ghosting and you can fuck your hand like the sad little bitch you are. So tell me their name or I’m walking right now.”

Tomura huffed as he felt Dabi’s long, rough fingers pulled from him again and the heat of his mouth growing farther away.

“Ugh fine, it’s that bitch I’ve been working on the English thing with.”

Dabi made a face like his brain was buffering.

“Seriously?” he asked, mouth gaping in a way that had Tomura even more furious his dick wasn’t buried in it.

“Yes!” he shouted and grabbed Dabi’s cheeks in both hands, sinking past his waiting lips and practically purring when he felt them close around the base as his long tongue massaged the shaft. “Oh god yes…”

Dabi rolled his eyes, managing to look smug even with a cock stretching his lips taught against the piercings. He used to try and tease Tomura about how small his dick was, but it was hard to believe him. Especially with how he choked sometimes when Tomura got rough with him despite his boasts of lacking a gag reflex. Not to mention how he looked now, jaw probably aching with the stretch and loving every second of it.

Tomura lazily bucked his hips up and whined high when the fingers in his ass curled and thrust against that fucking spot he hadn’t known was there until Dabi found it for him.

The pleased sound he made tapered off into a growl though, when his roommate with questionable benefits pulled off again to run his slutty fucking mouth.

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, kitten licking at Tomura’s cock and running the ball of his piercing through the slit again. Tomura gulped when he pulled it back into his mouth to swallow the bead of precum he’d collected. “I’ve seen your fucking paramour around before, pretty serious about school though. And kinda out of your league too, not gonna lie. So, what would you do if your cute little partner was here instead?”

Tomura bristled at the insult but couldn’t keep his pissed off look when Dabi went back to sucking his cock like a pro and curling those fucking fingers against his prostate. When he did speak, he blushed hard at the way his voice cracked and sounded like he was crying.

“I don’t fucking—holy shit—know,” he gasped and Dabi hummed both to egg him on and to get a whole new wave of precum gushing out of Tomura’s dick.

“C’mon man,” Dabi groaned, and Tomura distinctly heard the sound of a pants zipper and felt Dabi’s hips canting against the sheets.

That fucking masochistic whore. He would get off to Tomura dirty talking about someone else while he sucked his dick.

He considered stopping the whole thing right there, but then Dabi was sinking a third finger into his ass and thrusting hard while he hallowed his cheeks around Tomura’s cock and sucked—

“Tits!” Tomura cried and covered his burning, red cheeks with his hands. “I want to put my fucking face in them and taste them in my mouth. Sometimes I can see the outline of their nipples when we’re working and the air conditioning comes on and I want to suck on them so fucking bad I can’t think about anything else the whole night.”

Once he got started, Tomura found the words just spilled from him like a dam had burst. Dabi, the depraved bastard, groaned loud and ground his pierced dick harder against the mattress as he continued to deepthroat Tomura’s cock and fuck his ass at that perfect angle.

“Sometimes when they drag me to their stupid club I lose the rounds cause I—oh god, oh fuck—just imagine them in my lap, sitting on my cock and fucking writhing and squeezing me while we face off. Such a fucking—Dabi more!—stereotypical try-hard, bitch but I want to be inside them so fucking bad,” he felt actual tears stinging the raw corners of his eyes when Dabi sped up on his dick.

Tomura scrapped his nails against Dabi’s scalp, holding on for dear life as his breathing became even more ragged than usual. His friend’s cruelty streak reared its ugly head as Dabi sensed the tensing of Tomura’s balls and the clench of his tight ass and slowed down a fraction, keeping him teetering on the edge of an explosively pleasurable release.

“Fucking asshole,” he growled, but didn’t dare try to fuck Dabi’s face lest he make good on his threat to leave Tomura high and dry. “I just—shit, ah, don’t stop—they talk to me sometimes and I just wanna suck their tongue into my mouth so they shut up and I need to hear them fucking falling apart or using that stupid, stuck up teacher voice on me and fucking my ass—Dabi Fuck—is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dabi, because he got off on being a little shit, gave him one last delicious swallow before pulling back and fisting Tomura’s sopping wet cock. The fingers had stopped thrusting and were now pressed hard against his prostate, sending shocks through his body and making him twitch violently as his blood rushed with endorphins. He never stopped grinding his own dick against Tomura’s cotton sheets the whole time.

“You got it bad huh, don’t ya creep,” he mused, letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips and keep his palm slick. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about fucking anything, much less another actual person.”

“No I fucking don’t, “ Tomura writhed against the pillows, giving in to the undeniable urge to simultaneously fuck up into Dabi’s hand and ride his fingers.

“Who knew you were such a desperate whore, falling for the first person to show you a modicum of attention,” Dabi jeered and squeezed the tip of his dick hard, listening to Tomura let out a choked sob. “I’m actually kinda proud of you, bro. My little incel baby’s growing up.”

Dabi cooed at Tomura, sinking sharp teeth deep into the meat of his thigh and sucking a bruise into the flesh.

“You’re the one—nghh—getting off on it,” Tomura clapped back but didn’t bother denying it again.

There was a sense of dread growing in his gut alongside the mounting pleasure of his orgasm that Dabi was currently holding hostage. Dabi may have had a dickish personality just as massive as the actual dick that was currently painting his comforter in stains, but he knew Tomura.

And he did, admittedly have much more experience with these types of things.

