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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

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

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

words: 14.8k

synopsis:

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

“Gonna get ya, baby,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are too,”

“Am not,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

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

“Da-Daddy, wait,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needy little bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

Three months earlier

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

You aren’t supposed to be here.

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

Your brother would kill you if he knew.

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

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

“Whadda we have here?”

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

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

Dabi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Does your brother know you’re here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,”

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

“S-Sorry,” you murmur, looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

“Okay,”

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

“Something funny, princess?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, I’m glad,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So. Food?”

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

“Wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to touch them?”

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

“Keigo—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,”

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

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

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

That’s it, that’s his good girl.

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joyrides.

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

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

Keigo would kill you, if he knew.

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your niisan, your niisan has a secret.

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

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

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

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

Yes, he hid it well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And this—this becomes a habit.

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

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

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

None of it mattered.

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

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

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

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

“Wh-Who?”

“Dabi, for Christ sake!”

“T-T—” Touya?

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

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

“To-Todo—”

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

“Your coa—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He isn’t good for you—”

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

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

“No,” you pout a little. “It isn’t,”

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

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

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

Because Keigo is currently otherwise occupied. With a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess, I…”

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

“You’re overreacting—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until they aren’t.

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

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

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

“No.”

“Why not? They’re more controlled—”

“I said no,”

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

“Marginally—”

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

“No—for fuck’s sake—”

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

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

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

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

“You don’t understand—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never thought he would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✰ ✰ ✰

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

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

“He hit me,”

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

“What?”

“He hit me. Nii—Keigo hit me,”

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

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

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

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Will You? (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: Meeting Rami in the back alley behind an awards show.

Notes: ugh ive been having writers block for the first time in like two years so ive only been writing short stuff. i have a couple fics backpiled for various rami characters so thats coming up! gender neutral as usual WC: 1.5k

Ugh.

How quickly it all became too much. You wondered, clutching your aching head, why you even came here; large parties were never your scene, public events even less so. A world-wide broadcasted movie awards event was nothing near anything you'd done before. Earlier in the day, as you were dressing and readying yourself for the evening, you stared into the mirror and wondered then, as well, what you were doing.

Maybe––probably––it had to do with the fact that one of your favorite actors' presence was assured, and you rarely ever visited New York, making this the first time you'd been in the right place at the right time to have the opportunity to do this. You steeled yourself then and you steeled yourself now, digging into your clutch bag to pull out a carton of cigarettes.

You fumbled with the cigarette as you reached back in, searching for your lighter. A frustrated grumble grew in your mouth and came out as a curse. With a harsh sigh you yanked your hand out, throwing it up into the air, and sitting with a thud on a wooden box laying by the side of a large trash bin. You rubbed your face harshly, attempting to wipe away the irritation. To no avail––you had no lighter, and your nerves were itching, teeming with aggravation that crawled like bugs beneath your skin. You needed this and the world didn't like you.

The door you'd left the building from opened once more, swinging shut with a loud clanking sound that seemed to echo in the vacant alleyway. Drops of water fell into the puddles at your feet, still present from the earlier rain, and now filled with bits of trash. The very same water almost splashed onto you as a car passed by, its' wheels revving and spinning away through a massive puddle. It must've been midnight, but assholes were still awake as well, and the city lights showed no sign of stopping.

This was why you only visited New York City.

"Here," someone with a deep, rough voice spoke, and you looked up to find a vein-filled hand balancing a blue lighter between the second and third fingers.

There weren't any active lights in the alleyway, but the puddles reflected the street lights that stood a few meters away. That was enough to recognize him when you glanced to his face.

Rami fucking Malek.

He turned almost the second you looked up at him, meaning he didn't catch the sudden, stumbling recognition that flooded your expression. Thankfully, you had the time to calm yourself before he sat down across from you on a dirty (and probably wet) stool.

"Thank you," you said, lighting your cigarette and breathing in the sweet smoke before you said anything else. "You're a lifesaver."

"No, I just have a smoking problem," he said.

You both laughed, softly, and looked away.

You took another drag.

"You're Rami Malek, aren't you?" You said through the smoke that escaped you. It was rough on your throat, but you didn't especially care anymore. Somehow, you remembered a flask of water––just not the lighter.

"Yeah," he said with another soft, bashful, chuckle.

"I like your work. Or, your style," you mumbled as you tapped the ashy end away. He might've been a star of your dreams, and mere images of him might've taken your breath away, but you would treat him like a regular person. "It's.. unique, but familiar."

"Thank you," he said, nodding, a charming grin on his face. "May I ask your name?"

"(Y/N)." You shifted in your seat as you looked down. An ounce of humor came to you once you said, "you won't recognize the name."

"No, but I'm happy to recognize it in the future," he said, tilting his head in your direction.

You broke out in a laugh and a wide, blushing grin, shaking your head. God, he looked good in a suit––all black. Silver in his lapel. His neck revealed colored veins that led up to a jawline that would surely cut you. Why was he talking to you? Why was he being nice?

"You're a charmer," you finally said through your giggling, continuing with, "do you want some?" before he could say anything.

You handed the cigarette to him and he took it, pursing his lips and letting go with a puff of smoke. Even in the hot, humid air, those clouds coalesced and drifted away just as usual.

"You're not an actor," he stated, his eyes fixed on the cigarette as he tapped the ashes away. "Not here for that, so why are you here? Just out of curiosity."

"That's... a very good question," you said with an exasperated laugh. "I'm a teacher, I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Teacher?" He repeated. "My brother's one of those. What d'you teach?"

He handed the cigarette back to you.

"Third graders," you grumbled. He sucked in a sharp breath in a wince. "I usually do first graders, but not this year."

"That's rough, I've heard those are demonic years," he said, earning a laugh from you.

"Yeah, that's a good way of putting it," you said as you doted on the cigarette. "I guess this is just the first time I've visited New York when an awards show is happening."

"How do you like the big screen life so far?"

"Not very much, but I never thought I would," you said quietly, but he still chuckled. "I... I did think about being an actor, when I was a kid. I think a lot of kids do these days, though. Actors are.. like the new Gods. You know, in ancient times people would worship idols, and that's what people call you now..." you met his gaze and couldn't tear yourself from it, "... idols. Images of something to strive for."

He nodded, his brow creased in deep thought.

"After a while the world shows you what celebrity life is really like, and you read all sorts of things, see how people change... eventually you don't really want it anymore," you said, shrugging. "Or you decide you want it, or want part of it despite the other stuff."

He nodded again but had little to say despite being a celebrity himself.

"Which was it for you?"

"Hm?"

A spell broke over his eyes and he appeared to return to normal, having not heard or comprehended your words.

"Did you become an actor because you wanted all of it, with the bad parts, or you wanted a specific part and still became an actor despite all the other things?"

"... complex question," he said after a moment, rocking his balance back and forth awkwardly as you laughed. "I wanted to become other people, transform myself into characters. I was attracted to the job. Not the other things attached to it."

"Well I'm glad you became an actor anyway," you said, relighting the cigarette with a quick drag. "That way I could meet you."

"And I could meet you, as well," he said in that same, deep voice he used when he first spoke to you.

You could do nothing but chuckle and cast your eyes down, shaking your head.

"Yeah, I guess you could," you mumbled.

He reached forward, snagging the cigarette from between your fingers. That made you look up, drawing your attention back to the subtle lines marking his face, and the glow of fire that revealed cool, green eyes behind thick lashes.

A loud wave of cheering came from inside the building, and the both of you looked back at the steel door. Still unopened.

"I should probably get inside, the cameras might notice my seat's empty," he said in a similar mumble.

The cigarette, now nothing more than a filter, dropped from his lips and fell to the ground, squashed beneath his shiny, black shoe.

"Ready?" He asked.

"Have to be," you said as you stood. "Not wasting a fifty dollar ticket on my damn social anxiety."

He chuckled and said, "I'd invite you to sit with me, but there aren't any free spots. How about..." He'd been opening the door, but he paused, causing you to misstep and halt yourself only when your chest was an inch from his. Your eyes darted up to his. "Come see me after the show. I have a '97 bottle of Montalcino at home that I think you'd enjoy."

You nearly choked on your own spit, but fortunately for you, it only came out as a cough and a clearing of the throat. 'What', almost escaped your mouth in the most astounded tone before you bit it back.

Was he propositioning you? Was this a friendly invitation? Why was, again, Rami fucking Malek asking to spend anymore time with you than he had to?

You realized a silence had spanned between you when his eyes flickered down to your lips, at which point shock fully brought you back into your body.

"Will you?" He asked hopefully.

"Yeah," you murmured. "I'd like that."

#rami malek x reader #rami malek

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mourntheantagonist · 3 years

Text

billy has asthma

he was diagnosed with it when he was just eight years old after having a severe attack at school during p.e. and neil thought the whole thing was just an attention grab. always telling him to suck it up after a game of baseball when he was gasping for air. reaching for his inhaler only for neil to knock it out of his hands and call him a pussy. “just breathe you big baby!”

the only reason he even had an inhaler was because his mother would be the one to go down and refill his prescription. but when she was gone, there was nothing he could do. neil wouldn’t pay for it and he didn’t have the money. so he just had to deal. which is hard when the same father who won’t buy you your means for breathing also was the one forcing you to play high intensity sports.

he learned to work around it as best he could. going from an outdoor sport like baseball and soccer to an indoor sport like basketball. cold weather always aggravating it more. he was lucky enough to play center, which meant less running back and forth down the court.

smoking somehow made attacks less frequent. years of training his airway to endure smoke inhalation, it didn’t feel better, but constant uncomfort in his lungs made the symptoms something he was able to get used to. the problem arose though that when he did get an attack, it was ten times worse than what he used to have.

his airway felt like it was entirely restricted. it would burn and he could barely even get a wheezing sound to escape. all he could do in those moments was stand with his hands on his head, shut his eyes, and just pray that it went away before it killed him.

there was a time that it nearly did. it was only shortly before they would move off to hawkins when it hit him suddenly with no trigger to cause it. those were the ones that freaked him out the most and had him tossing himself around his room in a panic as he gasped for air. completely in a daze as he felt the effects of a lack of oxygen start to his him and his vision blurred and he became surprisingly calm. tears filling his eyes as his chest felt compressed by a fifty pound weight and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

he can’t remember much of what happened, other than the bright red piece of plastic being waved in his face that he somehow recognized to be an inhaler saved his life. he only pieced it together when he woke up in his bed with max sitting next to him with her hand on his chest. monitoring him as he slept, feeling the rise and fall and making sure he didn’t stop breathing. she just handed the inhaler to him and said she would tell her mom she lost hers and would need a new one.

he savored it for as longs as he could. keeping close track of the number on the back as it ticked down from the 130 remaining puffs to the low digit that it was at now.

now being a playoff game that billy has admittedly been over exerting himself with. their backup center was out with an injury so billy was playing double the time and he was starting to feel his airway tightening and his breath cold in his throat. coughing up a storm but he just kept on pushing and pushing.

until he’s coughing up blood into the pit of his elbow and he’s getting lightheaded. he’s stumbling across the court and eventually he hears a whistle blow and he’s about ready to collapse.

“hit the lockers hargrove. drink some water you’re done.” billy wants to protest but he’s not even sure he could get a word out if he tried. “harrington, go with him and make sure he doesn’t die.”

steve had rolled his ankle halfway through the game so he was also out. so now you had a limping steve supporting a breathless billy on his shoulder all the way to the locker room.

somehow steve knew exactly what to do. billy was sitting on the bench with his hands up over his head, opening up his chest as steve began turning the showers on to the hottest setting, letting the steam fill the room.

“do you have an inhaler?”

billy nods. it’s getting worse and he can feel the familiar fire in his lungs. he’s fighting hard to keep the tears out of his eyes but he can only hope the hot steam hitting his face can mask the falling drops from his lashes.

“where is your stuff?”

billy can’t answer. his breath literally caught in his throat.

“billy you gotta talk to me buddy.”

he can’t. he tries but all that comes out is a wheeze. he just frantically points to the locker across the room and hopes steve can see where he’s pointing to.

steve practically sprints the ten foot distance over to the locker and pulls the duffel out from inside. chaotically sifting through the contents of the bag until he finds the plastic encasing. running back to billy and putting it into his hands. billy quickly brings it to his mouth, pushes down...

and there’s nothing.

just a pathetic puff of air and it barely helps at all. the counter is at zero and all billy can do is chuck the canister across the floor and shut his eyes and say the little prayer he’s said many times before.

steve’s hands find his shoulders and ground him back to the reality he was starting to escape from.

“billy I need you to relax, okay? focus on trying to breathe. it’ll pass just stay calm for me.”

billy takes in a shaky and wheezy breath. it’s not great, but it’s something.

“keep doing that okay? slow and steady, you’ve got it.”

steve’s hands found their way to his cheeks. he was looking right at billy who had his eyes shut with and uncontrollable stream of tears escaping past closed lids. he knew steve was only doing it to straighten his neck and open his airway, but it felt tender. and it helped in more ways than opening his airway.

it made him feel safe in a way. made him feel like all those times when his mom would do the same for him as a kid. walk him all the way through the attack, holding his hand and securing him.

his breathing started to become clearer and the coughing was less frequent.

“that’s it. I’m gonna go get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

“don’t.” billy grabs steve by the wrist. his voice is broken and raspy. “stay.”

steve just looks down at him and kneels right back down in front of him. taking his hands into his own now that they’ve found their way to billy’s lap. gently rubbing circles into his palms as he can feel billy’s breath become increasingly more even. “okay.”

billy just cries. doesn’t care about how pathetic he looks in front of steve because he’s not in any state to be holding his breath. and steve is nothing but kind. kind to the same guy who was anything but kind to him. wiping away at his tears and talking him down from his combined asthma and panic attack. and he didn’t leave.

hugging him loosely enough to where he could still breathe but tightly enough he felt safe and secure until the final buzzer echoed and the locker room filled with the rest of the team.

and when it was all over, he didn’t tell anybody.

instead billy found an inhaler in his locker the following week attached to a note.

“I saw max’s name printed on the label and she told me. tell me when you run out and I’ll refill it for you. don’t fucking die on me dude.”

- steve

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #fanfic #mandi writes tresh #I know there’s a lot of inaccuracies shhhh #let me have this

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miss-nov · 3 years

Text

Over-Emotional: Danny Phantom Oneshot.

Original idea by @amabsis on their post right here!!

[Originally written on a reblog of the prompt but it went all screwy and left an incomplete version so I made it it's own post and I've made a few grammar and spelling edits. Sorry for any confusion!!]

(This is the first thing I've ever written for the DP Phandom so I apologize if it's a little OOC)

⚠️(TW: DESCRIPTIONS OF A PANIC ATTACK AND GORE!!!!!)⚠️

Danny drifted through the skies of Amity Park, following the streets which were slick with recent rain. The stars twinkled merrily above and the beams from the street lights seemed to buzz through the comforting, crisp air. Not a sound disrupted the mellow atmosphere and ghosts had appeared to leave tonight alone and retired to their lairs. A soothing night such as this would have been Danny's favorite; it would have been a much needed break from his overly stressful life.

Yet Danny couldn't shake off the creeping apprehension even as he twisted in and out of alleyways back into the lit roads.

His parents had been working tirelessly on a project that they wouldn't tell him and Jazz about. Jack, their father, would always jump at the chance to describe what he was doing and couldn't keep his antics quiet for long. Maddie's, their mother, eyes would have brightened as she recounted the innovate idea she had conjured and the necessary calculations she could toy around with. These facts coupled with Jazz and Danny casually inquiring about their latest project would make them incredibly ecstatic.

But whenever the two had asked about it, put off by the unusual quiet of the parents, had only been given an amused smile and an occasional wink.

Tonight, before Danny's patrol and during dinner, Jazz had managed to weasel some information out of them. Though, it left more questions than answers.

"So, you guys have been in the lab a lot recently," Jazz said conversationally. "Working on some new ghost stuff? It seems important if you're spending most of the day down there."

Maddie had given her a deliberate look like someone who'd finally decided to take a second cookie.

"It's our greatest invention yet," she said lowly and excitedly. "I think your dad and I have found the solution to our little ghost problem."

The siblings gulped and tried to suppress their shudders.

"It's not going to hurt them is it? Phantom and the other ghosts." Jazz's voice was even and didn't show a hint of a tone shift.

"Surprisingly, no. No harm will be dealt to them. It's not like they can feel anyway. That's exactly the problem," Jack chimed excitedly before going back to his ectoplasm contaminated lasagna.

"Besides, we wouldn't want to hurt the object of our daughter's affection. We all know about your crush on Phantom," Maddie teased but then added with a small frown. "Though it's not healthy to have a crush on ghosts at all."

Jazz gave an aggressive gagging noise and Danny was torn between hysterical laughter and a gag of his own. Dinner resumed as normal —well, as normal as you could get being a Fenton— and Danny took note of the fact his parents had refused to say anymore.

Danny was busy going over and dissecting the conversation and lax in his attention to his surroundings by the inactivity that he didn't notice the two shadow-cloaked figures tailing him. The taller one with a broader build was holding an intimidating gun, that looked like it was straight out of an eighties sci-fi movie, on his back.

Maybe I should head back, Danny thought to himself. I have so much homework due and a test tomorrow. A pop quiz in calculus and a lab in science. I have to meet Nathan at my study hall period and at lunch. Liz needs my help…

On and on the list went as Danny subtlety started flying home. Just thinking of things that needed done was making him more anxious and tired.

"Phantom, we'll have you now," Jack cried, his voice echoing in the hollow streets.

Danny turned around, slightly aggravated when he was struck by a violet beam and plummeted, crashing to the sidewalk.

