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trickphotography2 · 11 months

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Overtime

It was just supposed to be a football game. But then Hangman took Syla up on her invitation to watch the Blue Angels perform at the Miramar air show. A month after meeting and facing the last home show of her career, the history making Naval Aviator invited Hangman to visit her in Pensacola. She didn't actually expect him to accept. Payback definitely wasn't happy.

A continuation of First and Goal. This got away from me at 5.1K words. No physical description of the reader, callsign is Syla (pronounced like Cilla) and she's a Florida State fan.

Cross-posted on Ao3.

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The humidity hit Jake in the face as he exited the Pensacola airport. His eyes darted up and then to the line of cars. “I’m under the Delta sign.”

“Okay, I’m pulling out of the cellphone lot,” Syla said. He heard her humming and felt his lip twitch. Over the month they’d been talking, he’d heard it many, many times, usually when she was focused on something. Once, when they’d done a video call while she was in Oregon, he’d asked her if she hummed while flying and was promptly flipped off. “I...think I see you.” The call disconnected as a blue convertible Mini Cooper stopped in front of him. Payback scowled, elbowing him out of the way as Syla got out and circled the car.

“Reuben!” she squealed. Jake rolled his eyes, grabbing the other man’s bag as he hugged Syla, lifting her off her feet. Payback hadn’t been thrilled to find out he wasn’t the only one who had requested leave to head down to Florida for the Blue Angels homecoming show. Hell, Syla had been surprised when Jake had quickly accepted her half-joking invitation.

Jake had gone to the show in Miramar. It was his first time seeing them since their flyover at his Academy graduation, which he’d only half paid attention to back then. The Blue Angels were good PR for the Navy but had never caught his attention - pilots stuck repeating the same maneuvers every time? Sounded almost as bad as being assigned to desk duty. He'd take dog fighting every time if given the choice between it and the flying equivalent of synchronized swimming. But, after going through flight school and some experience with formation flying, he had a new respect for the Angels.

The way Syla filled out her tight blue flight suit definitely didn’t hurt matters. Jake had managed to get close enough to watch the team march in a line to their jets and climb in, trading out their caps for helmets before taxiing and taking off in formation. For an hour, he watched them execute loops, inversions, pitches, and breaks. After the show, he’d joined the queue for her autograph and grinned at her surprised look. As she signed the team picture, he asked her about not wearing a g-suit that helped keep blood from pooling in the lower extremities and forced it toward the brain. From his estimation, they were pulling at least 7Gs at points.

“Can’t,” Syla had shrugged. “We have our right arm on our thigh for stability and to help with the 40-pound spring tensioned on the stick. Air bladders would inflate at the worst time and ruin the maneuver. ‘Sides, since we fly it constantly, we know when to tense to avoid G-LOC.” Sliding her aviators down her nose, the Blue Angel smirked and slid the picture across the table to him. “Good to see you again, Hangman.”

Her phone number was under her loopy signature.

“Hey,” Jake said when she turned her attention to him, eyebrow raised over her sunglasses. Crossing her arms over her chest, forcing her breasts higher into the tank top she wore, Syla cocked her hip.

“I have so many questions. First - what the hell is with the pornstache?” Grinning, Jake ran a hand over his mustache.

“Don’t like it?”

“You look like the other guy in your squad… um…” she snapped her fingers, glancing at Payback.

“Rooster.”

“Rooster! That’s right. He can pull off a mustache.”

“I make a mustache look good,” he chuckled, dropping the bags into the open trunk. Shaking her head, she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Jury’s out. Also, people are gonna think you’re a Gator or Canes fan in that orange.”

“Hook ‘em, baby.” Over her head, Jake caught Payback’s eye roll.

“Alright,” Syla said, stepping out of his loose embrace and slamming the trunk closed. “Get in so we can go grab dinner. I’m starving.”

“Please tell me we’re getting some seafood,” Payback moaned, beelining for the front seat. Jake rolled his eyes, following Syla around the car and pulling open the door for her before ducking into the back seat. His knees pressed into her seat, and he shifted to try and get more comfortable.

The two aviators chatted while Syla pulled out of the airport and drove through Pensacola. It had been years since Jake had been back. Like many Naval aviators, his career had begun at a local flight school while stationed at NAS Whiting Field, just across the bridge and a couple of miles down I-10 in Milton. While he’d enjoyed his time at Annapolis during the Academy, it had been fun to cut loose and spend weekends on the white sand beaches, flirting with tourists and drinking at dive bars. But after he’d moved on to Intermediate Flight Training, he’d never looked back. North Florida had little appeal for him. If he had to be stationed in the state, he would go for the Keys.

“You good back there, Hangman?” Syla asked, pulling him from his musing. She’d twisted in her seat, strands of hair that had escaped her regulation bun framing her face.

“All good, just looking at how much it’s changed.” She smiled, turning back around when the light turned green.

After grabbing dinner by the beach at a local spot called The Oar House, the trio made their way to Syla’s place. It was a cute little white house with a red - “garnet,” she’d corrected - door. As another condition of his coming, Payback claimed the one guest bedroom while Jake was relegated to the couch.

It helped to know that Payback only had the bed for one night and would join him in sleeping in the living room when Syla’s parents arrived the next day.

So, while Payback went to bed early to call his kid, Jake and Syla hung out. At first, there had been some initial awkwardness, trying to navigate a friendship conducted mainly over the phone. It didn’t take long until Jake found himself itching to tuck her hair, free from the tight bun and damp from her shower, behind her ear.

“Okay, I have to know,” she said, setting her glass on the coffee table before facing him. Propping her elbow against the back of the couch, she buried a hand in her hair and smirked. “What’s with the mustache? You weren’t deployed, so it’s not a deployment ‘stache. Or is this like a normal thing for you?”

“Definitely not a normal thing for me,” he chuckled, setting his beer on the coffee table and turning to mirror her. At her cocked eyebrow, he shrugged. “Payback.”

“Are we talking Reuben or revenge for something?”

“A bit of both. He’s real protective of you and wasn’t happy to hear that we’ve been talking. Or that I was coming here.”

“Oh god, are you telling me you look like that because of me?” She let her head fall back at his shrug while taking a deep breath. The move pulled her sleep shirt tight against her chest, and he could see her pebbled nipples through the material. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“It’s fine.” And it was. It was worth it if this was the penalty for violating the bro code - as the rest of the Daggers had ruled when they found out about his contact with Syla.

“Your pretty face shouldn’t be sacrificed for his petty male ego.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Jake teased. Syla lowered her head and gave him an unimpressed look. With a huff, she ran her thumb over his mustache.

“When you don’t have a fuzzy caterpillar on your face.” Amusement sparkled in his green eyes when Syla raised hers from his mouth to meet his. Her fingers rasped on his stubble as they glided across his jaw. Jake watched, biting back a groan when she played with the hair on the nape of his neck. Gentle pressure guided him closer as her tongue darted to wet her lips. A smirk curved his mouth as his gaze narrowed to hers.

A throat cleared, and Syla jumped, her hand falling to her lap. Payback stood beside the television, arms crossed over his chest. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Syla replied, even as pink dusted her cheeks. Payback’s eyes darted to Jake, who shrugged. “Oh no - this is not… If you have a problem with me talking to Jake, you’ll talk to me about it, Reuben.”

“Okay. I don’t like it. You don’t know Hangman.”

“Cool. Good to know. That’s part of why we’re talking - to get to know one another.” He groaned her name, running a hand down his face.

“He’s got a reputation in Miramar.” Jake flushed with embarrassment. Sure, he enjoyed a one-night stand, but he hadn’t had one in a while. Definitely not since he’d started talking to the pilot beside him.

“So you’re telling me he knows what he’s doing and can probably find the clit. That’s great to know.” Both men sputtered, and Syla laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, Payback, I’m not the 22-year-old girl you met. And as much as I appreciate you looking out for me, I’m a pretty good judge of character. So if I want to talk to Jake, kiss him, and maybe have sex, that’s our decision.” Patting Jake’s shoulder, she stood and gave Payback a sweet smile. “And with that, gentlemen, I’m going to go to bed since I have work in the morning. You know, where I’m a history-making Naval aviator whose judgment is tested and proven every day that I’m in the air flying inches away from other aviators, where one small deviation could mean death for either of us. Night boys.”

The two men watched Syla walk to the hallway, pausing to pat Payback’s chest and closing her bedroom door.

Jake fell a little bit in love.

“Morning,” Jake said, his voice rough with sleep. Syla smiled and waved, continuing towards the kitchen where the coffee pot gurgled. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he joined her, taking the mug she slid across the counter and leaning against the stove, scratching his bare chest.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Not the worst place I’ve bunked.”

“It’s a step above the carrier.” He smiled over the rim of his mug. He’d never dated a woman in the military and never would have even thought about pursuing another aviator. Sure, he enjoyed flirting with Phoenix to get a rise out of her, but their careers overlapped too much for him to ever think about pursuing anything. Plus, Rooster would kill him if he ever worked up the nerve to admit his feelings about his “best friend.”

But there was something comforting about talking with Syla. Over the last month, he’d enjoyed not having to explain things in his daily life. No explanation was needed when he rescheduled calls because he was doing late maneuvers. Honestly, she was the one doing the rescheduling more often than not. She was also the one who fell asleep when they were on the phone. He’d never admit it, but Jake usually stayed on the line for a few more minutes, listening to her soft breathing and half-heartedly hoping she’d wake before hanging up.

“What’s your day look like?” he asked. Syla frowned and stepped past him to look at the calendar hanging on the refrigerator.

“We’re briefing the show this morning and then going to a middle school. Not sure if we’re doing the interview there or if the camera crew is just getting footage. Then final dress rehearsal over the Gulf.” There was something sad in her eyes when she turned to meet his gaze.

“What?”

“I just…” To his surprise, tears gathered in her eyes as she looked up at the ceiling and swallowed. “Sorry, just kinda hitting me that this is it.” Setting his mug down, he opened his arms. Syla rested her head on his shoulder, palms flat on his chest. Jake's hand ran up the back of her flight suit, tugging her closer as he brushed his lips against her temple. When she lifted her head, he kissed her cheek. But when he tried to do it again, she turned to meet him.

Their first kiss was a sweet one. Syla’s hands drifted up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck and tug him down as she surged onto her toes. He steadied her with hands on her hips, gripping the blue fabric tightly as she licked into his mouth. A groan escaped him as she smiled. The mustache prickled against her skin.

“It’s too early for this.”

“Morning, Reuben,” Syla sighed, dropping back onto her heels and resting her forehead against Jake’s chin. Slowly, she pulled away and looked at her friend. “Sleep well?”

“Other than a nightmare, yeah.” Chuckling, she stepped out of Jake’s arms and grabbed her travel coffee mug.

“Duke is gonna pick me up so you can have my car for the day. I’ll be home around 5:30 or 6:00. My parent should be here around that time, too, so we’ll go out for dinner. I have to have an early night for the show tomorrow, but we can take two cars so you can have fun downtown.” The flight leader was happy to help her with a ride, seeing as he lived down the street.

“An early night sounds good to me,” Jake nodded.

“Great. Duke’s pulling up, so I’m headed out.” With a quick peck to both men’s cheeks, she left.

“You’re an ass,” Payback grumbled while opening the cabinets for a mug. Ignoring him, Jake returned to the couch and grabbed his cell phone, quickly pulling up their text thread.

Can confirm I know where the clit is

A few minutes later came her reply.

Seeing is believing

Syla woke early and pulled on her running gear. It was hard to sneak out of the house with the two aviators crashing in the living room, but she managed it. After slipping her earbuds in, she started her pre-show tradition of a five-mile run while mentally practicing the flight maneuvers. Hands clenched in front of her, she imagined Duke’s voice and positioned the stick and throttle. Deployed the smoke that allowed the crowd to follow them as they climbed. She would have the privilege of a sneak attack on the beach, buzzing the crowd who watched her wingmen fly ahead.

Even after three seasons, every show made her nervous. And performing in front of the hometown crowd, while amazing, brought its own level of pressure. North Florida was the home to a huge military population. These people saw them the most - they practiced over the Naval Aviation Museum twice weekly and signed autographs. Hell, there was a sign as you got into town that said ‘Home of the Blue Angels.’ Pensacola had the Blue Angels, Corry Station, and Whiting Field, where many aviation careers started. The Air Force had three bases just an hour up the road - Hurlburt Field, Duke Field, and Eglin. Eglin had its own place in military aviation history, as it was where the pilots of the Doolittle Raid - the US’s retaliation on Japan following Pearl Harbor, where modified bombers had launched from the USS Hornet with no fighters as backup - had trained. The Air Force had their own fighter and test wings stationed there, and the Army was training special forces.

Further out were the two bases in Panama City - the Naval Support Activity Panama City and Tyndall Air Force Base, which housed their own fighter wing. That wasn’t even considering all of the veterans in the area. Syla had briefly dated someone who worked for the Veteran’s Administration, who had told her that the Gulf Coast was one of the fastest-growing areas for vets.

So yeah, hometown shows made her nervous. And her dumb ass had invited a certain Lieutenant, who made her even more nervous. Who she outranked. As a Lieutenant Commander, she was responsible for ensuring they didn’t break any fraternization rules. And even though Jake wouldn’t be under her command - the Daggers were stationed at Miramar under TOPGUN but were not instructors - they might still get some looks.

Which was presuming that Jake even wanted something other than a fling. Panting, Syla stopped running and bent, wiping away the sweat on her brow. Even this early, the humidity was killer. “Fucking focus,” she ordered herself.

There was nothing like an airshow. From the moment Syla stepped onto the tarmac, the energy was electric. For her last home show, they’d picked the theme of Celebrating Women in Aviation, focusing on the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASPS) that began in WWII when the US needed pilots. Women could join the military to ferry, test, and deliver planes for repair.

From the civilian aerobatic pilots to the Air Force’s Viper and F-35 demo teams and the explosive Tora Tora Tora reenactment, there was something for everyone. She joined her parents, Reuben, and Jake after the Angels’ morning briefing. While her parents and Reuben stayed in the tent, she and Jake did a quick walk around, pausing so she could sign autographs and take pictures. She was glad her sunglasses were on when a little girl traced over her embroidered wings and said she wanted to be a pilot, too. Jake’s fingers brushed hers as they walked, and she fought a smile.

And then it was show time. Syla forced herself to focus on the moment. Doing anything else would endanger the team and her aircraft. So, she focused on saluting her flight crew and doing her checks. She wasn’t part of the diamond take-off formation but would be doing a high G vertical climb into an inversion. And then she thought about Duke’s final order - “Have fun.”

So she did. She allowed herself to smile as she fought against gravity, admired the beautiful ocean she flew over, and laughed at the startled crowd as she executed the sneak pass.

And yes, she did hum while doing it.

Sunday was harder. Syla woke up early for her run and was surprised to find Jake awake in the kitchen, shirtless and wearing running shorts and sneakers. He joined her, her extra reflective belt wrapped around his bicep. It was still dark, their way lit by streetlights and the occasional passing car. Jake glanced over as she ran through the show, hands at her stomach moving the imaginary stick and throttle.

Everything for her last show needed to be perfect.

“You’ve got this,” he said when they turned back into her cul de sac. Feeling like a teenager sneaking around, she tugged him around the side of the house and pressed him against the siding. His hands wrapped around her hips, holding her tightly as her hands slid up his sweat-slicked skin to wrap around the back of his neck. It was still dark out, the sun not due to rise for another hour. If her neighbors looked out the glass door in their living room or someone drove past, they would easily be spotted. But that didn’t stop her from pressing against him, feeling his heat through her sports bra and running shorts.

Jake pressed teasing kisses to her forehead, nose, and cheek before Syla gripped his hair and kissed him hard. His hand slid to her ass, squeezing and tugging her closer. She could feel his cock through his jogging shorts and dug her nails into his skin to keep from touching him. Nothing in the world would make her jeopardize her career with a public indecency charge.

When his attention shifted to her neck, licking the salt from her skin, Syla forced herself to push against his shoulders and step back. His grip tightened, not letting her go too far. “Everything okay?” he asked. In the semi-darkness, she could barely make out his confused expression.

“I need to know,” she said, biting her kiss-swollen lower lip. “I know we’ve only known each other for a month, but am I pissing off one of my best friends for a fling?”

“A fling?”

“I outrank you, Jake. If there’s blowback, it’s gonna come back on me. Not only because of rank but because I’m a woman. I will always have Blue Angels in my bio, so I will always be held to the highest standard. So I have to know - is this just having fun? Or is this something we want to pursue? Because I’m fine either - ”

Jake’s lips silenced her, his tongue insistently licking into her mouth as he turned them to pin her against the siding with his hips. With his hands braced by her head, he pulled away, smirking when she chased his kiss. One knuckle traced from her temple and swept across her jaw before tilting her head up as he tutted her name. “You think I’d risk pissing off my entire squad for a fling? If I wanted that, I would have just waited for you to get to Miramar instead of coming out here, annoying Payback, and meeting your parents. This is my first vacation in years, and I wanted to spend time alone with you. If you want this to be a fling - ”

“I don’t.”

“Good. Cause I don’t either.” They stood there, smiling at one another for a long moment until they heard a dog bark. Shoving him away, Syla turned and waved at her neighbor as he stepped out of the house across the street, dressed for his own morning run. Taking Jake’s hand, she tugged him back towards the front door, enjoying how he pressed himself against her back as she unlocked it. “Just wait until we’re alone, and I’ll show you just how well I can find your clit,” he growled in her ear as she gripped the doorknob.

“Just out of curiosity,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Did you tell Reuben that you were staying for a week? Or does he think you’re flying out tonight, too?”

“Now, where would the fun be in telling him?” Jake asked. Syla laughed, turning in his embrace to pat his cheek.

“It’s your funeral, Hangman.” His grin was blinding as he leaned down to kiss her.

“What a hell of a reason to go.”

Emotion nearly choked her as Syla drove down Blue Angel Parkway toward the base. She’d left her parents to drive the other aviators in, wanting some time alone that morning. The squad had invited her guests to watch the last briefing of the season so they wouldn’t be too far behind. Reuben or Jake would be able to get her parents on base. While the air show gates didn’t open until 8:00AM, a few cars were already waiting at the Visitor Control building’s parking lot. After flashing her ID to the gate guard, she made her way to the hanger to quickly inspect her plane. Their flight mechanics were among the best in the world, and Syla trusted them with her life, but you could never be too careful. Once assured that everything was fine, she made her way to the briefing room, pausing to talk to some of the other early birds and to grab a shitty cup of coffee from the break room. Rather than take her seat, she took the opportunity to read the plaques that decorated the walls, running her finger over her name engraved on the list of pilots.

“Big day, Syla. You ready for it?” Duke asked, coming into the briefing room and standing beside her. She glanced up at him and rolled her lips together, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.

“As I’ll ever be,” she replied hoarsely.

“One more flight, and then you’re back in the greens,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her close.

“I look so much better in blue,” she smirked, glancing down at her flight suit. After three years, going back to a green suit that didn’t have her name and plane number embroidered on her chest, that had a different squadron patch, would be strange. This wasn’t the first time she’d left a squad, but it definitely was the hardest. Their team, from the flight and ground crew to the Marine pilots that flew Fat Albert, the C-130J that carried the crew show to show, spent so much time together. From January to November, they saw each other every day - on Thursdays, they flew out to the show location and returned to Pensacola on Mondays; Tuesdays and Wednesdays were practice days. For three years, Syla had celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, new babies, and graduations with these folks. She’d babysat for their kids and hung out at their houses. They had gotten her drunk to celebrate her promotion before dragging her to the beach and tossing her into the Gulf in her whites - she made sure that they also got drenched - and teased her relentlessly whenever she dated someone.

The other squad members slowly filed in, and Syla was subjected to brotherly teasing. When her guests arrived, she introduced Jake and Reuben by their callsigns. The looks her squad sent her when Hangman shook their hands were priceless - they’d seen his name pop up on her phone more than a few times. The corner of Jake’s eye twitched at every shake, making her wonder if they were squeezing his hand harder than necessary. Payback looked happy at the cooler welcome the other pilot got.

“Alright,” the flight leader said once everyone had taken their seat around the table, him at the head. Crew and her guests sat along the wall. “We’ll leave the sentimental stuff for the boat party later, but as you all know, this is Syla’s last flight with us. And while we’re excited to welcome Lieutenant Commander Reyes in a few months, she will have big shoes to fill. So we’ll be perfect today, not only for Syla but for our hometown crowd. I want the debrief to be short this afternoon so we can go celebrate another successful season and get some downtime. Now, conditions today allow for the high show…” Syla opened her folder and retrieved the aerial map of Pensacola as he read out the wind and view data. The tip of her pen traced the maneuvers they would go through, as he called them.

She could feel eyes on her as they pushed away from the table and did a chair flight, Duke’s comforting cadence helping her block out everything else. Her own eyes remained closed as they talked through the flight, visualizing and practicing the throttles and stick positions, where they would have pull on the stick, tensing to fight the Gs, her calls on the radio, turning to check the alignment of their synchronized ascent into the loop, deploying smoke - every second of the 45-minute show.

And when she opened her eyes, they caught on a pair of green ones that stared at her from across the room. The corner of Jake’s mouth twitched as he gave a curt nod. Beside him, her parents beamed. Payback sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and grinned.

Syla couldn’t help the tears that fell as she taxied back into position. Even over her engine, she could hear the crowd cheering as they announced her name and thanked her for her years of flying with the Blues. As the canopy rose, she swiped at her face and took a deep breath.

It was over.

After three years, she was now returning to the fleet. She would be assigned a new Super Hornet, grey instead of bright blue, with her name and callsign painted below the canopy. The next few months would be spent reviewing tactical and weapons updates, and she’d have a few weeks to refresh her air combat skills before taking on her first TOPGUN class. She was pretty sure that she'd spend some time with the meatball, the machine that helped baby aviators learn the dimensions of the ship's flight line; she felt rusty even with over 600 carrier landings under her belt.

Thankfully, she was sure there was an active-duty pilot who would be more than happy to help her study.

“You good?” Syla looked up at her crew chief and nodded at the woman. Quickly, she handed over the helmet, realizing it would be one of the last times she wore it. Soon, she would be back in her garnet one with gold arrows - her nod to her alma mater. After smoothing down her hair, she put her cover back on and prepared to exit the cockpit.