“Fuck yeah I am,” Dabi grunted. “Last time I let you return the favor you bit my fucking cock. I gotta get off somehow.”

“Don’t say rude shit to me and I won’t bite you.”

“Watch it, Tomura,” Dabi huffed and nipped at his thigh again. “You should be thanking me for my services.”

“Not if you’re gonna keep running your mouth instead of sucking me off,” he tried to sound intimidating but he was well and truly wrecked and couldn’t find the energy to give his words an edge.

“You should ask them out,” Dabi continued, ignoring the failed attempts at banter. “Bring ‘em over or some shit. Maybe then if I lock down that blonde piece of ass I’ve been talking to, we’ll both have much more interesting things to go down on.”

“Your whore ass is the one always jumping me, don’t act like it’s a fucking chore,” Tomura groaned as Dabi started licking at his cock again, pressing sloppy, half kisses on the tip as he jerked it in his fist.

“Not my fault I get bored sometimes,” he replied and closed his eyes as Tomura clenched particularly hard around Dabi’s relentless fingers. “But seriously, you should go for it. I’d kill to find out if you’re just as bad at eating pussy as you are sucking dick.”

“Fuck y—” Tomura started to say when Dabi reared up till they were chest to chest and their foreheads knocked together.

“I fucking will if you don’t shut up, creep, and I think it’d be so much better if you handed your fucking virginity to that pretty little partner bitch instead,” he said and stunned Tomura into silence when he licked into his mouth.

Dabi had kissed him before, but Tomura could count the number of occasions on one hand and almost all had been when his punk ass roommate was drunk as hell and in his feels about some tortured past. But Dabi’s eyes were bright and lucid now, blinking down at Tomura as he dragged their tongues together, flooding his mouth with the faint taste of cigarettes and jizz.

Their cocks brushed together too, the stimulation making Tomura whine into Dabi’s lips, who dropped a merciful hand down, taking them both in his fist and began pumping.

He didn’t stop as he pulled back, grinning down at Tomura like a fucking maniac—all shitty tattoos and silver piercings. The little barbels that stuck through Dabi’s nipples brushed against his own and made him moan at the cool metal and hot skin on his sensitive chest. Tomura was fucking sensitive everywhere, as Dabi had helped him discover, probably from a lifetime of being touched more by cheap sweatshirts than human hands.

“Now,” Dabi grunted as he thrust loosely against Tomura’s cock and his own fist before pulling away to settle back between his legs. “Shut up and cum down my throat—gotta give your virgin ass a refresher on mind shattering orgasms, so you know if that bitch is any good or not.”

Tomura’s tongue was halfway around a witty comeback when Dabi swallowed him to the hilt once again and started working his ass even harder. He really fucked hoped the neighbors were not home to hear him get his shit rocked at 2pm on a fucking Tuesday, cause Dabi might have been flunking out of his classes but he’d get a goddamn A plus for sucking dick.

The hand on his thigh, spreading him open, migrated to his hip so that Tomura could snap his legs shut hard around Dabi’s ring littered ears as he guided Tomura to grind down on his hand. The pressure in his gut built up exponentially higher now that Dabi wasn’t trying to hold him on the edge of climax. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to acquiesce to Dabi’s request, as he tightened up in a full body clench before gripping Dabi’s hair and spilling rope after rope of hot, sticky release straight onto his roommate’s tongue.

Dabi, the fucking slut, made a show of swallowing every drop that spilled from Tomura’s abused cock, milking his prostate the whole time and only letting Tomura slip from his mouth when he was soft and finally spent.

The fingers in his ass remained though, still for the most part and slowly dipping in and out every so often. Tomura whimpered and clenched but was somewhat thankful for the remaining feeling of fullness.

“So, did you really mean all that?” Dabi asked with his signature smirk. “You really want your group project partner to cockwarm you and fuck your tight little ass?”

“Fuck off,” Tomura scowled and smacked Dabi hard across the face with an errant pillow.

Dabi yanked it from his grasp and tossed his ammunition onto the floor. “Hey, it’s not actually too bad in here,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis which elicited an embarrassingly high gasp from Tomura, “give ‘em my number if you need a reference for asshole tightness.”

“Get the fuck out of my ass and my room,” Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back as it shook with laughter that lacked it’s usual jeering bite.

“What? Saving the cuddles for your new S/O?” he shot back, nuzzling his cum and spit covered face into Tomura’s neck.

With their chests pressed together, Tomura could feel the cooling, sticky remnants of Dabi’s own release coating his stomach. He squirmed against the sensation and pushed at the offending chest until his friend flopped down onto the scant space left between the mattress and the wall.

“Ew,” Tomura ran a finger through the mess Dabi had left smeared on him. “I’m taking a fucking shower.”

“God, finally!” Dabi exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and producing a cigarette from god knows where. He let the paper rest between his lips unlit. “I should have thought about getting you fucked out on the reg earlier, creep, if it’ll stop you smelling like ass.”

Tomura launched the discarded pillow which hit it’s mark with a dull thump.

“You better be fucking gone when I get back,” he hissed and stumbled naked, on shaking legs into the hall and to their shared bathroom.

Dabi’s cackling followed him until the door shut and the lock clicked behind him.

Tomura turned the water on quickly, letting steam cloud the mirror before he jumped under the spray. The only products on the shelves were Dabi’s for the most part with the exception of a store brand bar of soap and some 3 in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.