"Jack! I told you to wait," Maddie chastised as they walked over to Danny who had barely sat up.

His head swam and Maddie and Jack looked like the reflections of a carnival fun house mirror. Though his vision corrected itself quickly.

"I think you might have given him a concussion. But that doesn't make sense, ghosts don't have brains," Maddie said, slightly confused. She reached out to gingerly place her fingertips on Danny's temple and he flinched.

"Don't touch me!!" Danny had yelled louder then he meant to and his voice came out with an extra echo; like he had been about to use his ghostly wail. The three stilled before Danny began crawling backwards, keeping his eyes on Jack and Maddie at all times.

"I don't wanna hurt you," Danny whimpered and tears sprang to eyes like a line of men ready to battle. Why the hell was he crying!? He didn't cry easy, at least not of late, and he'd been in these situations and worse without crying so why was he breaking down now??

Maddie looked at him with wide eyes and her hand, which had still been suspended in shock, dropped to her belt and Danny panicked.

"Don't hurt me!" Danny tried to pick himself up to fly, to get the hell out of dodge but when he went to stand his vision and black an —god why were his veins burning with adrenaline???

Danny's chest was caving, that was the only explanation as his ribs seized and threatened to crush his lungs. His heart had left its place and sprinted from the back of his throat down to right beneath his collarbone before starting all over again. Has his hands always been this sweaty??? Tremors wracked through his limbs —he couldn't deal with this now!! He needed to finish his Hamlet essay, and review his history notes, and hadn't Liz asked him to buy popsicle sticks for their art project??? That's what he had forgotten!! He can't think of this now!! Maddie and Jack could easily catch him now —but oh, God was he screwed when —if— when he went to school the next day.

"Phantom, you're having a panic attack," Maddie said calmly.

"No, shit there, Sherlock." Danny bit his bottom lip to prevent another scathing comment from escaping. Usually he had better control of his mouth believe it or not. He put his head between his knees, closing his eyes and trying to focus on, well, nothing. He felt tears slip from his eyes and barely stopped himself from screaming.

"You know what a panic attack is?" Jack titled his head as he scanned over his shaking form.

"Jack did you put the settings up too high while we were following him?"

"Of course not! I was very careful not to bounce anything out of place. You've Done the math, four times, it should be perfectly calibrated." Jack twisted the purple and silver metallic gun in his hands, giving it a thorough look over.

"What the fuck are you two talking about!!" The scientists' head whipped back to see Danny's eyes glowing a tad brighter than before and his mouth transfixed into a snarl. Maddie slid a careful hand to her holster.

"Our newest invention. Ghosts, well most of them, are just whispers of feelings that people once had. They can't actually feel and so they do bad things or... or they mimic human behaviors really well to make it seem like they do, like they're human." Maddie's voice trailed off at the end as if seeing if he would explode.

Danny felt that normally he would have but he started to hyperventilate. How was he going to reverse it??? Was there even a way to do so or did they not include a reverse button by mistake (on purpose?) like they had mistakenly put the 'on' button inside the portal??

"We're going to take you to the lab. Check your... concussion and to stabilize your mood. Run a few tests..."

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodoh—

They would strap him down and cut and lay his chest open like a butterfly steak and their hungry eyes would roam over him and their hands would devour him by pulling at his nerve endings and removing his organs and Danny would scream until his voice was hoarse and then some like a helpless lamb. Would he bleed blood or ectoplasm when they drained him? Would they take turns as he bleed out?? Or would they flow out together like some sort of demented, holiday dinner?? Or—

"Phantom! You need to calm down." Maddie was at his side (when had she gotten there?) and was squeezing his hand. Danny briefly noted her eyes were filled with worry as her goggles hung at her neck. "Just breathe with me okay, please."

"Breathe with her, buddy" Jack, who sat on the other side of Danny, whispered as he gently rubbed circles on the boy's lower back. "It's gonna be okay. We aren't going to hurt you."

Danny wanted to say a smart aleck remark about them not having the same sentiment five minutes ago but instead focused on his breathing. He faced his head skyward and tried to count the stars. Nothing but him and the stars, no home— just the stars.

Danny was reminded of the time he went stargazing with the rest of his family. A rare occasion as Maddie and Jack seemed to always be working. They had smiled so big at him as he pointed out constellations, awestruck. Jazz had nodded along as she listened attentively with a smile of her own. The night hadn't been more clear in months and more stars then usually were out. The picnic blanket they laid on was soft and him and Jazz had rested in between their parents and God they had been so happy then—

Danny let out an involuntary sob. The melancholy seemed to come from the depths of his chest but at least it seemed to push out the panic.

"Phantom," Maddie asked as she huddled closer to him. Phantom, not Danny. It hadn't really bothered him before; they didn't know it was him so why would they call him by his name?

But it still made him cry harder. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to so, so bad.

Jazz had urged him to tell them. But Danny had always been afraid. Scared that they wouldn't want him anymore.

Now the sadness had overwhelmed the fear and the panic. He felt so isolated even when his parents were next to him, right there, trying to coax him into being calm. He had to tell them. He had to do it now because he wouldn't be this impulsive again.

He felt the white rings gloss over him and heard Jack yell out "Phantom". When it was over he heard them gasp.

"D-Danny," Maddie choked out.

"I'm so sorry," Danny said through his tears. He chanted it over and over again as his parents reassured him that he had nothing to be sorry for and that they should apologize.

The three sat there for quite some time, huddled close and crying together.

Soon they would head home and take care of Danny's quickly healing concussion and reverse the effects of the gun. They would ask questions tomorrow after school but, for now, they tucked him into bed, something they hadn't done since he was eleven, and gave him their good night kisses on his temple before creeping to their room unaware of Jazz watching them from her bedroom door. She would text Sam and Tucker an explanation and ask them to give Danny the answers to the homework in the morning. She slipped into bed and fell asleep.

The streets were barely slick with rain anymore. The stars twinkled merrily and the street lights buzzed. The crisp, cool air was calm and mellow. The night soothing and the Fentons were a family once again.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #maddie fenton #jack fenton #jazz fenton #danny phantom prompt #danny phantom prompt fill #danny phantom oneshot #danny phantom fic #prompt fic #prompt fill #prompt oneshot

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outbreak-by-daybreak-archive · 4 years

Note

Would you do all three DMC characters? If so, uhhh Devil trigger mating press, SDT for Dante and Vergil? dear lord I feel the sins crawling down my back,... Have fun with this one, oki I go now bye bye stay safe

hehe thank you anon I hope you enjoy this

Dmc boys and a mating press

Gonna tag @visual-explorxtion @lexi-brooks @hey-there-demons-its-me-ya-hoe

hehe hope you guys enjoy

Warnings:Very Nsfw with some kinky stuff with Vergil and a mating phase with Nero..Dante’s kinda vanilla oops

Dante

It was just supposed to be a silly little competition turned into something else

You didn’t know what had happened but the next thing you knew Dante had gone into his SDT and was all over you.

Dry humping galore ensued before he finally pinned you down

Guess you were doing this on the floor

He soon maybe a little to roughly tore off your clothes

You were soon bared to him and you him lick his lips

You felt him press down on your body sitting almost, making sure your legs were straight in the air.

You felt him slide in making you stretch cause of his triggered cock having to take in his girth

His pace started slow but after he got in farther it quickened

Your moans were so loud as his cock kept hitting your womb so deeply

The roughness of his cock sure didn’t help

You moaned wantonly

“D-Dante i’m gonna-” , you couldn’t finish your sentence as he hit your womb one last time making you scream out in pure bliss.

It took Dante a little longer to reach his peak but you heard him grunt before pulling out abruptly spewing his hot demon seed all over your body

He let you rest for a moment before pulling you close to him and kissing you softly

Vergil

Vergil was sometimes a surprise when it came to things

You didn’t expect a blue blindfold however

Or the basically non stop teasing

It wasn’t until he heard your whimpers and pleas getting louder and louder

Everything went silent as you were finally aloud to breathe

But you got nervous as the temperature changed in the room

Not being able to see added a new accelerating feeling

Then you felt him pull your legs up making you gasp

You felt him slowly enter you as the bulbous head of his cock slowly entered

Wait bulbous that meant...bastard

You felt him just ram in as the ridges of his cock hit the right spots

The air began to smell like sex as he pressed into you

He slowly brought his tail towards your neck and slowly wrapped around it

You were getting so over simulated and couldn’t take it and just let go..his tail bringing more euphoria

Vergil still hadn’t reached his as you felt the ridges hitting all the sweet spots

You heard him grunt before tearing off your blindfold making you see him fully before releasing his fluids inside you

Your stomach bulged out slightly as his seed pulled out making your eyes roll back and tongue stick out

He buried him face into the crook of your neck as he continued to cum

You two just layed there for awhile until you felt him transform back bringing your hands towards his hair

“You're gonna pay for that”, you whispered in his ear

Nero

You didn’t know how to react when you heard he was apparently going through a “heat”

You had wondered why he was more aggravated towards you when out on a job but you got your answer

He was drawn to you...wanting to make you his

He tried to ignore the thoughts which translated to his already short temper instead

However one night you found him panting heavily on the bed

You tried calling out to him but you were met with a very scared “don’t”

You carefully approached him, gently sitting next to him on the bed, “Nero?” You asked him softly

He just looked up at you...His yellow pupil and dark irises starting daggers into you

You just sat there for a moment as he gently brought a hand towards your cheek

“I don’t want to hurt you”, he admitted before turning away, you still held his hand gently towards your cheek

“You won’t”, you whispered at him, he just looked at you before bringing you in for a kiss..

He carefully took off your clothes not trying to get ahead of himself

You helped him slightly by adjusting your hips, you felt his hands slightly graze over your hips making you shiver and heat up slightly...something wasn’t right

You started bucking your hips at him which confused him slightly realizing what could possibly be happening

Pheromones really are the worst

You started whimpering at him pleading for some kind of touch, the hunger grew inside of him

He kissed you deeply again before lining up with your entrance, coating himself

It was almost quick as he fully triggered..the room becoming colder

You didn’t expect him to be slightly ridged as he pressed himself inside you as gently as he could

“N-Nero please”, you managed to rasp out as he looked at you, triggered in all, “Fuck me”

That was all he needed as he fully went inside you adjusting so he could press into you deeper

He thrusted inside aking you squeak and moan as Nero grunted demonically

Many ohs and ahs escaped your mouth as he continued, all the ridges hitting the good spots

Your body was getting hotter and you knew you couldn’t take it much anymore

“N-Nero I can’t”, you screamed out as he hit the spot making your eyes roll and Nero too succumbed to bliss as he moaned out letting his wings spread

His cum ripped throughout your body..way more then you were expecting

He breathed heavily for a second before he growled and transformed back

He hugged you looking like he was gonna cry

“Nero?”, you asked him sweetly making sure he was okay

“Did I hurt you?”, your heart melted as he said it

“N-no i’m fine”, you reassured him rubbing his back, there was an awkward feeling in the air

“Mating press huh?”, you teased him, he blushed at you, laughing nervously

“Sorry”, he whispered, you laughed

“Not saying I hated it”, you gave him a smirk as a sly smile crept on his lips kissing you again

#thanks :D #devil may cry #dante x reader #vergil x reader #nero x reader #nero sparda x reader #vergil sparda x reader #dante sparda x reader #nsfw/t #request

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isis-astarte-diana · 3 years

Text

On Your Toes

Summary: “You told me you were bored, so I gave you something to do.” Missy can always find a way to keep her companion busy.

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Dark!Missy. Serious predicament bondage, featuring stress positions and the threat of bodily harm. (It’s foot trauma). Anal, but, like, not particularly explicit. Absolutely terrible BDSM etiquette - realistically, this is just straight-up torture. Missy is... really unpleasant. The way we love her best.

Word Count: 2067

NB: Sat down to write this thinking “aha, yes, the ornamental bondage concept. Nice, wholesome stuff. We all love that,” and then... well... this happened instead. I think it fits quite nicely into the New Toy universe.

It’s cold in this part of the TARDIS.

The engines are drowned out by the low hiss of an air conditioning system, and this, in turn, is swallowed in the whir of the servers that surround you. Row upon row of shelves stretch to the high ceiling, glowing with blue light, the impossible dimensions of the room containing only a fraction of a fraction of the ship’s central computing hardware. The vast monitor in front of you indicates that the temperature is in its ideal range; somewhere above refrigeration, but certainly lower than would ever be comfortable for a human in your state of undress.

Still, you’re sweating.

Your hair is plastered to your forehead with it, rapidly cooling trails of perspiration trickling down your neck, your sides, the backs of your trembling legs. Another full-body shiver makes your knees quake and you falter, losing your balance, dropping silently from your tiptoes to stand flat footed on the smooth tiles.

“Heels up.”

Missy doesn’t look up from her work at the control panel. She has her back to you, her dark head bowed, quick fingers flitting between a set of keys and dials and a touchscreen display. She had explained what she was doing, and you had made a valiant effort to listen, but that was hours ago, or so it seems. The technical jargon you’d tried so hard to keep track of has been pushed from your mind by far more urgent physical sensations.

The plug isn’t overly large - perhaps, at its broadest, just thicker than two of her slender fingers - but it’s certainly too much to ignore. Though inaudible over the other machinery of the server room its vibrations are powerful and, more than this, variable. If there is any pattern to the change in pitch, you have yet to determine it; and you have been thinking of little else for quite some time.

“Missy,” you attempt weakly, making no effort to conceal the chatter of your teeth. “Please, I-“ The words turn into an unsteady whine to match the abrupt increase in speed of the pulsing toy inside you. Your thighs try to press closer together, if not for stability then at least to soothe the impossible sensitivity of the slick flesh between them. The bar that keeps your ankles spread wide offers no such relief.

“Lift your heels,” she repeats, sharper this time. “And hush.”

Gritting your teeth against the cramping in your calves, you obey.

Behind your back, you hold tighter to yourself, each forearm clasped in the opposite hand and bound that way so that your shoulders are drawn backwards. Your chest is forced up and out by the position, leaving your naked breasts vulnerable in the cold air, nipples painfully stiff and throbbing from the chill. As the vibrations slow once more, your breaths come easier again.

The effect, unfortunately, is two-fold; with fewer distractions, your attention is once more concentrated on the strain of your position. Tension is beginning to set in at the base of your spine, the arches of your feet, even the core muscles in your abdomen, everything below the waist protesting at being made to hold you up like this. Tremors pluck once more at the tendons in your calves. You withstand them for as long as you can, teeth sinking sharply into your chapped bottom lip, until another wave of sensation from the plug as it kicks up to full speed for an instant has you landing hard on your heels, yelping so loudly that Missy actually startles at the noise.

The server room is not quiet, but it is very suddenly as still as a tomb.

You watch as she slowly lifts her head, rolling her neck, stretching languidly as if to emphasise your inability to do the same. When she rises to her feet you almost whimper. Being ignored is a torture in and of itself, but having captured her attention is no comfort. She does not face you, moving instead to one of the shelves nearest the control panel, one that houses gutted hardware and its components. Her fingers plunge into the innards of a half-disassembled server. Impossibly, the sight makes you shudder. From here she withdraws something in a closed fist.

“It’s a fairly simple instruction, isn’t it?”

Her voice is cooler than the spinning fans above you and hums with far more power.

“I mean - stand on your tiptoes. It’s four words. Not even particularly long words, either.” At this, she finally turns on her heels, her smile bright and broad and utterly mirthless. “You can manage to keep track of four words, can’t you?”

You nod emphatically, the movement made jerky by the shivering you cannot stop. She raises an expectant brow.

“And yet, there you are. Not standing on your tiptoes.”

The haste with which you rock up onto the balls of your feet when she begins to approach almost costs you your balance. You waver there for a moment, close to falling back on your heels again, even closer to sprawling face down on the hard ground. With your arms bound behind you, you would have no hope of shielding your face from the impact; your nose, already sore from the cold, throbs at the thought. A strangled whimper works its way through your trembling lips.

Missy narrows her eyes. In the low blue light her features are sharpened, shadows darkening under every curve and arch of bone with the angle at which she tilts her head. “You told me you were bored.”

You shrink, not only from her tone, but also from the memory of your own impertinence. At the time - curled up on the tiled floor at her feet, left with nothing to occupy your restless mind or hands and scolded every time you dared to fidget - you had hoped that she would let you assist her, even if only with a trivial task, or at least set you some busywork to spare you from having to sit still and silent in the cold.

“You told me you were bored, so I gave you something to do.” She takes hold of your jaw with icy fingers just as the thrumming of the toy kicks up a degree. Your hoarse gasp is due, in part, to both. “I went to all this trouble and you keep disobeying me.”

“Missy, I- I can’t...” Spasms shoot up the backs of your legs, settling in your abdomen, shortening your breaths as you speak through a grimace. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t-” It’s impossible to straighten out the words behind your quivering jaw. “I’m really trying.”

“You certainly are, dear.” Her thumb curls under your chin, her palm slowly moving to cup your cheek now. She bares her teeth. “Consider my patience tried.”

The slap catches you off guard. Its sting is only aggravated by the chill of her skin, and of yours, so that the pain is sharp as frostbite. Your heels meet the ground again as you struggle to steady yourself. The shifting of your weight brings relief, but this is smothered by the knowledge that you have, once more, failed to follow her instructions.