Three years. Over 900 days on the road. Hundreds of hours in the air.

It was over.

A Week Later

Fanboy glanced at his phone, frowning at the text from Hangman. The Miami game was on a commercial break, so he quickly opened it and saw it was a video.

He recognized the place immediately - Florida State’s football stadium. Doak Campbell. Fucking Hangman was at the Miami-FSU game. Hangman panned the camera around the stadium, and Fanboy realized he was standing on the field. In the endzone. The announcer’s voice was a bit muffled but became clearer as Hangman refocused the camera on Syla.

“Callsign Syla made history as the first female aviator on the Blue Angels, carrying on the proud FSU tradition of excellence. Let’s give a loud welcome home to Syla!”

The crowd roared, chants of “USA” echoing as Syla held up her hands and waved before doing the tomahawk chop. In the background, he saw that she was being broadcast on the jumbotron. As it cut away, she held her hands up again. She brought her thumbs together to form the University of Miami ‘U’ symbol before dropping all but her middle fingers. The student section started a chant of ‘Fuck U’ as she laughed.

“Fuck Miami!” Syla grinned.

“Fuck Miami!” Hangman echoed, swinging the camera around to show himself flipping off the camera, that god-awful mustache still on his face. For once, he wasn’t wearing Texas gear but had swapped it out for a Seminoles cap and t-shirt.

Oh, Fanboy thought. He was definitely gonna have to deal with way more bro code violations once he got back. Especially after he forgot to turn off the recording before kissing Syla.

Fanboy debated forwarding it to the group chat but decided against it. Having a bit of blackmail was never a bad thing.

The group chat started popping off in the 4th quarter.

What the fuck is this? Payback fired off, sharing a picture of Hangman with his arm around Syla and their back to the field. Her hand rested on his stomach.

Damn, Rooster replied. Phoenix added a gif of Stephen Colbert eating popcorn.

Looks like fun, Bob added.

Fuck the Noles, Fanboy typed out.

Is no one bothered by this??? Payback demanded. The chat went silent until Hangman’s name popped up.

Syla here. Two things - 1) Fuck Miami, and 2) I’m begging you to let the man shave the fucking mustache. Facial hair is not my thing.

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Note: I didn't expect to write a follow up to First and Goal, but I also didn't expect the engagement with it. Thank you to everyone who read it. A major thank you to @mayhemmanaged for helping talk me through this fic and reading a rough draft of it. And @dreamlandcreations for saying she wanted a part 2.

The North Florida panhandle has a huge military population. I recently moved away from the Gulf Coast, after my dad was stationed at Eglin AFB. That is where I first got to see a jet engine up close and see how beautiful the afterburner could be. It's where I went to my first stateside air show. I completed an internship at the VA in Pensacola, and was able to see the Blue Angels fly every week. Like Jake, I didn't really appreciate the panhandle until I left. There's nothing like shifting from pine trees to an ocean view as you cross the I-10 bridge, going from Whiting Field to Pensacola.

Like Syla, I'm a diehard Seminole, graduating from there a total of 4 times. I actually stole her flight leader's callsign, Duke, from a guy I went to high school and college with, who flies for the Air Force.

So long story short, this fic was inspired by aviation and Lieutenant Commander Amanda 'Stalin' Lee, the first female Blue Angel. Thanks for reading ❤️

Tagging those who reblogged and commented on First and Goal:

kmc1989; gigisimsonmars; starset21; the-slytherin-library-12; ssa-sadboi; fanficfandomlove; shanimallina87; myfaveficrecs; roosterforme; thefandomimagines; dreamlandcreations; topherwrites; roosteraloha; tgmreader; love-in-light; starlightmoon2020; clockworkballerina; bibissparkles; top-hhun; just-in-case-iloveyou; scarlettwidow19; themusingofagothicsoul; milani-marie; rooseresintg; lets-turn-and-burn; bellaireland1981; shanimallina87; sydthekid1518; gspenc; mimi-8793; novagreen04; fulla02reads; alldaysdreamers; atarmychick007; onceupona-happilyeverafter-love; rosiahills22

#hangman fic #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #Jake Seresin #jake hangman seresin #top gun #top gun fanfiction #top gun x female reader #First and Goal fic

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differenteagletragedy · 11 months

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RIP MC (Sorry Cove)

Takes place anytime after Step 4. Cove loses (female) MC after a medical incident.

Cove stood at your closet, glancing over your wardrobe. He let his hands touch over every item, breathing in your smell that still lingered on the pieces of clothing. When he found a dress -- your favorite dress, not your nicest but the one he knew you felt the cutest in -- he paused, then pulled it out.

He put it on the bed in a pile of things to send over to the funeral home.

They'd asked him in kind, gentle voices to put together some things for you to wear for the burial, and it wasn't a task he was taking lightly. He knew your moms or Liz might want to pick something a little nicer, but he was certain he knew you best, and he knew you'd want to be comfortable.

He tried not to think too much as he opened your jewelry box, looking for something that stood out, or when he looked through your shoes and came across your beach sandals. You wouldn't be needing those anymore, but he couldn't bear to consider the depth of that.

It had all happened just so fast -- so incredibly, frustratingly, heartbreakingly fast. Your blood pressure was high, too high, but your doctors knew that, that's why they admitted you to the hospital. They put you in some medicine he couldn't remember the name of, something that went in an IV and made you a little loopy, but you were joking about it. You were still ok. You were still you.

Then it got higher, then it got higher again. He remembered nurses moving a little faster, more doctors he had never seen before coming in. He tried to ask what was happening, but only got quick reassurances, if anything at all.

"She'll be ok," they'd told him. They were wrong.

At one point you'd started seizing -- a sight he was sure he'd never shake from his memory. Then you stopped. Then you were gone.

The rest was a blur, and Cove wasn't altogether confident that this horrific moment, the costume design for your funeral, wouldn't end up in the same mess of grief that the rest of it had. He remembered his mom holding him. His dad crying. Your moms had talked to him for a while, but he couldn't for the life of him recall what they'd said.

Going over the dresser one more time for anything you might want to wear for your last outfit, he saw your perfume and stopped. He lifted it to his nose, considered it, then sprayed a bit on his wrist. When the scent fully reached his nose, he let out a choked sob and doubled over, as if he'd been punched in the guy physically instead of just metaphorically.

He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. What would life look like without you? He couldn't picture it and he didn't want to try. How was he supposed to go through each day without you by his side? You were in everything -- the ocean, the flowers, the summers spent making sandcastles and the winters spent curled up in each other's arms. Each moment brought another thought of something you'd done together that had marked him for life, or something that you'd never get to do together, no matter how badly he yearned for it.

Cove started breathing harder, tears rolling down his face. He couldn't catch his breath and he didn't know what to do with himself. He flailed his hands, sad little screams escaping his mouth, just utterly and completely lost.

Then his phone rang.

With a shaky hand, he pulled it out of his pocket -- your ma was calling. He answered without saying a word.

"Cove, sweetie," she said in a voice holding a massive sadness of her own. "We're outside, are you ready for us to come in."

"Yeah," he managed. "I think I've got everything together."

"All right, Pam and I will get it taken care of. See you in just a minute."

Cove hung up the phone and dragged his still-shaky hands over his face, trying to pull himself together. He picked up your dress, shoes and a little bag of accessories your moms could go through. That was good enough.

He was by the front door when Pam knocked lightly, and he opened it, not even bothering to try for a smile. They didn't either.

"Trade?" your ma asked.

Cove nodded. He carefully handed the outfit over to Pam, then reached out to grab the car seat that Noelani was holding. There he was -- your newborn baby boy, fast asleep in crisp white pajamas, impossibly tiny and totally clueless about the mother he'd never get to meet.

He looked over the baby, wanting to check once again to make sure he was ok. He knew he was -- little baby Holden had been closely monitored and given a clean bill of health -- but he no longer felt comfortable being too sure of anything if someone could get ripped away from him as easily as you had been.

"He's a great kid, Cove," Pam told him. "He's a good eater, a good sleeper. I think you lucked out with this one."

"I'm thinking he takes after his mama," Noelani added, fresh tears in her eyes. "You're in for a great ride."

He couldn't bear to look at them then, their own grief so plain on their faces. Instead, he kept looking at the baby -- his chubby cheeks, his tiny hands, his pouty little lips with drool pooled at the corners. He looked like you, and Cove couldn't tell whether that was a good thing.

"We'll get out of your hair and give you two some bonding time," Pam finally broke the silence. "Your parents are coming over?"

"Yeah," he answered, glancing up at them. "I told them to wait, I wanted to be alone while I ..." he gestured to the clothes, unable to verbalize what they were. He knew, and that was bad enough.

"Of course," Pam said. "Don't wait too long to call, all right?"

"I won't."

Your moms left, telling Cove to call if he needed anything and promising to call themselves to set up more time with the baby soon, and that was it. He was left in the home you shared, with the baby you carried, and you weren't there. You never would be.

The tears started again, and apparently the baby felt like having some bonding time after all -- he woke up from his nap and started crying too. Not bothering to try to stop this time, Cove just kept sobbing as he unbuckled the car seat and pulled his son out, so careful to support him properly. He held him gently to his chest, but before he could get up to prepare a bottle or check for a dirty diaper, the baby quieted, just soothed by the touch of his father.

"Oh, ok," Cove said with a tragic little laugh. "That works."

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, taking solace in each other, but by the time the baby did start crying properly, he felt steady enough to stand up and make his way to the kitchen for a bottle. He still felt entirely broken, and the concept of feeling ok was laughably far away, but he could do this. He could take care of his son.

#cove holden #our life cove #our life beginnings & always #olba cove #olba mc #olba #cove x mc #cove our life #cove x reader #our life: beginnings & always #cove holden x reader #our life

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loveforcarmen · 7 months

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𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 - CH. 6

- 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘰 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘰𝘤 𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 | - 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯

NOTE: lowkey wrote carmen a little ooc in this chapter 🫣

souvenir - boygenius

Carmen woke up to a loud pounding on his apartment door, jolting him awake. "What the fuck?" he muttered to himself, sitting up in bed. The door pounded again, with more force against it this time.

He got out of bed quietly, quickly slipping on a t-shirt that was on the floor. Walking towards his apartment door, he grabbed the baseball bat that he kept near the door. He opened the door quickly, bat raised over his shoulder.

"Carmen, what the fuck?" Margaret slurred, taking a step back.

He lowered the bat to his side, throwing his hand up, "What are you doing here? You lost or something?"

She sighed, rubbing her temples in an attempt to ward off an incoming migraine.

"Where are you coming from?" Carmen asked, glancing over her outfit. She wore a small black dress that hugged her body paired with a set of dark red heels. He stood still, slightly annoyed as she took her time to answer his question.

"A party." she motioned to her outfit, "Was it not obvious?" she did a small twirl, almost tripping over her feet due to the alcohol in her system.

"Yeah, you're right. It was obvious." he said, not in the mood to agrue with a drunk woman. They always win, even if they're wrong.

Margaret's smile suddenly dropped, the corners of her mouth turning into a frown. "My friends left me." her voice cracked as she felt herself growing emotional, amplified with her drunken state.

"Where's Sydney? Wasn't she supposed to go with you?"

She felt her bottom lip quiver as she spoke, "She cancelled last minute. Something with her dad." she said, shrugging her shoulders. She wore a sad smile as she backed up, leaning against the wall across from his apartment door.

"You need better friends." Carmen said, still standing in the doorway.

"Guess so." she sighed, picking at her fingernails. There was a long pause between the 2 before Carmen finally huffed, stepping aside to let her in.

She muttered a quiet "thank you" as she walked past him, into the apartment. He nodded his head, kicking the door closed behind them. Margaret set her bag on his coffee table, then carefully took off her shoes.

Settling onto the couch, she started to fall asleep when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She looked up, her head still spinning.

"You can sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch." Carmen said, leaning over the couch, looking down at her. His hands gripped the couch, his hand close enough to her face to the point where she could study the intricate details of his hand tattoos.

"You don't have to. I don't want your pity." she said, closing her eyes again.

"Trust me, I don't feel pity for you. I just know that couch isn't the most comfortable to sleep on, speaking from experience." He helped her up off the couch, his touch almost featherlight on her arms.

He motioned for her to follow him down the hallway to his bedroom. As she trailed behind him, she noticed that he had absolutely no decor. No pictures, no paintings, no wall shelving. Absolutely nothing.

He opened the door, quickly swiping a pair of pants off his bed and tossing them into his closet. "Just wait there. I'll get you a change of clothes to sleep in." Carmen said as he walked to his dresser.

"Yes chef." she joked, immediately wishing she could take it back. Why would she even say that?

Carmen was glad his back was turned to her, her stupid comment almost pulling a genuine smile out of him. Maybe it was the fact it was early in the morning, so his head was loopy and his sense of humor was warped. Maybe it was the fact that she had no filter right now, her honesty in full effect.

He dug through his drawer, eventually settling on a pair of boxers and one of his many white t-shirts. He turned around, handing the clothes off to Margaret, who sat patiently on his bed.

She raised an eyebrow, holding the boxers out in front of her. Carmen hardly owned any pairs of shorts, so boxers was the best he could settle on. "They're clean." he rolled his eyes, continuing on. "Bathroom is over there. I'll be making the bed if you need anything."

He extended his arm to the door on their right as he walked over to the linen closet by the doorway. Carmen kept his eyes on Margaret a second longer than he intended to as she walked to the bathroom. He pressed his nails into his palms, punishing himself. She was his coworker first, anything else second. He didn't want to change the scenery.

As he changed the bedsheets and blanket, Margaret changed out of her clothes in the bathroom. She neatly folded her dress, setting it on the bathroom counter.

Carmen knocked on the door with a sharp rap of his knuckles, startling her, "Yo, you good in there?" he asked then kept quiet, waiting for answer.

"Yep." she said, opening the door. She smoothed down the white tee, which could practically be considered a dress on her. "I think it might be too tight." she said sarcastically.

He cleared his throat, ignoring her comment, "Bed is made. I grabbed your bag from the coffee table and set it on the nightstand. Just in case you needed something."

"Thanks Carmen." she said, rubbing the back of her neck as she walked to the bed. She let out an intentional whimper, hitting a knot that was in her neck from hours of looking down and cooking. It was quiet enough that someone wouldn't have heard it unless they were really listening.

"Yeah, no problem.." Carmen trailed off, still standing in the doorway. He scratched his knotted curls before walking off, "I'll go get you a glass of water." he excused himself.

He returned with the glass, setting it down gently on the wooden bedside table. Margaret looked up at him, appreciating his kindness. It wasn't outwardly shown to her often, especially in the kitchen. He usually wore a grumpy exterior, more often during the 2 week period after they fought.

"Thank you, Carmy." she said quietly, using his nickname for the first time in awhile. It was her way of showing that forgave him and also her way of apologizing for the past 2 weeks.

"Don't mention it." he rubbed the back of his neck before adding, "If you need to puke, please run to the bathroom."

"Got'cha." she mumbled, already drifting off into the welcoming arms of sleep. Carmen nodded his head, walking out of the bedroom. A feeling pricked him in the back like a needle, causing him to turn over.

"Roll over." Carmen said, walking to the bedside. He gently grabbed her, easily pushing her body on its side.

"Why?" she asked, awake and confused by the sudden action. She didn't even notice his hands holding her bare waist, his touch delicate on her skin.

"Because," he answered as he helped her roll over, "I don't need to drowning in your own puke dumbass." he remarked, stepping away from the bed.

"Oh." Margaret whispered. There was a long pause between them before she spoke again, "Goodnight."

Carmen walked to the doorway, flicking off the soft lamp lighting that had been illuminating the room, "Night Maggie." He shut door, walking to the living room to prepare his makeshift bed for the night.

SOMETIME IN EARLY MORNING

Carmen woke up to the usual brigade of bad dreams that plagued him at night. Getting up to fill up a glass of water, he noticed that he was sweating profusely. There was a line of sweat down the center of his back, transferring the moisture onto his shirt.

He groaned, filling up his cup, downing it then filling it up again. Setting his cup in the sink, he turned to quietly walk down the hallway to the bedroom. He opened the door, which resulted in a low 'creak' from the hinges.

Margaret stirred at the noise but did not wake up. Carmen grabbed her glass, then left room as quietly as he had came in. As he waited for the glass to fill up, he ran his fingers through his hair. A stress habit. Why was he stressed about her being there?

He returned to the bedroom, gently setting the glass back down in its previous spot. He glanced over at Margaret, who was sleeping soundly. Her hair had fallen onto her face, covering her cheeks and eyes.

He turned to leave, the quick turn resulting in him stubbing his toe on the nightstand. The nightstand rattled, causing a picture frame to fall over.

"Fuck." Carmen whisper-yelled, grabbing his foot tightly.

"Carmen?" Margaret groaned, slowly waking up. He let out a strained 'yeah' in response as he held his foot. She sat up, blinking her eyes to adjust to the darkness. "What are you doing?"

Carmen let out a loud huff before answering, "I was refilling your water." he said, his pain beginning to subside.

"Oh..alright." she still gave him a nod, knowing he couldn't see her.

"Yup."

Before she talked, she debated whether she should open her mouth. "I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to be tonight." her nose stung as she spoke, her glossy eyes flicking away from Carmen's silhouette.

"Hey it's fine." he reassured her quickly, "I don't know why you're getting emotional."

"Cause I'm drunk." she said bluntly, throwing her hands up in the air. There was a quick beat before she spoke again, "You're just so.."

Carmen hung onto her last words, waiting for what she was going to say.

"Just..so..stern." she said, laying back down. "I'm not used to seeing outwardly "nice carmen" that often, especially outside of the kitchen."

Her words felt like a slap in the face, leaving him wincing at the sting of aftermath. Is this what she really thought of him? Had he not came to her house to cheer her up? Was that not nice enough for her?

"It's my job to be stern. Compare what I've done to what you've done. It's not an insult just an observation ; stern gets you places." The words seem to fall out of his mouth, unable to catch them before damage was done. He let out a forced chuckle, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Wow." was all she could say. She rolled to her other side, away from him. Gripping the blanket in her fist tightly, she tuned him out.

"I didn't mean it that way." he said quietly. He wanted to say more, he just didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Maggie."

He retreated back to the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him. He dug his nails into his palm, scolding himself. "Why the fuck would you say that?" he whispered to himself.

MORNING

"Yo!" Carmen yelled from the kitchen, attempting to wake Margaret up.

She grumbled, rubbing her eyes from the beams of light blinding her. Sunlight poured in through the slits in the curtains, creating lines of light on the bed. Looking around the unfamiliar room, Margaret began to grow nervous.

"Jesus christ." she said, quickly shuffling to the bathroom. She looked in the mirror, examining the smudged mascara under eyes. Her hair was a unbrushed mane of blonde curls, which was looking particularly messy today.

"Shit, shit, shit." she said, grabbing her dress from the ground. Throwing the dress over her shoulder, she walked out the room, brushing her finger through her hair as she went.

Carmen was in the kitchen, packing his bag for work she walked out. "You're gonna be late I take it?" he said, not looking up the counter.

"You can take it off my pay, I don't care." she spat, putting on her shoes quickly. He laughed, shaking his head. "You think this is funny?" she said, standing up with her bag.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to go get fucked up on a work night." he said, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

She shot him a glare, sneering as she walked past him. She didn't want to admit that he was right, she didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

She quickly walked down the hallway, wincing with each step she took. Her heels from last night had left blisters on the back of her ankles, "Stupid pieces of shit." she muttered under her breath as she pressed the '1' button in the elevator.

As she waited for the elevator to descend, she scrunched her eyes shut, lightly banging her head against the wall a few times in frustration. Feeling so pathetic for even coming to Carmen's apartment. Why didn't she go to Marcus' house? Hell, even Richie's house?

The elevator dinged, interrupting her thoughts. She walked out of the building, rushing down the few stairs that were at the entrance of the building.

"Did I fucking walk here?" she asked herself breathlessly. She looked around for any sign of her easily identifiable red car. She huffed, trying to find a taxi, but the street was pretty much empty.

"Need a ride?" Carmen said behind her. She balled her fists up at her side, not speaking or turning towards him. "You're gonna be even later to work." he got in his car, turning it on. He began to pull away slowly, maintaining eye contact with her hardened stare.

"Ok, fine. Wait!" she yelled, breaking her facade. She plopped herself into the passenger seat, buckling herself in.

"That's what I thought." Carmen said, pulling away from the curb. Margaret didn't bother making conversation, the comment from early that morning still eating at her.

"I said I was sorry." Carmen said, practically reading her mind through her facial expressions.

She just stared at the window, not acknowledging his apology. She knew it was childish, but that didn't stop her. He pulled up to the front of her apartment, harshly stepping on the brake.

She lurched forward a bit, the seat belt locking in place. Glaring, she unbuckled the seatbelt and got out of the car.

"Thanks for the ride." her words practically frigid with how unenthusiasticlly she spoke. She shut the door, a bit harder than she intended to, then walked away.

"Yup." Carmen said. He rolled the window back as he drove off the the restaurant.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Sydney asked as Margaret walked in. Her hood was up, hands shoved deep in her pockets as she sped walked through the kitchen.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence Syd." She breathed, setting her belongings into her locker. Tying her apron quickly around her waist, she walked over to her station.

"I took care of your prep." Sydney whispered to her as Carmen walked by. He kept his eyes straight ahead, paying no attention to the 2 girls.

"Oh Sydney.." Margaret faked a pout, then pulled Sydney into a quick hug. "Thank you."

The rest of the day was horrible for Margaret. She was off her game, moving slower than she'd ever moved before. Her hangover was hitting her now, her actions very clearly showing that.

As she cut the bread for the sandwiches, she felt a tight grip on her arm. She looked over, surprised by the sudden touch. It was Carmen, pulling her aside from the kitchen.

"Sweeps! Continue cutting the bread. It'll just be a second!" he called out into the kitchen, then focused his gaze on Margaret. "What's going on?"

She huffed, pulling her arm away from him, "I'm fine." she replied flatly.

He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath to keep himself composed, "You're moving slow as fuck. Why?"