Tomura knew he should clean himself more often, but his skin was so fucking raw all the time it hurt to do, so he mostly avoided it unless the smell got really unbearable—or Dabi was painting him in jizz whenever the opportunity presented itself.

He tried to get in and out as quickly as possible so he didn’t have the opportunity to think too hard about the admission his fuck buddy roommate had pulled from him mid blow job. Because if he did—in his post nut, clingy state—he’d most certainly imagine you were with him, tits pressed against his back and your soft, insistent tongue dipping past his lips, tasting like fruit gum and expensive cafe drinks instead of nicotine and cum.

And he really couldn’t handle that. Cause Dabi was right, he had something fucking bad for you and the thought of another rejection loomed large.

When he did towel himself off and shuffle, still naked back into his bedroom Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Tomura’s phone however, was left sitting right next to the jizz stain on his sheets. He frowned at the open balcony door where Dabi was no doubt smoking and snatched the device before tumbling onto the pillows.

He powered it on and scrolled through his notifs before one caught his eyes. You and Dabi were really the only people that ever texted him, but the contact name above this one had changed.

bitch (endearing)

— hey, starting an impromptu round of Smash soon if you’re interested <3

The stupid text heart made his chest throb and he stared at Dabi’s new nickname for you, not even noticing the fucking grin that tugged at his cheeks.

He bit his lip to stop the twitching when it pulled too hard at the chapped skin and scrambled for his clothes before shooting a quick confirmation text back. Tomura opted for his only pair of black jeans this time instead of sweats and the least stained sweatshirt he owned.

Dabi peaked around the corner when he heard the clink of Tomura’s keys. The bastard was smoking in just a pair of underwear that left half his ass on display for all the whole fucking street. He smirked, quirking his eyebrows and bringing his hands up to slip his index finger through the circle he made on the other hand in a silent, vulgar gesture.

“Screw off,” Tomura shouted over his shoulder and made for the door.

“Wrap it before you tap it, bro!” Dabi called after him, cut off by the subsequent slamming.

Tomura took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his phone and tucking the hood over his damp hair, this time to hide the growing smile playing at his lips.

#tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura x reader #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x dabi #shigaraki x dabi #shigadabi #bee.writes

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coeurdastronaute · 3 years

Text

The Cover Story, Ch. 1

Greetings! This is a preview of my first chapter that I’m posting exclusively on my patreon. If you like it, I hope you follow along as I work on it there. I appreciate your time and thoughts and would love to hear what you think.

Without further ado, or perhaps much ado about thing...

Lucy Madani was not going to cry.

That was a lie. She might cry. She wanted to cry. She was known to cry very easily, but not without reason, and there certainly were more than enough reasons already for her to tear up as she stood on the corner and felt a wave of water from a bus going through a puddle splash her legs and skirt. It was only just after eight in the morning, and she was ready to crawl back into bed, admit defeat graciously, and sleep straight through to tomorrow.

“I can’t talk right now, Baba,” Lucy muttered into her phone as she resumed her quick walk down the street.

“You are mad, and we need to talk.”

“Let me rephrase it. I don’t want to and I also can’t. I’m going to be late for my meeting.”

“Your big interview pitch. I wanted to wish you good luck, but you stormed off.”

“Yes, that is what one tends to do when their father informs them that he is getting engaged,” she fumed, her anger coming over her once again at the thought as she darted across the street, waving her hand at the honking car.

She was an adult, she tried to remind herself. A full, grown adult. An adult-adult who barely had a stable job, had heaps of student loans, and still lived with her widowed father. She didn’t throw tantrums and she wasn’t going to cry about any of it. Today was too important for that, and she was going to nail the pitch and finally move on from puff pieces for teen magazines. She was going to make the jump to serious journalist. She was going to be requested, by name.

Today she was not going to cry.

At least not on purpose.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

Luckily, he knew enough to sound sorry, though it wasn’t enough of a victory for her, only fueling the prickling behind her eyes.

“No, I’m going over Laila’s. I’ll just stay there. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with her.”

“Lucy joon, please talk to me. I know you’re mad-- you have your mother’s temper, but I think we should talk about this.”

“I’m going into my meeting. We’ll talk sometime this week,” she offered, shaking her head. “Just… I have to go.”

She didn’t wait for much of a reply because she knew he was playing low, dragging her mother into it. It only made it worse. Shoes sloshing against the tile of the lobby, she made her way to the elevator and decided firmly, once again, that she was not going to cry.

Her phone chimed with a handful of well wishes and good luck’s from the group chat and she thanked them quickly before trying to find the meeting information from her calendar, head down and lost in her own world as she stepped into the elevator and right into a stranger.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy hurried, looking forward and then following the chest and then long pale neck up a few more inches to an amused smirk and eyes hidden by wayfarer sunglasses.

“Not a problem. I was in the way.”

The stranger ran her hand through a mop of curly copper hair atop her head, faded on the sides and shaggy on top, decidedly better put together than any tiktok boy’s. Her small smile pulled at bow-shaped lips and left dimples on both cheeks, and there were too many freckles to even begin counting. Lucy gulped before moving to the side and slinking to the back corner.

Of course she would get into an elevator with the hottest woman she’d ever seen. Of course she would nearly plow her over in her hurry. Of course she would be sweet and smile like that and have an adorably shaped chin and face. Of course Lucy would do all of that while looking like something the cat dragged in after a bad night.