“I’m sorry!” With your face turned down towards your shoulder and your eyes clamped shut against the welling tears, you try fruitlessly to rise back onto your toes. Though the balls of your feet burn with the effort, your legs are too shaky, your knees too weak. You cannot seem to settle into a balanced position. All the while, the shifting of the plug inside of you is torturous, its constant vibrations irritating your nerves and flooding you with scalding arousal that cools on your parted thighs. “I’m sorry, Mistress, I- please-”

Her knuckles brush against the blazing skin of your cheek and you flinch from the touch. “Oh, it’s alright, poor love.” With a sympathetic click of her tongue, she coaxes your eyes back to hers and gives you a pitying look. “Now, I know how you humans can struggle with these things, so I don’t mind giving you some help, just this once.”

She shows you her other hand and finally loosens her fist to reveal the spoils of her earlier search. Your cry of alarm hones her lips into a knife-edged grin.

“I’ll do better!” The words are too loud in the close quarters, ragged with unsteady breaths as your wide eyes flit between her face and the pair of inch-long screws resting in her open palm. “I will, I promise, I-” Again, your voice is robbed by a sudden and brief change in the pitch of the maddening vibrations.

“Well, if you’re going to do better, then you won’t mind this at all, will you?” Missy presses the sole of her boot down lightly on the toes of your right foot, cool and smooth and with no weight behind it. “Stand on your tiptoes.”

You shake your head, teeth clenching to stop the chatter there, tears turning cold as they begin to escape at last. She pushes harder, the touch growing uncomfortable, still wavering just this side of pain.

“On your toes,” she repeats, her smile flickering with the threat of a snarl, “or I will break them for you.”

For the barest of moments you try to weigh up the impossible choice - obey, and feel the pointed tip of the screw beneath your raised heel; disobey, and test the sincerity of her words - until the bones of your toes grind painfully between boot and tile and the far more present peril wins out. With a choked gasp you lift yourself once more onto the balls of your feet.

Her voice lowers to a stage whisper and she gives you an exaggerated wink. “Good choice.”

You twist your head at an awkward angle to watch her moving behind you, but this threatens your balance and you quickly correct your posture again. As she sinks to the ground, her fingernails carve a stinging path down the back of your left calf, following the curve of cramping muscle from knee to elevated heel. You jerk under the touch, but cannot escape it without falling.

“If I were you,” she begins, with a faint stirring of amusement, “I would think very carefully about which foot I favoured.” To emphasise her meaning, she pricks the arch of your foot with the screw. You squeak pitifully.

“Please, Mistress.” You cast your blurry eyes to the ceiling, trying not to shift your weight when she repeats the motion on your other foot. Your thighs quake beneath you, cold and strain and horror all taking their toll. “I’m sorry, I- I was rude-”

“You were bored.” She drags her nails up your right leg when she straightens up and leans in to show you her indulgent smile. “And now you’re not. You’re welcome, dear.”

Missy returns to the control panel without a second glance. Your babbling protests fall on deaf ears as she sits back down, swirling her fingers across the touchscreen. It takes only moments for the futility of your efforts to sink in. Despite her earlier impatience with your complaints, she seems entirely impassive to them now.

Fighting every screaming nerve in your body, you bow your head and try to concentrate.

The most tentative of attempts at shuffling forwards is quickly thwarted; with your ankles bound this far apart and your arms restrained behind you, you have no hope of shifting away from the threat underfoot without your forehead meeting the tiles. Through harsh and wavering breaths you are forced to accept the dawning realisation that your balance is tentative, your muscles are fatigued, and it is only a matter of time until you fall one way or the other.

“Missy!” Her name is a panicked sob. Your feet are beginning to cramp and you shrink in on yourself, clawing at your forearms, seeking stability that you cannot find. In your anguish, your muscles draw tighter around the plug, drawing your attention once more to the unpredictable nature of its constant pulsing. “I can’t stay like this!”

She turns to look at you over her shoulder, her expression one of arch disinterest. “Well, you can put your heels down if you like, poppet.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners with her smile. “But you’ll only do it once.”

Unseen, she slips a hand into her pocket and deposits the two screws inside.

#mine #nsfwork #missy x reader #gomez!master x reader #the master x reader #hahahHAHAha I love this gif so much #Missy: [bares her teeth like a fckn feral cat]#me: 🥰😍💕#anyway she's terrible I love her #well she's Babey but in this fic..... she's Terrible

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supernatural-fangirl1967 · 4 years

Text

Your Arms

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Little bit of Fluff

Word Count: 2,047

Anonymous Request: Dean x reader. Reader has known the Winchesters years, when Dean is missing after saying yes to Atlernate Michael she realizes she is in love with Dean.

A/N: This takes place around 14x02-3. Please let me know that you think!

”(Y/N), you cannot go with me and I thought that you were mature enough to understand that,” Sam tells you as you follow him throughout the bunker.

“Sam, I get that Dean is your brother and that you’re upset and want to find him but you need help.”

“Yeah, (Y/N), I need help but I don’t need it from you.”

Your heart drops. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Sam sighs as he turns around to look at you. “(Y/N), I didn’t mean…”

“Fine,” you scoff. “If you don’t need me then I guess that I’ll pack up my stuff and be out of your hair. Maybe I’ll go look for Dean by myself.”

“(Y/N),” Sam says as he reaches out to gently grab onto your arm. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m tired and stressed and I haven’t slept in days. I just… Please be here when I get home.”

You nod and Sam takes a deep breath before pulling you into his arms.

“I know that you want to help me find Dean,” Sam tells you softly. “But you and I both know that Dean would kill me if I took you with me and you got hurt or something.”

“I know,” you breathe out. “Dean would also kill me if you went by yourself and something happened to you.”

“You’re not talking me into letting you go,” Sam says as he gives you a look.

“I know,” you sigh as Sam slowly lets go of you. “Be careful and keep me up to date about everything, okay?”

“I will,” Sam tells you. He turns to walk off and you sigh before turning to walk to your own room. You walk over to your bed and you throw yourself down onto the mattress. You know that throwing a fit because Sam told you that you couldn’t go was childish. You know that he’s been doing everything that he can to find Dean, and yet you can’t help but to feel like not enough is being done if you’re not there with him.

Sighing, you look over onto your dresser and you see the picture of Dean that you sneaked when he wasn’t looking. You think about how aggravated he acted when he saw it, and then how mad you were at him when he snapped one of you and set it up in his room.

You try not to think about what all Michael is doing to Dean. Instead, you think about how kind Dean was to you when you first met him and Sam. How he patched you up after the hunt and insisted that you go stay with them. You think about how nervous Dean was when he first asked you out and how shy he acted even though you’d been hunting with the boys for a while. You think about your first date with Dean. How he holds onto you tightly after a bad hunt or when he only needs some comfort. How that smile of his could turn any of your bad days around. How much you hate it when you’re hurt and Dean sidelines you and you can’t be there with him on hunts. The hole in your heart that has been there for weeks all because Dean isn’t there.

And then you think about how that’s not normal. Yeah, he’s your boyfriend and you’re concerned about him, and yet you know that what you’re feeling right now isn’t what you thought that you’d be feeling. If something were to happen to Dean, you wouldn’t be sad. You’d be broken. Not getting out of bed, crying yourself to sleep, never getting over it broken.

It takes you a while to figure out why you feel like this. When you do, more tears well up in your eyes.

You love him.

A sob escapes you as you roll over to the other side of your bed. You’re hoping that it will still smell like Dean, but it has been weeks since he’s laid there. You’ve never felt like this about anybody before and there’s nothing that you want more than to be able to tell him. Sighing, you stand up off of your bed and you walk down the hallway to Dean’s room. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to go in there, but your need to be around things that remind you of him wins out. ~~~~~~~~

“I told you I’m fine,” you sigh into the phone.

“(Y/N), no you’re not and you shouldn’t lie to me,” Sam tells you softly. “Look, Mom told me that you’ve been holed up in Dean’s room for days and she’s worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

“I am fine,” you say and you roll your eyes, even though you know that Sam can’t see.

“Will you please tell me what is going on with you?”

“How’s everything going there?” you ask Sam, hoping that he will move on to a different subject.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I will when you answer mine.”

Sam sighs. “Well, we haven’t found Dean and there’s no new leads so…” Your heart drops. “You’re not still mad at me because I told you that you couldn’t go too are you?”

“No,” you swallow hard.

“Good, because you know that Dean would kill me if I let you tag along and you got hurt, or if we did find Dean and Michael did something to you.”

“I know, Sam. I’m not upset about it.”

“Well, you’re upset about something.”

You take a deep breath. “There’s so many people here in the bunker now and it’s starting to feel a bit crowded and small.”

“(Y/N), tell me the truth.”

“It’s Dean,” you breathe out as tears well up in your eyes.

Sam takes a deep breath. “Hey, I know that you miss him and you want him home too. I get it. Trust me. But, (Y/N), you can’t…”

“I love him,” you cry out as you furiously wipe away your tears with your free hand. “I love him, Sam, and it hurts that I can’t tell him that to his face.”

Sam laughs a bit. “You’ve never told Dean that you love him?”

“What?” you ask him, a little bit confused by his surprised tone.

“(Y/N), I have seen the both of you flirt with each other for years now. I don’t see how you two aren’t married yet much less haven’t said that you love each other.”

“I don’t even know if Dean loves me too.”

“He does,” Sam says softly.

“What?” you ask him as your heart flutters in your chest. “How do you know?”

“(Y/N), Dean would kill me if he knew that I told you this, but he told me that he loves you. He made me promise not to say anything to you but you should know that.”

You sniff and you try so hard to hold in the tears. “Sam, when you find Dean and bring him home, I’m going to kick his butt for making us worry like this.”

Sam laughs a bit. “As long as you also tell him your secret.”

“Not much of a secret anymore since you know,” you laugh. “Apparently you knew before I did anyways.”

“It isn’t hard to see the way that you two are with each other,” Sam tells you. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I will but you’ve gotta take care of yourself too because I’m going to need someone to help me yell at Dean.”

“I will,” Sam laughs as he hangs up the phone. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You jump when the door to Dean’s room swings open before the light is flipped on. You thought that everyone knew that you didn’t want to be bothered. Sighing, you look over to see who’s standing there in the doorway, and your heart drops when your eyes focus in on Dean. You gasp and start scooting across to the other side of the bed but he holds his hands up as he walks into the room.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” Dean chokes out as he gives you a soft smile. You see his green eyes and you can feel your breathing slow down.

“Dean,” you breathe out.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” Dean tells you as tears well up in his eyes.

You want nothing more than to run over to Dean and to jump up into his arms, but you can see that he’s about to break. He needs you more than you need him right now. So, instead of running over into his arms, you jump up off the bed and you run over towards Dean to wrap both of your arms tightly around him. You let him hide his face in your neck, and your heart breaks when you hear him sobbing into your skin.

“I’m sorry,” Dean sobs as he wraps both of his arms tightly around your waist.

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe as you bring a hand up to gently run your fingers through his hair. “It’s alright. You’re home now.”

“(Y/N), the things that…”

“Stop,” you tell him softly. “It wasn’t you, alright? It wasn’t you, Dean.”

“I could have fought harder,” Dean tells you. “Sweetheart, I tried with everything in me to get home to you and Sam and…”

“I know,” you tell him as your fingers still gently play with his hair. “I know, Dean. Please don’t apologize, okay? I know that you went through something terrible and that you feel awful about it all even though you shouldn’t. There’s so many things that I want to ask you and I know that there’s a lot that you need to talk about, but none of that matters right now, alright? You’re here. You’re safe. You’re…”

“Home,” Dean tells you as he pulls away a bit so that he can look you in the eyes.

“Yeah,” you smile softly as you reach up to take his face between both of your hands. “You’re home at the bunker where you belong.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Dean says softly. “The bunker doesn’t feel like much of a home right now anyways with so many strangers walking around.”

“Then what on earth were you talking about?” you ask him.

“Your arms,” Dean chokes out. Your heart breaks as more tears fall down Dean’s face.

“Look at me,” you tell Dean softly as you gently rub your thumbs over his cheeks. He looks you in the eyes and you give him a soft smile. “I love you.” Your heart feels so much lighter after getting that out there, but now you are nervous. Maybe Sam wasn’t right. Maybe Dean doesn’t feel the same way about you. “Dean, I get it if you don’t feel…”

“(Y/N),” Dean says softly. You stop talking and he gives you a weak smile. “I love you too, sweetheart,” Dean chokes out before he leans down to press his lips to yours. You tighten your arms around Dean and he melts into your touch. “There’s so much that I need to explain to you,” Dean whispers as he pulls away a bit.

“Okay,” you say and you nod your head a bit at him. “I want to hear it all but for right now, what do you need?”

“To stand here in your arms for a little while longer,” Dean says softly.

“Okay,” you breathe out. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Dean mouths as more tears well up in his eyes. You absolutely hate how defeated and vulnerable Dean looks right now, so you do the only thing that you can for him. You wrap your arms as tightly around him as you can and he hides his face in your neck.

“I’m sorry that it took me losing you to admit to myself that I love you. I’m awful. I know.”

“You’re not awful, sweetheart,” Dean tells you as he tightens his arms around your waist. “I hadn’t said anything either because, honestly, I was afraid that I’d scare you off but it’s alright now. You’ve said it and now you know how I feel too.” Dean sniffs, so you decide to quit talking and to just hold onto him a little tighter. Because you know that that’s all that he needs.

Tags: @polina-93 @campingmonkey @justanotherwinchester @squirrelnotsam @adoptdontshoppets @imaginationisgrowth @deanwanddamons @hobby27 @cookiechipdough @akshi8278 @flamencodiva

#dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #SPN #fanfic #fic request

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rainydayhogwartsimagines · 4 years

Note

Hi could you write to Draco? The Malfoys signed a marriage contract with another thoroughbred family, time passed and the girl who would marry Draco was selected for the hufflepuff so she thought the contract would be canceled, but when the war was over Lucius thought it would be a good idea to do Draco marries someone other than Slytherin to clean up the family image a bit, of course keeping the tradition purebred.I could have anguish I like, but the ending is very happy? Please!

I’ve got you homie!

Warnings: Self harm, swearing, slight NSFW stuff.

The battle of Hogwarts haunted everyone’s memory. It was slightly infuriating to be a muggleborn child in that time because it was impossible to come home and tell family what happened. Wizards would deal with their demons in the invisible walls of the world only you all knew. You could only imagine what wizards who were forced to abandoned their families unwillingly. Hermione only talked to you about that pain. How she had to remove herself from the memories of her own parents. You got lucky. You were a pureblooded wizard, your parents being ones of a high income family. Your parents loved you, they fought with you during that battle. They didn’t hesitate to run to their bleeding daughter when you took a hit for Fred Weasley, ultimately saving the boy’s life. They didn’t hesitate to stay by your side when you recovered due to Fawkes taking a liking to you. They didn’t hesitate to protect you when you ran back out into battle. You understood they loved you.

What you never understood though was the arranged marriage. When you were eleven, you were set to be in a arranged marriage to Draco Malfoy. He was nothing but an ass to you though, part of you questioned whether or not he even knew about the arrangement. Well he did. And quite often threw it back at you when you were in his presence. When describing this boy, you wouldn’t exactly use the word “hate”. No you didn’t hate him. You had a STRONG disliking to the boy. He often was rude over your house, saying you must’ve been weak to be put in Hufflepuff. You swore one day you’d prove him wrong and actually did when the battle of Hogwarts came. You saved his life, pulling him back and shouting a defense charm telling him to be more careful before running off. Draco was surprised to see you fight for him in such a way. He nearly expected you to leave him for dead but you didn’t. So he stealthily watched you through out the battle, allowing you to narrowly escape death a few times. When you did nearly die he was actually present. You weren’t aware of him being in the makeshift medical unit, watching you silently. Your parents were very aware though. They recognized his presence and the fact that he had been anonymously keeping you alive throughout the entire battle. When sides had to be chosen it was gut wrenching to look at you. You were good friends with Harry and his ragtag group of friends. When you saw Harry dead in Hagrid’s arms you just fell to your knees staring at the boy with shock and tears. Hermione and Ron both were by your side as your eyes just locked onto him. Voldemort seemed to take great joy in seeing you in pain. Draco’s parents were visible, standing with the dark lord with great pride as to say “We won and you can’t fight us anymore”. Lucius extended a hand to Draco but you stopped him, grabbing his hand with this pained expression. “Don’t go.” You whispered. Draco looked at you and then his father. Would he really stay for someone who he seemingly hated? Would he stay because you asked him to? The answer seemed to be obvious. But it surprised everyone when he stepped back into his place with Hogwarts

It seemed you two buried the hatchet after the battle was over, especially when Harry turned out to be alive and Draco grabbed his wand from his father, giving it to Harry. It was the only time you heard Draco say “Potter!” With no disgust in his voice. You were the one that kept him safe though. You grabbed Draco’s hand and ran to the order. “We need to move.” Remus said. “Where, the battle is literally going on everywhere!?” Fred asked. “We need to not be stopping, that’s for sure, I’ve already almost died once here, I don’t plan on doing it again!” You said. You all ran to the second floor, finding a vacant hall so you could finally rest. “I am too old for this!” George whined. “You’re joking right? Tonks, tell me the boy is joking.” Remus said making you let out a breathy laugh. Draco had this confused look on his face. “Why did you help me?” Draco asked. “I--” You were cut off by the crackling noise of Harry’s magic against Voldemort. Your eyes couldn’t even handle looking at it, it was so bright. But then almost as quickly as the battle picked up... It stopped. You were terrified that Harry might’ve lost but when you could finally see you saw Harry still standing. “He did it!” You gasped. Tonks looked out the window and let out a relieved sigh. “It’s over.” You said. “Draco its-- Draco?” You noticed his absence and that was the last you saw of him