"Chef, I'm fine." she said, walking away from him. Carmen should've fired her right there and then for how she acted. It was unacceptable, but he was low on staff, so firing her would've been a stupid decision. Margaret returned back to her station, thanking Sweeps for taking over.

She was finally allowed her break, which relieved some of her anxiety. She sat at one of the tables in the front since the restaurant was practically dead at that time. Her fork picked at her food, moving it around the plate as she ate. Resting her head on her hand, she robotically ate her late lunch.

Carmen watched her from behind the kitchen ledge, observing her state. Clearly the hangover mixed with her feminine need to be mad over nothing was affecting her greatly. "No." he thought to himself, "She did have some right to be mad at him."

He walked up to her, his breath drawing tighter with each step. Her eyes flicked up to him, pausing her eating. Carmen tossed a folded piece of paper on the table then walked to the kitchen.

She watched him leave, then grabbed the paper. As she opened it, she saw the words scribbled on it, "i'm sorry mags."

She immediately looked at the kitchen to search for Carmen, only to find that he was already staring at her. Without words, his body language asked "Are we good?"

She nodded, then began to clean up her plate and fork. As she walked into the kitchen, Carmen gave her shoulder a tight squeeze, "Thatta girl." he said.

She let out a quiet laugh, then continued through the kitchen. Setting her plates in the dishwasher, she returned to her station to cut bread.

"Chef." Carmen looked over his shoulder, watching her carefully cut the bread.

"Yes chef?" she replied, not looking up from her station.

"Look at me." he said quietly. His voice was low, just loud enough for her to hear.

She glanced up, meeting his gaze. "What?"

"Can you make the grocery list for me?" he asked, hitting his pen against the counter. His gaze was fixed on her doe eyes, never faltering.

She nodded her head, carefully setting down the knife. "Yes chef." She left to retreive a notepad and pen, finding a counter to lean over and write on. She wrote down the obvious basics like beef, broth, ingredients for bread, vegetables, etc. Eventually finishing up, she got from her spot and began asking each of the cooks if they had any requests.

"We could get some plantains." Tina suggested. She hit the ladle over the side of the pot, knocking some sauce off before she set it in the sink.

Margaret sighed, "Nothing in the menu requires plantains, Tina." she dropped the notepad and pen to her side.

"It was worth a try." Tina shrugged, returning back to her work.

Margaret turned to walk away, but she stopped herself. "What would you even make with plantains that would fit the menu?"

"Buttercream." Marcus said, the mixing machine whirring behind him.

"What?" Margaret said loudly, moving closer to him.

The machine hummed wildly, almost sounding like it was going to explode. "I said.." He yelled, then rolled his eyes. He turned around, switching off the machine then turned back to Margaret. "Buttercream. I need buttercream."

"Yes chef." she said as she scribbled on her notepad, walking away.

"Um.." Sydney paused, looking at the floor as she racked her brain for ideas. "I'm drawing blanks." she finally said, looking back up at Margaret.

"Well," Margaret closed the notepad, "Just let me know by the end of the day."

She tucked it her back pocket, then walked back over to her station. There was a small loaf of bread sitting on the cutting board, the knife placed next to it. The pile of loaves had dwindled while she was making the list, leaving barely work left to be done.

She picked up the bread in her left hand, holding it in her palm. As she went to cut it with the knife, it went right through the bread, slicing a large gash across her palm.

Someone had already cut the bread, but left it on the board.

"Fuck!" she yelled out. Her heart was racing as she felt her heartbeat in her hand. She grabbed one of the spare towels she kept in her apron pocket, wrapping it around her hand tightly.

Richie looked up from the register, taken aback by her sudden outburst. She never yelled, so it was a rare occasion. "Someone finally got a mouth." he laughed.

"Richie, fuck off!" she yelled back, the adrenaline taking over her body. She breathed heavily, backing up from the bread station.

"Hey, it's ok baby." Tina said from behind her. She unwrapped Margaret's already bloody towel, and replaced it with a clean one. Her hand pulsated, s bleeding heavily. The cut was around the same width as her palm and deep. Of course she had been in high-stress situations before but this was a raw kind of rush.

Carmen came out of his office quick, unaware of what had happened. He walked up to Tina and Margaret, eyes looking down at the bloody towel. His eyes flicked up to her tense face which was scrunched into a panicked expression.

"C'mere." He grabbed her other wrist gently, and guided her to the industrial kitchen sink. He turned the water on, lukewarm water spitting out. Slowly moving her hand under the water, this earned a sharp hiss to escape Margaret's body. "Shh, I know." he said quietly, trying to calm her.

She buried her face into her right shoulder, looking away from her hand. She let out a pained whimper, which caused to Carmen to glance at her. "Relax your hand for me." he calmly ordered, "There we go, unclench it.”

Richie hurried into the kitchen, peeking over Carmen's shoulder, "Margy, what the fuck happened?" he practically yelled, unintentionally shouting into Carmen's ear.

"Richie, shut the fuck up and back the fuck up." he harshly spat over his shoulder.

"Guys!" Tina said, rubbing Margaret's back in circles.

"Sorry sweetheart." Richie replied, taking a step back. Tina walked past him, smacking him upside the head and gave him a "mom" look.

Margaret whined into her shoulder, tears brimming her eyes. Carmen picked up on it, beginning to gently rub her forearm. "Just breathe. You're okay, you're good." he said softly.

She turned to face her hand, watching the water wash away the spilling blood. She could tell the cut was deep by the way the water stung her hand. Glancing at Carmen, she noticed he was still focused on her hand. He was intent on taking care of her, his words soft and his touch gentle. He didn't know exactly what came over him in the moment, but seeing her hurt turned him into a completely different person.

"There we go." he turned the water off, lifting her hand up. He grabbed a new towel from his pocket, wrapping it around her hand. "Let's go to my office, I think there's a first aid kit in there." He could practically hear her heart beating out of his chest.

She nodded, unable to form words, following Carmen to his office. She kept a tight grip on the towel, pressing down on the wound like she had seen in the movies. He pushed the door open, motioning for Margaret to sit down in the chair.

While she sat holding her hand, he rummaged through the filing cabinets until he found the first aid kit. He opened it, looking through the contents, pulling out a thick bandage and some type of wrap.

He leaned against his desk, "Give me your hand." he said as he opened a bottle of sterile saline solution. She listened, carefully unwrapping her hand from the towel.

She winced as she pulled the towel off, holding it awkwardly in her other hand. He carefully took her hand, resting it on his thigh. He squeezed some of the saline solution onto her palm, which coaxed another whimper from her.

"I know, I know." he said, peering down at her. Her eyebrows were knit together tightly, lips formed in a pout as her hand stung from the solution. He set the bottle down, swapping it out for the bandage.

His hands were wrapped around her forearm to keep her steady as he applied the bandage. His brows were pinched together in concentration as he started to wrap her hand. Margaret wanted to thank him in that moment, but she couldn't form the words. She felt almost suffocate, his sudden gentleness hypnotizing her.

Finishing up, he set the kit away, "I'm going to go finish closing with the others, you just wait in here. We'll see how your hand is when I finish closing." he said, leaving Margaret to her own devices in his office.

Margaret spent the last 15 minutes of closing, sitting in his office. Her leg bounced up and down rapidly, as her thoughts consumed her. What if she needed stitches? Did it need to be sewn up? She couldn't afford a hospital bill right now.

"I can't leave you alone for one second, can I?" Carmen's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She laughed quietly, "I mean, I'm okay. It's fine now." she said, playing with her hands.

"It's not okay. I can't afford for my chefs to be making mistakes like this." he motioned to her hand. "Lemme see it." he crouched to the floor, almost eye level with her.

Margaret extended her hand, allowing Carmen to examine it. He sharply inhaled, looking at the bloodied mess under the bandage. "Do you feel lightheaded?" he worriedly asked, eyes scanning over her.

"No, I'm okay." she assured him. He nodded his head response, applying a new bandage and wrapping it up.

"All good?" he asked, pushing himself back into an upright position. Margaret looked up at him, lips twisted into a worried pout. Her teeth chomped down onto her lip, hard, as she nodded her head.

Carmen could see that this had really shook her, clearly not a usual occurrence in her previous cooking jobs. He watched as she stood up, wiping her clammy hand on her apron.

"Thank you." she said quietly. Her big eyes flicked up at him, then away towards the door. She walked past him and to the lockers.

Breathe in.

Flower. Paintbrush. Tabby cat. California. Diner.

Breathe out.

She opened her locker, slowly taking off her apron and hanging it on the hook. As she threw on her jacket, Carmen joined her, opening his own locker.

"Night." Margaret said, walking away.

"Maggie.." Carmen breathed. She subconsciously bit down on her lip, knowing she'd chew through it by the end of the night. A nervous habit that had stuck with her since she was young. "You want to catch dinner sometime this week? You know, as an apology for what I said last night. Well technically this morning." he corrected.

She smiled at the ground, "You don't have to do that Carmen."

"Well I feel like I should." he said quickly after she finished her sentence.

She nodded her head, "I would like that."

END

sooo did we like this chapter?? i also apologize for any spelling mistakes because i literally never proofread my stuff 😇

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmen berzatto one shot #carmen berzatto the bear #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fluff #carmy the bear #carmy bear #carmy x reader #the bear one shot #the bear fanfiction #the bear hulu #the bear headcanon #the bear fandom #the bear

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hellsingmongrel · 7 months

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Man, so I'm not normally the biggest fan of Modern AUs, nor am I overly fond of fiction focused on kids, but...last night, my sleeping brain decided to concoct this Trigun (Stampede-flavored) Modern AU that now is living rent free in my damn brain! I want to get it out of my head and into the ether. I don't know if I'm going to do anything long-form with it, and I'm having to translate dream weirdness into more coherent storytelling, but here we go.

So it's modern day Earth, like 2024 or some shit, right? And that's when this version of Earth had just begun fucking around with Plant cloning. It's early enough that the SEEDS project hasn't even left the planet, the scientists haven't yet figured out how to put Plants in bulbs and use them for fuel, none of that! But they've already had Tessla happen, and the boys have already been born. Since they're not in space, even though they had to have found out about their sister, Nai hasn't had a chance to literally nuke humanity from orbit, and I guess Rem has had a chance to try and curtail some of his trauma, so he's...more stable? Ish? Stable enough where he's not actively trying to murder everyone. And the boys are "older," like we see in the flashbacks for the time Vash encountered Nai during the Last Run, so probably around 6 years old but looking 16 or so.

Rem has managed to fudge their paperwork so they've started going to school with human kids, to try and give them a normal childhood. Nai isn't as eager to play ball with the whole "being human" thing as much as Vash is, but Vash has got so many friends, Meryl and Milly and Lina are there and they're like the cutest, most stupidly adorable group of friends, just a bunch of little goofballs, like kids that age are. And the school has a field trip to a theme park (it was Disneyworld in my dream because my school actually did this, but ours was a band trip) and Vash manages to convince Rem to let him go. Vash and Nai and Rem are still paranoid about humans figuring out who they are, so you know, he's told to be extra careful and take care of himself, and Nai gives him one of his blades or something for self defense, just in case something happens. Even though Vash would never, that boy has trauma around knives and trying to defend himself, if you've read Trimax, iykyk. But he takes it anyway, and somehow, he manages to sneak it into the park. Maybe the metal doesn't register on metal detectors or something, who knows.

But he's a kid, and kids are dumb. Especially when they're 16. Especially if those 16 year olds aren't actually 16 and don't have the actual lived experience to know better. So he starts playing with the knife in front of the girls, showing off and just being a silly little guy. And then the knife slips. Bad. We're talking "this is how he probably lost his arm in this AU" bad. Blood everywhere, the girls are panicking and take him to the school chaperones and it's like "HOLY SHIT WTF DUDE, We're taking you to the ER, someone call his mom!"

And he hears that, pictures the doctors finding out he's not human, remembers what happened to Tessla, and panics. Boy does a runner like only Vash can do, and he manages to get away from them, out of the park, and escapes from security. And when parents get involved in trying to find him, the authorities start looking into the incident, and someone in the government overseeing the Plant research is able to recognize the elemental make up of the blade he dropped, and they start having suspicions. So the feds get involved, and it just goes from bad to worse, right?

Meanwhile, loopy from blood loss and panicking and a little sobbing mess because he feels dumb about slipping up and he's afraid he'll never get to go home to his mom and his brother again and is spiraling the way kids do when they panic, he gets lost in the city and ends up stumbling over teenage Wolfwood, who lives on the streets and has a few street kids that he looks after on his own with Livio. They never got to live at the orphanage, but that also means that the Eye (in whatever form it takes in this AU) never got ahold of them, so yeah, shits fucked for them, but it's actually a whole lot better for them than it might have been. And it's Wolfwood without all of the EoM trauma, so you can just imagine what he does when this delirious, bloody, terrified, severely injured kid runs him over in the street, sobbing about being caught by the adults and taken away.

Big Brother Nico do what Big Brother Nico do.

At that point, I ended up waking up, but damn if my brain didn't give me enough details to come up with a dumb AU idea that I kind of love and want to do something with, but I don't know if I have the time or spoons to do so.

Ideas I'd had following this beginning to flesh itself out in my head; Luida and Brad are Plant researchers brought onto the project to help the feds figure out wtf is going on with this whole situation, and when Luida is told to talk to Rem, because she's not giving them anything they can use, the two of them reach a secret accord to bring Vash home safe and sound and cover everything back up nice and squeaky clean the way it should have stayed.

Vash's arm is bad enough that he can't really heal it very well on his own without medical care, Plant healing or no. He's doing better than most kids would, but it still begins to go septic, and it forces Nico and Livio to make the really hard decision to find adults they can trust to bring him to so he can get the care he needs. He still ends up losing his arm, though.

At the end of everything, Melanie ends up taking Nico and Livio and the other kids in, so they still get to have their momma figure, even if she comes in later. Maybe she's the one that they find to help them. Is she maybe someone they've known was mostly safe but was never able to get them to stick around long enough to take care of them? Either way, the boys get Vash to her, and it starts the process of getting him home and the kids finally staying at the orphanage.

Meryl, Milly, and Lina all end up sneaking away when they realize that Vash is in more trouble than the adults are letting on, trying to go find him, since they know him better than anyone other than Rem and Nai. Eventually, they meet up with Nico and Livio while everyone is trying to avoid federal agents.

Obviously it's lovey-dovey Vashwood and Insurance Girlfriends and Polygun-flavored, but in the "these kids are too oblivious to think about sexy things, yet" sort of way, because I really do headcanon that at least Vash is ace, Wolfwood is probably demi, and also I am not writing children getting intimate like that. >8/ But kids having little crushes on each other is adorable and I can't not have Vashwood and Insurance Girlfriends be the eventual outcome, once those idiots all grow up and get their heads screwed on straight.

Also, because Nai hasn't had a chance to murder everyone, Rem's managed to work with him enough that he's very slowly overcoming his trauma and regaining his ability to trust that he's not in permanent danger. He'll probably grow up to be a Plants Rights activist or something, lbh. Or a politician. But he's not going to murder people, so either way, it's a win/win!

Because Nico's been living on the streets with him, Razlo either hasn't had to manifest as strongly for Livio, or hasn't manifested at all. Livio is still the sweet, shy, crybaby teddy bear we see, and maybe Razlo only comes out when the feds start getting closer and almost managing to grab the kids, and because he's been able to bond with Nico and the other kids so well this time, Livio is close enough to them that the thought of them getting hurt or taken away is enough to make him want to protect their little group instead of just Livio.

Wolfwood absolutely grumbles about how alike Vash and Livio are. Both a couple'a crybabies, geez, what the Hell you two??? But he also is very much a teddy bear who gives the best hugs when one of his little band of gremlins is upset, so he probably spends more time in a cuddle pile than anything else, now that there's two of them to lose their shit at the drop of a hat.

Vash was totally the one very sweet boy in a clique of girls that everyone who'd known him realized, when they were adults looking back, that he was very much the sweet gay kid hanging out with the girls because it was safer to be himself around them than it was to be around the other boys. (This isn't meant as a stereotype of gay kids, this is based on actual kids I grew up with. My friend group honest to God adopted them because we were all a bunch of momma bears.)

Vash is also...not trans? Because he's a Plant and Plants don't work the same way humans do, but he's also not what humans would think of as a cis boy. He expresses a masc presentation, but probably the closest equivalent would be an intersexed kid. Nai, too, tbh, though he's probably more of the "I don't give a fuck" opinion when it comes to his own gender identity. He uses he/him because that's what humans think when they see him, but he doesn't care any deeper than that.

#Trigun #Trigun Stampede #Trigun Maximum #Modern AU #Vashwood #Polygun #Insurance Wives #Random idea ramblings idek I just have this in my head now and I'm going to make it the world's problem!#Also any ideas anyone else might have about this would be fun to hear #I don't know that they'll become part of my own headcanon on this weird little thing but I always love throwing out random ideas with peopl #What even are the Eye of Michael doing in this thing?#IDEK maybe they're the feds chasing the kids down #Also I wouldn't be at all surprised if Nai did a runner on his own after he found out Vash was missing because he needed to go save him #I honestly imagined the whole thing ending up being a media shitstorm #“Young Boy Goes Missing From School Field Trip; News At 10!”#“Is Missing Boy Secretly An Alien From Outer Space?”#“Federal Agents Are Now Searching For Known Delinquent Youth In Case Of Missing High School Boy”#That sort of craziness on the media that makes it impossible to ignore Independent Plants #And starts the entire Plants Rights movement when the truth comes out or something

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newtonsheffield · 2 years

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Oh Molly modern bruises Anthony must go absolutely full heart eyes the first time he sees Kate really taking care of his younger siblings 🥺

It makes his chest feel very tight when he wakes up one Monday morning to find Kate already awake, preparing school lunches before she leaves for London.

"What are you doing?" He can't help but ask, his brow furrowed as he looks at the production line of bread in front of her.

"Making sandwiches with the leftover roast from last night," Kate said distractedly. "I've put seeded mustard on yours because I know how much you like it.

"Kate, you don't have to do that."

She looked up at him a little startled, "You don't want a sandwich for lunch? Are you going out?"

"No, I just mean it's not your job to take care of us."

She stared back at him for a very long moment, a slice of bread in her hands before she scoffed, rolling her eyes and putting the top on the sandwich. "Whose job is it then? I love you, and I want to make you a sandwich for lunch so you're just going to have to put up with it. Throw it out, the kids can as well if they don't want them: I'll never know."

And something burns in his chest when he sees his brother and sisters trooping out of the house into Kate's car with their brown paper bags full of lunch tucked gently under their arms, each of their names written in Kate's loopy cursive across the front with a little cartoon. And it burns even hotter when he's sitting on the fence with his own lunch in front of him, complete with a note written on the wax paper Love, Kate And he can't resist sending a picture to her. Him, smiling with his sandwich.

Best sandwich ever

#modern bruises #you might have some bruises au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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xbeezchaos · 2 years

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BPD! Scaramouche pt.3

A/N:Y’all are eating this up and I like writing this so here you go. Today we’ll be focusing on two specific symptoms of bpd. Self image and disassociation episodes. How he experiences them (not really. A good chunk is my own experience) and things he does.

Notes: scara x reader, no pronouns used, you helping him through these different episodes and emotions, cuddles, pet names , etc.

He often goes from this depressed and disassociated state:

Staring off blankly at everything and inspecting his surroundings

He ca. be very irritable and snappy with basically everyone because he’s in what he calls “The void”

Touching, hitting and pulling at his clothes, skin and body parts because he cannot fathom how he’s a solid being

Everything being loopy, twisted and feeling distant from him

Having irritability due to how slow everything feels. Even when it’s not slow. To him the worlds in agonizing slow motion

Everything being too loud or too quiet

“Sweetheart, can you pass me my headphones?” He’d hold his arm out, patiently waiting for you to hand them to him.

Not being able to pick up or hold many or a single conversation for hours to days at a time

Struggling to get out of bed or complete tasks

“My love, come back. I need you in my arms, please.” He’d practically whined out the last word.

“You know I’d love to but then good going to make sure that gorgeous face eats and drinks anything at all today if I don’t?” You kissed the top of ups head and left the room to go Make breakfast for you two

Sense of time being jumbled and confusing to him. So he uses way more timers and alarms.

You help by trying to run bu the same schedule. Setting the same alarms so you could shoot him a text to make sure he was on track with his day.

If he was he’ll text you back a long message about wanting to kill someone or himself. Sometimes both or in order of some sort of plan he’s devised on his breaks.

You find it funny and concerning how a simple comment would trigger him to say the most in response.

“Eat rocks and die.” Then he’ll proceed to ignore everyone with his noise canceling headphones on blast.

To this self image crisis and Euphoric mindset;

Cutting/dying his hair cause he realized how good he’ll look with the new image he has for his hair.

I mean. Do you think someone else besides himself picked and did that haircut?

Of course he’ll eventually ask for your help once too much damage has been done. But you’ve grown very skilled with fixing his hair

Getting new piercings. He will think on it first then do it as long as he has money ofc.

Loves getting his tongue pierced. Even if it took a few days before he could talk right again

Buying tons of things he may not need or use later

Likes spoiling you too. It can range from big to small things. Whatever he can think of to make you happy.

He loves the rush he gets when he sees the new things he has or how happy he makes you with the gifts.

Will last from hours to minutes so please be ready for him to come down from it.

Gets tattoos. And will bring you along, so you watch as the excitement slowly morphed into euphoria and he begins to shake and bite at the skin on his nails

How else did he get the gorgeous marks that illuminate in the dark?

He likes having you touch his tattoos once they’re fully healed.

Makes impulsive travel plans and follows through with them.

Tries new makeup or style or something to alter his appearance

Has constant thoughts of not feeling like he’s really himself. More of somebody else impersonating the real version of him.

Can’t look at himself for too long in pictures or the mirror for too long because in his words “that’s not me. It looks like me but something is seriously off. And I don’t like it.”

“I need to be. Not me. I’m doing too well and I’m tempted to fuck that up.” He says that a lot. Mainly to himself but on occasion you’ll overhear

Take his phone, laptop, wallet and whatever else away because he can and will but shit and dive into his savings without a second thought

“Cmon. It’s to cope! I deserve it!”