But luck wasn’t with her today, and she was unable to hide too long, as no one else got on behind her and she heaved the heaviest sigh before looking down at her ruined stockings, spattered with mud and whatever else was festering in that puddle. Her skirt was soaked still and dripping and she was beginning to really feel it sinking into her skin. Phone clutched tightly in her hand, she felt the weight of it all and didn’t know what to do with it.

From under her brow she looked up to study the back of the stranger, their long legs and black jeans, their primly tucked in black t-shirt that stretched slightly across her shoulders, and the softest looking hair in the most beautiful shade of red she’d ever seen.

The elevator ascended approximately three floors before she started crying. Alligator tears slipped down her cheeks before she could do anything to stop them. And then the stranger cleared their throat and quietly turned around to verify what was happening, was actually happening, only making it worse.

But she didn’t say anything, just turned back around, and with the smallest movement stretched an arm forward to hold the elevator between floors, and quickly, Lucy turned herself around and faced the wall. She took a few steadying breaths and wiped her cheeks, mentally preparing to leave everything else behind and focus on the moment-- when she would be selling herself to one of the largest companies of all time to be the writer of the profile of their Director of Creative Design before they went public. She’d prepared. She was ready. Nothing else mattered and she was a goddamn adult.

The stranger, the kind, hot stranger pushed her sunglasses up into the messy curly hair and offered a smaller smile than before, the communal ‘it’ll be okay’ without saying anything. Lucy didn’t register much of it, just stared at the grey-green of her eyes, forgetting all else, and especially that she was a goddamn adult who desperately needed a payday to move out of her father’s place and away from whoever was moving into her mother’s side of the bed.

“I’m not usually,” she began, but bit her tongue because she didn’t want to lie. She was usually like this, just occasionally less muddy. “Thank you.”

“We can stay a few more minutes if you’d like. I don’t really want to go to work today.”

For the first time all day, Lucy smiled genuinely and felt lighter. It was that quick and that easy.

“It’s okay. I’m ready.”

A curt nod led to a stretch again and the elevator started once more. Lucy leaned across and pressed the button for her floor, catching a whiff of a distinctly woodsy smell, like sandalwood perhaps? There was a hit of lavender? Maybe cedar? It was wonderful. She wanted to breathe in more of it, but retreated before she was the girl who cried and sniffed people in the elevator.

The silence was oddly comfortable for a few more seconds until it dinged and she took the step out. The stranger politely held the door and offered one final smile, complete with just one dimple this time.

“Good luck,” she winked before pulling back, hands clasped loosely in front of her before the doors closed forever.��

It couldn’t get better than that, Lucy decided, staring at the elevator doors and steadying herself once again. But she was hoping it couldn’t get worse either.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Quinn Sullivan wanted to die.

Not really die, but she might have taken a good coma. Just for like a week maybe. Or six months. Something long enough to beat out this hangover she was sporting, courtesy of her very thoughtful best friend, and if she was lucky, long enough to survive the offering and release of the new game. Maybe a year-long coma? Was that too much to ask for, honestly? Maybe the universe could toss her a bone, just this once, especially after the previous year of her life.

But in lieu of a swift and merciful death and/or coma, she was just going to have to survive the giant hangover that was currently attacking her body. All she needed was a quiet day and an extra large piece of leftover pizza she was certain was waiting in the staff fridge somewhere. Maybe some birthday cake--

And then a five-five wrecking ball of a human barreled into her chest.

The rest of her ride up, Quinn thought about the weird trip it’d been, and if she should have done something different. And then she beat herself up for winking. Who winked? Why did she wink? She’d never done it before. But she earned a smile from a cute girl, and there was a tiny flutter at the base of her rib cage, one she hadn’t noticed in a long, long time. She pressed her fingertips there for the rest of the ride to her floor.

With a groan, she put her sunglasses back on as the elevator dinged to her floor and took a deep breath to prepare for her day, not allowing her brain to trace out an entire life with the cute, crying stranger where they bought peaches at the farmer’s market on Saturday’s and danced in the kitchen. Romance was dead and dreaming was forbidden.

“Aspirin is already on your desk,” Jenny greeted her cheerfully. “With an egg sandwich and some fruit.”

“No leftover pizza?” Quinn didn’t pout, but she might have for that.

“Trust me, this will fix you up much better. I went to a state school, remember, MIT?”

“We partied…” Quinn trailed off as she pushed open the door to her office.

She hadn’t partied, but she was certain people had to have partied. It was college, and though it was many moons ago, she certainly couldn’t remember hangovers feeling like this. Maybe this is what almost thirty felt like. That thought didn’t help with the headache.

“All-night coding sessions don’t count. Eat the food. I’ll hold the wolves at bay as long as I can, but Chris and the Exlust team are adamant you have the meeting today to resolve story issues.”

Quinn tossed back the aspirin before she even sat down. Maybe Jenny was her universal compensation. The shades were already drawn so her normally bright office was much more tolerable. Even the eggs didn’t make her stomach swirl, and she was grateful her assistant learned something useful while studying biomedical engineering..

“I just need like an hour to work something out. I had an idea last night--”

“Before or after the sangria?”

“During. Definitely during, but still. I just need to work through it and then they can tear me to shreds. Can you add to my calendar a warning to never drink again?”

Quinn was fairly certain she’d texted her assistant that at some point in the morning. Probably before the shower, but after the first cup of coffee.

“Gladly,” Jenny smiled softly. “You doing okay? It’s been a while since you tied one on like this.”