Until today. You opened the door to your parents’ home and there he was, that same stern expression he usually kept plastered on his face. “Draco?” Your father asked. Draco let out a long sigh and you rose a brow. “The contract was never terminated.” Draco said. Contract? What was he-- WAIT WHAT!? “I see.” Your father said. “My father cannot terminate it because of his... situation so it appears we’re stuck in this.” Draco said to you. “...Shit.” you muttered. Your father didn’t even bother to scold you for that one. “Well... Welcome to your new home for the time being I suppose.” Your father said. “Thank you sir.” Draco said, blank expression as he stepped in. “May I speak with you? Alone?” You asked him. “If you must.” Draco said. You dragged him into the empty dining room. “Are you alright?” You asked. “Excuse me?” Draco asked. “You disappeared after the battle and I got worried something had happened... Fred tried writing to you.” You said. “I see... You’re concerned with me? Genuinely?” Draco asked. “Yes!” You said. “Why?” He asked. “Because... Someone has to be.” You said. “What?” He asked. “You deserve to have someone care about you.” You said point blank. “Plus you apparently saved my life. Multiple times.” you added. Draco blushed slightly, putting a hand on the back of his neck and looking away. “So you did?” You asked. “I... May have kept you alive longer?” he said. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You asked. “Because I didn’t want you acting strange about it!” He said aggravated. You couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t hate me do you?” You asked. “I never said I did!” Draco said. Your smile grew bigger “This is exactly why I didn’t say anything!” Draco groaned making you laugh. He liked hearing that laugh... Something about it was so... Pleasant. “So do you actually want to get married or are you sticking with ‘it’s my duty, nothing more’?” you asked. “I mean no offense, but why would I want to actually get married to you?” Draco said. “Offense definitely taken.” you nodded. “Look, you can understand how I am not exactly thrilled to be bound to marry a girl I barely know by a fucking contract.” He griped. “It’s no cakewalk for me either asshat.” You said, roughing up his hair. He frowned and swatted your hand away. “But you’re right. We barely know each other. so we should start getting friendly now.” You said, pulling a seat out at the table. “Christ don’t--” “Sit.” You said sternly as your father walked through. “Little tip for your marriage, son: The women actually run the household.” He said before leaving. Draco sighed and sat down, you sitting across from him. “Sooo. Where did you go after the battle?” You asked. “...I really don’t want to answer that.” He muttered. “Can you at least tell me that you’re okay?” you said, showing legitimate concern, taking one of his hands into yours. He looked into your e/c eyes and swallowed. “Yes... Y/n I’m fine.” He nodded. “Okay... So Harry might be coming in five minutes.” You said. “What!?” Draco asked. “Hey, we didn’t realize you’d be here today! They’ve been coming over for dinner since the war.” You said. “Oh Christ, all of them are coming!?” Draco asked. “Yes and they’ve been worried about you too!” You said as he stood up. He turned back around. “Why?” He asked. “Because you were a leading cause of winning the war dumbass, your name is everywhere.” you said. Draco sighed. “Plus your parents--” “Don’t.” Draco muttered. You nodded. “Sorry... But Molly feels responsible for all children... She cares about you and she doesn’t want you to feel alone. And neither do I.” You said. He ran a hand over his face and the front door opened, a house elf walking into the dining room. “The Weasley family.” She said. “Thank you Francis.” you said, the house elf nodding and leaving. Molly walked in and halted. “Draco showed up earlier and--” Molly hugged Draco making him freeze before slowly looking to you. “hug back” you mouthed. Draco slowly hugged her back and she pulled away.

“We’ve been so worried about you dear!” Molly said. Fred walked in and he hugged Draco on sight. “Told you they were worried.” You said. “Was there any doubt that we weren’t!?” Fred asked. “I’m not exactly liked Fred, please let go.” Draco said. He did and George hugged him afterwards making Draco groan. Tonks, Ron, Hermione, Remus, Harry and Teddy all joined you soon after. You soon all sat down for dinner, Draco being silent for most of it. “So you’re safe. What made you leave?” Fred asked. “I was checking on my...” He swallowed and shook his head. “I was checking on my family... Before they...” he muttered. Remus nodded. “We’re grateful you’re safe son.” Remus said as you wiped Teddy’s mouth. Draco noticed you with him, keeping him on your knee while you ate. “He almost said your name the other day.” Tonks said to you. You smiled. “Did you now?” you asked Teddy rhetorically, hugging him. He let out a giggle and Harry smiled. “He clearly favors you.” Harry said. “Hmm, you give me a run for money though.” You chuckled. Remus smiled. The house elf from earlier emerged. “Yes Francis dear?” Your mother asked. “A package for Miss Y/n has arrived.” the house elf said. “Oh.” You got up, passing Teddy to Draco. “Y/n I don’t--” “Harry, help the poor guy.” You said as Draco seemed to struggle with Teddy. You walked out and Draco sat Teddy on his knee, mimicking the same way he saw him with you. “See you’ve got it.” Harry nodded. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admitted. “Oh, you’re doing just fine son.” Remus assured as you walked in. “What was the package?” your father asked. “A new set of stationary.” You replied sitting down. Teddy made grabby hands and cooed as if to ask to be back with you. You took Teddy and smiled, kissing his cheek. “You’re so becoming our babysitter. He never stays this calm.” Tonks chuckled. “Y/n has always had a way with children.” Your mother said. “She gets that from you.” Your father told her. “I don’t know.. Teddy do I have a way with children?” You asked with a smile. Teddy giggled and grabbed your finger making you chuckle. Draco smiled at the sight and Fred noticed. “So what exactly brought you here?” George asked. “Uh... I’ve been in a arranged marriage with Y/n since the first year of school.” Draco admitted. “Wait what!?” Hermione gaped. “Since father is in... Azkaban no one can revoke the marriage so... We’re both stuck with this.” Draco said. “Yikes.” Tonks winced. “When is the wedding?” you asked. “Looking forward to the marriage or something?” Fred teased. “I just figure there’s no loophole or anything. We may as well just accept what’s happening. Glass half full approach.” You shrugged. “Y/n, your Hufflepuff is showing.” Tonks coughed out making Remus smile. You chuckled and Draco sighed. “I understand where your coming from. I suppose she’s right.” Draco nodded. “Did you just... Agree with her?” Harry asked. “And?” Draco asked. “You two argue over almost everything.” Ron pointed out. “We do not.” Draco sighed. “We spent three hours in an argument over potions before.” you reminded. “.... I’m just trying something new.” Draco admitted. “...Being more agreeable?” Ginny asked. “Being nicer... From what I understand I’ve... Been kind of a pain.” Draco said. “Kind of?” George asked, Fred kicking him from under the table as a response. “I’m trying to make up for what I’ve done.” Draco admitted. You smiled.

The rest of the night was mostly spent with the family. But Draco stayed up once everyone went to bed, sitting in the library by the fire. Well... Almost everyone. “Couldn’t sleep?” You asked, making him turn. “No.” He said, turning back to the fireplace. He seemed to be thinking about something as you sat down. “Something wrong?” You asked. Draco swallowed. “I went looking for the ministry...” Draco admitted. “Hmm?” You asked. “Why you never saw me... I went looking for the ministry.” Draco said. “...Any reason why?” You asked. “To find my parents... If I was going down they were going down with me.” Draco said. “Wait, why would--” “Because I had a dark mark. I chose to bare this. I chose this.” Draco said, clearly saying it to himself rather than you. He started scratching at his wrist and you stopped him, hugging him close. “You don’t have to bare these demons alone Draco.” you said in his ear. He clung to you as if you were the most precious thing to him, sobbing into your shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Was the only thing he could seem to get out. When he finally calmed down you left, coming back with hot cocoa. “Here... I’ve learned from Remus that chocolate fixes everything.” You said. He let out a small chuckle and took the mug. “You’re always so kind... I honestly feel like shit when I think of how I’ve treated you in the past.” Draco said. “Can I admit something crazy to you?” You asked. He nodded. “I had a massive crush on you in third year. to like our sixth year.” You admitted, making the boy nearly choke on his drink. “...That is crazy.” Draco said. “I know.” you chuckled. “I had a crush on you in our second year.” He said. You rose a brow. “You treated me like shit our second year.” You laughed. “I did not handle those feelings well, as you can see.” he said making you laugh. “What, pray tell brought on those feelings?” You asked. “Quidditch.” He admitted. “What?” You asked. “There was a quidditch game where it was Slytherin vs Hufflepuff and you ended up nearly falling off your broom for the snitch. I watched you leap off your broom, fall and then get right back up, covered in grass and dirt. And apparently twelve year old me thought that you were amazing.” Draco chuckled. You smiled and seemed to hide in your hair to cover the blush forming on your face. Draco however brushed back your strands and smiled looking at you. “Your eyes are very bright...” he commented, his voice low and soft. Your lips parted, looking at him. “When did you stop?” You asked softly. “hmm?” He asked. “When did you stop liking me?” You asked. His breath hitched. “I never did.” He admitted. You looked at him surprised, blinking a few times. “Sorry... I-I didn’t mean to--” “N-no it’s fine, it’s just I.. I didn’t expect to hear that.” You said. “Why?” He asked. “I always assumed you disliked me so I dropped it.” You admitted.

Draco sucked in a breath and chuckled. “So Potter actually kept it a secret.” He said. “Kept what a secret?” You asked. “The Amortentia lesson. You were sick with a cold and you couldn’t come to class.” Draco began. “I had to work with Pansy Parkinson and we were making the potion... I didn’t realize what the scent of the potion was until I made a comment.... ‘Jesus Y/n did you bathe in your perfume this morning, this place stinks of it’.” Draco recalled. “Amortentia smells like--” “Whoever you have feelings for... Which is you. And Potter was there and I practically begged the guy not to tell you... I’m surprised he kept it to himself.” Draco admitted. “Course I was the dolt that decided to say that bit out loud--” you cut him off with a kiss, him cupping you cheeks as he realized what was happening. You pulled away from air and he smiled. “What brought that on?” He asked. “You became bearable.” you chuckled. Draco kissed you again, you pulling away before getting up and straddling his lap. He kissed you passionately, running his fingers through your hair. “I feel like we shouldn’t do this here.” You breathed. “If you don’t want to I understand.” He breathed. “My god you are the perfect man.” You whispered, making him chuckle. He kissed your nose and you smiled. “Suddenly this arranged marriage thing isn’t so bad.” He said. You curled up in his arms and he chuckled. “Tired?” He asked. “I can only take so much human interaction... Wait till Arthur isn’t working a nightshift... He will not stop talking. Love the man to death, honest... But if he asks Harry for the function of a cellphone I’m going to impale myself on a fucking fork.” You whined. Draco looked over at your chair and saw a blanket. “Accio Blanket.” He said before he pulled it over you. “We don’t have to actually--” “I’m comfortable, it appears your comfortable... Why not sleep here?” He asked. “... Wanna get married?” You teased making him kiss your head. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

Your parents found you two the next morning, you curled up in his lap his arms holding you close. “Ahem... Dear?” Your mother called. You sucked in a breath, leaning up and blinking a few times. Draco shifted and turned around. “Mr. and Mrs. L/n!” Draco said getting up and you hitting the floor. “Oh my god Y/n are you okay!?” Draco asked, helping you up. “We fell asleep.” You said to your parents. They started laughing and you both rose a brow. “You’re both adults. And engaged. We just wanted to know why you weren’t at breakfast this morning and it seems we have an answer.” Your father said. “Aha... righhhtttt.” You nodded, blushing a bit. You two sat at the breakfast table and your parents went off to work. “So...” You cleared your throat. “Hmm?” Draco asked, sipping on a coffee. “Last night was fun.” You said, making him almost cough it up. You chuckled and handed him a napkin. He chuckled and sighed. “I suppose it was.” He agreed. You smiled and Francis brought you the paper, you reading one half while Draco read the other. Your hand rested on the table as you read and you felt Draco grip it and you smiled. “Your hand feels nice.” You said. “Mmm, does it?” He chuckled. “Surprisingly soft... Okay, you’ve got to tell me what moisturizer you use--” Draco began laughing silently as you spoke. “Oh God.” You said after a while of rambling. “What?” Draco asked, clearing his throat. You showed him the article. “Battle Hero Draco Malfoy is engaged to Y/n L/n. An article by... Rita Skeeter.” He read aloud. “How the hell am I considered a battle hero!? You saved more lives than I did!” He gaped. “Probably that wand incident that landed you the title.” You shrugged. “I don’t want it.” He grumbled. “Besides she’s completely writing you off. You nearly died for Fred, you saved Remus and Nymphadora, you literally a war hero but she’s--” “Draco, you’re squeezing my hand too tight.” you winced. He eased up and kissed your knuckles almost as an apology. You chuckled. “Draco, this is Rita Skeeter. All of her stuff is bullshit.” You snorted. “True. I still remember that ridiculous article she wrote on Potter.” Draco nodded. You snorted “ ‘eyes glistening with the ghosts of his past.’” You recalled. “God it was so terrible.” He laughed. You smiled. “You have a nice laugh.” You pointed out. He smiled. “So is this our new thing? We’re... together?” you asked. “Well considering the marriage... We were technically already together. But yes, I presume this does mean we’re... Friendlier?” He said making you snort. “If a make out session with you is friendly, what happens if I sleep with you?” You teased. He chuckled and leaned to your ear. “Wonderful things.” He said making you nearly knock over your cup of coffee. He chuckled and you grumbled in your seat, annoyed he could make you flustered. “You pout like a child.” He said. “Fuck off.” You griped making him chuckle and shake his head.

You and Draco spent most of the day actually wedding planning. Your parents came home to a heated argument. “Are you blind!? You have to be to think that is a good color scheme!” Draco said. What the hell was he talking about? “We are not making it green and black Draco that is depressing for a wedding!” You said. “Alright, compromise. Silver and Yellow.” He suggested. “Yellow? Ehhhhh” “Oh come on!” He sighed. “Blue!” You said. “Blue?” “Blue! Blue and silver are pretty.” You said. “...Blue and silver actually sound nice.” He nodded. “What are you two doing?” Your mother asked. “Wedding planning.” “Roses?” Draco asked. “Are you out of your mind? With blue and silver?” You asked. “True. Lilies?” “Not bad.” You nodded. Your parents nodded, watching you two bounce ideas off of each other. Draco smiled and pulled you into his lap, kissing your cheek as you wrote. “Then there’s the cake.” You said. “hmmm. Chocolate?” He suggested. “Somewhere Remus just screamed. Absolutely.” You nodded. Your parents smiled.

Maybe this whole thing wasn’t so bad after all.

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

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Gateway Drug | Part Seventy-Eight

Words: 3k

Warning(s): explicit language, violence, substance abuse

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"H-Hi." Deana tries to keep her composure upon the sight of Nikki freshly off-stage.

He looks more pale than he was before heading to play, his sweat cloaked body shaking slightly.

His mother, her dark hair curled and bright red lips tugging into a sappy smile as tears bubble in her eyes.

Even without probably knowing the whole story, Axl and the guys know Nikki doesn't have a relationship with his mom, and the nightmare about to take place has them slowly leaning against the wall of the hallway, quietly looking down, uncomfortable with getting caught in the middle of this.

"What are you doing here?" Nikki asks, confused, more than likely questioning if its a hallucination from mixing too many drugs or not.

"I made the arrangement." Doc states chipperly, stupidly thinking Nikki would be happy. "An early Christmas present." He adds.

"I wanted to see you," She tells her son, taking a few steps closer, "I wanted to see both of you...I've already missed out on so much." She explains, looking at me. "I-I know the timing is off, but I really wanted to talk to you."

"No, the timing isn't off--" I try to assure her.

"--Don't waste your breath, Viv, she's just gonna ask for money and then disappear for another ten years." Nikki scoffs, brushing past her.

"Frank--"

"--That's not my name." He snaps to her.

"It's the name on your birth certificate, Frankie. Frank Ferana. It might not be as glamorous as 'Nikki Sixx' but--"

"--It's Nikki. Legally. It's Sixx. Legally. It's her last name. Legally." He refers to me and she clenches her jaw. "And any kids I have are gonna have that last name. Legally. I'm not 'Frank', or 'Frankie', and I'm certainly not a fucking 'Ferana' so don't even start that shit."

"You're still my baby." She tells him, trying not to cry. "I came all this way to see you." She adds, wrapping her arms around him.

I see the glimmer of a little boy in his eyes, for a split second, then it's quickly pushed aside and replaced with that of an angry, abused, hurt, scorned, abandoned dog.

And he's going for the throat in a moment the second she says:

"Oh, my Frankie."

He's shoving her off of him so hard she nearly goes to the floor.

"That's not my fucking name!" He screams at her, throwing his bottle of Jack at the ground at her heeled-boot covered feet.

He's storming off, Doc following after him, and Fred takes a breath and goes to Deana, to politely usher her out.

"That's fucked." Izzy mumbles, shaking his head slightly, going to their dressing room and I walk behind them.

"Nikki--"

"--Who the fuck do you think you are?! Huh?! Who the hell are you to bring my personal life front and center for every God damn body to see?!"

"I didn't realize you and your mother weren't on good terms." Doc tells him, honestly.

"You think I'm this fucked up for the hell of it?! You think I'm this way after growing up with parents who gave a shit?! Really?!" Nikki laughs humorlessly.

"Nikki, I'm sorry, alright?"

"No, you're not, you don't give a shit and you never have, you're just another greedy fuck getting his rocks off from the money in my pocket but I'm done!" He yells, turning to walk away. "You don't know what's fucking best for me, you don't care about me, you don't care about the band, you're not my fucking father and you sure as shit aren't my manager anymore so just go get fucked, Doc, you're fucking fired!" He calls.