“Really? What you deserve is a fucking nap, let’s go!”

He proceeds to fight his way from sleeping while you lay your full body weight on him to keep him pinned to the bed with all of his electronics besides the tvs locked in another room

When he came down from this euphoric feeling. He was lucky to have you there because more often than not. He’d start crying.

Note!!!!:So that’s all I can think of right now and I don’t proof read but I’m hoping you guys love this one just as much as the last. If there’s anything else you wanna see or bpd Scara travel on to my ask box cause I’m running out of ideas.

#writing #fluff #genshin impact #oneshots #reader insert #diluc ragnvindr #genshin heizou #bpd scaramouche #scaramouche #scaranation #scaramouche x you #scara x reader #reader interactive

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mxaxwx · 1 year

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7-21-23

It's late at night and I'm in a bedroom with my mom and sister. I discover that I'm able to do a thing where I hold up an empty blender as it fills magically with water until it overflows. I show this to my mom. Something about it feels really dark and upsets me. I take a sip of the water from the blender and look in the mirror and my eyes look dark. This upsets me.

Later, I am with my parents in their bedroom. I sit with them on their bed and try to explain the blender thing to my dad. I explain it in a very disturbed and desperate manner like I want some sort of help with it but it doesn't look like they can help me. After a while it's late and my mom is kind of drunk and acting loopy so I get her away from me and have her go lay down.

I lay down in my parents’ bed with my eyes closed and my palm stretched out toward the ceiling and practice focusing the energy of my hand as if to project it out like a beam. I fall asleep and wake up later still in their bed and realize that I should go to my own room in order to continue doing this. I consider trying to write something in the ceiling of my room using this method.

Sometime later my eyes have gone dark, fully black (at least my right one has). My mom can't remember what color my eyes used to be, which is a little upsetting to me, but then I realize I can't remember what color my sister's eyes are so I understand, though it still makes me a little sad...

I see part of a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie where the turtle Raphael shows up and does some dance for some kids who may be prominent characters in the movie. I imagine being there while he's doing it and wanting to know that power. At some point there’s a close-up of his face as it changes shape and I try to pause it in an interesting spot in order to take a screenshot of it...

----------

I'm with my mom and dad on their bed in their bedroom in the dark. My mom finds some sort of object in the ceiling fan or something. My dad says something about a large animal that's in the room and I see that it's a bison. It's dying and he lets it into the bathroom so that it can spend its last moments in there alone. Shortly afterward it comes back out and lays down next to me, which I knew it would do. It lays against me and tells me (without speaking) that it will “arm me to the teeth” then dies shortly afterward. I feel very connected to it and know that this means that it will be a sort of “war steed” for me in the afterlife for some battle. This feels very right and I take comfort in it and find it very exciting.

Afterward I tell a friend, who is now in here with us, about this and show him a picture of the dead bison laying across the head of the bed. I also find it meaningful that the bison seems to be looking up toward something on the wall, like maybe a mounted bison head.

My friend is now sitting with my mom, dad and I on their bed. He pulls out two big joints and hands one to me. We talk about psychedelic drugs. He says that they're boring and I add that you should try to do something stimulating while on them and he agrees. He hands me one of the joints. It's large and filled with a cold, wet, pink, fleshy material. I ask him what it is and he says something about a man named “Don Dollen”. We start smoking and pass it around and both my mom and dad have some.

My mom says something about a person approaching and we are now in something like a government meeting in a large municipal building while everyone in attendance is turned around and looking up at us from their seats while we try our best to get out of there. As we leave, more people start to flood out of the building. We're told that the fire alarms went off, then there's panic as we hear that there's a fire (caused by us?). Everyone is now running and cops are after someone and I run out into the night while I hear a female cop talk about how people who rat-out others are “causing danger” and are full of shit...

I'm out on my own now in the dark running up something like a concrete drainage ditch on a large grassy embankment near the highway. I can see a thin layer of dark water in it...

----------

It’s night and I'm out riding bikes with some people who may in some way be associated with a martial arts gym. We're headed to a stadium to see some kind of animal show. I’m out in front as if leading. After a while I look back and don't see the others around anymore and think that I may have passed the stadium...

It’s a dull sort of daylight now. I'm out walking and I come across a famous professional fighter and congratulate him on his upcoming fight. I'm very cordial with him and tell him I think he'll win very easily.

I go into a McDonald's. It's crowded inside and the lines at the front counter are very long. A young male cashier announces to the crowd that they're out of certain ingredients.

I sit at a table with a disabled man and someone else who may be a sort of caretaker for him. After a while the disabled man draws me a message on a piece of paper with crayons that says that he's horny and I get disgusted and leave...

I'm in a stadium during a baseball game as it is ending. I leave just before everyone else does...

I go to the house of someone I know. In the yard are two people who I don't know very well and their baby. I talk to someone about how my roommate does psychedelics with people he hardly even knows, including married women, which seems somewhat inappropriate to me.

A couple arrives in order to sell something. I hang out in the yard with the woman who lives here. The man of the couple compliments me on the big yard and well-groomed Christmas/fir tree that's planted here—apparently assuming that I own the place. He tells me that those trees actually get bigger when trimmed and I concur...

#dreams

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primofate · 2 years

Text

The Ruthless Prince (Part 12) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: not much actually, it’s a pretty slow chapter, just a transition to the next “arc” as I would call it hahahaha, lots of interaction between reader and Scaramouche though

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

Were you proud of yourself for causing a scuffle between two princes? No. Well, maybe. Just a little.

It didn’t last long though. Tartaglia was just as shocked as you were when he realized Scaramouche punched him, but he was up on his feet in the next second and grabbed Scaramouche by the collar managing to scuff his chin before the two of them were pulled apart.

And so here you were, sitting in your shared room with Scaramouche as Kuni retrieved ice for him. There’s still an annoyed look on his face, glaring at nothing in particular, his chin a little red from the contact. Still, it was nothing compared to Tartaglia’s bleeding nose. You were sure it would bruise beautifully.

“...You didn’t have to punch him, you know,” The whole thing was 100% unprincelike and the two would surely be the talk of the country for the next few weeks. In your normal world, however, guys getting into scuffles wasn’t really an unusual thing.

“...I didn’t do it for you,” Scaramouche stated rather easily. There he was again with his “this has nothing to do with you” speech. The last time he said that was…

“What I did back there had nothing to do with you, in fact you can go right ahead and kiss him in private.”

You winced a little at the irony because Tartaglia had indeed gone ahead and kissed you. Scaramouche didn’t know that, in fact, you wondered if you should say something about it, but decided that you wouldn’t say anything if not asked.

You mock glared at Scaramouche’s stubbornness. “Okay? Why’d you punch him then?” you challenged, crossing your arms above your chest.

“Because he annoys me,” he answers immediately, not even a second after your question.

You pursed your lips because you were sure he was lying. He was clearly irked, he had definitely sensed that something was wrong and that Tartaglia was the culprit. “Liar,” a smirk threatens to appear on your face.

Scaramouche half growls and half grumbles. “Drop it or I’ll punch you next,” He absolutely had no excuse ready, and so opted to get you to stop talking about the incident and move on with it instead. Still, there was a nagging at the back of his mind, he wanted to ask what exactly happened, but your stifled laughter breaks him out of thought.

“You wouldn’t,” There is an incredibly, loopy, wide grin on your face. One might think that you had too much alcohol, but in reality you were just incredibly relieved and reassured. The incident had proven something about Scaramouche.

He might threaten people but he wouldn’t actually raise a hand against anyone…Well, not unless necessary.

The picture of him socking Tartaglia on the face replays in your head. It was rather satisfying to recall.

Kuni strolls in a second later and hands the ice wrapped in a towel over to the prince. “Unusual that you would get into a scuffle, milord. Highly out of etiquette rules, though you don’t usually follow them,”

Scaramouche lets out an annoyed sigh. Not wanting to talk about it anymore and yet the topic just kept going back to it. “...I’ve always had a personal hatred towards him,” Scaramouche simply explains, to which Kuni hums in understanding. “I suppose that’s true…Though I don’t see why you would choose to attack him now… as opposed to the hundreds of other times you had the chance,”

You hid a smile behind your hand, pretending that the side of your lip itched when in reality you just couldn’t stop from enjoying Scaramouche dig a deeper hole for himself. Thankfully, Kuni is considerate of the time.

“I’ll leave the two of you to rest, milord.” Kuni bows towards Scaramouche, then towards you. “Milady, have a good evening,”

You return the sentiment before going back to watching Scaramouche ice his chin. Another curtain of silence falls over the two of you, though, strangely, it was a comfortable one this time. With him sitting back on the armchair and you relaxed on the sofa adjacent to him, it almost felt like a normal morning in a mundane living room.

“I told you, didn’t I? Not as nice as you thought he was, wasn’t he?” Scaramouche’s accusatory tone wasn’t hidden and he had directed it at you. You expected an ‘I told you so,’ from him. He was RIGHT and you were wrong, of course he was going to shove that in your face.

Scaramouche met your eyes, wanting to gauge your reaction because he had no idea what really happened. Your sudden meekness and the way you reacted to Tartaglia’s presence was enough to tell him something had transpired, but did it mean that it was something displeasing or offending? Scaramouche merely equated your uncomfortable manner to something disagreeable, whether he actually had proof of that was arguable.

You leaned back into the sofa and played with your fingers, having trouble admitting that you were terribly wrong about the guy. “...No…Not nice at all,” you whispered, replaying the events in fast forward. Just the thought of it made you want to shudder.

You figured it was also a calculated move by Tartaglia, to have led you away from the crowd. He had most likely thought about the fact that Scaramouche wasn’t around either. All of that piled up told you that the Snezhnayan prince was craftier than you thought.

“He’s planning something,” Scaramouche changes the angle of the ice on his chin. He realizes he’s actually holding a normal conversation with you and perhaps that was because there was an impending doom that he feels in his veins. Something was about to happen and he didn’t know what it was, just that his gut feeling was telling him that it wasn’t the best time to make enemies or engage in squabbles with you.

So, at the very least, he took Kuni’s advice.

“I only offer suggestions, my lord, but perhaps, when she’s well and awake again, you might consider learning a bit more about her…She may one day be your greatest ally. Your father is a great king, prince, but there were also many a times he would turn to the queen for guidance and support,”

“So if he told you something you’d better tell me what it is,” though, Scaramouche’s rough way of talking wasn’t something he could change. You’d just have to put up with that. You hesitated, looking away from him icing his chin but relayed to him of what Tartaglia said, leaving out the bits about what he had done to you, and told him only the conversation that you thought was important: Tartaglia thought that he had full entitlement to Scaramouche’s electro vision.

“As I thought, he’s still obsessed with it,” he mutters, loud enough for you to hear. He went inside his head for a moment, wondering if it really was Tartagla who shot the arrow meant for him, or at least if he was the one who plotted it. Scaramouche tried picking up pieces and throwing them together to form some sort of picture, some sort of clue as to what the Snezhnayan Prince was planning. But he couldn’t grasp at a full one, and all he could do was speculate.

“...He seems to think I’ll help him, or something,” You added after a moment of thinking, recalling that Tartaglia was largely disillusioned–almost like he was hallucinating really–about what you thought of him. Sure you did appreciate his niceness and his stories at one point and even enjoyed listening to him, but… the way he spoke as if you belonged to him, in the same way that he thought Scaramouche’s electro vision was rightfully his…it was a little unsettling.

“What do you mean?” Scaramouche asks, and you falter a little.

“Well…I…” you pause, remembering word for word what Tartaglia said, despite your embarrassment.

“...Although, I must say…there’s something else of his that’s caught my interest these days…”

“...And you’ll help me, won’t you, dear Y/N?”

Scaramouche would describe the feeling as wanting to gag in his throat. It was such a cheesy line, but he didn’t have any visible or verbal response to you sharing that information.

He was back to pondering things in his own world. You could see it in the way his eyes stared at nothing, yet flickered about from time to time. Scaramouche wondered if Tartaglia had you in some kind of bigger picture, if you were part of his plans or if he was just using you as a decoy. Did the Snezhnayan prince really take an interest in you? Or was he feigning it so that his real motive was hidden? Pretending to be interested in you so that the attention was there, and not on his real goal.

“It’s late, there’s no use thinking about it right now,” You finally broke his peace and he flicked the cold and damp towel onto the table in front of the two of you, the ice having melted already. He stood, hesitated, but opened his mouth to say “Stop getting into so much damn trouble,” as if you had any control over it.

You huffed and slightly glared up at him. “Well excuse me for saving your life,” He acted as if he didn’t hear that statement but he continued to stand there as if tossing an idea back and forth in his mind. Finally, he opens his mouth, but is slow when stating his plan.

“You have to learn how to fight,” You thought he was joking, your mouth already forming into a humorous smile, but his eyes held yours and the only thing you could see was seriousness.

“What? What for?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, head tilting sideways slightly to accentuate it. Scaramouche sighs and darts his eyes towards the curtain covered windows of the room. It seems that there was more going on in that brain of his than you anticipated, and he just wouldn’t let you know what it was.

“Just… a feeling,” your shoulders slumped, giving him a blank look, letting him know that his explanation was not enlightening at all, but he was frustrated with himself too. There was just something in him that thought things were going to go south very soon. “I told you, he’s planning something.”

“Well, the knights are here to protect me, aren’t they?” Scaramouche winced a little at your hopeful conclusion, but he offers you a fact that you haven’t thought about before.

“My mother and father are away at the moment. They’re accompanied only by our best knights… So the ones left here are…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, and instead starts a new one. “My parents are set to come back in a few weeks…but I suspect Tartaglia will have his plan in motion before then. He’s already made a bold move, trying to shoot me dead with an arrow,”

“That was him?” You immediately ask, and Scaramouche sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No, I don’t know. There’s no evidence that it’s him, the arrow was analyzed and there was no links to him nor Snezhnaya, I just… and after what you told me about him, who else could it be?” He’s crossed his arms over his chest, and you look him over. For once, he didn’t look angry. Only wildly thoughtful, just as you’ve observed ever since you came back to the castle. Then you realize…maybe, maybe this is what vulnerability looks like on him.

It’s subtle, he doesn’t give off the fact that he’s worried, but it suddenly registers in your mind that he’s rambled–or at least his version of rambling–he’s talking to you. He’s confiding in what’s bothering him.

Your eyes widen a little as it dawns on you, looking up at him almost with awe in your expression. He doesn’t notice it at all. Your body relaxes and a small smile appears on your lips. “Well, like I said, it’s too late to think about it right now. Let’s talk about it again tomorrow,” You stand and excuse yourself, disappearing into the bathroom to freshen up for a good 20 or so minutes.

You take turns, and once he’s done, clad in his silk, purple sleeping attire and sitting on his side of the bed, toweling his still damp hair, you lay on your side looking at his back. Pondering on certain things that he said, you ask “...Why would your mom and dad leave the kingdom without its best knights?”

His arms slow down on drying his hair, “...Because Kuni is here and so am I,” the light shuffling sound of the towel encompasses the room until he speaks up again. “With my vision, I can fight well enough to take down armies…” The towel slips to his shoulders and he moves on to patting his face dry.

“...Then aren’t you enough to protect me?” From your view of his back, you can tell that he’s frozen up, his arm has stopped moving. Slowly, he drops the towel altogether and tethers his hand to the bed.

“Battle…War. It gets messy,” he offers a non-answer. “...My obligation is to the kingdom so if a war does happen… I have to be at the front,” that was a clearer answer to you. He had such ways to go around a question, to indirectly tell you that he can’t be guarding you 24/7. But did it mean that he wanted to? That fact was unclear. His answer was largely biased towards his kingdom, and not towards you.

Then you hear him click his tongue, he turns his head to glare at you. For a moment you think to yourself that you hadn’t seen that glare in a while. “Stop being an idiot trying to get away from combat training. I’ll get Kuni to start training you on the basics so just shut up and do it. Stop complaining,”

You don’t get offended like the other times, instead you tried not to smile, secretly biting the inside of your lip as he grumbles to himself but gets in bed. You close your eyes and say nothing more of his demands only a simple and slightly mocking “Yes, sir,” to which you hear a slight growl at.

You must have been more tired than you thought. Closing your eyes was enough to lull you into a comfortable sleep.

You and him don’t realize it, but it’s possibly the very first time the two of you have fallen asleep facing each other.

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#genshin impact #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche royal au #the ruthless prince #scaramouche fanfiction #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Note

prompt 1 with older brothers best friends!harry 👀

1. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

8. “I said stop staring at me.”

23. “I have a name and it’s not sweetheart.”

Third wheeling could never be fun. Not when you’re basically not even a wheel but an invisible person on a vacation watching couples kiss and yada yada.

“For fuck's sake.” Y/N grumbles changing a side snatching the blanket that got stuck under her and sandwiches her face into a pillow when she hears the steel roof atop her creak furiously accompanied by high pitched obnoxious moans.

Y/N's brother brought her along to their Italy trip, his wife’s bestfriend and his own bestfriend tagged along too leaving only Y/N to grump about their wild sex rendezvous.

She’s sleepless, homesick and probably about to get a stomach bug for living in yacht for four days atleast!

What’s so fun about jiggling in your sleep? None perhaps and the waves crashing at night that threatens you to swallow you down to the pit of ocean --- my pal, nothing is entertaining about it. Atleast for Y/N. She’s more of a hill station going person with her pup Frankenstein that oogles out from his small globe like window, comfy in his lil bag that Y/N moves around on her shoulders everywhere.

When the fracas of whatever’s taking place up doesn’t comes to halt, Y/N had enough, she isn’t very versed in coping with such situations since her dorm-mate is very nice.

So, she’s throwing the lid away to pop her head through the square like space and spreads her elbows up the roof, “Aish.” She immediately covers her eyes upon the sight of his brother and his wife doing it.

Their expressions comically panicked as they embarrassingly scrambles to clutch the flimsy sheets over them.

“Who does it all naked under an open sky?” She squeaks out, feeling her pulse tick and she peeks out towards the darkness from the slight gap of her fingers which are barely helping her avoid the scene that’d haunt her for life.

“Them bunnies and monkeys, ‘n many of our kind, Sweetheart.” She rolls her eyes at the familiarity of deep slow rumble that’s a bit slurred, probably from the Tequila they took with them. The voice never fails to froth bubbles in Y/N's tummy and it always involuntarily makes her nails dig into her palms.

Harry and Tina’s bestfriend went out to roam around Italy, or they told so and Albeit Y/N very well knows their intentions were more to exploring the city she didn’t butt in.

“I’ve a name and it’s not, Sweetheart.” She dismisses him with a grumble and his smirk shines through the shadow aggravating Y/N to an extreme she slips down shutting the door (like lid) at the them.

Harry Styles. Y/N's brother’s bestfriend. He’s everything Y/N loathes about. Bright green eyes, silken features and that dopey pearlish smile that makes everyone fall in love with him in nano-seconds.

To Y/N. He is an incubus. A witch that allures people without even knowing.

He’s a narcissistic asshole and Y/N's bad boy dream, unfortunately.

She hates herself for having a puppy crush on him for years now.

That friggin, Asshole.

He’s with everyone but her. It seems as if he’s getting stung by bees upon the mere closeness between them. A lamb ready to bite her down his stomach if she steps a foot near him.

At the moment when she’s sitting with her knees pressed to her chest, swollen eyes and puffy lips from not getting sleep last night.

She’s really hating that Harry looks so hot from the swim he just took as he dries himself sitting opposite to her. The droplets twinkling on his tanned thick body, his trunks wrinkled and bunched up into his thighs baring the tiger tattoo on front, his hair wet and oh so fucking tug-able – Y/N feels like Rachel from friends thinking all of that.

“Stop staring,” She mutters out loud when he wouldn’t stop licking the saltiness from his pink bottom lip keeping his intense gaze on her.

“What did y'say?” He pretends that we too engulfed in something else.

“I said stop staring at me.” Y/N grits. It’s annoying because it’s making her belly feel funny and loopy.

“The hills behind y'are just s'admirable.” He elevates his shoulders a bit panicked from inside and Y/N forced herself to not to twitch her eye when his chest muscles flexes due to his action.

Bamboozled she takes a glance from her shoulder to where he diverted his sight once she caught him. Her nose scrunched up and chin butted in disgust at the scenery, “That’s literally a heap of dead fishes!”

“Better than starin’ into a dead soul.” His lips down turned into a careless grimace and Y/N gasps out loud pushing the strands of her hair sticking to all of her face because of the breeze gush, “Why would you say that!?”

“’Cos you’re so mauve, that’s why?” He just wants to take a piss out of her. Nobody’s around and he’s finally getting time to talk to her even if it just to sit cross legged on her nerves and sip tea.

He’s actually lying. He thinks she’s more than mauve. She’s all those colours that usually macarons have, all those hues that butterflies wings have and all those tinctures that one find in gems then keep them safe.

She’s the colour he misses in his life.

“And you’re so fucking blue!” She grumbles and that slithered a deep wicked smile on Harry’s lips, “Like this deep ocean yer afraid of?” Her eyes widens at that and she almost lunges on her knees.

How did he know? Ofcourse, he'd. He’s everywhere. In every damn picture of wherever they went for recreation.

“I’m not.” She scoffs, her tone inconvenient and hazy as she shrinks into herself.

“Then take a dip,” She wishes that she could wipe that beautiful stupid smirk off his gorgeous stupidly lame face.

“Kiss my ass.” She spat out throwing a cushion towards him that lands on his lap, “I’d love to.” He barks out a laugh that rings through the waves.

“You’re such a stinky asshole.” She hits him with another that dumps against his chest, “Ow!” He feigns hurt with ridiculous comical expressions and throws the cushion back towards her which she successfully dodges, but, it falls behind her into the water.

“Shit.” She complains ducking around the edge of the yacht and stretches her arm to the plausible extent to grab the floating cushion.

Though when the tips of her toes leaves the seat she was on and she’s bending too much for her own sake Harry’s standing upright, “Hey stop —-" But. It’s too late as with a high pitched squeaky shriek Y/N's rolling first and falling into the water leaving Harry frozen for a second.