“I’m fine. Just celebrating with Darcy. No more sad drinking, I believe was the rule you came up with and I follow all of your rules.”

With a roll of the eyes, files were placed on her desk and her assistant retreated to the ringing phones, which when the door was held open, were actual torture devices to Quinn’s brain.

“Sadie wants your afternoon free. I think it’s another reporter.”

“She’s relentless.”

“Maybe you’re impossible?”

“It’s genetic then,” Quinn sighed, munching on a grape and tugging open a notebook. “One hour, please?”

“I got you, boss.”

“Thanks.”

Never quite sure how Jenny did it, Quinn chose not to ask any questions. But when she asked for an hour, she got it. And despite the headache and laziness in her muscles, the food and aspirin did help so that by the end of her allotted time, she felt like she had captured the breakthrough that appeared to her the night before.

Before she could admire her work though, her team filed in and she was prepared to start her day, finally, even with the nagging idea of a reporter nipping at her thoughts through it all.

Somewhere between her breakfast and lunch, Quinn felt better. She fired off a few texts to see how Darcy was handling it and received only pictures of a half obscured but obviously still in bed face and chuckled to herself. It was a slower day, and she wasn’t about to waste it with a hangover. She should give Jenny a raise, she decided, because the woman could cure hangovers. Maybe submit her for the Nobel for Science.

“Sadie is here,” her assistant buzzed and Quinn lost all forms of motivation.

Her head hit her desk dramatically as the door opened and her sister walked in. Slightly shorter, but older by two years, Sadie was nearly everything Quinn could never manage to be despite her best intentions. She had the MBA from Harvard and the doting husband that came with it, a cute brownstone near White Hill and the park, and her first baby on the way. But even past her resume, Sadie Sullivan-Hawkins was personable and charismatic. She was adored and shrewd, capable of disarming anyone and eviscerating the others. It all came so easy to her, to have people around, to talk and be listened to, to be loved. She was a shark in business, and at the same time warm and put people at ease.

Quinn could barely tie her shoes and Sadie was running a marathon in life.

“Want to talk about it?” Sadie smiled as she took the seat across from Quinn’s desk.

“About what?”

“Why you’re getting drunk with Darcy on a Tuesday?”

“She got the job at Taylor and Vine. We were celebrating.”

“So not about Chloe’s announcement in the Times?”

Quinn played dumb, typing gibberish into her phone because she didn’t want to look at her sister’s kind and caring face. If she looked, then she’d have more feelings, and for the life of her, she just wanted the incessant tinnitus of the break up to disappear completely.

“Nope, I caught that this morning though, so I was in the right physical and mental place to really wallow. I don’t care about her.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“I have these notes to get done for the Shadow Operation team before our meeting with design. I’m fine. My ex can marry whoever she wants-- God knows she didn’t want to marry me. Good luck to the next sap.”

This made her sister chuckle, and Quinn smiled quietly to herself. There was still a bitterness there that she couldn’t get rid of. It was masking potentially the worst hurt imaginable. She preferred the bite of the bitter though. Easier to navigate.

“I have someone I want you to meet with.”

“Oh, fuck off Sadie,” Quinn moaned, knowing full well what was about to happen. “I’m not talking to anyone. You’re the face of this outfit. That’s what you told me.”

“You’ve run off three other reporters. Our public offering is going to underperform if there is no faith in the heart of our company,” she explained, sitting up a little straighter. “And that’s you. I might crunch the numbers and keep the lights on, but you are what people are buying.”

“Then you tell them about me. I don’t even have to be there.”

“If only that were true, my job would be a lot easier.”

At a stalemate, the sisters stared at each other for a few moments before Sadie broke, making a face as she smiled towards her lap, running her hand over the smallest bump barely showing. Quinn shook her head and looked away. Anywhere else was better than the damn disapproving look leveled at her now.

“I don’t know what to say,” Quinn finally muttered. “I don’t want to-- I can’t--”

“Chloe was an idiot. She broke your heart. Now, you barely exist, but I know that you’re still you. And we need this.”

“I can’t. I really can’t. I wish you’d get it.”

It hurt too much all over again. In a weird way, Quinn missed the feeling of the hangover because at least that was a useful ache. The dull throbbing in her chest and bones just felt hollow and haunting.

“We have a meeting with her. I’ve already walked her through the contracts and final edits, as well as shown her around. Please just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. She’s good. I’ve read a few of her pieces and Donna recommended her to me.”

Sadie had their mother’s eyes. It drove Quinn crazy, that she looked like she didn’t belong in her own family. It also meant it felt like her mom was staring at her and reminding her to do her chores. She rubbed the back of her neck, letting her head lull to the side.

“I’ll… I’ll try.”

“Yes! I knew it. Thank you. Seriously, Q. It’s going to be great. This is going to--”

“I said I’ll try. I didn’t say I’d do it.”

“It’ll be great,” Sadie ignored the warning, hopping up from her chair and moving to the door to beckon the reporter in. “Come in and meet the genius of the whole outfit.”

Quinn rubbed her face with her hands, digging her fingers into the corners of her eyes under her glasses before steadying herself. She could do it for her sister, she reminded herself, and that stupid niece or nephew she was incubating.

Maybe it would be as simple as ripping off a band-aid. Maybe she could just let a stranger rifle through her entire life and being, except that she wasn’t sure there was anything there anymore. Everything felt like she was going through the motions, and it was terrifying to Quinn to let someone see that she was barely stitched together. How could she explain that there was nothing behind door number one? Let alone number two or number three.