"You're not fired." I assure Doc, wanting to go after him, but not able to bring myself to.

He doesn't want to talk to me about it.

I am surprised to see Axl rub his forehead and roll his jaw before stalking past me, Nikki's way.

"Where you going?" I ask him.

"I fucking hate my mom." Is all he says as he goes by.

I didn't know what exact issue Axl had with his own mother, but I'd later find out it was because her horrible judgment in men and what abuse she'd allow him and his siblings to endure from those men, along with her forceful hand in religion that she and Axl's stepfather enforced brutally on their kids.

"Did Doc really not mean to set that up?" Steven asks me when I get into their dressing room.

"No, he didn't." I reply.

"Is Nikki gonna be okay?" Tansy asks quietly.

"I don't know, Tansy." I roll my eyes and she furrows her brows, slightly.

"Do you even care?" She asks me and I look at her.

"Tans--" Duff starts.

"--No, I mean, really, Vivian. Do you even care?" She cuts him off.

"Excuse me?" I ask, practically seeing the dullness in her eyes of a mixed-drug high.

Without a doubt coke and smack.

"Of course I care, Tansy. Just because he and I are separated doesn't mean I want him to suffer."

"Way to take one for the team by sleeping with Duff, then, because surely that is the one thing that has to be done to prevent Nikki's suffering." She states.

"What I do and who I do it with is my business, Tansy." I tell her, crossing my arms.

"Sure doesn't sound that way when everybody on the same floor as you can hear nothing but, 'ahh, ahh, Duff, ahh!'" She mimics moaning.

"Maybe I'm staying under Duff so much because if I don't, you'll take it as an open invitation, and there really are some people you don't have to try to sleep with mandatorily based on their wallet size, Tansy."

"Just like there are some people you don't have to sleep with based on whether or not they're gonna be big rockstars or not." She shoots back.

"Wanna be the pot or the kettle?" I ask.

"I want you to stop adding fuel to the fire and then acting like your hands are clean while smiting all of us." She outbursts.

"Smite you for adding to his problems? Offering him drugs when he's already going down hill? Letting him think screwing another woman is okay--not even screwing her, having an entire relationship with her." I correct myself.

"Given the circumstances of your marriage, he needed an escape." She says next.

"Given the circumstances of your new-found smack-induced courage, you act like you need my fist to knock your teeth out."

"Viv--"

"--Then you'll really be laying on your back to get work."

"But at least I do work. What do you do? Aside from spend Nikki's money and sleep with his friends?"

"I'm not killing him like you and Sparkie have been with your junkie bullshit." I manage to keep myself from having an outburst, more concerned with Nikki's crisis with his mom.

"Not yet, at least." She mumbles as I'm walking out.

"Where you guys going?" Tommy asks as we head to leave for the bus.

"Um… about to pack our stuff up and head out?" Izzy replies.

"No, no, no, just because Nikki's parade's been pissed on doesn't mean ours has to be." Tommy suggests to them.

"Yeah, c'mon it's our last night hangin' out for a while." Vince points out, two groupies already under each arm.

"I was gonna check on Sixx." Slash explains.

"I'm fine." Nikki shows up, his hands on Slash's shoulders, tightly in an aggravating manner, making Slash chuckle as he twists away from him.

Axl isn't far behind, he and Izzy looking at the invitation to hangout with the guys one last time on this tour, hesitantly.

"What the hell," Izzy shrugs.

"So glad you said that, man, because we have a special surprise." Nikki grins, beckoning them with his finger.

"Stevie, c'mon!" Duff exclaims from behind me, Steven exiting their dressing room with Tansy behind him.

"You good?" He asks Nikki.

"Yeah." Nikki assures him. "I have a present." He adds, leading the guys to the double doors of what I assume is a bigger room.

Sure enough, he opens the door, and at least ten girls are lined up, naked, asses up, thick lines of coke down their spines.

Nausea nestles it's way into my stomach, but Tommy, Vince and Nikki look as if this is their promised land.

Even Steven looks slightly off-put by the brazen display.

Complete disinterest cascades off of Duff, a heavy puff of cigarette smoke leaving his nostrils with the huff of his unamused breath.

"Who's first?" Nikki asks.

Naturally, the guys look to their "leader," and Axl reluctantly rolls his eyes and walks over to the first girl.

It's like he refuses to acknowledge she's naked, his main focus is the line of coke on her back.

He snorts one-eighth of the line before deciding that's enough.

I don't blame him--the way his fingers hold at the bridge of his nose makes me wince because I know it probably burns like a bitch.

"Boo!" Tommy disappointedly calls to Axl as he walks out.

He's had his party.

Izzy follows.

"More for us." Nikki shrugs, smirking.

He looks at me directly in the eyes, heavy black liner sharpening the contrast of his hazel eyes as he keeps my gaze, spitefully unbuckling his belt and he starts unlacing his pants, making his way to the girl Axl was at earlier.

He is not…

Duff's snatching me out of the room only milliseconds before Nikki enters the girl in sync with snorting the line up her skin.

That was that.

It's a bittersweet draw to an end, "thank you" and "damn, I'm gonna miss you" seeming to be on everyone's lips as hugs and high-fives go around between all the boys once we get back to L.A.

I rub my lips together and smile softly as I hand Fred my purse to put in the car, sighing softly, smiling when he looks down at me.

"See ya later, kid." He tells me and tears swell in my eyes as I wrap hug him tightly, taking him off guard a little. "Don't kill each other...not even over that dumb shit he pulled tonight." He says, referring to the groupie cocaine platter.

"I'll try." I mumble, wiping my eyes quickly before stepping up to say bye to the guys.

Steven and Slash are pretty easy, but Axl just stares at me for a moment before reluctantly wrapping his arms around me and hugging me tightly.

"I'm sorry I was an asshole this entire trip." He mumbles lowly in my ear.

"I'm sorry I almost got you kicked off." I reply in the same low tone.

"You're one of the reasons they took us in the first place." He states, pulling away to look at me, cupping my face in his hands, grinning. "You're gonna keep up my lie that we're siblings, right?" He asks and I chuckle.

"You guys are gonna make it big and I need a meal ticket so of course." I shrug and his smile grows wider. "I love you." I tell him.

"I love you, too." He assures me, kissing me on the cheek, giving me one last squeezing hug before heading to their bus.

Izzy looks at me for a moment.

"Izzy." I say to him.

"Viv." He acknowledges me and steps to the bus.

Just before Duff can tell me 'bye', arms are locking around my waist, and pulling me against the person they belong to.

"Izzy?" I ask after a moment.

"We're not friends." He says, pulling away to leave, leaving me and Duff.

"Um, I'll see you later?" I offer and he rubs his lips together, his eyes over my shoulder, and I look to see Nikki and a woman that we'd picked up from the airport, getting into the car.

I turn back to face Duff, biting my tongue to keep my tears back.

"You can stay with me tonight." Duff offers.

"Really?"

He just smiles down at me.

I inhale the familiarly comforting scent of cigarette smoke as we walk into Duff's apartment, dropping my bags and running to the bedroom, face planting into the mattress, exhausted.

The weight of Duff's body laying on top of me making me laugh, his own chuckle further making me grin.

"I'm so tired." I tell him.

"Me too." He replies, and I turn over underneath him, wrinkling my nose.

"You stink." I say.

"I think I smell pretty sexy." He grins, teasingly.

"No." I shake my head a little, scrunching my face to my shoulder when he tries to kiss my neck. "Go shower." I giggle when he tries again.

"Come shower with me." He counters.

"I don't feel like it and I don't stink, so--ew, Duff!" I squeal as he takes his shirt off that reeks of sweat and rubs it all over my face and hair.

"What about now?" He asks and I pick up the pillow above my head and start hitting at him with it.

After a few hits are gotten in, he's getting off the bed, stretching.

"You coming?" He asks when he walks to the bathroom.

"I guess." I reply, following after him.

Once I get out and have one of Duff's shirts on, I go to the kitchen to grab some water before bed, the quietness of the apartment allowing different thoughts to invade my mind.

I can't help but wonder what Nikki's doing. Is he high? Is he drunk? Is he even still alive? They leave in a few days for Japan but I honestly don't believe they should go. They need help.

I think at this moment everyone's just trying to see if they can get away with pressing at them a little more without anybody snapping.

But by the looks of it, Nikki is pretty damn close to snapping, and Tommy anf Vince and Mick aren't far behind at all.

Nikki.

My heart tightens in my chest, remembering last Christmas, how he sat curled under our tree, shooting up.

He'd get strung out, then lay underneath the tree and stare up at the lights for hours.

"Are we gonna buy a Christmas tree?" I ask, looking at the empty living area.

"If you want to." He calls to me from the bedroom.

"I want to." I reply, going into the room and getting in bed while he follows.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know, homey-ness and stuff." I add. "Especially if I'm gonna be here longer." I add and he falls beside me.

"I'll get a tree tomorrow." He assures me, kissing me chastely before yawning and getting comfortable, and I turn off the lamp and lay down, too.

He goes to sleep in no time, but two hours later, in the early hours of morning, I smile to myself in the dark room, Christmas lights from the street shining into the window, lighting up the room and cascading a comforting dim light over Duff's sleeping body next to me.

Reaching over, I run my fingertips softly against his cheek, pushing blonde strands of his hair out of the way, his eyes slowly blinking open slightly before a small tug of a smile pulls his lips slightly.

"Sorry." I whisper, not meaning to have woken him up.

"It's okay." He says quietly, closing his eyes again. "I love you, Vivian." He adds, his eyes staying closed, but he grabs my hand that's on his cheek, and presses a kiss to my palm, holding my hand when he's done.

I snuggle closer to him, laying still and closing my eyes, too, while I reply, "I love you, too," the way I wish I would have done to Nikki all these years.

Years later, while on what I presumed to be his deathbed, he told me that simple moment was what made him feel sure that I was the one. I took everything he had done up to that point with stride. But thinking he was going to die, reflecting on everything that could have been between us but never got to be, and hearing him tell me, "there's a ring I got you years ago when we thought we were gonna be together, but I never gave it to you. Mandy never knew about it. Linda doesn't know about it, but it's on my closet shelf and I don't want to go without giving it to you," broke my heart more than anything he could've done up to that point.

NIKKI

I turn over, seeing the silhouette of the brunette I picked up at the airport, her sheet-covered chest rising and falling with each breath.

A part of me feels irritated because her perfume is contaminating Vivian's side of the bed that still smells like her.

I've been reduced to plucking Viv's clothing from drawers or from in the closet and smelling it. That makes me sound like a fucking stalking creep, but it's the truth.

How the fuck did we get here, again?

Oh, right, me not able to keep my dick in my pants, and the woman I didn't keep my dick in my pants for, didn't keep her mouth shut.

I sit up, walking to the bathroom to piss. When I'm done I look at myself in the mirror and feel a little impressed.

I don't look as bad as I thought.

Well, kinda.

I splash water on my face, wincing at the dark circles under my eyes.

I end up staring at myself for God knows how long, remembering how Vivian would wake up and come in here to get me back in bed if I left her for too long because she didn't like sleeping by herself.

I smile a little, slowly closing my eyes, feeling her touch across my back, the softness of her lips pressing to the skin of my spine before her cheek presses to the same place before she sleepily mumbles out, "come back to bed."

Opening my eyes, for a split second, I see her. Standing behind me, green eyes peering at me over my shoulder, the feeling of her holding me...it's gone in a flash. She's gone in a flash.

My nose burns with the oncoming tears cooking up in my eyes, and I erase them quickly with another splash of water to thr face.

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction #gateway drug #mötley crüe

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thdorkmagnet · 3 years

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Light of the Sun and Stars Chapter 46: A Mewman and a Monster (Preview)

Summary: His whole life Marco Diaz has been raised by monsters, living under the cruel rule of their leader, Toffee. But one day Marco escapes into Mewni where he meets a magical princess and Mewman like himself, who begins teaching him all about her world. Together they will learn about life, love, and the lights within each of them, as they change their world forever.

Chapter Synopsis: Slime has asked his crush Princess Penelope Spiderbite out on a date and needing support, both emotionally and literally, calls upon Star and Marco for help. The two graciously lend a hand in helping create the most romantic date possible but, as usual, things rarely go the way they want it too.

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Index

The dimension was completely lifeless. Once a sprawling community had dwelled there, setting up residence in its green pastures and lush landscapes, living a simple and basic life amongst the natural resources all around them. But that peaceful lifestyle had changed when technology was first introduced to the humble society. At first it had been small changes, as it always started, machines and many mechanisms made to help make life easier. Need to plow the fields? Build a machine that could do it half the time you could.

Soon people were using machines for every part of their everyday life and with the invention of robotic helpers… everything changed. Their once grassy hills were torn up to make factories, their land broken and scarred for the sake of 'progress'. Soon their dimension more closely resembled a machine than a once thriving, living place. And the numbers of robots steadily grew, until they outnumbered all living beings 10 to 1.

Sunlight was blocked by heavy smog while frequent and heavy storms began to tear apart what was left of the landscape. The dimension became virtually unlivable and the people were filled with dismay.

That was until a mysterious benefactor appeared one day, offering to buy up the remaining usable land for unknown reasons. The people happily accepted the offer, using the money to relocate to a new dimension (hopefully with better luck than the last), leaving the new owner of the dimension to do with it however they wished. Soon they began construction on a single building, employing the many robots that still inhabited the place to the effort. It took a long time, even with beings that didn’t have the need to eat nor sleep at the head of construction, but eventually it was finished, a single living place in the dimension of dead architecture.

The place was a sight to behold: a clean, cut courtyard leading up to a grand, multi-story building. The architecture was ancient, borrowed from famous castles and cathedrals throughout the multiverse, a sharp contrast to the sleek, modern buildings the dimension had been so known for.

But for as magnificent as it seemed, there was something sinister as well, something dark lurking just behind the smoothly cut stones or grand balconies. A large metal fence had been built around the building, electrified at all times to deter anyone from entering or exiting through anything but the gate. A large tower stood above the building itself, pulsing with some dark magic that had been lost to time long ago. The building's architecture was full of sharp edges and spikes that could seriously harm anyone who was not weary of their surroundings. And though the grand double doors were made of the finest wood in any dimension, they opened onto halls of endless turns and deadends, a labyrinth built to keep everyone trapped inside forever.

But the creator of this school did not care how others viewed it, because this place was serving a grand purpose, educating and enforcing positive change on the future monarchs of the multiverse. St. Olga’s Reform School for Wayward Princesses was a school like no other, standing superior to any other education system that dared to compete with it, for it was focused solely on punishment and strict results. Every young princess that was sent there, no matter how rebellious or resistant they were, would eventually be broken. It didn’t matter if it took days, weeks, or years, St. O’s and its founder and principal, Heinous , had a perfect record that had never once been broken.

That was until a certain four-armed princess blew the whistle on the academy's “less than reputable” penalties and the school was shut down by the dimensional knights. The great Miss Heinous was forced on the run, leaving every part of her life, her career, her home, her minions, her legacy, to rot. She spent years on the run, just barely managing to stay one step ahead of the dimensional knights and any other form of military power a noble might hire to capture or kill her. But through it all, Heinous only had one thought that kept her going day in and day out. Revenge. Or rather, her legacy finally fulfilled. She often confused the two but it didn’t matter. The path was the same. The path to ultimate victory and control. The path of perfection.

And that path had led back to where it all began.

Nostalgia and old memories came flooding back to the once-proud principal as she stood in front of her old, decaying school. She could still picture it back in the prime of its life, see it as clear as if it were standing in the memory itself rather than the broken dream that stared back at her. Reality was far from the picture perfect days of old. Oh how the mighty had fallen.

Her once proud school was now in desperate need of repairs, walls caved in over the course of time, entire sections of the school now gone. The courtyard was now filled with untamed weeds and overgrown plant life. The tower that had once stood as a beacon of power for her school had been the first thing taken down by those pesky knights and it lay in shambles around the area, an ever present reminder of the injustice Heinous had suffered. The fence was bent and disfigured, was now full of giant, gaping holes in its structure making it completely useless, now it couldn’t even keep out the gust of wind that blew through the empty courtyard. The school had become nothing but an empty shell that had once housed life within it. Heinous couldn’t help but scoff at the irony, her greatest masterpiece was now no different to the rest of this forgotten waste of a dimension.

She took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. No, she couldn’t start dwelling on all that now. She had come here for more than just reliving her past failures. Today was about seizing her future. A small cough behind her caused Heinous to roll her eyes. She had almost forgotten her hired hand had come with her, just in case some dimensional knights were lurking there and needed to be disposed of. It was clear that Rasticore, unlike her, was less than content with her dimension. She could practically feel Rasticore’s discomfort as he shifted from one foot to the other, over and over again. It was obvious he wanted to get this over with, something at least they could agree on, Heinous was ready to achieve the next step of her decade-long scheme.

“So are we going inside or not?” Rasticore finally asked and Heinous turned back to him with a narrowed glare.

“Why? Don’t tell me you are frightened of my school?” she accused him, point blank.

Rasticore tensed, before gritting his fangs, clearly holding back the retort. Instead he replied, “No, just all this smog is aggravating my condition.” He then made a point to cough into his claw.

Heinous highly doubted that was the reason for his rush. Not when it was more likely her minion was playing up his sickness to hide his discomfort from her. After all, he was recovering remarkably well from the poison, ready to resume his work in just a few short weeks, so a little foul air shouldn’t be upsetting him as much as he was pretending it was.

Still, she didn’t see any reason to delay things any further so Heinous just turned to her minion and said, “Very well, follow me.”