Panic chokes her throat and she moves her limbs around everywhere splashing water vigorously. Mouth gasping for oxygen but all that comes is salty water filling her mouth and lungs too, maybe as she sinks deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, Y/N!!” He shouts out jumping to save her immediately knowing she doesn’t know how to swim and he’s wrapping his palm around her neck and pulling her from her waist to himself under the water as she watches him with frightened fading eyes.

He comes back to surface quickly and presses her to his chest. She too clings to him for dear life feeling herself drift into a state of unconsciousness and hard to breath while he grabs the deck and lifts her with himself to it.

He doesn’t risk a chance and lays her limp body down and clasps his hands together pushing them against where her heat beats feebly, winces when she spurts out water painfully.

“Baby...fuck.” He pats her soaked pale cheek anxiously when she still remains unresponsive to him, breathing wearily so he does what has to be done.

He grabbed her chin, squished her cheeks making her lips pucker out and wrapped his mouth around hers sucking the water out and spat it out once his mouth was full.

His eyes slip shuts and he slumps with relief when Y/N coughs out loudly into his chest and he brings her into him murmuring assurance into her wet hair.

“You’re okay darling,” His whisper wavers from the trembling of his lips and his fingers divots into her softest of skin when he hugs her tightly, “’M sorry ‘s me fault, Sweets.” He rubs the bridge of his nose to take the sniff of her scent to calm him down and she shakes her head unable to talk, hands bunched up against his tummy.

“You should rest, yeah?” His gaze soft with care and it’s baffling for Y/N that he ever had this side too. Before, she could be on her feet he slipped his strong arms under her and hoists her up and into him without any trouble.

If Y/N wouldn’t be feeling very droopy and breathless she sure would have fought with him, maybe blushed and hid her face into his neck but she’s already knocking out in his arms from the stingy feeling in her eyes that made her super duper sleepy.

Clouds. Y/N's merged into them and they cover every inch of Y/N, wait where am I? She feels real nice comforted around with such warm bedding and she sure knows it’s not hers. The blurry sight infront of her is enough to aware her and a perfectly calloused hand comes rubbing her shoulder when she tries to sit up.

“Not heaven, o'summat.” He chuckles airily. His smile small and a tad awkward, he’s changed into another pair of trunks that are yellow and his upper half now sadly is covered from a blue tee.

“How you feelin'?” Y/N let his question fly over her head and stutters out loudly, “Why you being s'nice to me now?” It etches a frown on his face but soon it vanishes into an expression that Y/N couldn’t pick point.

“You’ve always been such a meanie...” She murmurs glumly. White sheets tangling around her torso as she moves infront of him – their knees touching.

“I umm –-...like you, I guess?” He has never been this nervous and jumblish with words.

“You guess?” She asks and scared that he missed up he rushes out to hold her and to make her believe that his feelings are true.

“No, no! I’m sure. I like you very much.” That puts Y/N into silence where she stares the gleaming jewels onto his fingers and ponders over what he said.

Harry Styles. Her first kiss. Her very first candy love crush and her dream of bad boy actually likes her back.

She tries to ignore the party poppers going inside her body and the drums of happiness rolling around her heart.

“But ... Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy,” She doesn’t meet his eyes smoothing out the crinkles of sheets and her palm halts immediately when Harry hooks his thumb under her chin and raises it gaze lovingly into her eyes with sincerity, “Just ‘cos I stole yer first kiss?”

He laughs out sweetly when she bobs her head vigorously, “C’mon we were just sixteen! I’d have made sure to tell y'to keep it safe fo’ your precious person if I knew back then.” His pupils gleaming with hope and a tinge of eagerness.

The next thing she said with a slight bubbly pout caught Harry off-guard and in awe that how to process what she said with so much liability and vulnerability.

“But you’re my precious person!!”

“Yeah, baby?” He grins with a dimple tutting in and grabs her small cold hands to pull her closer to him.

The sweet name shies Y/N away and Harry thinks she couldn’t be more endearing as he takes her soft looking puffy face in the warm embrace of his hands and bops their noses together.

“Then g’na make sure ‘m your last.” He murmurs feathering his lips to the corner of her mouth that flutters her eyelids like butterflies and she pants out for more with a sweet whine, “Shit. You’re still very candy like since I last kissed ye'.” He giggles stroking his thumb up her cheek and takes a lick of her jutted bottom lip.

“Harry....” She complains tugging his weary shirt, “Yes me baby?” He quips out with those fake surprised eyes he makes with raised brows and puppy gaze.

“Kiss me alre –—,” He's swallowing her words down with the tender smush of his lips against hers in a kiss that’s slow and comforting at first, hearing onto the noises that she creates from tasting him and it deepens into something ardent and red when Harry pulls her over his thighs and guides her arms around his neck.

Their foreheads comes touching. Their hearts in sync and beside eachother. Their tongues loving on eachother.

“Dunno if I could ever stop.” He whispers breaking the knot of spit that connects their mouths with the stroke of his thumb against her shinning lip and pecks that spot twice.

“Then don’t.” Y/N looses her brain cells and only butterflies to whoosh into her skull as she grabs his jaw never letting him go and kisses him harder and rougher this time.

She’s gonna be in oh so much love with this bad boy that’s such a softie for her and she knows that there’s no going back.

#IMMMMMM BACKKKK FINALLYYY #PLEASEEEEE FORGIVE ME MY READ MORE THINGY IS NOT WORKING #BAD BOIII HARRYYYY #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles prompts #cute harry #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #fluff #harry angst #hsh #dom harry

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fanfic-me-up · 4 years

Text

Capture This! || Kaminari Denki

Synopsis: You walk in on Denki, your best friend of five years, getting off. Two questions: Why is there a picture of you? And why do you want him to take more?

Pairing: Kaminari Denki x fem!reader

Warnings: M/E+, 18+, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 6k+

A/N: This is for the @bnhabookclub bingo event! Thank you @shoutogepi and @im-here-for-the-heroes for beta reading. Shout out to @whats-her-quirk this fic was born from me poppin in during your thirst hours lol

“Lotion? Check. Tissues? Check. Pictures?”

Denki swallows.

“Check.”

It’s routine for Denki, really the only ritual he sticks to in his otherwise scatterbrained schedule of kickin’ ass, chilling with friends, and playing Fortnite till ungodly hours of the morning.

But he can’t help it. You’re fucking gorgeous, and Denki has needs - his brain programmed to get off at least three times a day else he can’t function. The first time it happened, he felt a deep sense of shame, twisting his gut, disgusted with himself that he defiled your image. He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week until you had enough and demanded to know what was up. It was the first time he lied to you.

But one time became two, and three, and suddenly Denki needed an image of you all the time. The one of you looking all pretty in that stupid summer dress was his favorite. You bought it that one time you dragged him to the mall because you needed a “guy’s opinion.” He rushed to the bathroom because if he didn’t get out fast, he was gonna drag you back into the changing room and rip that dress off himself.

You’re adorable, hot, sexy, and absolutely terrifying, wrapped up in one perfect package.

Oh, and did he forget to mention?

Totally off-limits.

This is why Denki has to resort to hanging out with you, listening to you vent about your boy problems, and how you just want to meet “the one” already. Denki’s heart breaks a little more every time you shove him deeper into the friend zone, all the while pretending like he didn’t just jerk it to you a couple hours before.

He works his hand up and down his shaft, growing harder by the second with each stroke. It doesn’t take much to get him going, not when it’s you. You’re wearing his hoodie, toes buried in the sand, roasting a marshmallow in front of a bonfire. You’re smiling at something Kirishima said, Denki doesn’t remember what, because all he could see was the light in your eyes. A genuine spark lit only when the cameras were off, and you were unaware of anyone watching. Denki loved witnessing these rare moments; wanted to commit it to memory, so he did. When you posted the picture on Instagram, Denki was more than surprised; you had scrunched your nose when he showed you the picture, displeased with how you looked.

This should not be happening. Any normal person would feel ashamed when staring at a picture of their best friend and touching themselves. No one knew about it, and Denki was surprised he was able to keep it a secret for this long considering he’s friends with fucking Mina of all people.

Enough pre-cum bubbles at the tip that he doesn’t even need the lotion. Staring at you on the screen, wearing his hoodie that’s way too big it covers your thighs completely, makes his mind wander to all sorts of ways he wishes he could get you out of that hoodie. He leans back into the chair, spreading his legs with his eyes half-lidded, imagining what your lips might look like wrapped around his cock.

“Fuck yeah...”

Groaning at the image of you on your knees, lips bruised and slicked with spit from fucking your pretty little mouth has Denki tightening his fist, hips fucking into his hand in a continuous rhythm.

He’s on the verge of coming when the door swings open - the first and last person Denki wants to walk in is standing there in front of him.

“Hey, I called, but you didn’t - ah!” You squeak, throwing the box you’re holding. A sea of random knick-knacks and hero merch rains over you. You hear a thump when the yellow polaroid camera you bought for Denki at a thrift shop hits the floor.

“Fuck!” Denki jumps from his chair, an array of pens fall in a heap to the floor.

You whip your head away, heat spikes your body, embarrassed that you saw your best friend in such a compromising position.

Denki mutters a repeated “shit shit shit” to himself for a good minute before he finally addresses you; his voice rising with each word.

“How did you get in here!?”

“Spare key, dumbass!”

“That’s for emergencies only!”

“Are you talking to me with your dick out!?”

Silence.

“No?”

You huff at the uncertainty in his tone. It’s only two o’clock, and you can already feel a migraine coming on.

“Denki, if I turn around and you’re not covered, so help me god I will-”

“Okay, okay, I got it. Pants are zipped.”

You don’t move until you hear the confirming “zip” before slowly opening your eyes (you have no idea why your eyes were closed in the first place), and you turn around to find Denki leaning against the desk. He’s trying his best to appear casual, but the flush on his face and frazzled hair give away what he was doing moments before you walked in. You don’t know where it comes from, but the thought alone stirs something inside you.

The confusing emotion is replaced by hot-blooded anger when you lock eyes on the screen behind him.

“Is that my face!?”

Denki’s smile drops as he turns around. Dammit. Of course, he forgot to close the tab.

“Uhhh…”

He has no words, none, not when you’re standing there with that intense look in your eyes you get when you’re about to rip someone a new one. Your anger could rival Bakugou’s, and Denki has unfortunately been in the middle of one too many screaming matches. He’s surprised his eardrums aren’t blown out by now.

He clicks to exit out, or at least he thinks he does until he comes to the dumb realization that he’s clicking the zoom button instead.

“Ho-hold on, let me just…”

With each click, it zooms a little more into your face until only your nose is in the frame. Denki sheepishly looks up at you.

“Oops?”

Denki’s had a good life. He’s already come farther than most ever dream in their career when becoming a pro-hero, and he’s made some amazing friends most spend years trying to find. The only regret of his is not confessing his true feelings to you, but really what’s one regret? He’s totally a-okay with saying goodbye to this cruel, cruel world if it meant not being subjected to this torture any longer.

“Denki Kaminari.”

Denki gulps. Oh no. You only say his full name when you mean business.

“Explain right this instant or I will walk out this door and tell the whole world how you and grape boy took body shots off cardboard cutouts of each other!”

“Hey! We were really fuckin’ drunk and thought it might score us some pity sex with the ladies!”

“In what world would you licking fuckin’ Mineta equal oh yeah, fuck me, Denki?”

Denki cowers with each step you take, gulping down the lump in his throat when your face is close enough to hold in his hands. He’s never been more simultaneously turned on and terrified in his life. Especially when he just heard the words “fuck me, Denki” escape your lips.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Whatever you do. Don’t. Look. Down.

The last thing he wants is you flinging him out the window because he couldn’t keep his eyes on your face. Don’t get him wrong; he could look at your face forever, even when you look like your one move away from killing him. But… he’s a dude, and there’s boobs in front of him, not to mention your boobs.

“Hello? Earth to Denki?” You wave your hand in his face.

“You may wanna sit down for this.”

“I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.”

He huffs out a breath, annoyed you didn’t take the bait. The suggestion was more for his sanity than yours. With you standing so close, his brain is going haywire; the tantalizing scent of strawberries and cream short-circuiting his brain quicker than when he overuses his quirk. It never fails to make his mouth water, if only he could bend down and bury his nose in the crook of your neck, god, he’d never let you go.

How does he even begin to work through the feelings he has for you when they’ve been bottled up since the moment he knew he was in deep? Where does he start?

The fact he’s been in love with you for the past five years?

Or that he’s been getting off to you for half that time?

Denki’s mind is running a mile a minute, like a computer in overdrive. He can’t make enough sense of his emotions to convert into words. But, instead of waiting to open his mouth, like a normal person, Denki spews out embarrassing word vomit that connects his two thoughts.

“I love getting off to you.”

A pin could drop, and it’d be as loud as a freaking hurricane.

Denki groans in frustration, facepalming his forehead. What the hell did he just say, and can he take it back? How long would it take for him to hack into a database and find someone with a time manipulation quirk? He doesn’t even know how to hack, but he’d wrangle his one brain cell and fucking learn if that’s what it takes.

He’s usually good at reading you. You’re one of the few people he cares enough to pick up on how you’re feeling. The myriad of emotions that pass on your face from shock to confusion to a hint of amusement lets Denki know he can breathe easy. At least you’re not trying to kill him anymore.

“Oh-kay that’s not what I - what I meant to say was - hold on, lemme just, rewind.”

He makes some weird, loopy gesture with his arms. His brain was firing a million synapses at once, each connected to a different thought, some deep like the fear of losing you and some not so deep - like he’s really excited to eat the cheeseburgers Bakugou promised he’d grill tonight.

But he tries his best to reign in the million and one thoughts to focus on you, who’s waiting for an explanation. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart that’s about to beat out of his chest. He only hopes you don’t stomp on it after what he’s about to say.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been since our first year at U.A. I wanted to tell you for the longest time, but then you got with Bakugou. Then you broke up, and you needed a friend more than ever, and how could I say no to being ‘your best bro’ when you were crying on my shoulder? It was just never the right time.”

The more he rambled, the more uncomfortable he felt. Out of all the scenarios he imagined of how he’d confess to you, this one was at the bottom of his list to be prepared for. He never expected to be forced into confessing because you caught him masturbating to pictures of you. He rubs the back of his neck and gives an awkward laugh when you stay silent.

“I get it if you wanna, like, shun me forever or something. I deserve it for being such a creep.”

Denki lowers his head to the floor, the clutter of fallen pens and knick-knacks looks way less intimidating than staring into your eyes. A soft hand touches his chin, lifting his face to meet yours.

“Hey, look at me, it’s okay.”

Your voice does wonders for soothing the nerves shaking him up.

“I guess it’s not that creepy when you put it like that, and for some weird reason, you’re like the one person I can catch jacking off to my pictures, and I don’t feel the need to report you as a registered sex offender.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but Denki’s heart drops at the idea of you labeling him as the neighborhood perv.

“Please, don’t do that,” he squeaks before clearing his throat, “But for real, Y/N, I’m so sorry. It’s wrong to disrespect you like that, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

Denki has no idea how he’s gonna get off now, but that’s his future self’s problem.

“I can’t help it, you’re gorgeous, and I love ya, and I don’t remember the last time I got laid.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that last part, but it’s the truth. You’re the reason he couldn’t even look at another girl, because they weren’t you, and that’s why he had to resort to pulling up pictures of you. Pictures that aren’t normally deemed “sexy” and of you dressed modestly, without much skin showing.

That doesn’t stop Denki from coming in record time with your name rolling off his lips every time.

“How bad do you want me?”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit curious about what sex with your best friend would be like. You heard he wasn’t a bad lay from a couple girls back at U.A.

You’d also be lying if you didn’t say you were just as horny as said best friend.

It’s difficult finding time to date as a pro-hero. When you do, it doesn’t last very long anyway - the other person growing tired of always coming second to your career. Don’t even get you started on one night stands. They’re practically impossible to uphold as once the media gets wind of it, you’re slapped on the cover of “Hero Times Magazine,” and everyone and their mother is calling for you to “spill the tea.” This is why pro-heroes either end up with other pro-heroes or end up alone.

Denki’s eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline. If someone were to tell him you were attracted to him in any sense of the word, his heart would double-time it, but he’d ultimately brush it off. He knew your type, and he could not be farther from it. The aggressive, beefy, gym rat who could match you move for move in a heated spar of harsh words and hot-blooded passion. You dated Bakugou for fuck’s sake! There was no hope for Denki after that.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take what he can get. The words pour out of him like the dam’s been broken and the unforgiving flood rushes.

“I want you so bad, Y/N, fuck, I’ve waited so long, so fucking long, you don’t know how crazy you make me.”

Your breath catches. His words have an unexpected effect on you, but your heart drums in anticipation. If you listen close enough, you can hear Denki’s beating at the same rate, waiting for what you’re going to say next. Power surges through you. In your past relationships, sex was always seen as this competition. Your exes never wanted to relinquish their pride or control, but Denki is nothing like your exes. He’s laid-back, always cracking jokes, and never dwelling too much on the past, always moving forward to the next moment. He’s perfectly fine with letting you take the reins most of the time. You determine what will happen next.

“You love getting off to me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but he answers in earnest.

“You’re the only one I get off to.”

You slide your dress off, and it falls to the floor.

“Show me.”

Denki’s eyes travel over your body, his mouth slightly open in disbelief at your undressed state. He wants to capture this moment in case this is as much as he gets, even if he can never use this mental picture because he promised you he wouldn’t. His fingers itch to brush along the lace trim of your bra, to graze along your nipple, and watch your reaction. Are you sensitive enough where you’d full on moan, or would he have to strain to catch the small hitch of breath? Denki was never top of his class. He preferred to wing it and hope for the best, but for you, he’d take his time to study every inch and crevice of your body until he could read you cover to cover with his eyes closed. His gaze travels down to the matching lace panties you wear, a cute little bow in the front waiting to be untied with his teeth.

Did you plan to get fucked today? Or do you usually wear matching sets on the regular?

Your skin looks so soft and supple, he’s aching to dig his fingers, but before he can, you step away. Denki cocks his head. Have you changed your mind? But any doubt leaves Denki when you make your way across the room to sit down on the edge of the bed.

You start with feather-light touches dancing along your collarbone. Your eyes are locked on Denki, getting high on the way he drinks in your every move. Your touches are teasing, especially when your finger dips down to your cleavage. Still, instead of giving Denki what he wants, you change course, making your way back to your shoulders. Denki exhales a breath at your teasing, but says nothing, too afraid he’ll ruin the mood if he says something stupid.

When you make your way down again, you don’t disappoint; you pinch your nipple through your bra, and the way Denki swipes his tongue over his lip has heat rushing to your core. You slide your hand down your stomach, stopping when you reach your clothed slit. Denki stares, hungry and buzzing in anticipation for what you’ll do next. Smirking in victory, you spread your legs open and pull your panties to the side, giving him the view to capture the perfect picture of your dripping pussy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

You taunt breathlessly, tracing your folds with your fingers.

Oh shit. Were you for real? Please, tell him you were for real because he legit might cry if this was some elaborate prank. Where are the fucking cameras?

“You don’t want to?” You bite your lip, insecurity seeping through the confident smile you wore just a moment ago.

“No! I mean - yes! Yes, I do, holy shit, let me find - where the fuck is…” Denki whips around, trying to find his phone. Fuck! Out of all the times to misplace it, it has to be now. But then he spots the yellow polaroid camera sitting on the floor, and before he can think, he’s picking it up and praying it has film. He kneels, so he’s eye level with your pussy, but also making sure the angle gets your whole body in the frame. The light streaming in gives you an ethereal look, your skin glowing, and adding to the cute flush on your cheeks. The camera clicks, and a second later, the picture slides out. You giggle at Denki’s impatience. He’s waving the picture frantically in the air, so the color comes through faster. He completely stills when he can finally take a good look at the beauty he’s captured.

“Fuck, Y/N, you look…”

Denki can’t control the groan that escapes. He looks back up at you, eyes darkened with lust before he’s ripping his shorts off so fast, his foot gets caught, and he almost trips in the process. Once he’s out of them, he plops back down in the chair across the room. You’re surprised when all you feel is pure, unadulterated lust. You expected to be at least a little bit weirded out staring at your best friend’s cock, but all you want is to put it in your mouth and explore all the different ways you can make him come. The tip is oozing pre-cum already, and the way he works his hand with a sense of urgency suggests he’s been hard for a while. It doesn’t take long before you hear Denki grunt.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

You look so pretty spread out for him. For the last five years, he wanted nothing more than to see you like this. His hips jerk up, and he throws his head back, but he makes sure to keep his eyes open like his life depended on it; he didn’t want to miss a second of this. You, with your legs wide open giving him a view of your perfect little pussy. Your panties soaked by you rubbing your clit mercilessly, and your pupils blown wide as you watch your best friend get off to the show you’re giving him. It’s erotic as hell, completely different from the pictures Denki has of you. This one easily tops all the others. He tightens his fist - he doesn’t want it to end without feeling your skin on his at least once.

“Let me touch you, Y/N, please, I just wanna touch you, need to feel you.”

Denki doesn’t give a fuck that he’s begging at this point. He’s waited too damn long to care about pride or dignity, not when the chance to fuck you is placed in his shaking hands. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, but it comes out anyway.

“Touch me.”

That’s all Denki needs. Before you know it, you’re pushed down on the bed, and lips smash against yours. He’s eager, a little too eager, shoving his tongue in your mouth and touching everywhere that he can. You don’t have much room to breathe, so you gently push at his chest.

“Chill, Denki.”

He huffs out a breath, muscles shaking like he’s restraining himself from overwhelming you.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,”

He mumbles, peppering kisses into your neck before making his way back to your lips. It’s much smoother this time, his tongue sliding out to tease your bottom lip, asking for permission this time. He groans when you open up for him, your tongue meeting his. Hands trail up until they reach around, resting on the clasp of your bra. Honey eyes meet yours, but you cut off his question.

“I’ll stop you if I need to, but you asking me if it’s okay every time you try something is gonna seriously kill the mood.”

You reach around to place your hands on top of his, unclasping your bra along with him. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare chest. You try not to squirm at the intensity of his gaze. It becomes near impossible when he dips down to flick his tongue over your nipple before biting with his teeth. He pays the same attention to the other one before kissing his way down your stomach. You arch your back when he spreads your legs and positions himself between them. He makes his way around, avoiding your dripping pussy, teasing your thighs with soft kisses. You huff in annoyance, and he smirks up at you, biting into the flesh of your thigh. This time he places a kiss to your heated center, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch.