“Quinn, this is Lucy Madani. She’s a freelancer hired by New York Magazine. She did a great piece on the Attorney General last month and her article on the director who went on to win Cannes went viral.”

There was still mud on her skirt, but her stockings had been disbanded, gone forever, but it was unmistakable the stranger from the elevator standing in her office. That felt like an entire lifetime ago, and yet Quinn tried to swallow.

“You have longer hair, in the pictures I found of you online,” Lucy offered, overcoming her surprise much quicker. She stuck out her hand over Quinn’s desk and waited for her to shake it.

She was a reporter. A reporter who cried in the elevator. A reporter Quinn had, if she were being honest, checked out. But foremost, she was a reporter. She wanted to dive into the deepest parts of Quinn’s brain for profit, mutual benefit and all. It sounded dreadful.

The universe did not owe her anything, Quinn remembered, but the perpetual mocking was getting a little over the top.

“Quinn Sullivan,” she shook the hand presented and tried to breathe. Lucy’s hand was warm and felt soft. She wasn’t sure how to let go. “How’s it going?”

Fuck! Her mind blared as she dropped the reporter’s hand and mentally beat herself to a pulp. Who talked like that? And still, she could not answer, winked?

“It’s been a day,” she smiled, nodding to herself as she accepted the seat Quinn offered. “Your sister has sung your praises all morning though. I feel like I could write about your without even meeting you.”

“Great. Let’s do that.”

Sadie laughed but gave Quinn a stern look.

“I’m going to go grab you some passes and copies of the contracts,” Sadie smiled graciously at Lucy before turning to her sister. “Listen to her pitch.”

“Seems it’s been decided,” she muttered to herself before plastering on a smile.

“Don’t have too much fun. I’ll be right back.”

And with that she truly was gone, and Quinn was left in her office with the reporter who had pretty eyes. They felt like syrup-- warm and deep brown, gooey and sticky. Her face was longer, her nose thin and long, her lips full and bitten-- and Quinn snapped herself out of her perusal and felt her chest warm too much. No, the universe didn’t owe her anything, and the punishment for thinking it did was sitting across from her in a muddy skirt and gentle smile.

For just a moment, Quinn held her breath and willed a coma..

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liquid-luck-00 · 4 years

Text

Space Between 1

Ao3 *** Part 2

@maribatmarch-2k21 Day 2: First Time

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time Marinette died she was six. She had been walking along the sieve with her papa when she was pushed and fell into the river. She doesn't remember how long it was until the doctors started her heart again after having drowned. Her parents told her it was the scariest 10 minutes of their lives but she doesn't remember that.

What she remembers is the garden. A ring of flowers circled the garden, a small pond in the center surrounded by lush soft grass. A willow tree with two swings hang from its branches on one side of the pond. On the other a long bench with a podium next to it. She went over and on the podium were two stone tablets, one was blank. The other had Marinette written in elegant script, a single line was the only thing on the tablet with her name.

That was when she blinked and her eyes fluttered open.

"She's back. We got her back." she heard but it seemed like she had cotton in her ears.

---

The next time she was in the garden she was now 14. It was during Desperada that she died again, and again, and again. The kept being time missing but that was thanks to the snake miraculous. At one point she just stood or sat at the podium when she would arrive. At roughly every 2,000 deaths she would remember them all. When her number hit 34,559 and the other stayed blank she was ready to scream.

She has now died 34,559 times and 34,558 of those times were because of Adrien. The count had changed from tallies to just a number at some point.

She was going to say something when she appeared in front of Adrien for the up tenth time but he beat her.

"Sass, scales rest." The poor Kwamii nearly fell from the air in pure exhaustion. "It's been 4 months."

She cut him off. "I know?”

"Wait!!! How do you know."

"34, 558 times you rewound." Both Adrien and Sass stared at her.

"You are a Gray-Soul.” Sass exclaimed, “When did you get the memories."

"Around every 2,000 and about 17 times so I don't remember the last 500 of them." Adrien seemed to sigh in relief.

"Give it a week," Sass spoke, Adrien paled but that was a problem for future her.

She nodded. "Okay, but we need to deal with Desperada."

With Luka's help they finally were able to defeat Desperada. Okay sure she was bitter toward Chat during that fight, he hadn’t shown up earlier, but it was understandable. Okay she did die again with Luka but that was only once. She begrudgingly fist bumped them both in the end, but she was tired.

"M' lady are you alright?"

"Huh. Ya, Ya I'm good." she waved him off and left soon after.

A week later unfortunately, during yet another attack did her memories return.

"LB are you okay!" Chat asked her. Her gaze became steely and that akuma didn't stand a chance.

"Meet me at the tower in 15 minutes." Mari's voice was cold and serious. She gritted out attempting to process before swinging away.

"So Kitty anything you want to confess to or should I just tell you what I remember."

"Um... I'm.. I'm sorry," he was crestfallen.

"I'm not mad at you Adrien." she consoled. "It was a shock and I'm processing."

"I knew you didn't want to reveal and I'm sorry." He blurted, tears brimmed his eyes as he shrunk on himself.

"Hey, hey look at me." she placed her hands on his shoulders. "Would you believe me if I told you I used to have the biggest crush on you."

"You what?!"

"Ya but I just found out what a dork you are," she grinned flicking his nose.

"Am not!" he pouted.