Entering into her old home was like walking into a portrait in time, everything left exactly as she remembered it. The knights must have left things the same for evidence reasons but Heinous ws surprised her school was still mostly intact. A few rooms had been caved in or hallways blocked and everything certainly needed a good dusting but from the view outside she had been expecting much worse. Paper and pencils lay on the dusty desks, ready to use, as if some child had just set them down and then vanished from this dimension. The banners holding old phrases and mottos Heinous would often repeat in classes were decaying but still hung up even after all these years. The only thing missing was her beloved robotic staff.

Shortly after her escape she had gotten word that all robots operating under her name had been discontinued and dismantled to “prevent further harm” as they had put it. Ha, as if her precious staff could be so cruel, every punishment was fully justified and all for the greater good. If only the royals of the multiverse had seen it that way. “Cruel and unnecessary” they had called it. Hypocrites! They were always happy with the results, even quick to praise her or offer her large sums of money as thanks, but the moment they knew how their beloved child came to be cured of their faults suddenly she was the villain, torturing their bratty children by making them perfect.

Well if they were too stupid and cowardly to see her perfect vision all the way through, then it was up to her to fix this miserable, chaotic world.

Heinous entered into her old office, staring at it with wistful eyes as memories came flooding back to her all over again. Every detail of the small space was exactly as she had remembered it, not a single stone out of place, even after all these years. She ran her hands across her desk, her fingers brushing the loose pieces of paper she had been reading through when the alarm had sounded. Old student files and report cards now yellowed with age and beyond salvaging Heinous could have read them with ease, every single letter saved to her subconscious.

Rasticore stood awkwardly in the doorway, watching as his temporary boss reminisced her old life. It was shocking in all honesty, the lizard assassin hadn’t even known Heinous had a smile that wasn’t sinister but she seemed… almost genuine now. That was until she came across a certain file and the peaceful look switched to a frown, the spell she was under was broken. She picked up the piece of paper, ripping it to shreds in a matter of seconds. Rasticore jumped but didn’t say a word as his boss fell deeper and deeper into a blind rage, picking up several other files and ripping them apart as well. Soon the room was coated in paper shreds and the desk was empty. Rasticore risked a look at what remained of the original file, surprised to see it was a young curly haired princess with four arms. He couldn't imagine what she had done to invoke such fire from the level-headed woman.

Once the temper tantrum was over, Heinous straightened her clothes and smoothed down her hair, making herself look presentable again before turning to her minion. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?” she said as if nothing had even happened. She reached her hand into one of the many pockets that lined her oversized dress and pulled out a small key covered in intricate carvings. Without a word she shoved the desk to the side, Rasticore taken aback by the sudden show of strength. He certainly hadn’t expected it from such a petite woman.

Heinous bent down and inserted the key into a small slot in the ground and turned it with a click. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feet collapsed and a long spiral staircase stretching into the darkness beneath was revealed. Heinous returned the key to her pocket before looking at Rasticore expectantly, much to his confusion. He had been caught off guard thanks to the multiple, unexpected turns this trip had taken and couldn’t for the life of him figure out what she was wanting. Her sharp eyes dug into his skin before she impatiently snapped, “Well? You are the one with the light.”

Rasticore could slap himself for being so stupid and he quickly pulled the lantern out from behind his cloak, already brightly lit by phoenix embers. Without a word he started down the stairs, practically feeling Heinous roll her eyes behind his back and he had to clench his claw so tightly a few trickles of blood formed on his leathery skin. For not the first time, Rasticore seriously debated on just how bad a reputation he would get for killing his employer in cold blood. The lizard assassin cursed himself for his integrity as a killer for hire, every other job had been so easy but this one was really testing just how far he was willing to go for his reputation. He probably would have quit entirely if he weren’t for those stupid brats that eluded him mulitple times. Every attempt he made to take that worthless Princess Star resulted in complete and utter failure and the humiliation ate away at him almost as much as his anger. So if having to endure Heinous a little longer meant seeing the looks on those brats' faces when they finally got what was coming to them… well Rasticore wouldn’t miss that for the world.

Rasticore smiled, imagining the faces of Butterfly and her friends when they realized they had lost and that brought a new fire back to his soul, descending the staircase with a new vigor. The lizard got a good look at his surroundings, his night vision easily spotting what it was they were down there for: robots. Dozens of them, old and rusted over to the point Rasticore questioned if they would even activate. He looked back at his boss, who was eying the robots with a glimmer of dark ambition, not at all concerned about their obvious defectiveness.

“Thought all your robots were dismantled,” Rasticore questioned suspiciously.

Heinous shook her head. “That’s just what you would think,” the woman replied in a condescending tone. “And I knew those idiot knights would believe the same thing, hence why I had these hidden away in case I was ever found out. Imagine it, they all believed they had beaten me and yet my true power was right under their nose all along.”

“Well that explains their poor condition,” Rasticore mumbled to himself, low enough he knew Heinous couldn’t hear him.

The two reached the bottom of the staircase and Heinous began inspecting her machines closely, running her gloved fingers along their metal casings and grimacing at the layer of dirt left behind. “The truth is those robots from my time as principal were simple worker drones, but these, my dear Rasticore, are my army.”

“So you had these things hidden away this whole time and you never thought to use them before now?” Rasticore asked in a deadpan, trying to hold back his rising anger. If she had an army this whole time, why bother hiring him for her dirty work? How much time had he wasted fulfilling her goals when she could have just as easily sent a robot to do it.

“Of course I did,” Heinous replied with quite a bit of malice. “They were my plan from the beginning. I just had to wait for the right time to use them.”

“And only after I’ve been poisoned for your little mission do you suddenly decide it’s the ‘right time’,” the lizard Monster grunted, doing air-quotes for emphasis.

“Hold your tongue!” Heinous snapped, her voice echoing around the dark chamber. The two stared each other down, neither breaking eye contact for even a second. “You cannot possibly comprehend the amount of time and planning I put into this,” she continued, spitting every word violently at her minion. “I spent years concocting the perfect scheme to take back everything I lost, to regain control and create a perfect world order. And yet you dare to believe I would overlook something so carelessly. No. Everything has been planned out.” The woman turned her back to the assassin, stating smugly, “In a scheme like this, timing is everything, my dear Rasticore.”

She approached the nearest robot, wiping the dust off its metal surface, pulling out the same key from before and examining it closely. “And the time has finally come for the next phase of my master plan,” she whispered decisively. With that she rammed the key into the center of the robot’s chest, causing its eyes to blink open and light up red. Heinous took a step back as the machine slowly rose to its feet, creaking and groaning loudly, its rusted body protesting greatly. Branches that had formed around its hollow shell snapped and broke as it pushed itself upward with great strength. Finally, the machine was up, standing tall and at attention, its red eyes blinking as it waited for new orders, somehow menacing despite its deteriorating body.

Rasticore took a step towards the robot body, still eyeing it skeptically but didn’t see a point in arguing, if his boss wanted to gamble all their plans on some old, dumb robot then she could deal with the consequences. It wasn’t his problem if her plan failed, so long as he got paid. “So what, we send this hunk of junk after the Butterfly brat and finally be done with her.” He had to admit the idea of a robot taking her down instead of him left a sour taste in his mouth.

Heinous admired her machine with a satisfactory smile, her hands delicately running along its frame. “Patience, Rasticore, patience. Star Butterfly will receive her punishment in due time. But for now she is too highly guarded to risk an attack on her. We must tread carefully from here on out, no more half-witted schemes, we must deal with her delicately or all of this will be in vain.”

Rasticore grit his teeth at the small insult but kept his calm, extended time with Heinous had really helped him with his temper, the one good thing he could say about being stuck with the snooty, high-and-mighty ex-principal herself. “So who are we targeting?” Rasticore asked impatiently. “I thought the whole point of this field trip was so you could get your hands on Butterfly. You yourself said you needed a Mewman for-”

“And I what I said still holds true,” Heinous interrupted, turning to her minion with a very evil expression. “Which is why we will be targeting another old student of mine, one who is much less guarded and much more obtainable.” A dark look passed over Heinous’ face as she thought of one of her oldest and most successful students, just speaking her name again filled her with a satisfaction and pride Heinous had almost forgotten about. “Princess Penelope Spiderbite.”

#star vs #star vs AU #Light of the Sun and Stars #Preview #Starco #Spiderslime

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dokeblr · 4 years

Text

Stressed Backwards Spells Desserts!

Character/Pairing: Mirio x Reader

Summary/Prompt: You’re stress eating after a hard week, then in walks Mirio.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: None

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You could almost cry from the guilt. You could almost cry over a lot of things that had happened this week, but the guilt of eating was quickly climbing to the top of the list.

This was your fourth snack now, munching your way through another pack of gummies and it wasn’t even 2pm yet.

Its not something you consciously do.

First, you’re in your room, wearing down your carpet as you turn in circles, stuck in your anxious thoughts and replaying every bad thing that’s happened this week. Festering yourself in the negativity.

Next you’re up and out the room, needing air and walking around the dorms, not noticing your surroundings, just marching on ahead to anywhere that is an escape from your room.

Then you’re in the kitchen, hands grabbing into your snack stash before you’re even aware of what you’re doing and by that point the packets already opened and heading towards your mouth.

Most of the students in the dorms were out doing training or interning, something you considered a blessing. Stuffing your face alone made you feel bad enough, in front of others would’ve been the straw on the camels back that broke it.

Or maybe it’s already broken, tears bubbling behind your eyes as you feel aggravation curling in your gut and the sudden urge to just spit the damn sweets out.

“Are you ok, y/n?”

Gummies spilled out all over the table as you jumped, nearly choking on the ones still in your mouth.

“Mirio!” You wheezed out, coughing to try and regain some functioning air pipes, “I-I’m fine.”

You were hoping that nearly choking to death would excuse the tears in your eyes as you turned to face away from the blonde. Of all the people to still be in the dorms, it was the last one you’d hope to find you in such a state.

“Are you sure? You’ve been walking back and forth frantically the whole afternoon, let me get you some water at least.”

Of course he wouldn’t drop it, he was too kind to turn away from someone who seemed like they were in need. Mirio truly was the embodiment of a real hero. Sometimes you wagered that was the sole purpose he was put on this earth, the be the best hero there could be.

Embarrassment curled in your gut now and simmered under your face as you wiped away the spit and dribble from your chin. Disgusting, sloppy, greedy, that’s all he’d think of you now.

“Here.”

A glass had appeared in front of you as your face flushed, muttering a quiet thank you in response.

“No problem.” Was his response, voice calm and soothing.

You were too busy taking a sip from the glass to see his hand raise to your face as a calloused and warm thumb wiped away a stray spit of saliva you had missed earlier from your chin.

The flush in your face intensifies and you’re soon a spluttering mess, caught between apologising and being startled at the sudden closeness of your classmate.

“Are you sure you’re ok? You were looking pretty grim eating those gummies earlier.”

Mirio was seemingly unfazed by the lack of personal space, settling into the chair right next to yours, crossing your legs with his.

“Um, yeah, I’m ok.” His fingers were finding their way to the stray gummies on the table, flicking them into his mouth as he watched you intensely. “Thanks for asking.”

A thoughtful look flickered across Mirio’s face for a moment as he sat and simply stated at you, popping the last gummy into his mouth and propping his head on his hand. The smile that smoothed over his features was gentle and soft, the face of his face shaping around it and creating a picture of peace.

“No you’re not.” Blunt honesty wasn’t what you expected from his tranquil state. “You’re stressed about something, and that’s ok.”

Your mind was struggling to form a response.

“It’s nothing major.” As soon as you’d finished your sentence, he was already one step ahead.

“It doesn’t need to be. You don’t need to have gone through some big traumatic event to justify being bummed out. If you’re upset, then you’re upset, and we’re gonna cheer you up!”

Screeching echoed out against the kitchen walls as metal chairs were pushed back and Mirio was dragging you out of the kitchen by the hand and down the corridor to the boy’s dorms.

“Um, Mirio, these are the boys-“

“I know!” The blonde interrupted, voice full of amusement and mischief. “We’re heading to my room!”

Sweat was gathering in your joint hands as your face flushed again, being so close and intimate with one of the strongest and most charming heroes at UA was breath-taking, literally. Your chest was heaving with nerves.

All too quickly you were in his room, and Mirio finally let go of your hand after guiding you to sit on the bed.

“Close your eyes for a second, ok? Just trust me!” With his tongue stuck out and his eyebrows set with determination he looked like a big Labrador, waiting to play fetch. The adorable imagery only marginally helped sooth you.

“Ok, sure.” Losing your sense of sight was even more nerve wracking. You’d only been alone with the human ball of sunshine a few times, but being in his room was an experience you never thought you’d have.

There was some shuffling and crinkling, drawers being opened, things whizzing past your head, ‘is he throwing stuff on the bed?’, electronics being played with and finally a weight on the bed.

“Ok, before you open your eyes, shuffle back a bit until you hit the wall.”

Your audible gulp was the only response Mirio got.

The bedding was velvety and smooth under your hands, the mattress dipping slightly as you delicately shuffled back until your hit something- plump and soft?

Leaning into it, you found it comfortable, maybe a pillow.

Before you got the chance to fully figure it out, cool air hit your feet as your shoes were suddenly pulled off, tugging a yelp from deep in your throat.

The darkness was sudden, and you were abruptly being weighed down. It was fluffy and warm, suffocating you before you quickly brought yourself out for air, opening your eyes to find Mirio and free yourself from the confines of whatever had trapped you.

It was a huge blue blanket, covered in tuffs of silky wool. Still in a state of semi panic you whipped your head around, finding the bed was covered in different snacks, crisps and chocolates. There was a tv settled on top of some dressers, waiting patiently while flicking through some Netflix listings.

There was another weight on the bed next to you, shuffling under the covers and letting out a content sigh.

“So, what’re you in the mood for? I heard there was new episodes of Brooklyn 99, it’s pretty funny, or there’s the new zombie movie out. Oh my god, they added Kung Fu Panda 2!”

Mirio was absentmindedly flicking through the options, humming his thoughts every now and again when something captured his interest, not even noticing that you were still gaping at him.

“Mirio…” Your voice was a mutter, looking down as you nudged a pack of kinder chocolate with your foot.

“Huh?” He glanced over at you, concern washing over his features. “Do you want something else? I usually just keep these here in a secret stash in case Tamaki need’s something, but he always says I get too much.” Kindness was his greatest virtue.

“Thank you.” It was all you could say. Because really, what more was there to add? You were grateful, completely and overwhelmingly grateful.

His features relaxed, and the peaceful smile graces over his features once more.

“That’s what I’m here for, sunshine.”

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Notes: All these requests for Mirio are making me soft, hope you enjoy this one!

#mirio x reader #mirio togata #mirio togata x reader #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader

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daisukissed · 4 years

Text

【 Okay, Gamer 】

❧ pairing: kozume kenma x gn!reader, slight kuroo x reader if you squint hard enough

❧ synopsis: who would've thought you'd meet the love of your life through fortnite?

❧ genres: fluff, e2l (the enemy phase being 5 seconds lMFAO), one-shot

❧ warnings: guns, shootings, violence all the stuff you do in a battle royale if that needs a warning???? oh, and cursing.

❧ word count: 2k-ish

❧ a/n: purely self indulgent hehe the things i'd do to game with this guy 🥴

Your fingers move swiftly across your controller, pressing the combinations of buttons that have been ingrained in your brain from muscle memory. Your eyes shift from left to right, focusing solely on the screen of your TV as you scan the large platform for the person who shot you earlier.

Gaining another shot from the right, you immediately toggle your left stick towards the sound of the gunshot, aiming for the pink haired player not far from you.

"SHIT!" You throw your controller out of frustration, seeing it bounce a few times on your bed before making its way onto the floor with a large thud.

"I'm knocked down by the tree, the enemy's literally at 15 health." You groaned through the microphone, picking up the controller back up as you hear a soft hum in reply.

You could see your partner making his way towards you, building up floors and ramps skillfully as he avoid the shots made by the other player earlier.

It doesn't take much time for your teammate to kill off the female character, various items of different colors dropping from her death to which he gathers immediately.

"Oh my God, you're really out here looting and healing first when your teammate is literally seconds away from dying?!" You yell, feeling more and more frustration pile up as you see your health bar becoming shorter and shorter.

"It's your fault that you got knocked down."

Your grip on the controller got tighter than before as you take a deep breath, holding in all the numerous curses plagued on your mind as of now.

"Username 'applepi', I swear to God if you don't get your ass back here and revive me, I'll come and haunt you in real life."

You hear a exasperated sigh from the other side of the call before seeing a purple and black skeleton running his way to the tree you're currently residing in.

The rest of the game went out just as bad as the start of it. He would fire shots aimlessly and pointlessly to attract enemies nearby, solely because he knows it'll piss you off. Of course, you can't just back down from his childish antics so you pay him back by following him everywhere and anywhere, stealing any weapons and materials he got on his sight.

"Hey, there's someone coming over towards your left."

"You already did that trick, try again next time."

"No, I'm serious-"

Bam!

And he's down.

"What the fuck?"

You couldn't help but obnoxiously snort at the sight of your teammate falling down to his knees, only being able to crawl and nothing else as he watches his health bar dwindling into nothing.

"Pfft- See! I-I fucking t-told you but you wouldn't even l-listen!" You stammer in laughter, clutching your stomach in pain. Tears are starting to form in the uppermost corner of your eye, your cheeks beginning to feel sore and chest heaving up and down uncontrollably.

"Shut up and revive me." The player behind your laughter said in an unamused tone. You could hear the aggravation behind his sighs, the sound of what seemed like a device or some sort being put down forcefully followed behind, leaving you in fits of blissful giggles.