“Is it everything you imagined?” You ask.

He looks up at you, with such a serious expression, one you’ve only seen a couple times since knowing him.

“Everything and more.”

Your heart flutters, and you know you’re going to say something you’ll regret if you don’t stop counting the different shades of gold in his eyes. You clear your throat before throwing your hair back.

“You gonna fuck me, or am I gonna have to do it myself?”

You pull his head in for a demanding kiss, biting on his lip to distract yourself from the rush of bubbling emotions threatening to surface.

“One sec,” Denki whispers, placing one last kiss to your lips, before getting up.

You gape at the giant box of condoms he casually pulls out. It hasn’t been opened, and oh my god, you didn’t even know they made huge boxes like this. There were at least a hundred in there. What person thinks to buy a big box of condoms if their plans don’t include… fucking a whole ass army?

“What the fuck, Denki?”

People usually have one, maybe two condoms in their wallet at most. Some guys don’t have any at all, which kills the mood when you’re in the heat of the moment, so I guess you can be thankful that Denki is... extra prepared?

“What?”

He pulls a condom out and drops the box. It thumps when it hits the floor. You’re taken aback by how nonchalant he’s being about this.

“I- you- wha- How many times do you think we’re gonna do it!?”

Denki slides the condom on, smirking at your shocked expression.

“Till we finish this box,” he says as he slides into you.

You gasp at the stretch. He pushes to the hilt, and stays there when he notices the slight furrow of your brow. It has been a while since you’ve fucked, but soon enough, you crave more so you roll your hips, but he doesn’t move.

“Denki?”

His head is pressed into your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and the stuttering heartbeat matches to the beat of your own.

“Just… gimme a minute, don’t wanna ruin it by coming in two seconds.”

His words are muffled, voice raspy with desire, and you can only imagine what his face looks like. It makes you want him all the more. Finally, someone who doesn’t see sex as an opportunity to one-up you or to put you in your place. It’s scary how the last twenty minutes have changed five years of friendship.

“Hey,” you hold his face in between your palms. He already looks completely fucked out with his face flushed and eyes glazed. You place a tender kiss to his lips, unlike the previous kisses you shared.

“You couldn’t ruin it even if you did come right now.”

You caress his hair in an attempt to reassure him.

“You’d just have to make it up to me,” you wink.

His smile is so pure, lighting up his eyes that’s unique to Denki; it makes your heart do somersaults in your chest. But the moment passes as the previous heat between you two spikes when Denki circles his hips, taking his time to feel you inside and out. He’s touching and kissing you wherever he can, your cheek, neck, chest, thighs, like it’s the first and last time he’ll experience you like this. It might very well be.

This thought doesn’t sit well with you.

Once he’s mapped out your sweet spots, he digs his fingers into your thighs and pulls your hips flush towards his. He pulls out of you until only the tip is brushing your opening and pounds back into you, taking your breath away. He pumps in and out of you faster, and you cry out when he hits that special spot deep inside of you.

“Denki,” you moan. He grunts and spreads your legs even wider, grabbing one and hauling it over his shoulder to pound into you deeper.

He’s getting close, hell, he’s been close even before you walked in.

“F-fuck…” Denki groans, thrusting at an uneven pace and feeling the familiar tightening in his groin.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you flip him over and begin bouncing on his cock in a much more steady rhythm. Denki’s staring up at you, eyes wide in admiration.

You’re a goddess. An absolute fucking masterpiece that needs to be put in a museum for his eyes only. God, when did he get so fucking mushy? You always brought out different sides that Denki, himself, didn’t even know he had. He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing your boobs, sliding down the curves of your thighs, gripping your ass. He wants to commit it all to memory in case he never gets to know this pleasure again.

“Y/N, ah, shit, I’m gonna...” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

He’s holding on to that sweet release for as long as he can. He’s been craving it since he met you on the first day of class at U.A. His balls tighten, unable to hold it in any longer, before he gives in to the long overdue orgasm. It hits him hard - his entire body tingling from head to toe like 1000 volts of electricity bolt through him. Denki had no idea he could come for this long, but he doesn’t want it to end - it feels so fucking good inside you. He rides it out for a couple more thrusts before he relaxes, completely sated. You try to pull off him, but he grabs your hips and forces you back down. You squeak, clearly not expecting him to care enough to help you out after he finished.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The tone of his voice sounds foreign in his ears, too gruff and too deep, but you seem to have no problems with it as you moan in response, working yourself on top of him. Your thighs crush his hips, shaking with need as you seek a release of your own. You’re tired from bouncing, so you resort to grinding, swirling your hips deliciously around his cock. Denki squeezes your ass in appreciation.

“You close?”

“Close, so close, Denki, please…”

Your eyes well up with tears, desperate to finish; the coil in your stomach wound too tight that you might burst any second. Denki helps you by thrusting his hips to meet yours, his hand rubbing your clit. You jolt at the sudden zap to your clit, you look down to see a small spark leave Denki’s fingertip. He does it again, and you cry out, your pussy fluttering from the electrifying touch.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it, come for me.”

Fuck. Denki didn’t mean for the pet name to slip out, but then you’re moaning louder than before that Denki would’ve had to quiet you if you weren’t alone. Words are tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Oh, fuck, Denki, I love this so much, I love you, I-”

You slap your hand over your mouth. Denki’s eyes widen for a second before a dangerous glint takes over, and he wretches your hand away from your mouth.

“Lemme hear you. C’mon, Y/N, show me how much you love this.”

You hardly recognize the scream as your own; you flush at how loud you are, but Denki doesn’t seem to mind. It seems to spur him on. He sits up so your chest to chest before he bends down to tug at your nipple with his teeth. You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands coming around to grab at his hair. Golden eyes look up at you from your chest, a slight smirk curving his lips.

“I’m no photographer, baby girl, but I can sure as hell picture us together.”

Leave it to Denki Kaminari to make you come with a cheesy pickup line.

He gives one final thrust, balls slapping against your ass and hitting the spot deep inside you just right. Your thighs quiver from the pleasure wracking your body, a scream lodging out of your throat so loud that the people next door bang on the wall. You’re overwhelmed to the point that all you can do is rest your head on his shoulder, whispering his name in a broken whimper as you finish.

You fall next to him on the bed, sweaty and completely wiped, both of you trying to catch your breath. Denki tosses the condom in the trash while you stare at the ceiling, watching the fan swirl round and round. Your mind is no different at the moment, going round in circles, and you’re trying to catch up. Your body feels weightless, tingling all over and loving the high you didn’t think was possible. The bed shifts, and suddenly you’re faced with your best friend of five years. Before he can get a word out, the front door slams shut, and two very familiar, very masculine voices are down the hall, getting closer by the second.

“Kaminari, you lazy shit, get the fuck down here!”

“Shit!” Denki jumps from the bed, ruffling through the mess to find his pants.

“Denki, just lock the door! Hurry!”

It’s too late as the door swings open, and yeah… if today taught Denki anything, it’s that he really needs to lock his door more often. He doesn’t have time to think as he hops back into bed with you to avoid flashing any of his other friends today. Bakugou would probably threaten to chop his dick off and… yeah, Denki doesn’t wanna think about the rest.

You squeak and cover yourself with the blanket when you’re met with two sets of equally shocked crimson eyes.

Kirishima drops the bag of chips he’s holding. It seems like dropping things when walking into Denki’s room was a common theme today, and he’s sure as hell not looking forward to the cleanup. Denki regrets chancing a glance at Bakugou; nostrils flaring like a rabid predator on the loose and Denki’s his target.

The four of you stare at each other for who knows how long before Kirishima breaks out into a full-on grin.

“About time, bro, congrats!”

“Congrats?” You turn to Denki, confused.

“The fuck!? You bangin’ my ex, dunceface!?” Bakugou shouts.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Denki squeaks, hiding underneath the covers.

“Oi! You fuck like a man, you better fight like one, too!”

You roll your eyes, hardly affected by Bakugou’s exploding presence, unlike Denki, who is literally shaking beside you.

“Oh fuck off, Katsuki, listen to yourself. Keyword ex-girlfriend.”

Bakugou sputters, and Kirishima drags him by the shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s been in a mood since he found out he’s gonna be the next star of the Bachelor.”

“You wanna die too, shitty hair!?”

You and Denki burst out laughing at the absurdity of Katsuki forced to act like a gentleman on live TV. The image of Katsuki in a suit and tie, holding a rose and actually smiling, is comedic gold to you.

“C’mon, bro, let’s give ’em some space.”

“Oi! You’re on my shit list now! All of you! Aye! Get the fuck off me!”

Kirishima drags Bakugou the rest of the way, giving you a quick thumbs up on the way out.

You and Denki are still cracking up, but your laughter dies when they leave, and you’re faced with the tension from before. Denki sinks lower into the sheets, hating that he keeps getting walked in on. Who decided it was ‘make a fool out of Denki day’ anyway?

“So…” you start.

“So…” Denki finishes.

You both stare straight ahead at nothing.

“Did you mean it?”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly asking him to elaborate.

“What you said, when you... you know...” he makes a clicking noise with his mouth like that’s universal code for fucking, “Or was it just a heat of the moment thing?”

You take a moment to think before you give your response. You want to be as honest as possible, and not lead Denki on in any way. Of course, you loved him, he’s your best friend, but did you love him?

You think back on your friendship, and suddenly a supercut of all the times he was there for you flashes before your eyes. He was there when you needed someone to drive you when you had your wisdom teeth pulled out. You didn’t expect Denki to stay with you the whole weekend, buying you ice cream and watching your favorite movies, but he did.

He was there when you and Bakugou became an item, always listening to you swoon over how amazing a boyfriend he was. Denki would always respond with “But can he do this?” and would proceed to overuse his quirk like an overpowered Pikachu just to make you laugh. It sends a knife through your heart, knowing Denki was in love with you while you were talking about how great of a boyfriend his friend was. Not to mention how he was there when you and Bakugou broke up, heart-broken and vowing to swear off boys for good. Denki held you in his arms while you cried, staying silent the entire time, which you knew was against his nature. Denki was always there for you as a friend. There’s no doubt he’d be there for you as a lover.

“I meant it,” you say.

Tears threaten to spill, and your heart might burst out of your chest and land right into his hands. You hope he holds on to it forever. He squishes your cheeks and leans down to plant the softest kiss on your lips. This is what you’ve been missing - more like who you’ve been missing. You open your mouth to deepen the kiss, and he meets you move for move. He pulls away, hands still on your cheeks, grazing your cheekbones with his fingertips as he stares into your eyes.

“Denki, I…” You bite your lip, overcome with emotion. You desperately want to say the words to capture this picture-perfect moment forever.

Until you feel something poking your thigh.

“Denki!”

You yell, affronted he popped a boner in the middle of what was supposed to be a romantic moment.

“Sorry!”

“Ugh! Worst timing ever!” You slap his shoulder.

“Ow! I said I’m sorry!”

You wiggle out of his embrace. Silence eats at the room, and you can feel Denki’s energy radiating in uncomfortable frequencies. The last moment had been thoroughly ruined.

But you have all the time in the world to make more.

“... round two?”

Just seeing Denki’s face light up like Christmas is enough to promise the birth of a new moment. He bends over to grab his box of condoms, some spilling on the floor and adding more to the mess, before saying, “hell yeah!”

You roll your eyes with affection. What a weirdo, you think. But he’s your weirdo.

That night, or rather the next day since it was currently three in the morning, Denki plops down on his bed exhausted from the day. He’s fluffing his pillow, trying to get comfortable, when he feels something underneath. His eyes widen when he takes in the picture he’s holding. You must’ve taken it when he was downstairs and snuck it under his pillow. You’re bent over with that same damn lacy bra that sends him for a loop. Your cleavage deliciously on display as you bite your lip and stare at the camera with those innocent eyes. Denki can’t help it, his hand sliding down on instinct and cupping himself through his boxers. He turns the picture around and smiles at the cute little message written on the back.

“To add to your collection 😉”

#kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnhabookclub #kaminari denki smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #kaminari denki #denki kaminari #denki kaminari x reader #bnha fanfic #mha fanfic #kaminari imagine #kaminari denki imagine #kaminari smut

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heliads · 3 years

Text

A Glance Across the Street

Based on this request: “a race oneshot where he realized he’s in love with the reader. she’s doing something (singing, playing with kids, whatever) and he’s awestruck and the boys are teasing him after”

masterlist

Race is mid-conversation with his friends, mid-way through his bag of papers still left unsold. He should be focusing on talking to Albert and Jojo, and he should definitely be trying to get the last few of his papes sold before the night grows too old and he’s out of customers to swindle. He knows all of this, yet his gaze keeps slipping from his fellow newsies or passing bankers to rest on one girl down the block.

Y/N is selling papes too, her grin contagious as she manages to talk even the most persnickety of passersby into purchasing the daily newspaper. Her newsie cap is slightly askew, and Race’s hand twitches by his side as if he longs to fix it, to look down and see her flash him a grateful smile. Honestly, Race is starting to think that he has a problem when it comes to Y/N L/N.

As it turns out, Race is not the only one to notice this: although he attempts to quickly jerk his attention back to the conversation at hand, Albert and Jojo notice the fact that he isn’t quite responding on time and try to figure out what’s got his focus hooked. Albert follows Race’s line of sight and a vicious grin appears on his face. Race tries to look away hurriedly, pretending he was just following the path of a potential customer, but it’s too late- they’ve both seen.

Jojo loops an arm around Race’s shoulders, clasping the other hand firmly over his heart. “Well, if my eyes don’t deceive me, I think Racer here has a little crush.” Race scoffs, pulling away from the boy. “As if. I’m just trying to sell my last papes.” Albert rolls his eyes. “Is that why you haven’t sold one in half an hour? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’se trying to lose money.”

This is a fierce accusation for a newsboy who prides himself on his ability to make any deal to even the most unlikely of customers, and Albert knows it. So, when Race snatches his cap from his mess of blond curls, ready to swat it most brutally into Albert’s head, the red-haired boy is able to easily dart away in time to avoid the killing blow. Race tries one last time, but his attacks fall short when he hears a voice from behind him.

“What’s going on here? Why are you trying to murder Albert?” Race’s eyes widen in spite of himself, and he straightens up hurriedly, slapping his hat back on his head as if he’d just been stretching. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just having a, uh, friendly conversation.” Albert looks positively gleeful over this, but he doesn’t say a word. Y/N raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know about that. I’d swear there was going to be bloodshed.”

Albert may be willing to save him from the fires this once, but Jojo is not so generous. Instead, he casually leans on Y/N’s shoulder, practically savoring the way Race’s shoulders stiffen. Race does his best to ignore this, forcing a casual smile. “Well, maybe Albert deserved it. You know him.” Y/N tilts her head to the side, considering this. “I do know him. What’s he done now?” Albert and Jojo look between Race and Y/N like they’re watching a sports match, curious as to what explanation Race can manage without telling her the true reason for the near beatdown.

Race mentally stumbles for a moment, then comes up with a scrap of something. “He insulted my brand of cigars. I couldn’t have that, could I?” Y/N’s eyes glint with barely contained amusement, and Race thanks everything holy that his excuse held up. “Oh, I get it now. I’m sorry to interrupt the carnage.” Race grabs Y/N’s hand, pulling her away from Albert, Jojo, and their twin mocking expressions to continue walking down the street.

“That’s alright. Now, come on- I think I saw a few tourists. Think we can scam ‘em?” Y/N laughs as she follows him down the block. “Without a doubt. Is that them?” She jerks her chin towards a cluster of families pausing by a florist, all of them in the newest fashions. They practically reek of wealth, which makes them the perfect targets for newsies in desperate need of unloading some papes. Race nods, and Y/N’s grin widens. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Race you there, Racer!”

She takes off down the street, spinning past cobblestones. The sound of her laugh, lighter than a summer breeze, lingers by Race’s side for a moment longer. Although Race knows he should follow her and at least try to sell some of his papes before all of the tourists are gone, he feels stuck in place, unable to do anything except watch her go. There’s a smile tugging at his lips before he realizes it. He tries to stow this a second later, except it’s a little hard to be serious when there’s a girl like Y/N right next to him.

He manages it in the end, as he always seems to do. Race isn’t sure what happened to make him turn into this stumbling mess whenever Y/N’s with him, but the habit keeps seeming to stick. He hasn’t always been like this, it’s only a recent incident, but no matter what he tries Race can’t go back to seeing Y/N as a friend and a friend alone. Sometimes, he wants to knock himself upside the head, hoping that a brief concussion might restore his thoughts, although Race is fairly certain that even this hit might make him even more of a grinning idiot where a certain newsgirl is concerned.

Later that week, Race is hit by that same bout of hopeless staring, although this time it’s even worse than before. It comes over him like a wave, threatening to pull him under entirely. He had been turning the street, walking from one block to another in the hopes of finding some idiot with a purse full of coins who’d be willing to shell out a little more than usual to a newsboy on the street. Maybe this is why his crush hits him so hard- he’d had no time to prepare, nothing to center himself around except this sudden sight of the girl before him.

All of a sudden, there she was, talking to a group of kids she’d met on the street. They stare at her with the same sort of loopy smile Race wears now, like they’d follow her anywhere so long as she gave the word. Honestly, Race may get a little jittery around the Brooklyn boys or the cops when there are too many of them, but the hold Y/N has on him scares him even more than that. He’d do anything she asked of him, no matter what or how. He can’t run from that kind of influence, just go along with it and hope he didn’t get worse.

Y/N crouches down now, the edges of her skirts rustling lightly over the uneven cobblestones. She reaches out a hand to a nearby girl, one who would barely come up to her ribs unless Y/N was kneeling as she is now. The little girl presses a careful coin into the awaiting hand, and Y/N hands her a newspaper in return. Race can see her pointing out the different pictures on the front, explaining them with that same slow voice she gets when the night is late and drowsiness slips through every syllable. This time, though, she’s not tired, just speaking in a way that kids who barely know anything can understand. Maybe that’s all Race is, too, a kid with half a brain and some stupid lovesick gaze he can’t seem to shake.

Y/N stands up, stretching, as the little girl leaves. A few more kids linger by her knees, and she talks to each of them in turn, patience coming eternal even by the point when Race would have started getting a little restless had it been him there instead of her. One of the kids hands her a flower he managed to find from somewhere, and Y/N tucks it behind her ear, smiling as if it’s a jeweled tiara instead of a little sprig of a plant that’s more leaf than petal.

She turns now, as if she can sense someone watching her, and finds Race from where he’s hidden by the crowd. She smiles at him, the simple expression almost enough to knock him over. There’s a soft slight in her face, as if she’s a little self-conscious to be caught talking so eagerly with the kids, but Race could never make fun of her for a second. Instead, he lets his own smile widen in return, and Y/N looks almost relieved. She mouths something about catching up to him in a second, then turns back to the kids when one of them tugs at her hand.

Now that he’s been caught, Race should probably keep moving down the block, at least doing something to keep up the pretense that he’s just selling papes instead of simply staring with that same jump in his heart. However, he can’t quite convince his feet to move, like his body is perfectly fine with just watching her there. It’s just the way the light washes golden over her hair, the sunbeam force of her smile, the twist of her hand and head as she speaks. Race has seen the way the rich neighbours stare at artworks, entranced by mere brushstrokes. If that’s what it looks like to fall in love with a mere painting, then Y/N might be an entire museum full of masterpieces.

That describes it, doesn’t it? He’s in love. Stupidly, crazily, whole-heartedly in love. There’s no way to describe it. Race has had crushes before, on rich girls with silken bows and laughing girls who talk to him as they leave the factories after work. None of those seem even remotely close to the hold Y/N has on him now, like all those kisses and offered flowers were just practice for this.

Maybe he’s too lost in his own thoughts, or the way Y/N seems to call an entire city to her like the star of a show, but Race doesn’t hear Albert and Jojo appearing behind him until it’s too late and they’re already upon him. Albert is crowing at him, face wrought over with victory. “It’s official. You’re completely hopeless for Y/N.” Race moves to deny this, but it’s too late- they have enough evidence to tease him for the rest of his life.

Jojo looks almost incredulous. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you was telling me about how you’d never spend too much of your time trippin’ over some goil? Look at you now! Albert, he’s practically thinking about marriage.” Albert pretends to be severely affected by this thought. “I can see it in his eyes. He might already be picking out the rings.”

Race rolls his eyes. “I don’t know what you’se talking about. Y/N’s a friend.” Albert and Jojo actually burst out laughing, and Race wants to hit them. “She’s a friend? Race, if you look at your friends like that I’m getting locks on the doors. You’se in love, and it’s hilarious.” Race fishes around for some excuse or retort, finds nothing, and resorts to the time-honored classic of trying to hit them. “Some friends you are. No wonder I like Y/N- she doesn’t do this to me.”

Jojo hoots with laughter. “He admits it! Truth at last!” Albert sighs dramatically. “Did you hear his voice? He’s overcome with emotion.” Race lets scorn drip into his every word. “Overcome with emotion? Where’d you pick that up- off a pape?” Albert scoffs. “No, I read it off the cover of a book in a shop window, like somebody respectable.”

A voice comes from behind them once more, and Race wonders silently why he has to keep finding himself in this exact situation. “Somebody respectable? Albert, no offense, but I have never once seen anyone do that.” Albert’s expression grows worryingly bright, as if he’s just had a terrible idea, and he turns to face a newly arrived Y/N with a grin. “I’d usually argue on that, but I want to make time for someone else. Racer here was just saying something about how he needed to talk to you.”

Jojo’s eyes glint, like he’s caught on to Albert’s plan. “Yeah, actually, he was. Said it was something very important.” Albert nods solemnly. “Very, very important. We’d better leave now, so he can say it.” The two boys exchange looks, then practically jog off, although Jojo makes sure to give Race a very obvious thumbs up before they go. Race is about to seriously consider murder, but then a hand lands on his arm and he’s brought back to reality once more.