"Are too Agreste."

"Fine, will you tell me who you are since you know me?

"Marinette. I'm Marinette, Adrien." she chuckled.

"Will you go on a date with me?" He looked hopeful.

'Sigh' "I'm sorry but no Adrien." he was going to protest but she stopped him. "Yes, I used to have a crush on you, but that kind of died after my 8,000 the death." he winced and she chuckled. "Adrien you are my best friend, no matter what Alya thinks. Your my partner and I trust you with my life, just not with the snake again," This time they both laughed.

"But the Ladybug and Black Cat are soulmates."

"Maybe we are. Just not romantically." she laughed at the confusion clear on his face. "there is more than one type of soulmates. I think we are more Platonic or even sibling soulmates."

"So you are like my sister, or should I say my soul sister."

"I guess you can see it that way."

"Hey soul sister." He had begun to sing.

"No don't!"

"Ain’t that Mr. Mister on the radio, stereo, the way you move ain't fair you know." he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Definitely my brother, no romance." she deadpanned.

---

Of all of those on the Miraculous team she is the only gray-soul. Everyone on the miraculous team has died at least a handful of times, but who hasn't in Paris. They asked her about it but it was always the same. Just her number rose each time.

A year later she and Adrien had swapped miraculous to practice with the other's power. Unfortunately she was hit before Vipereon was on the scene.

She was in the garden and she noticed him. "Oh!" she startled as did the boy. He was taller than her, black hair and ocean blue eyes. "Is it your first time?" She walked over to the podium.

"First time for what?" he asked.

"Here, dying." She shrugged. 34,999 she read a note that now appeared on her tablet. STOP DYING ALREADY!!! She chuckled at that.

"How are you so god damn calm about this! We're dead!" he screamed.

She gave him a bored look and pointed at the podium. He moved over to see what she was pointing at.

"What the Fuck! Okay so that explains how your so calm." On one side was Marinette her death total and her note, on the other side was the name Jason in elegant script and a single tally.

"So here's a run down. We are called Gray-souls this is the Go-Between or limbo. You can only die and revive once or ya know some 36 thousand times."

"You've actually died and revived that many times."

"Unfortunately." she gave him an eye roll and a small push.

"Want to tell me about it?"

"It's a long story and I don't know if I could finish it."

"Why wouldn't you, we have as much time as we want right now?"

"Once the cure is cast I'll be revived and that will be max 30 minutes."

"Fine, but you will tell me when we both get out of here."

"Okay!" She nodded and went to shake his hand.

"I'm Jason Peter Todd."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. How will we you know, know it's the other person?"

Jason's tablet seemed to answer as it glowed drawing their attention.

Look among the Bats and the Birds for,

the Ladybug among the Menagerie.

They both stared at those words recognizing which part meant them. Marinette was about to say something but felt the all too familiar pull.

"Until next time, Jason, or should I say Gray." she nudged him with her elbow.

"Smell ya later Marinette Gray." he nudged her back with a smirk.