Oh, how sweet that karma is by your side.

Top 3.

That's all it takes for the endless banter between you two to cease.

Your body is tense, not wanting to move a single inch from your spot, afraid that it'll wreck the whole game if you put any attention to anything else besides the ongoing match. Your hands are clammy, layered with sheets of sweat between your palm and the black controller you're gripping at, holding it tight as if it's your only hope in winning the game.

You rapidly toggle the small joystick, trying to aim for the player in front of you as you furiously press buttons to shoot and evade at the same time, taking a few shots in the process.

Pressing the R2 button a few more times, you finally knocked your enemy down, shooting them in the head to truly end them.

The green health bar located on the bottom side of your television has about a quarter of it left, causing you to move away from the enemy's sight, searching for a secluded place to refuge in.

Switching your shotgun into a red and white bandage, you heal yourself up, anxiously waiting for the timer to count down to zero to finish healing, hoping that no one comes to ambush you in the meantime.

Your heart thumps against your chest, caused by the surge of adrenaline through your body.

The timer ticks down to six when you get shot, all your remaining health diminishing in one go along with your energy and enthusiasm.

You see your shooter immediately make his way to your teammate, greedy for kills, leaving you to watch your character slowly die in all fours. You think it's a stupid mistake that they didn't finish you off but you're thankful for the chance given.

"Applepi, revive me!" You order frantically, your hope of winning the game slowly decreases as you see your fellow teammate's health at half, the sight of him frantically moving backwards to create distance between his two opponent tells you that he's having a hard time.

"We'll both die before I have the chance to revive you."

An aggravated sigh left your chapped lips as you watch one of the players close in on him.

"Well, you can't beat two players all on your-"

Before you can finish your sentence, soft party music suddenly booms from your speakers, a large blue banner with the writing 'Victory Royale' displaying on your screen. It is as if the gods above and he himself are playing with you, proving you wrong before you could even try.

"What did you say?" The male asks in fake innocence and you might be dreaming but you think that you can hear the slight smile in his husky voice.

You let out a small groan as the game cuts off to its loading screen, the voice chat between you and the quiet male ending.

Trying to fight off the disappointment growing in your heart, you take off your blue headphones, finally setting your controller down after what seems like hours.

Blinking the tiredness of your strained eyes, you give the in game menu a final scan.

As if all the negative emotions that you felt were never there, you hold back a smile, feeling a budding hope when you make out the words in front of you.

Applepi sent you a friend request!

You learned a lot of new things about your new friend.

You learned that his real name is Kozume Kenma, he's a year older than you and goes to Nekoma High, the school a few stops before yours.

You learned that he has blonde hair and ebony roots, along with gold slit eyes and small pupils that makes him resemble a cat.

You also learned that he uses the username 'applepi' because he loves apple pies, he's a quiet person in general, not just in game but in texts as well. Sometimes he surprises you, getting chatty and affectionate at rare times.

You screech out his name, the boy being mentioned having to wince at the loud sound from his headphones. You run around the grassy platform, avoiding the player coming for you at all cost due to your lack of good weapons.

Kenma watches you for a while, contemplating whether he should just leave you or actually save you.

He opts for the latter, he always does.

Rushing in with a stronger weapon than yours, he jumps through bushes and cars, avoiding anything that seems to block him. Turning left from the rocky road, the blonde male immediately shoots at a purple character near yours, focusing on aiming at the small figure faraway.

"You suck, Y/N." He points out, controlling his skeleton-like character to run towards you after finishing the last blow.

"Yet you always play with me anyways." You argue.

You know you hit the mark when he doesn't give you any sort of response.

Your lips curl up into a soft smile as you hear the boy you grow more and more fond of talk about today's practice.

You don't know how or when it happened but the hectic calls while gaming are slowly replaced by a more ordinary and intimate one instead. Insults about the other party's skills turns to subtle compliments and childish banters turn into curious questions about one's life.

You would be lying if you said you didn't like the change.

"So this Hinata guy just spikes without even looking at the ball?" You ask intriguingly, genuinely interested at the dynamic duo he had been telling you about.

"Uh-huh, he's amazing."

You let out a small giggle at his response.

He doesn't notice but the tone of his voice always seems to change when he's talking about the things he's passionate about. Whether it be the new game he started playing or even volleyball, when he played an intense match. It's a minuscule change but you notice it anyways.

A slight click of the door opening followed by one or two footsteps can be heard from Kenma's room, a sly voice resonating throughout the walls.

"Ah, is that your Fortnite girlfriend you're calling again?"

You can vaguely recall the voice belonging to Kuroo Tetsurou, one of Kenma's teammate whom you shared a few conversations with before, much to the blonde's dismay. Feeling a slight cringe upon hearing the tall athlete's words, along with a hint of envy, you choose to stay quiet as they talk.

"It's not. Get out of my room, Kuroo." The cat-like male spit out, black eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

Kuroo's lips twitches up into a infuriating smirk, knowing full well of the ticking time bomb in front of him. He does as he was ordered to, stepping his foot out of his childhood friend's door.

Not before dealing a blow though.

"If you don't ask her out soon, I might just go and steal her, you know~?" The clever male goads before escaping out of the room.

Upon hearing those words, Kenma's mind goes into a havoc, his heart dropping down into his stomach.

He knows that you and Kuroo have been texting as well lately, the said man mentioning that he is in fact, quiet interested in you.

What are you bothered of anyways? People can get close to her however they'd like, he thinks, yet he feels all these negative emotions swirling around his head when he imagines you going out with the suave boy.

"Fortnite girlfriend?" You inquire, breaking his train of thoughts. You can't help the slight bitterness in your tone when you speak, though you're sure it goes unnoticed by the person you're speaking to.

"It's nothing, just ignore what he said."

Not satisfied with his answer, you push more, "Well, shouldn't you really ask her out? We can't let Kuroo be a step ahead of you, can't we?"

You try your hardest to play it as a joke, masking your jealousy with a cheerful and joking tone.

It is exactly this that gives Kenma the final push, giving him the last ounce of courage and guts that are needed to say his next line.

"Then Y/N, would you like to go to the cat café I mentioned about together this Saturday?"

Your mind short circuits, incompetent to form words and your eyes widen by a tenfold. To say that you are shocked would be an understatement

You can hear Kenma beginning to take back his words, scared that he's putting you in a difficult place or making you feel uncomfortable but before he can finish his words, you cut him off with a stuttered and loud 'yes!'

The Pudding Head smiles slightly at your agreement and before arranging his plans with you, he opens the messaging app on his phone, immediately texting the number one contact.

Kozume Kenma

I did it.

Kuroo Tetsurou

Took you long enough.

#haikyuu imagines #kenma x reader #haikyuu #kuroo x reader #kozume kenma #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #kenma imagines #kuroo imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fics #i had to edit and proofread twice bcs tumblr didnt save my draft #so if this flops #i'm gonna SOB

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obligatorynasty · 4 years

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The Weight of the Knife, Part 3: Beveled

Part: [1] [2] [3] | Read on: AO3 | WC: ~11k | Please excuse any typos.

Main Tags: BadBoy!Tony, Highschool AU, NFF, Angst, TW:Mentions of Blood, TW:Abuse, TW:Graphic Depictions of Violence, TW:Bullying, TW:Underage Drinking and Smoking, Bruises, Hangovers and Mentions of Puke, [Read all tags on AO3]

Dedicated to @starker-stories, whose love for this AU kept me motivated to write more.

~*11*~

For the remainder of the day, Peter and Tony stayed in their room, save for the occasional bathroom break or a food delivery courtesy of Ned. They chose to relax together, underneath the covers, in each others’ arms, far away from everything and everyone, especially the aggravating presence of Quentin Beck. Peter wondered how he, once again, fell for a false earnesty and Tony lamented about being an absolute wreck over his father’s conniving behavior. It was almost therapeutic to realize that they were being toyed with; to realize that their fights had been exaggerated by outside forces; to finally see it had not all been their fault.

And after hours of emotional exhaustion, Tony had fallen asleep, snug against Peter’s stomach, arms wrapped around the younger’s torso. Peter, however, was wide awake. Despite his hangover, he was determined to fulfill his promise. He would protect Tony at all costs, even if it meant staying up into the night, fighting his headache, and sifting through the plethora of files in the Stark Industries database.

With Jarvis, Peter was able to compile some very damning evidence about the company, including its dealings with terrorism and the various transgressions of its CEO. He even had security cam footage from the Stark mansion. Some clips were so heartbreaking that he couldn't bring himself to watch them. Video after video of his most precious person being abused by someone who should care for him the most.

Peter sighed and placed the phone against the nightstand, running a hand through Tony’s hair as he did. His boyfriend was so innocent when he slept, his eyelashes gently twitching in dreams and his soft snores vibrating against Peter’s abdomen. It was almost a shame to have to wake him, but he needed him for what came next. “Tones,” Peter whispered, softly tapping his fingertip against Tony’s cheek. “Wake up.”

Tony stirred awake, yawning as he spoke, “Is it time?”

“Yeah.”

Before Tony’s nap, they had discussed what to do about Quentin. Tony’s anger did not go away. It was just sharper, more focused, not as unhinged as before. He wanted payback in the form of violence and, if Peter was honest with himself, he did too.

Quentin had played Peter for a fool. He tricked him into defending their fabricated friendship; tricked him into believing that friendship – that stupid, insignificant friendship – was somehow worth all of the arguments with Tony. Peter didn’t just want payback – no, he wanted some fucking retribution. He wanted Quentin Beck to regret what he had done.

And he wanted it to hurt.

So Peter shared his plan, in whispered breaths during their lazy day, convinced by the devious smirk it brought to Tony’s face, that it would please them both. And it started there: right outside of Quentin’s door.

“Beck?” Peter spoke as he knocked, his free hand restlessly clutching the handle of his suitcase. “Are you awake?”

The faint sound of footsteps approaching the door made Peter’s heart race but, surprisingly enough, especially to Peter, it wasn’t because of nerves. It was the adrenaline of knowing what was to come coursing through his veins. As the door swung open, he put on a terrified expression, attempting to sell his distress with wet eyes, a furrowed brow, and a frown. “Beck,” He let his voice tremble like he was on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong, kid?” Quentin asked, moving to place a hand against Peter’s face, thumbing at the tear that escaped his lower lash. “Why do you have your bag? What’s going on?”

Peter clenched his teeth and leaned into Quentin’s touch, trying to be as persuasive as possible, “We need to leave.”

“Why-?”

“Tony hit me,” Peter lied, feigning his sorrow with a sniffle and a stressful hand through his hair. “You were right about him. I should’ve listened, I should’ve-”

“Shh,” Quentin pulled Peter into a hug. “It’s okay. We can leave. I’ll pack my stuff.”

“Okay, but be quick,” Peter urged, shaking as he prevented himself from flinching out of Quentin’s grasp. “Tony doesn’t know I’m leaving.” An extra lie, coated in a frantic tone that made Quentin pack in a hurry, carelessly throwing his belongings into his suitcase before zipping it up and grabbing his keys from atop the dresser.

“Okay, come on,” Quentin whispered, following Peter into the hall as he closed the door behind him.

That was easier than Peter thought it would be. And with one task complete, Peter moved onto the next: the keys. As they reached the top of the staircase, Peter made a show of how heavy his bag was; struggling with two hands as he slowly took the first step, and then an even slower second, and a third at a snail’s pace…

“Here, let’s trade,” Quentin offered, handing Peter his keys in exchange for the suitcase.

And as he clutched the keys, watching Quentin carrying both bags down the stairs, Peter couldn’t stop himself from smirking. The next part of his plan began once they made it outside and walked down the driveway, far enough away from the house that what followed wouldn’t be heard.

Quentin stopped at the curb, turning on his heel, “Hey, kid, unlock the car, would you?”

Peter shook his head, face expressionless as he stared into Quentin’s puzzled eyes. “No,” He said as he reached into his pocket, pulling out Tony’s butterfly knife and flipping it open. “I can’t do that, Quentin,” He added as he held the knife forward.

Quentin gave a slow, confused laugh, “What’s going on, kid?”

“You know exactly what’s going on,” Peter glared at him, his anger starting to seep out. “How much is Mr. Stark paying you, hm? Enough to buy a fancy new car?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quentin immediately denied, a feeble attempt at maintaining his ruse.

Peter sighed, reaching into his pocket, switching the keys for his phone. “Quentin Beck, 18, works for Mysterio Incorporated as a professional grifter,” Peter snorted at the next line. “A prodigy in the art of the con. A bit of a stretch there, no?” He continued, “Official job assignment: sever all social, physical, and romantic connections between Peter Parker and Tony Stark.” He said, pointing the phone screen towards Quentin. “Still don’t know what I’m talking about?”

Quentin immediately dropped his gaze but then he laughed, slow and a bit dismayed, “I’ll give it to you, Parker, you’ve surprised me.” As he lifted his head, he seemed to relax in a different, less-friendly persona like a chameleon donning its natural color. “How’d you find out?”

“I heard you on the phone.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken that call,” Quentin shook his head, “You know, this was supposed to be an easy job,” He pointed out, “Break up a scared little kid and a violent asshole.” He kicked the suitcases onto their sides, “But, of course, you turn out to be just as crazy as he is,” He snapped, “You two are fucking perfect for each other!”

Peter was unfazed by Quentin’s anger – in fact, he was indifferent to it; there were no trembles or fear, not even a flinch. “That’s very nice of you,” He nodded and looked over his shoulder. “Don’t you think, Tones?”

“Yeah,” Tony spoke as he stepped out of his car, cigarette and lighter in hand, nonchalantly having a smoke as he leaned against the car’s hood. “We are perfect for each other, baby.”

“Fuck this shit,” Quentin rolled his eyes, holding his hand out. “Give me the car keys, Parker.”

“Come and get them,” Peter taunted and tightened his grip on the knife.

Quentin scoffed, taking a step closer to Peter, “And what the fuck are you going to do with that?” He shook his head and took another step. “What? Stab me?” Another step. “A scared little bitch like you would never .” Another step; inches away from the knife. “Now give me the goddamn keys!” Quentin yelled, lunging towards Peter to snatch the keys, but his efforts were fruitless.

Peter slid his foot back, angling his body so that the pocket with the keys faced away from the impending grasp. He inhaled fast, his hand reactively flinching, swiping the blade of the knife against Quentin’s outstretched arm. And as he pulled away, he exhaled and glanced down at the knife, its beveled edge now streaked in a thin layer of blood. Then his gaze flickered to Tony, who was puffing gray into the latenight air, watching the interaction without an ounce of worry. The sight kept Peter calm as his focus moved back to Quentin, who had recoiled backward with a hiss, clutching his arm.

“You stupid little- you cut me!” Quentin snapped, fists balling in anger. “I’m not fucking playing with you, Parker!” He dashed forward, so caught up in his rage that he paid no attention to his biggest threat. Not bothering to notice the cigarette that had been flicked against the pavement; not even glancing up to see how close in proximity the looming threat was. It was a grave mistake.

Tony wound back his fist and clocked Quentin so hard in the jaw that he stumbled backward, tripping against a crack in the pavement. His hands shot down against the warm concrete, palms scratching on the abrasive surface as he broke his fall. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and the cuts on his hands and arm, but there was no time to focus on the pain. He rolled over, quickly shifting to get back on feet, but the bad boy had descended, pinning him against the ground. He had no choice but to brace himself as a flurry of quick jabs were unleashed on his face, the force of which would no doubt break his nose if he did nothing. So he pushed, wrestling Tony onto his side, trying to flip them entirely and turn the tides of their fight, but Tony’s knee in his gut threw that plan into the water.

On impulse, Quentin clutched his stomach, letting out a pained grunt, watching as Tony stood and poised himself to kick the same place he had kneed. Acting quickly, Beck rolled, dodging the kick and finally managing to get back on his feet. Much like the fight against Loki, Quentin fought passively, fists squared to protect his face as he waited for Tony’s next move.

Tony laughed, brimming with a refined rage like he had dragged all that unhinged anger to an anvil and forged his next attacks. He was light on his feet, taking a boxer’s stance and closing in to throw a couple of jabs at Quentin’s openings. There were a few misses to the face, but a single hooked punch to the side had Quentin hunched over.

And from there, it might as well have been decided. Tony grabbed Quentin in a headlock, letting loose a whirlwind of punches to his side, reveling in the way Quentin collapsed to his knees in pain. It was when Tony grabbed Quentin’s arm and positioned himself to break it that Peter finally interjected.

“No bones, Tony,” Peter stepped towards them, placing a hand against Tony’s shoulder. “We are still kicking him out. He has to drive.”

“Didn’t you say that piece of shit car was self-driving?”

“I did, but-”

“A rib?” Tony asked, his eyes dilated from the adrenaline of the fight as he held Quentin in place.

Peter glanced down at the bruised boy, whose eyes were teeming with a spark of defiance, and he found himself wanting to watch that spark get extinguished. “That’s fine.”

What followed was a kick to Quentin’s ribs so forceful that he screamed and started to give in, gasping and wincing in pain, “Fuck you, Parker!”

“Tony,” Peter whispered. “Another.”

And Quentin couldn’t get a word in before the pain of having a rib broken blended with the pain of having an already broken rib kicked. “Okay!” He grunted out, fear glazed across the tone of his voice. “Okay, fucking stop! Stop!”

“Tones,” Peter said it like a command and Tony followed it by holding Quentin still in a kneeling position. Then, Peter stepped in front of Quentin, squatting down to match gazes, “Are you ready to apologize?”

“What the fuck?” Quentin growled, weakly struggling against Tony’s hold. “No! I was hired!”