Y/N considers him, one eyebrow raised. “Well, I do have to admit that I’m a little worried by how excited they looked about that, but I am a little curious. What do you have to talk about?” Race knows what he should say, what Jojo and Albert no doubt want him to do, but the words stick a little in his throat. He remains silent for a little too long, and Y/N crosses her arms across her chest. “Well? I’m waiting.”

Race searches desperately for something to say, anything, but he has no idea how to start. Y/N’s look of curiosity is starting to bleed away into boredom, and Race is gripped by the sudden terror that she’ll leave before he can say anything at all, despite how terrifying it is to even think about telling her how he feels. So, he leans forward and kisses her before he can talk himself out of anything else.

Now Y/N doesn’t speak, not at all, and Race can’t think about anything except the fact that he might have ruined everything, once and for all. Then her face splits into this incredible grin, and Race feels like the ground has broken up beneath him and he’s falling, falling, until he can’t feel anything at all. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?” Race doesn’t know what to say. Again. “Uh, yes.”

She laughs, and Race thinks that he could have gladly listened to that sound every morning. Let the sound of her laugh replace the church bells, and he would have happily attended every sermon. “You’re an idiot.” Race nods. “Yes.” He’s not sure that he’s supposed to be agreeing to this, but she’s got him caught in her gaze again and he feels as if he can’t move a muscle. “Kiss me again, and I might just forgive you for waiting this long.”

Race grins, his confidence finally starting to return to him again. “Well, I like the sound of that.” He’s not about to refuse her this time, so he reaches forward, gently guiding her face back to his once more.

#race #race imagines #race x reader #race oneshot #newsies #newsies imagines #newsies x reader #newsies oneshot #newsies live #newsies live imagines #newsies live oneshot #racetrack #racetrack imagines #racetrack x reader #racetrack oneshot #race higgins #race higgins imagines #race higgins x reader #race higgins oneshot

239 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 3 years

Text

an apple a day

pairing: soft!ransom drysdale x reader

summary: it seems like an apple a day couldn’t keep the doctor or ransom away.

warnings: sickfic, a lot of fluff, brief mention of throwing up

word count: 2k

author’s note: join my taglist if you’d like! all feedback is appreciated <3

Ransom

U busy?

4:37 PM

Ransom

😏🍆😈

4:38 PM

Ransom

Wow ignoring me?????

5:24 PM

Ransom

Bitch

5:34 PM

Ransom

🙄

5:36 PM

A frantic pounding on your front door pulled you from a bizarre dream within your feverish slumber. You peeled the slightly damp cloth that rest upon your face from your sweaty skin, and lazily tossed it to the floor before audibly groaning.

“Coming,” you whimpered out, hoping that it was loud enough for whomever was at the door.

“Fuckin’ better be,” a voice grumbled as a response.

You rolled over slightly, whole body sore from the sickness that was currently ailing you, and willed yourself to get off of your sofa. Swinging your legs over the left side of the piece of furniture you managed to get up, and sluggishly made your way to the door, ignoring the ache of your neck from resting it on an arm rest.

It seemed like with every step you took, your sinus headache throbbed harder between your eyes, and your fever cooked you a bit more from the inside out.

After what felt like a lifetime, you got to your door and opened it, only to be greeted by your… well, you didn’t really know what he was to you.

“Christ, Y/N. You look like shit,” Ransom commented, raising his brows. “Did you get hit by a car or something?”

You gave him a blank look, and said nothing.

“Is this a bad time?”

“What do you think, dickhead?”

“You’ve had better days,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“Okay, goodbye,” you rolled your eyes and slammed the door on him, finding yourself slightly out of breath as you lethargically shuffled away.

You collapsed back onto the sofa, and reached for a blue tissue box that sat on your coffee table. Did that even happen? Did you imagine Ransom coming to your door? Or was that part of your fever dream?

Settling back, and pulling a wool blanket over yourself, you began to doze off once again, not really having the energy to do anything else.

Ransom

I’m s-word

6:12 PM

Ransom

I’m not gonna say it

6:13 PM

Ransom

But you know what I mean

6:15 PM

Ransom

I’m coming back over baby

6:17 PM

You hadn’t even noticed the vibrating of your phone, as it was currently lodged under a mountain of pillows and cushions. It also helped that you were asleep once again.

This time when you woke up, Ransom was in your apartment, rambling about some encounter he had while he was out dealing with the public for you.

How was he even in your apartment? You felt like you missed a few steps.

“Sit up,” he commanded, setting down a plastic take-out bag, along with the spare keys you kept under your welcome mat on top of your coffee table, before dragging a seat from your kitchen into your living room.

The seat finally came to a stop in front of you, and you listlessly sat up. You watched as Ransom wordlessly opened the bag, revealing a massive container of a clear broth soup, and an equally large baguette.

“Am I dreaming?” You asked aloud.

“Why would you be dreaming? ‘Cause I did something nice? Or because I’m that hot?”

“Because I have a high fever that’s making me delusional,” you told him, and his brows furrowed once again.

“Let me see,” he mumbled, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead, and humming in thought, “Yeah, you’re pretty hot,” he agreed.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” you mumbled, a random churn in your stomach suddenly taking a huge blow out of you.

“Hey, I did a good thing for you. Don’t get bitchy with me now,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes slightly at you.

You sighed as a response, and Ransom gave you a little smirk before going to open the lid of the soup container.

“Open up wide, Beloved,” Ransom said in a playful tone. If you had the energy, you’d shoot something sassy back at him, but you were finding yourself in less of a state to do so with every passing moment. You simply followed along with his orders, opening your lips so Ransom could deliver a little spoonful of soup into your mouth.

“Mm,” you audibly reacted to the liquid, “did you make this yourself?”

“Hm, you must be sicker than I thought,” he chuckled and dabbed the edge of your lip where a droplet of soup was left behind. “I picked it up on my way back over.”

“It’s really good,” you hummed, “feed me more.”

Ransom scoffed fondly, “you’re lucky I like you.” He began, dishing out another spoonful to you.

You paused to chew on a softened carrot, “you should’ve known that sick me’s demands of you were gonna be a lot more.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, and went back to feeding you. You were both quiet for a moment, maintaining a heavy eye contact while he fed you, until out of the blue, your stomach turned.

Your mouth filled with saliva as you realized what exactly was going on, and you rushed off of the couch with an obscene swiftness, just barely making it to your bathroom before you were emptying your stomach into it.

Ransom quickly showed up behind you, making his presence known by lifting your hair out of your face, and rubbing supportive circles onto your back. He cringed as he listened to you heave into the bowl, and when you finally leaned back, he used a thumb to wipe away the few tears that had begun to slip down your face.

“You okay?” he questioned, squatting down to your level.

“Just peachy,” you choked out hoarsely.

“Maybe you’ll feel better after a shower?” he suggested, flushing your sickness down the toilet while you attempted to catch your breath.

“Okay, yeah,” you began hesitantly.

“I’ll stay in here if you want me to make sure nothing bad happens?”

“You just wanna be a perv,” you weakly giggled.

“I’m just trying to be a supportive… I’m trying to be supportive,” Ransom found his way back up, and turned on the shower’s nozzle.

“Mhm, I’m sure,” you began kicking off your sweatpants when you heard the water begin to putter down, and gestured for Ransom to help you lift off your sweatshirt once he was facing you once again.

“I can’t believe you’re using up the last of that energy to have an attitude with me,” Ransom pulled you out of your shirt, then helped you up and began to direct you toward the shower.

You were more or less silent from there on out, focusing on maintaining your balance in the slippery room. Your brain seemed to become increasingly cloudy with every extra puff of steam. You leaned against the slightly warm tiles of your wall as you attempted to get through the genuinely hellish shower for a few minutes before deciding it wasn’t really worth it, and stumbling back out.

“Was I right? Did it help?” Ransom asked after your period of silence, handing you some fresh clothing that he’d grabbed from your closet sometime between the time you got in and out of the shower.

You shook your head, “shower kinda made everything worse,” you muttered, pulling a new shirt over your head. “My head is killing me. I think I just need to be in a dark room, or go back to sleep, or something.”

You sluggishly pulled on the rest of your clothes, then sniffled as you walked out to your bedroom. As you made your way to your bed, you pushed aside a mountain of tissues from earlier in the… day? Week? With all the sleeping you’d been doing, you genuinely

couldn’t tell what time or day it was. You slipped into one side of the bed, and grabbed a pillow that you promptly hugged.

Ransom slipped into bed beside you, a bottle of cold medicine in hand– when did he leave long enough to get you cold medicine?– and watched the tissues on your side of the bed fall onto the floor in a slightly disturbed manner. Yeah, he was definitely getting sick after this.

“Open,” he ordered, and you happily obliged, opening your mouth a bit so he could pour some medicine down your throat. You dramatically gagged, then wiped the corners of your lips.

“Gross, Ran,” you muttered, burying your face into a different pillow.

“Well, it’ll probably make you feel better. I brought you water for a chaser if you’d like. You probably need to stay hydrated, or some shit like that.”

When did he get water?? Probably when he was getting the medicine. But that would’ve taken him like, five minutes. And getting in bed didn’t take you that long. Right?

You were pulled out of your confused internal monologue by a pink plastic straw being brought to your lips, and you instinctively drank from it. You weren’t completely sure if it was all mental, or the medicine was kicking in extremely fast, but you were starting to feel a little loopy. Maybe time was being weird again because of your sickness.

“I feel like I’m dying. You and your stupid showers made me die,” you whined, pushing away the straw.

“I was only trying to help,” he insisted as he set the drink down on your bedside table.

“I’m your second murder victim,” you continued.

Ransom paused and looked down at you with raised brows, “what?”

“Y’know, I saw what you did to that delivery girl who was bringing me soup. You better clean that body up before I get better, ‘cause ‘mgonna be pissed if I have to do that myself.”

“Okay, I don’t know if you’ve been seeing things the whole time, or if the medicine is rewriting your memories. Either way, I think it’s time for you to go to bed,” he chuckled.

“You’re right. Night,” you hummed before turning on your side and closing your eyes. It was pretty much lights out from there.

——

When you awoke, it was to the piercing bright light of a laptop screen that broke through the darkness of night. You had to blink a few times for your vision to focus, but… was Ransom in bed next to you? Looking at a WikiHow article? If you weren’t completely mistaken, you could make out a faint How to Help A Sick Person Feel Better: 8 Steps (with pictures).

You sleepily reached out and grabbed his wrist, letting him know that you were finally awake. He quickly clicked out of the tab, pulling up his Twitter feed instead.

“Hi,” you greeted. “Why’re you being secretive?”

“I’m not,” he huffed.

“You are.”

“You’re still delusional from the medicine.”

“Probably. But you’re being secretive. And you’re bad at it.”

“Whatever,” you could practically hear the eye roll in his tone.

“It’s late, Ran. Why’re you still up?”

“I just wanted to, y’know…” he trailed off.

“To…?” you pressed.

“I wanted to make sure nothing would happen to you while you slept,” he rushed out. “Happy?”

You swooned aloud at this, “you are such a sucker. Put that laptop down and cuddle me.”

Ransom said nothing, but set the device into your night stand, and wrapped an arm around you, “‘re you feeling any better?” he mumbled as he relaxed into you.

“Kinda. We’ll see in the morning,” you slipped your hand down on top of his, and Ransom promptly moved it.

“You’re already pushing it tonight.”

“You’re always such a dick,” you scoffed with a laugh. “Goodnight, asshat.”

“Goodnight, you sick bitch,” he quipped back.

——

When you awoke in the morning, you couldn’t help but to notice how much better you were feeling. No headache, no nausea, a little fatigue, but hey, you just woke up, and that was to be expected.

As you sat up and glanced to your right, you found a pink-nosed Ransom with a box of empty Kleenex sat in his lap.

“Oh great, you’re awake,” he began in a nasally tone. “Since you wanted to get me sick, it’s your turn to take care of me,” he tossed the empty box at you, the cardboard falling softly onto your lap.

Something told you that this was going to be a long day.

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom thrombey x you #knives out #knives out fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #ransom drysdale

322 notes · View notes

iovchlde · 3 years

Note

childe x a reader who works with kids? maybe like a teacher?

you really have a way with kids.

teucer doesn’t really like most of the teachers at the school, to which childe feels apologetic because he often has to stick back after school. he likes one teacher though— you— and after seeing the teacher for himself, he thinks he likes them too.

in which childe thinks his brother’s teacher is cute.

pairing.

childe x gn!reader

genre.

fluff

author’s note.

so like— someone make an in depth series of this please. the problem with not being able to write slow burn but absolutely loving to read it 😔✋

it’s becoming late, something you note to yourself when you look out the window, as the sky is now an ombre of blues and reds and oranges. you’d been so absorbed in grading papers that you’d failed to check the time— the clock now indicating that it was almost four post meridiem. a sigh escapes past your lips as you straighten your back, relishing in the feel after sitting in a crouched position for so long. it’s hard to maintain proper posture when you’re bored out of your mind. “two more papers to go,” you mutter to yourself. “and then i can finally leave.”

the room is dead silent so when you hear a creak from the door across the room, you look up in curiosity to see teucer peeking his head in. he hasn’t noticed you, as you’re hidden behind the clutter that covers your desk, and he’s looking around in hopes of spotting his peers. noticing that there was no one else, his lips tug into a small frown. you blink in surprise, looking back at the clock to make sure that you weren’t mistaken. but alas, it really was that late. halting your pace of work, you drop the pen in your hand and you stand up from your chair.

“hi teucer.” you call out to him, and he jumps from being startled, not quite expecting someone else to be in the room. teucer turns his head to look at you from his awkward position at the door frame, slightly struggling to keep the huge door open, and you motion for him to come in. silently, he shuffles through the door with his hands wrapped tightly around the straps of his backpack, and he flashes a smile towards your way. “what are you doing here so late?”

at the question, the smile on his lips immediately fall. teucer looks down and twirls his foot on the floor, his voice quiet as he speaks. “my brother is really busy with his job, and he hasn’t come to pick me up yet. i came to see if my friends were still here, but there’s no one else left.” your heart twinges at the tone he uses— dejected and downcast. mentally, you scold yourself for asking such an obvious question, but you can’t really take your words back.

you hum, walking towards the boy and crouching in front of him. “then, let’s do something fun to pass the time, shall we? how about drawing— do you like drawing?” his head immediately perks up the suggestion, and he nods vigorously as if to say yes.

“i have the perfect thing for drawing,” teucer exclaims. he pulls the backpack off of his shoulders, opening a big pocket and rummaging through it. it takes a second for him to find what he’s looking for, but he lets out a proud, “aha!”, as he finds it. excitedly, he fishes out a big pack of crayons, showing them off to you. a satisfied feeling blooms within you, glad that he’s no longer as gloomy as before.

you gasp. “is that a pack of sixty-four crayons?” he grins, nodding again. “well, i have the perfect thing for that too.” from your crouching position, you get up and walk towards your cabinet— the one filled with new and unused materials. yanking out one of the drawers, you take out a fresh sketchpad, and you place it on a desk closest to you. all the chairs were placed on the desks, a thing the school would ask of students to do as they pack up from their last class of the day. taking a hint, teucer rushes over and brings down two chairs.

“i wanna draw my big brother, and give it to him when he comes to pick me up.” teucer holds a determined look on his face as he says those words, and you can’t help but chuckle at his admirable love for his brother. ripping off a piece of paper from the sketchbook, you hand it to him, which he accepts gratefully. he wastes no time in unpacking his crayons, picking out some peachy color, and leaving the box on the table. “what will you be drawing, ms. y/n?”

you hadn’t actually thought of drawing, simply coming up with the distraction on the spot to cheer him up. subconsciously, you look to the side as you think of an answer. “i’ll draw flowers,” you say, and he smiles, going back to his piece of paper.

if you were to give an estimate on how much time has passed, you’d say that about fifteen minutes had gone by since you’d first started drawing. you finished early on, drawing two simple lilies onto the paper, and simply sitting comfortably on the chair. or at least, as comfortable as it can get for an adult sitting on elementary-student-sized chairs. it’s not for another five minutes that teucer finally speaks up from his concentration.

“finished!” the boy beside you exclaims, holding up his drawing proudly. on the paper is a stick figure, the hair that covers its head is ginger-colored, and it has a loopy smile drawn as its face. it’s charming, and it has a message written beside it.“you’re the best big brother!”, the little note reads out. (he used the wrong “you’re”, but you decide not to comment on it given that it’s after school hours.)

little did you know, teucer’s older brother is observing you two from the door. his arms are crossed over his chest, and a soft expression is evident on his face as watches the interaction between the two of you. teucer had always beamed about you to him— talking about how amazing of teacher you were, and how kind you were. “you really look up to your brother, don’t you?” you comment, while analyzing his picture more.

“of course i do,” teucer avows, answering to you almost immediately, no hint of hesitation within his voice. his little hands are always curled up into little fists as he praises his brother, his voice going up a few octaves than it normally is. “he’s really busy, but whenever he’s not, he makes sure to make it up to me. on my birthdays, he gives me really big presents, and he takes me out to parks as well. he’s the best, isn’t he?”

“i think your brother seems like an admirable man.” you comment. “but, you’re also a good brother too, you know? you care for him a lot, and i think that matters just as much.”

“really?”

childe’s gaze is soft as he watches the two of you talk, impressed by how cheery his brother was around you. it’s not often that teucer stays back and actually enjoys it. he hated to ruin the moment, but you’re interrupted as there’s a cough heard from the doorway, and you see a ginger-haired man leaning on the door frame. his looks are uncanny to those of teucer’s— boyish and smiley. must be his older brother.

quite cute too, but you brush off the thought.

the two of you make eye contact for the briefest of moments, but from those few seconds, you can see there’s a hint of penitence swirling in his eyes. the forgiving smile you return is barely noticeable, but he catches onto it with keen eyes. “sorry to keep you waiting, buddy.” he apologizes to teucer, before redirecting his gaze towards you. “i’m sorry you had to stay back and take care of him— though from what i can see, you really have a way with kids, ms. y/n. teucer here wasn’t wrong when he said you’re a really cool person.”

he gets off the door frame, now walking into the room and closer to teucer. the latter runs over to him immediately, sticking to his side. “mhm! ms. y/n is the best teacher.”

“see? teucer says so himself. you truly live up to the stories he’s told about you.”

you snort, shaking your head. picking up teucer’s items for him, you start walking towards the two. “being good with kids is part of the job description, you know? i’d be a bad teacher if i didn’t know how to handle them.” you say as you hand the bag and drawing to him. for a second, the tips of his hand grazes yours, before he promptly picks the items from your hand. “and he tells stories about me?”

“all the time,” he exaggerates, and teucer playfully pushes his arms. “teucer seems miserable around every other teacher, so they must be considered bad teachers by your definition.” he teases, and you flush at his words.

“oh,” you say as your eyes widen, “i don’t mean in that—” just as you’re about to protest against his words, he cuts in.

“joking, joking. anyways, we should really get going. i’ve already wasted enough of your time, as is— will i be seeing you around more often, ms. y/n?” he asks, and there’s a cheeky look to his eyes as he says those words, staring right at you. “y’know, for when i pick teucer up from school.”

you smile back, more obvious this time. “of course.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe #childe fluff

336 notes · View notes

todourouki · 4 years

Text

Good Girls, Bad Guys | Dabi

a one shot

SUMMARY: The one where no one can understand why you’re so interested in Dabi, but you just can’t seem to help yourself. Maybe it was how soft he was when no one else was around, or how gentle his touch was against your skin, or maybe even how clumsy he is on purpose just to see you— whatever it was, you couldn’t get enough of the scarred man.

PAIRING: Villain!Dabi & Sweetheart!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: Explicit Language, Dabi purposely acts careless during missions so u can tend to his wounds because he’s an attention whore, Smut [18+]

Dabi was a complete mess.

He was a mess made of old silver staples, burnt purple skin adorning his lean and tall build, the same routined outfit that never seemed to alternate, unruly raven hair always managing to stay as distressed as the day before, and silky yet lewd words that slipped off his sinning lips as if it were his maiden tongue.

The only difference with his usual mess of an appearance today as he stood with arms crossed against his chest would be the large rip peaking through his black coat. Your eyes widened, rushing him into your living room and shutting the door behind him.

Your apartment was one that Dabi never seemed to get tired of. He had only really been in the living room, yet the cozy space always brought an odd sense of familiarity into his soul he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

He wasn’t sure if it was the plush and soft couches, pillows thrown against each cushion making it look just as soft and comfortable as they really were, or maybe it was the picture frames hanging around every wall with a candle on an invisible shelf not too far from the glass.

Either way, the steps he took in his plain black socks on to the carpet under the couches and coffee table brought him into a weird headspace one could only describe as happiness. It really did scare the shit out of him.

With a simple few set of steps, he swung his body down onto the cushions he always found himself sinking into at weird hours of the night like today. The only difference from the current night to others would be that it was an earlier hour, currently being only two in the morning as soft rain pattered against the windows adorning your cozy living area.

“Dabi..” Your soft words whispered into the silence of the room, hands gently hovering over the large cut in concern as you watched him throw you a rather forced smirk.

“Nothing worse than what I already got. Just patch me up like new, princess.” His words didn’t get the usual blush from your cheeks he always searched for after his usual flirtatious remarks filled the room.

All he was gifted with would be a look of sadness covering your usually content face. Without a word, you stood up and walked away towards what he assumed was your bathroom. All the man could do was furrow his eyebrows, the confused face remaining when you walked back into the couch and knelt down on the floor next to him.

“What’s wrong with you?” He bluntly asked, a once drawn eyebrow raising as you brushed the sleeve of his t-shirt off and eyed the dried up cut.

You continued to remain silent, only sighing as the alcohol pad in your hand made its way over to the open skin. Before the stinging sensation could reach his skin though, the opposing hand gripped onto your wrist and tugged it further away and just enough to make your eyes finally meet his.

The silence surrounded the room, Dabi staring at you in order to get you to speak. You were conflicted, of course you loved patching the man up almost every night and hearing about his wild adventures in words that made your eyes twinkle with excitement. Yet you were becoming exhausted of seeing him with a brand new scar eventually worse from the one than before.

“I just..” Your soft voice began, Dabi’s posture becoming subtly more relaxed the minute his favorite sound filled the room. “I get tired of seeing you get hurt all the time, you know?”