She waved and vanished from the garden. She never told anyone what happened that time, but those words were a constant whisper in her head.

~~~~~~~~~~

Permanent Taglist: @itsmeevie01 @miraculouspenta @adrestar @vixen-uchiha

#dc x miraculous #dc x mlb #maribat #mlb x dc #miraculous x dc #maribatmarch2021 #jasonette

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bluesdesk · 3 years

Text

ZELDA HEADCANONS

Sun:

-- considers "Zelda" and "Hylia" as 2 different identities. When she has to act as Hylia (to give a serious order, to do some magic...), she moves her fringe to her left side. Also when Sky makes her angry in a discussion she is like: "remember I can be Hylia!" and not "remember I'm Hylia"

-- she wears shorts under her dresses, she would be pretty uncomfortable without them.

-- She has a very strong personality, like a girlboss, and she's as chaotic as Tetra

-- She's Hylia, and so she must handle magic pretty well. Also Sky didn't have problems, if not more frequent nightmares and lightning scars and fear of thunderstorms... But "fear of thunderstorms" doesn't even count! However, she noticed her hair became lighter near the tips, and wavier.

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

Dot:

-- the girly princess? No way! She grew up with Four, she's a smith too, she loves adventures and festivities. The fucsia jacket is a hoodie (she covers the hood with her cloack), she wears leggings and seakers nunder the dress, that's actually a high waisted long skirt she can remove

-- her hair is kinda orangey! Also it's pretty long

-- she's a relative of Four! In the italian version of Minish Cap she refers to Link's grandpa as "uncle Smith". This might mean Smith is her uncle, grand-uncle or greta-granduncle? Dot's mom might be Smith's younger sister for example.

-- She had a pretty simple life before MC and FS. Dot had learnt some magic because of the whole "descendant of a goddess" thing. Not much, and she preferred to not use it. So, when she got petrified by Vaati's magic, she got the signs of it. Her hands and feet are as small as when she was 12 (MC), and her hair got way straighter than before. And when Vaati kidnapped her, she got some eye markings, like tattoos, on her arms.

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

Lullaby:

-- genderfluid! But their father doesn't really support them and when they feel like a boy they just become Sheik and go in the woods or at Lon Lon!

-- They have a tanned skin and dark blonde hair

--They do want to be a mom though. Dusk is their daughter!

-- They can handle magic well, but Lullaby turned into Sheik for the first time when they were really young, and this had an impact on them. Their blue eyes became red with the Sheik mask (yeah I headcanon it as a mask!), and the repetitive use of it made their eye color turn from blue to violet even when they're "Zelda". They also got a sheikah eye symbol on their left eye, which they cover with their hair.

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

Dusk:

-- She grew up with her grandpa (Lullaby's father)

-- She has Lullaby's skin color! Also she's thin and tall

-- She didn't attend a royal/exclusive school but went at Twi's same one so they were friends as kids. She also studied swords and archery!

-- She simply didn't recognize Twi as a wolf, she thought he had become a spirit, because she didn't know he had the triforce too!

-- When Ganondorf turned her into his puppet, her skin became pale, and she had those black scars/signs and her eyes turned yellow. Her light power kinda healed this, but she now has light brown eyes, that turn blue when she's really happy and yellow when she's angry. Her skin color changed back to normal but her lips are always more violet than normal and she still has those black scars.

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

Artemis:

-- Dusk's great-great-granddaughter! She has a similiar face, but her colors are different. Also she has chubbier legs.

--When the war started, she took the master sword and trained with it, until Impa told her she had to leave it for the next hero

-- She's been training with magic for a long time, since she can really use it perfectly, and she masters different kinds of magic. Every scar/sign she got is from the enemies' weapons, and not magic

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

Flora:

-- She refused the whole princess/goddess thing, she just refers to herself as a scholar, researcher and adventure.

-- she loves Sheikah clothing! She has stealth lessons with Paya

-- she tries to imitate Wild's cooking in secret, but she refuses to admit it because of the "powerful hero/ useless princess" thing

--She has also been training a lot with magic, and when she sealed herself and Calamity Ganon, her powers were awake. But being sealed for 100 years, with constant light powers on, and Calamity Ganon surely did something. The constant light made her photosensitive, and her hands are burnt, not as badly as Wild's face of course, but you can recognize they are. The usage of a newly awakened magic, for so long time and with that intensity made her unable to use magic for the next years after she came back, and if she'll ever get her magic back, it'll be only few.

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

Tetra:

-- She grew up knowing her name wad Tetra. She didn't know it was just a nickname, so for her "Zelda" is a nickname she doesn't even like. In the italian version of WW/PH, her name is Dazel. She prefers Dazel over Zelda when she has to do royal stuff.

-- even as Zelda her skin is dark and her hair is all curly

-- Wind's grandma loves her and already adopted her in her mind XD but she keeps telling her she needs warmer clothes and she also gives her lots of Wind's clothes that became too small for him

-- she has blonde freckles on her dark skin, Aryll says she's a starry night

-- chubby!!

-- She had never heard of magic before her first adventure, so you might imagine she must have taken it really badly. She has a messed up sleping schedule and she falls asleep in the strangest ways, positions, and times. One second she's arguing with you, the next moment she's asleep, even if she's on her feet, this thing can get dangerous for her so she always brings someone (mostly Wind) with her. She has scratches everywhere from her petrification too, and being petrified surely didn't help with her previous situation.

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

Fable:

-- she loves to wear pink and sky blue together! Pink is her favorite color and sky blue represents the goddess. She's a fan of jewels too!

-- Don't touch her hair, she'd get mad!

--Legend's step sister and somehow twin! She and Legend have different mothers and the same father (the father became a king after the marriage with Fable's mom, the queen). Oddly enough, they were born the same day of the same year.

-- She knows how to use a sword but she mostly uses magic and she can kick pretty well!

-- She can use magic almost perfectly, like Artemis! However, being in a painting gave her some lighter/"discolored" spots on her skin, pretty much like vitiligo. Just few spots, as she could handle that magic well too.

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

Aurora:

-- a child. She's like 10/12. A pretty smart kid!

-- redhead, tanned skin, curly hair and lots of freckles!

-- autistic, her stims are most likely jumping and moving her arms! She loves springs and water in general, she could spend her entire days with fairies in a spring! Pretty enthusiastic about literally anything too!

-- she sees Hyrule as an older brother

-- She had negative memories about her brother, and giving the adjective "brother" to Hyrule is like turning the page, seeing that adjective with a new meaning

--The poor kid often thinks her dreams are reality. She has problems in distinguishing vivid dreams from reality as she had been asleep for too much. On the other hand, she barely sleeps.

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

BONUS:

Phantom/Angel (Spirit Tracks!):

As the great granddaughter of Tetra, Phantom and Link should be related (One of Spirit and one of Phantom's parents must be cousins) Unless Spirit isn't the great grandson of Tetra and Wind... but maybe the great grandson of Aryll instead! This would explain why Spirit is in contact with the pirate crew but not royal, and since their first common relative is so distant (Wind and Aryll's parents) they wouldn't be considered as related and the fact they didn't know each other before would have more sense

-- She took her personality from Tetra AND Wind: her will to help and be a hero too, still being a bit sassy, and a little rebel (escaping from the castle). She's like, a perfect mix of their personalities.

-- As for her design, she has wavy hair, a slightly tanned skin (she's not dark skinned, unlike Tetra), she loves earrings and she has a lot of them!

-- She wasn't used to magic, she knew that but not too much, so being a phantom and leaving her body because of said magic had an impact on her. Her eyes were originally dark blue like Tetra, but they're now pink to purple and yellow! Her skin got lighter after ST, and so she wears makeup to seem less pale. Her eyes get irritated easily (red eyes when possessed) and she spaces out a lot, sometimes she has dissociative events

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