Your words made him smirk, the same infamous one he couldn’t seem to keep off his burnt lips. In one swift movement, he released your arm and pushed it back towards the large gapping wound that made your stomach turn.

“You worrying about me?” He questioned, the hand that once gripped your wrist now resting against your cheek as he stared at you mockingly.

It was hard to not get flustered around Dabi. He had such a way with words and always knew just how to get your ears to turn a hue of red you didn’t even know they were capable of becoming. You felt the heat flush to your cheeks and hoped the flattery you felt wasn’t too visible. Your face turned back to the large cut on his arm, ignoring his remark all together.

The minute the liquid reached his arm, a soft hiss you were used to slipped off his lips. You only weakened the grip on the cut, your bottom lip being tugged between your teeth in concentration.

“I have to get rid of the bacteria before I use my healing quirk— I’m sorry.” Your apology rang on deaf ears, and Dabi chose to ignore it in order to save your heart from thinking you hurt him.

He only nodded and placed his hand away from your cheek to behind his head in order to give his eye level some more precision on your face. You had a concentrated knit between your eyebrows, and he almost got worried you were forgetting to blink. This was an expression he was much too used to, yet every time he saw it gave him the same feelings he could never explain.

The silence in the room pained you both, the level of words usually slipping out of either of your lips being brought to an awkward zero. It was really uncomfortable, and you couldn’t deal with it anymore as you tossed the now bloodied up tissue somewhere on the ground.

Your hands replaced the tissue, a light reflecting across his arm and making a hiss leave his lips once again. You knew that the feeling of your healing quirk made him feel uncomfortable and he never really grew used to it yet. It shocked you though, because you’d think after being in this exact predicament probably over 100 times, he’d grown used to the prickling feeling.

“Where was this one from?” Your voice was still soft, trying to ease his mind off the pain in a way you knew was best for him.

Dabi loved the way you cared for him. The first time he met you was at the League of Villains hideout in a trashy old building he really hated. You walked in through that warp guy’s portal and the minute he saw you was the minute he believed in angels. It was like time stopped, and he really wasn’t a fan of finding people so attractive yet there you were.

You were announced to be the healer for the league. Shigaraki found you abandoned in some building destroyed in a fire you couldn’t remember, and finding refugee in the odd man was your only option to survival at that point. With that, you were granted as the only person with a full-blown apartment in the building in order to be available for their every need, and were granted immunity from being on actual missions.

That was good enough for you, though. You weren’t a violent person, and knowing most of their targets were children didn’t sit right with you. Despise that, you didn’t have the heart to quit and instead decided to spend the remainder of your days with the dysfunctional League. You had never felt genuinely needed the way the League needed you, and in some weird Stockholm syndrome way, you couldn’t shake the comfort you got from knowing they had to have you around to genuinely survive.

“If I tell you, you’d only worry more.” He smiled over at you, a rare sight blessing your wondering eyes and making you blush once more.

Dabi wasn’t a liar— that’s something that was well known amongst everyone in the league and even amongst you. So when he thought about what happened today, why he was sitting on your couch, and how he planned on hiding the truth from you, he had to mentally lecture himself for stretching the truth.

The real reason Dabi was getting patched up underneath your touch was because he chose to be.

He would never tell you, but the large and deathly gash on his arm was at first only a slight cut where a staple had fallen out. He chose to ignore it in the beginning and decided to check in with you about it after the weekend passed. Yet the minute he realized that meant he’d have to go several days without feeling your touch and hearing your voice made him change his mind completely.

With that, a tissue was wrapped into a ball and sitting in his lips and Dabi ended up watching himself remove a few staples from his arm and tug at the skin in a way that made him shiver. I literally tore myself open to see her, who the fuck does that?

Your hand had finished doing its job. Dabi could tell by the way the prickling ended, and he found his body getting pushed upwards and being replaced by the comfort of your chest against his back.

You positioned the both of you to where his body was leaning against your legs and chest in a way to make his arm in perfect reach for you. The stapler in your hand warned Dabi of what was to come, and he simply sat back against the comfort of your body heat with closed eyes.

“People that worry are people that care.” You whispered, the sound of the stapler pressing into his arm being the only other sound. Dabi’s face remained stoic as he drank in your words and let a loopy grin cover his bored expression.

“Are you saying that you care about me?” Dabi continued to tease, bright blue eyes now opening and staring into yours with flames threatening to shoot through his pupils.

You scoffed, finishing the last staple and replacing the metal object down with a bottle he recognized as the ointment you always forced him to wear after using his quirk. The cool of the cream made him sigh in content. The contrast of his burning skin to a cold burn-relieving cream brought pleasure into his body.

“I care about all of you— that’s why I do th-” “No, Y/N.” He interrupted, making you clam your mouth shut and listen to his words nervously. “I asked if you cared about me.”

You finished lathering the ointment on his skin, gently propping his body up against the backrest of the couch. He only slightly grimaced and tossed the bad arm on a side that didn’t interfere with his position. Your legs were now crossed underneath you.

“Of course I care about you, Dabi.” Your voice made a groan threaten to fall off his lips. There was nothing Dabi loved more than your voice, especially when you said his name. Whenever you spoke, he knew every one and everything didn’t matter if it wasn’t you and your vocal cords.

Dabi rolled his head to the side to make you face him. Even with a bad arm, he was able to now pick it up and peel his jacket off his body lazily.

“How much do you care about me?” The smirk playing weakly on his lips made you shiver, and just watching his expression brought butterflies to your stomach.

“A lot, that’s why I’m always ready to patch you up..” You mumbled, nervously looking down at your fingers and playing with the ring on your right index finger.

It wasn’t that you were shy— but the way Dabi’s eyes always followed yours brought a certain attraction you couldn’t stuff away. It was almost scary how much he made you squirm, even under something as simple as a gaze.

Sure, Dabi flirted with everyone. It didn’t take a genius to see that he flirted with you in a different way, though. His eyes always lingered longer on your frame when you entered the room, he spoke more words to you than he’s probably ever said in his life, and he always kept his endearing pet-names for you and only you.

“You wanna know something, doll?” He asked lowly, his face staring into yours intensely as you finally lifted your eyes to meet his and nodded your head.

Regardless of his appearance, regardless of his attitude, and regardless of the fact it’s Dabi, you knew that you were a goner from the start. You had a ridiculously annoying crush on him, and we’re pretty sure he could coerce you into doing just about anything. He probably knew that, too.

“I think I care about you more than anyone else here.” His words stitched onto your skin, the quietness seeming as if he feared anyone else would hear his words.

“You’re too good and innocent for this world.” He continued, a patchy hand stretching its way over towards your face and slowly rubbing at your cheeks.

You stood quiet, fearing that he’d stop his words all together and you wouldn’t be able to here the sincere tone he rarely spoke in. The only sound in the room one was able to hear was the pattering of water running down the window and your lit candles cracking amongst themselves. Your head leaned into his hand and let the warmth of his palm silk you in.

“That’s a problem though, baby.” Baby.. Your eyes widened at the new name, eyebrows furrowing and glancing over at him with a tilted head.

“What problem is there about that, Dabi?”

He chuckled, gliding his hand from your cheek to the back of your head as he grabbed a fistful of hair as soft as possible. He tugged your head closer towards his daringly. You breath began to shallow and you felt it, the excitement that always came with Dabi whenever he was around.

“You might be a bit too good for me.” He spoke as if he was trying not to scare you away. The timidness of words only brought you closer to him, finally feeling your chest collide with his arm as you were pressed against his side with your face dangerously close to his.

His blue eyes refused to leave yours, and the intensity of the situation made you nearly melt inside. It’s been a while since anyone ever said something like that to you, let alone a guy. A feeling jumpstarted your butterflies, and you ran your tongue against your bottom lip to hide the now dry sensation of your lips.

“I’m not too good for you, please don’t say that Dabi.” The way his name rolled off your tongue made him groan and grip your hair a little tighter.

You’d be lying if it didn’t feel good.

Your face was close enough to feel the heat run off his cheeks, and you knew that you wanted nothing more than to just collide your lips with his. The sexual tension he oozed was something you couldn’t handle, no matter how hard you clenched your thighs.

“You sure about that, princess?” You heard the dare in his voice and felt nothing but exhilaration run through your veins as if you were speeding down a highway on the opposite side of the road.

You weren’t sure when his hands reached your shorts-covered bottom, but you soon found yourself mumbling in surprise when your body was tossed (with literally one arm) across his figure in a straddling position. Your chest arched into his by the pressure he had on your ass, and a gulp slipped through your lips in embarrassment.

You refused to back down, though.

“I’m really sure, Dabi.”

You knew the effect you had on him when you mentioned his name, and he knew by the way he smirked up at you. His other arm was still limp on his side, but that didn’t stop his dominant and good arm from groping every inch of your lower half. You were trying your hardest to cover a moan, yet the minute he gripped a piece of your thigh close enough between the other, you couldn’t help but slam your lips against his.

Dabi tasted like what you would expect him to taste like. The saliva that trailed from his throat down yours had the taste of metal and mint chewing gum. The taste became something you grew familiar to within seconds of smacking your lips against his, and by the way his body gripped you closer to his, you could tell he enjoyed your taste just as well.

Dabi’s mind went empty at the way your tongue moved against his. He couldn’t believe that his pretty little girl could kiss him like this, letting out secret moans into his lips in a way that made sinning sound like a good idea. He also couldn’t believe how fast he got hard, the bulge pressing against his jeans in a way he just couldn’t work with.

You felt it, and your body began to nervously rock back and forth in a way to secretly relieve yourself. Before you started to press your body down harder, Dabi’s free hand slipped up to your hair again and pulled your head back with a tinge of softness. He was out of breath and flustered, and you were sure you looked just as distraught as him.

“Listen,” he panted, his hand letting go slightly of the grip and groaning at the way your lips swelled up in a coat of his own saliva, “if you start something, I won’t able to not finish it. I also won’t go slow.”

The words activated a switch in your head, eyes widening as you stood up from his lap. Before he could question your actions or even grow a bit disappointed at the idea of you not wanting to continue, his eyes nearly jolted out of his skull. Before him stood you, clad in a pair of plain white panties and your shorts thrown on the ground from where you had dropped them. If Dabi wasn’t already obsessed before, he knew he was nothing but smitten now.

You stood quiet and he followed suit as you took your place back into his lap. Without glancing at him, you fiddled with his belt and loosened the grip around his hips.

Dabi really wanted to stop you. He really fucking did. Yet watching you focus on nothing but trying to take his clothes off made him unable to move and speak. It was like he was brainwashed, and he nearly died the minute you sat up to push his pants down.

“I-I-Y/—” “Shh.”

Your fingers covered his mouth as you continued to stare down at his pants in focus. You knew he was trying to stop you, but you wanted to continue. You knew you wanted him to know that you were just as fond of him as he made it seem he was for you.

After struggling to shimmy his pants off his lanky legs with one arm since you were still trying to shut up him, you watched his body lie limp across your couch in nothing but a shirt and black briefs.

It was like heaven in front of your eyes.

You licked your lips, shyly taking a seat on top of him and removing your hand. Your fingers made their way over to his chest. You wanted to take his shirt off and feel the skin to skin contact, but you knew how Dabi was about that stuff. He’d never say it, but you knew he was insecure of the uneven portions of skin there.

He tilted your head up with a finger and brought your wide eyes to his. “What do you want to do, doll? It’s whatever you want.”

The words brought goosebumps up your spine. The way he said it just made you weak, each word slipping off his lips like the air you needed to breathe and you soon found yourself whimpering at the sentence you knew he set up for this exact reaction. You could tell by how smugly he watched you writhe under his words.

You thought about your next sentence carefully. His arm was injured, and you weren’t sure if he was as into this as you were. Sure, making out and dry-humping was cool for a while— but would he be okay with jumping straight into sex? Sure, most people go through an extensive amount of foreplay in order to get the mood going, but you didn’t really want to. His arm was hurt, and all you wanted to do was watch him squirm under you as you made him feel good.

“I want to ride you.” The sudden confidence of your voice made him stammer, eyes watching you as they twitched in excitement. He had never realized how much he’d wanted those words to slip off your pretty lips but he was beyond estatic to hear them he meant for him and only him.

He didn’t respond, only pressing you into his lips with the hand gripping your hair and taking your mouth by surprise. Your tongues moved in sync, and you could feel yourself only growing wetter and wetter from just the way he pounded his lips into yours.

Before you could stop yourself, you moved your fingers to the waistband of his briefs and pushed them back just enough to hear something heavy smack against his stomach. Yes, something heavy.

He gripped your hair again and this time with much more intensity, broke your lips apart and pushed your head away from his. From the quick glance you gave him, you could see his nearly throbbing dick rest against his lean stomach in a way that nearly teased you. His lips were wet and his eyes were clouded with desire.

“I want to watch your face when you sit down on my dick, Y/N.”

The assertiveness made you nod your head obediently. Instantly following his commands, you rested your body onto your knees and pushed your panties to the side. A soft hand gripped his dick, and the way he sucked his breath in at the contact made you smile smugly.

He didn’t realize though, since his eyes were now trained on your dripping heat inch closer towards his dick. He counted in his head, preparing himself to sink into the place he wanted to get into the most.

5. Your hands slowly swirled up and down his dick, pumping gently enough to prepare his body to take you up yet to also evoke a moan from his lips. And Dabi doesn’t moan.

4. Your eyes never left his the minute you had a good enough grip on him, and just that alone made some precum slip through his tip.

3. He thought you looked so pretty getting ready to sit down on his cock. ‘Imagine when she’s actually riding me, fuck.’

2. To prep yourself up a bit more, you lathered you’re wetness with a swipe of your thumb against his tip, the sensation making him suck in an incoherent curse.

1. This was your moment. Usually Dabi wanted to take control, and usually in his fantasies about you, it was you getting drilled into your own bed in a way that had you forgetting how to scream. This was different though. Dabi wanted to see what you were going to do.

Before he could even continue his thoughts, the feeling of a soft, extremely wet, and tight hole covered his penis agonizingly slow. With squinted eyes in pleasure, he watched as your face moved from that smug smile to a look of focus and surprise. Within just the first few inches, you already felt as if your insides were more full than possible.

Growing impatient yourself was something you knew would be a bad idea, but you couldn’t help it. So with that, you let go of all strain in your knees and in your hands and let your body drop fully into his embrace. Just like that, you imagined he was probably in your damn gut at this point.

“You’re so big.” You gasped, the vulgar words coming out of your lips making Dabi groan even more than he already was at the sudden contact.

You took a few more minutes to take him in as your vagina just refused to take all of him in. For a skinny guy like him, the weight he carried down there definitely made up for it and you weren’t complaining.

Before you knew it, you felt the need to continue. With that, you dragged your hands up to Dabi’s face and gripped the sides in yours. His lips met your lips, and you began to grind your body against his in order to control your pace for the time being.

You had to rip your lips off his as your slowly found yourself bouncing against him. The movements were so sudden, Dabi didn’t expect it and found his eyes slamming shut in pleasure as his free-hand gripped your ass cheek roughly.

“Fuck Y/N.” He moaned, making you feel only more determined than before.

His praises (which really only consisted of moans, groans, and the word fuck) egged you on, and before you knew it, you were bouncing your body up and down with such speed and intensity, Dabi couldn’t even say a word.

You were fucking him so good, he couldn’t even speak.

Dabi wasn’t sure if it was the way you slipped your body all the way up to his tip only to slam back down, or if it was the quick and loud moans that left your lips so richly, or if it was the trail of wetness coming down from your lower heaven pooling into his light pubic hairs. Whatever it was though, was causing him to see stars.

As thunder cracked in the background, all you could focus on was the sounds of your thighs and body slapping into Dabi’s in a perfect motion.

“D-Dabi—” you moaned loudly, the words falling off your lips quicker than you could handle, “I-You-You feel so— so fucking good.”

The word good dragged out longer than you liked, your screams being reduced to whimpers due to not wanting anyone else to hear you. Dabi watched you, groans coming out of his lips matching yours in a way that made you grow in intensity.

Your hips moved harder and faster, finally finding your own G-Spot and beginning to see stars in your trail of sight.

“You look- look so fucking pretty— taking my cock like this— baby.” The name only made you yelp, whimpering as your eyebrows furrowed and began to thrash your ass tight vagina in a quick notion of in, out, grind, out, grind, in, and over and over again.

There were many things you did to impress Dabi. Honestly, the way you breathe was something Dabi wanted to praise you with in itself. This, however, was beyond him.

Watching you throw yourself against his dick, eyes crossing and drool slipping across your still swollen lips, ass that he was gripping onto as if it would leave forever clapping against his skin, whimpers and cries coming out of your throat was something that Dabi now believed he wanted to be the only thing he ever saw again.

“Just like that doll, I want to see you cum-see you cum all over me.” He managed to get out, face scrunching as he felt his tip slam into a certain part of your pussy that damn near sent vibrations down his long length. He had never felt pussy this good before, and maybe it was just because he was attracted to you, but whatever it was— was driving him absolutely insane.

You felt your stomach tighten, a trail of curses coming out of both you and Dabi’s mouths in synch. You continued to bounce against him. Somehow, the position you were in where you were now on your feet only allowed you to ride him harder and faster than before. Dabi nearly passed the fuck out.

You, on the other hand, were definitely already gone. Watching his face scrunch up, staples clattering as his hair began to stick to his forehead and his lips rip your name and curses like they were the only words he knew— you couldn’t handle it. With that, the pressure in your stomach grew.

“Do-don’t worry about me baby—” he could feel your hole beginning to tighten up more and more, the sensation feeling as if you were milking his cock from the inside and dragging his cum up involuntarily.

“B-but I wanna cum with you.” You whined out, head thrown back in nothing but pure ecstasy.

He could see your tits bounce harshly against your shirt, yet for some reason, he couldn’t bring it upon himself to burn the stupid material off. For a flashing moment in time, he thought about how your eyes trailed against his covered chest.

“I know b-baby.” You said, snapping him from his stare at your chest and up to your now clearly red face. “I-I ke-kept it on so that we-we both have our shirts on.”

That itself, nearly brought Dabi over the fucking edge. The simple fact that you were so fucking considerate, enough to do some little shit like that drove him insane.

Without blinking, the limp hand once thrown on the couch was now gripping onto your body. You couldn’t say anything though, because his other hand gripped the couch and brought him to an angle to where he began to obliterate you.

With nothing but a gasp being able to come out of your locked jaw, your eyes rolled back at the way his drilled in and out of you in a nearly barbaric manner. His arm gripped around your waist in order to bring himself to more pleasure, and you found yourself bouncing up and down in order to counter him and bring more force into the slams.

“Holy fucking shit.” He yelled, his jaw tightening as he began to whimper.

You were fucking him back, your hands tugging at his raven hair roughly and your lips drooling at the sensation in a way that made you seem to be out of your headspace. Just like that, your stomach tightened up and warned you that you had about a second to let him know you were going to literally cream yourself.

You heard his staples more than usual, yet ignored the small noises in order to focus on the grip pressed against your body.

“Dabi I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.” You repeated, your voice hoarse and whined out from the way he fucked your brain into overdrive.

All that could be heard were your pleas of pleasure, Dabi’s hips slamming into your hips that slammed into his, the wet sounds of your pussy continuously being filled up to the brim by Dabi, and the couch beginning to squeak at the roughness.

Without catching a breath, Dabi’s hand roughly scratched its way up to your hair and tugged you to face him.

“Cum now.”

The order made your eyes roll back. You weren’t sure just how close you were, but just him commanding you to do it made you finally fall over the edge. The feeling of his dick shooting into you made you topple over onto his chest, cries leaving your lips as you orgasmed harder than you probably ever have before.

The sight you once had disappeared as you saw nothing but stars and darkness. The air once resting in your lungs cleared out, and nothing was able to leave your throat other than Dabi’s name over and over again as if it were your religion.

Dabi followed suit, finally resting underneath you and gasping for air from the orgasm he just came down from. His cock stood in you, still warm and twitching from the stimulation still being given from your tightness.

Nobody said anything, voices too tired, bodies too sticky and stuck together, and minds too empty to even be able to form a sentence. Your legs had given up on you, finally wrapped behind Dabi’s back as you clung onto him for your dear life.

“Baby.” Dabi called out softly, his raspy voice making you snap out of your fucked out trance. You looked at him, eyes barely being able to hold themselves open as your body wobbled against his.

“Let me clean you up, okay?” He softly asked, his hand gently pushing some hair still stuck to your cheeks behind your ears. You bit your lip and defiantly shook your head.

“Can we clean up tomorrow?” You asked shyly, hands rubbing up and down his chest as your voice pleaded for him to listen. “I just want to sleep with you for the rest of the night.”

The minute you looked at him with those wishful eyes and small pout, he found it really fucking hard to say no. He wasn’t really planning on staying, but now he wasn’t sure if he was ready to even think about leaving.

Agreeing with your plea to stay, he twisted his body enough to where he was finally lying down on the couch from one end to the other. He dragged your body with him, adjusting you to where your legs were tangled up and your head taking comfort on his shirt-clad chest.

With the way he just fucked your lights out, and the way he softly spoke to you and rubbed your back, you found it even harder to keep your eyes open. It was no surprise when Dabi somehow managed to turn the singular lamp on that was on the table next to him off only to find you slightly snoring on his chest.

So many times, he warned himself that when the day he got to go inside of your wet, sweet heaven came, he’d stay up and take advantage of being able to look at your fucked out expression some more.

But due to how good you rode his dick, how good you kissed him, and how good you felt weaves into his body, he couldn’t help but close his eyes and fall into the same slumber as you with his hands tightly wrapped around your frame and a small smile playing at his lips.

—

cue the song overdue by travis scott because this took me like a week to write for some reason 🥴 writers block aint no mf JOKE! Anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed! I did get an anon ask somewhat similar to it though so that kinda got me to finish. So anon, whoever you were that sent that one Dabi anon in about reader being a healer and such, thanks for saving the day 😔👍🏾 anyways YEA please don’t let this flop idk why y’all don’t like Dabi </3 smh no substance! Also this is hella unedited and guess what? Idc. If you see a typo though, please lmk.

don’t forget to like, reblog, comment, and follow me if u a real one

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