“Tony, I didn’t hear an apology, did you?” Peter asked as he hovered the butterfly knife in front of Quentin’s throat. “Maybe he needs a little more. How many ribs do you think you can break before a person passes out from all the pain?”

Quentin’s eyes went wide. Even with a knife outstretched and poised at his throat, the words that fell from Peter’s mouth were somehow sharper and more perilous. “Fine!” He broke, voice cracking under the force of Peter’s threat. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what I did, okay? I’m sorry.”

“See?” Peter smiled, hovering the knife upward and pressing it gently against Quentin’s face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

And Quentin let out a defeated laugh, “How are you even the same person I saved last week?”

“I’m not,” Peter stood, pulling the car keys from his pocket and throwing them into the sand. “Now fetch and don’t come back.”

~*12*~

“Did you get my email with the security cam footage?” Peter spoke into his phone, pacing back and forth in the sand. “Yeah, it’s really bad. Did you call the lawyer? Do you think he can do something with it?” He asked, stepping into the wet sand, enjoying the feeling of warm water splashing against his feet. “Thanks, May. Yes, now I’m having fun. Yeah, Tony too. Nope, there’s no alcohol. No, I’m not lying. My voice doesn’t have a tone. It doesn’t!” He laughed, turning on his heel, surprised to find Tony walking towards him with two drinks in hand. “Oh, May, I’ve got to go. Yeah, Tony’s here. Okay, okay, I’ll tell him. Bye!” Peter hung up the call, smiling as he took a cup from Tony. “May says hi and that she misses you.”

“Auntie called?” Tony’s eyebrow shot up. “Why didn’t you say so? I could’ve talked to her.”

“You can talk to her when we get back,” Peter waved it off, taking a quick sip of the fizzy mixed drink, face scrunching from the burn of vodka. “What did you put in this?”

“Nothing much, just vodka and soda.”

Peter groaned, looking at the drink like it could kill. “How much exactly?”

Tony smiled, looking Peter up and down, “Did you get sexier since the last time we spoke?”

“In the few minutes I was on the phone? Absolutely.” Peter playfully retorted, returning the smile. “But no avoiding my questions. How much vodka, Tones?”

“Not that much,” Tony laughed, taking a large swig of his drink. “Just don’t drink it too fast, okay?”

Peter gave a light huff, “What about you? Two more of those and your cup will be empty!”

Tony scoffed, “I’m not a lightweight like you.”

Without warning, a water balloon exploded against the back of Tony’s head, covering his back in cold water that had him cringing. Peter erupted into laughter, matching the energies of Rhodey, Pepper, Bruce, and Happy, who had pails of water balloons filled to the brim, fully prepared for war. “That’s what you get for talking shit,” Peter joked.

Tony grinned, turning towards his friends with a fire in his eyes. “Now I’ve got to show these fuckers who’s boss.” He took another large swig of his drink and pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead. “Hold this for me, baby. I’ll be right back.”

Peter grabbed the cup, watching with a smile as Tony ran towards his friends. Seeing him like this was refreshing, like the stress of the previous week never reared its ugly head. In fact, just relaxing with friends without Quentin around had proven cathartic for them both. Peter spent his morning swimming with Ned and MJ while Tony helped Rhodey and Pepper make breakfast. The adrenaline of last night’s events had simmered and the vacation part of their vacation had truly set in.

Peter carried the two drinks up to the deck, where Bucky, Sam, and Steve were chatting and lounging on chairs. As he took a seat, he laughed at the excited way MJ and Ned prepped their buckets, readying themselves to join the water balloon fray. “You two don’t stand a chance out there in the trenches,” He joked.

“You just watch,” Ned exclaimed, dramatically thrusting a balloon into the air, “I will emerge victorious!”

MJ laughed, shaking her head as she kicked off her sandals. “You should join us, Pete. We can emerge victorious together.”

“No, thanks,” Peter smiled, placing the cups on the ground and slumping against the back of the chair. “But I wish you luck on your conquest.”

“To victory!” Ned yelled, running down to the beach with a water balloon poised to kill.

“Suit yourself, dude.” MJ grinned as she followed, beaming a water balloon from the top of the stairs to one of the unsuspecting teens below.

“Your friends are wild, Pete,” Sam said with a soft laugh. “But they’re alright.”

“Agreed, I really liked them,” Bucky nodded. “I liked Quentin too. Did he ever say why he had to leave?”

Peter shrugged, leaning to grab his cup and take a sip, feigning ignorance. “All he said was he had a family emergency.”

“Shame he had to go,” Steve said with a playful grin. “With all that flirting he was doing, you could’ve been just like me.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Like you?”

“He means having two smoking hot boyfriends,” Sam explained, gesturing to himself and Bucky.

“Oh!” Peter shook his head, a small pink tint flushing his cheeks. “It wasn’t like that with Quentin. We were just friends.”

“Were?” Bucky squinted.

“Are! Are.” Peter gave an awkward chuckle and sipped his drink. “Anyways, me and Tony are fine with just each other.”

“Yeah, you guys seemed fine the other night too,” Sam wiggled his brow. “Really fine.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Bucky gasped as he recalled what happened. “You two must have crazy sex.”

Those words made Peter’s small pink tint turn into a fully-fledged blush, “No, we actually haven’t…”

“You guys haven’t had sex?” Steve’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

“We’ve like...fooled around, but yeah, no sex...um- actually, we were supposed to during this break,” Peter admitted, taking another sip of his drink to quell his embarrassment.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Sam questioned.

“Nothing really,” Peter shrugged, glancing down at the beach and all the balloon carnage scattered across the sand. “We just haven’t had the time yet.”

“I think you guys should fuck tonight,” Bucky pointedly suggested. “You’ve got to seduce him, Peter.”

Peter scoffed. “I don’t have a single seducing bone in my body.”

“Drunk Peter had my dumbass fooled then,” Sam spoke under his breath, causing Steve and Bucky to giggle.

Peter gave an awkward laugh, “Can we please forget about that?”

“You sucked on his finger like it was his dick,” Bucky interjected.

Peter groaned, dropping his face into his palm. “Excuse me, I’m going to wither away now and transcend this plane of existence. Don’t wait up for me.”

“See ya,” Sam quipped.

Steve laughed, sitting up from his lounged position, “You don’t have to be embarrassed, Pete. There’s no judgment here.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, doll,” Bucky waved it off with a smile. “I’m sure, one of these days, you’ll catch us finger sucking too.”

“That’s comforting,” Peter rolled his eyes with a smile. “But okay, I’ll revert the withering process for now. Still, I don’t think I can channel drunk Peter on command.”

Sam nodded, reaching beside his chair to grab his own drink and holding it out, “Then, instead of channeling him, why don’t you just be him?”

“In moderation this time,” Bucky stressed, holding up his drink as well.

“To Peter getting fucked,” Steve offered a toast.

Peter giggled, holding his cup up to complete the cheers, “To getting fucked!”

~*13*~

Getting to this point was easy. After dinner and a bit more drinking, Ned roped everyone into a mini dance party with loud summer tunes and plenty of drinks. And something about the unintentional cardio mixed with the assortment of alcohol really made Peter’s haze set in. It was not nearly as strong as before – his motor functions were definitely intact – but that teeth-numbing warmth and indiscriminate confidence was alive and well. With all the sloppy dance moves, Peter could tell that everyone was somewhere on the drunk spectrum, even Tony, who was sporting tinted red cheeks and a very uncharacteristic smile as he moved to fall against the couch.

So, as he danced, Peter locked eyes with the seated bad boy, attempting to be seductive as he rocked his hips to the music as best he could. A little sway here, more hip in that move, add a bit of shoulder to that one; he was putting in a lot of effort. Yet, judging by the obvious snickering his boyfriend was doing, it probably wasn’t reading as sexy – he was trying his best, okay! He gave up, pouting as he rounded the couch, standing behind Tony and leaning in to whisper against his ear. “How dare you laugh at me. I was trying to seduce you.”

“Oh, really?” Tony snorted, leaning his head back against the couch. “I couldn’t tell.”

Peter blushed, lips still pursed in a pout, “Not even a little?”

Tony smiled, reaching his hand backward to pat his boyfriend’s hair. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“That’s good,” Peter whispered as he pressed a kiss against Tony’s cheek. “Did it turn you on?”

Tony inhaled sharp, “This definitely is.”

“Really?” Peter was surprised but moved to speckle more kisses against Tony’s cheek, jaw, and neck. “You like this?”

“Of course, baby,” Tony smirked, tilting his head to lock gazes with Peter. “I fucking love it when you touch me.”

A whine escaped Peter’s throat but, with his goal of seduction still at the forefront of his mind, he managed to contain his excitement. Instead, he leaned in, licking the space beneath Tony’s ear and whispering a fervid, “If you come to our room, I’ll touch you wherever you want.”

Tony didn’t need any more convincing.

They made their way to the bedroom, exchanging affectionate touches as they went. A hand on a hip, circling fingertips against exposed skin, the brush of an arm; innocent gestures that turned fiery the moment they stepped beyond the threshold and closed the door. Peter was the first to latch on, pulling Tony by the collar of his shirt into a messy kiss. One that tasted of vodka and smoke and, among the residual heat of dancing and arousal, it felt like a solar flare against his lips. He moaned into it, moving to jump up into his boyfriend’s arms.

Even in his buzz, Tony didn’t miss a beat. He caught Peter by the waist, stepping to press him against the wall but diverting towards the bed when Peter whined, a very needy, the bed, Tones, the bed. It was confident and sensual and made Tony hard enough to feel through his jeans.

And Peter could really feel it, especially against his own growing hardness as his boyfriend walked them across the room. He hummed pleasantly as he rutted against it, moving to trail kisses down Tony’s flushed neck, biting down against the skin of his collarbone and sucking to leave a deep red mark.

Tony inhaled through his teeth and groaned at the sensation, muscles flexing as he slowly lowered Peter against the duvet and climbed up between his legs. Then he smirked, staring down at his boyfriend with lust clouded eyes, “So we’re in a biting mood today, hm?” He whispered, leaning down to reciprocate the bite, leaving a mark of his own and enjoying the little whimper that spilled from Peter’s throat.

Peter busied his hands against his boyfriend’s toned stomach and in his wild hair, caressing toward the nape of his neck and around to the small of his back. He moaned, arousal flooding his core as Tony kissed his jaw and brought a hand up his shirt, rolling his fingertips against his nipple. It felt amazing, even more so when mixed with the heady feel of alcohol in his system. He found himself soaking in the closeness, lifting his hips for more and whining when the pleasure of the contact shot up his spine.

But then Tony’s hands snapped to Peter’s waist, pushing him back down against the mattress. “You’re so fucking eager,” He whispered, unable to hold back his pleased grin.

“It’s because I want you to fuck me,” Peter shot back, reaching to push Tony’s hand away and continue his impatient rutting.

“ What? ” Tony looked startled for a moment, then his expression turned pleased, then guilty, then worried. “Fuck, wait,” He shook his head, sitting back onto his knees and pushing down against Peter’s hips. “We can’t.”

Peter pouted, gently brushing his fingertips up Tony’s forearms. “Why not?”

Tony sighed, staring at Peter’s hands like they were torture devices. “You’re drunk, baby.”

“Am not,” Peter lied, putting on his best sober face. “I’m perfectly fine, so please,” He pleaded with a smile, moving to unbutton his shorts but pouting when Tony grabbed his hand to stop him. His expression fell into a frown, insecure feelings starting to surface in the form of anxious words, “Are you saying you don’t want to?”

“No, I do!” Tony said, his eyes glancing across Peter’s body. “I do. A lot ,” He took a deep breath, “You have no idea how much.”

“Then why?”

“Because I want you to be here when I fuck you.”

Peter rolled his eyes, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows. “I am here, Tones.”

“Not completely,” Tony shook his head. “I want to see the face you make around my dick when you’re sober.”

“Me too,” Peter whispered.

Tony let out a light huff, raising his brow, “You too?”

“No, I meant-” Peter blushed, averting his eyes, “That I want to w-watch you get off inside me.”

“Yeah?” Tony’s voice cracked a little, Peter’s words hitting him like a gunshot to his sanity. He inhaled slow, his gaze momentarily turning indulgent, “What else do you want, sweetheart?”

Peter bit his lip, nervously staring up at his boyfriend and whispering, “F-For you to- um... choke me.”

Tony grinned, leaning forward and ghosting his hand against Peter’s throat before pulling it away, “What else?”

“I want you to be r-rough,” Peter mumbled. “And um- use me... however you want because… I really just want to be good for you.”

Tony inhaled through his teeth, shifting to adjust himself through his jeans, “You are not making this easy for me, baby.”

Peter quietly gasped, “That too, that’s- I want you to call me baby,” He admitted, his face cast in a red hue. “Or baby boy. I like that more, but not all the time, just sometimes, like when we’re alone.”

“Okay, noted, I’ll be sure to tick these boxes later,” Tony smirked, “Anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Peter whispered, slumping back against the bed. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

Tony shook his head, “I doubt that.”

“It is!” Peter closed his eyes, looking more embarrassed by the second. “It’s a bunch of stupid first time stuff that’s completely unnecessary because this shouldn’t be such a big deal.”

“Come on, just tell me,” Tony gently urged. “Let me decide if it’s unnecessary.”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

Peter paused, covering his face with his hands and taking a deep breath. “I want-” He slid his hands away, revealing his expression, earnest and vulnerable, “I want you to say you love me.”

Tony froze, his jaw all but falling to the center of the earth as he was absolutely floored by Peter’s words. Moments of silence passed and then some more, where Tony just stared, gazed, focused solely on the boy in front of him, seemingly trying to find his words.

But Peter couldn’t take the silence, so he gave an awkward laugh, “N-Nevermind, you’re right, I’m drunk, ignore me, I’m being stupid, I’ll just go to sleep now.” He shifted away from Tony, moving to hide beneath the covers, fully prepared to wallow in his embarrassment.

But then Tony laid down beside him, pulling Peter’s covered body against his, whispering a comforting, “That’s not stupid, Peter.”

~*14*~

Spring break ended after a night of fireworks and group photos on the beach. The following morning brought a group effort clean-up, promises of summertime get-togethers, and friendly number exchanges. Packing the cars turned into hugs and ‘ see you later ’s, which turned into their long drive home. The trip ended perfectly but, as he watched the coast disappear behind them, Peter couldn’t help but feel sad. He already missed the early morning swims, the hilarious conversations around the fire pit, and the drunken late-night antics. As he settled into his sadness, a notification from Ned popped up on his phone: New Group Chat Invite from ‘Petey’s Mutuals .’ The name alone was enough to turn his mood around. He immediately dropped a laughing emoji in the chat, smiling at the flood of memes.

“Who’s blowing up your phone? Auntie?” Tony asked, his eyes trained on the road ahead.

“No, Ned made a group chat with everyone,” Peter giggled and reached for Tony’s phone, “You got an invite too. Want me to accept it?”

“Sure, if you want, but you know I’m going to mute it later,” Tony quipped.

Peter rolled his eyes with a smile, “I know but they’re asking for you. You’ve already been dubbed Petey’s number one mutual.”

“Petey?” Tony repeated with a smirk.

Peter laughed, “I don’t make the rules.”

The remainder of the drive was peaceful, filled with an atmosphere of playful banter and spontaneous jam sessions as the greens of the coast turned into the greys of the city. As the fresh air became stagnant and the windows were closed to give rise to the open vents, their laughter became crisper, easier to hear without the rush of outside sounds. The sun was beginning to set as they turned onto Peter’s street. It was there that their pleasant moment faltered.

Standing in front of Peter’s building, like some kind of treacherous final boss, was Howard Stark, with his sleeves cuffed to his elbows, a sway in his posture, and a five o’clock shadow. He looked furious and a bit drunk, evident in the way his car sat askew against the curb.

“What the fuck?” Tony whispered under his breath as he parked his car across the street. “Why is he here?” He stressed, pulling the keys from the ignition and dropping his head against the steering wheel.

“Don’t worry, we’re in public, he can’t do anything,” Peter assured as he pulled out his phone, quickly texting his aunt before placing his hand in Tony’s. “We don’t have to get out of the car if you don’t want to.”

“He’s been drinking, Peter,” Tony sighed, lifting his head to reveal his conflicted expression. “I don’t think being in public is going to stop him.”

Peter brought Tony’s hand up and pressed a kiss against his knuckles, “I’ll go and tell him to leave.”

And before Tony could protest, Peter was outside the car, bravely crossing the street and calmly approaching the apartment building. The slam of the car door let him know Tony was behind him but he didn’t glance back. He kept his eyes trained forward, locked on target, “Why are you here?” He asked, knowing the answer but starting there anyway.

“You!” Howard yelled, reaching forward and yanking Peter by his collar. “What the fuck did you do you little shit?”

In a breath, Tony was there, warily stepping between them and trying to pull Peter out of Howard’s grasp. The defiance angered his father and, just like before, the moment was fast. A hand was raised and swinging, aimed for Tony’s face. The only difference was, this time, Peter didn’t freeze. He held out his arm, using it to shield his boyfriend from the abuse. This time Peter was not paralyzed by his fear, he was motivated by it.

As his hand landed against Peter’s arm, Howard seethed, preparing for another swing, “You fucking-!”

“I see you got our email,” Peter interrupted, smirking despite the pain throbbing in his arm.

“Email?” Tony repeated, distracted by the sight of his usually skittish boyfriend standing up to his abusive father.

Howard’s eyes went wide, instinctively reaching to grab Peter again but stopping when the young boy spoke. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Peter warned. “Don’t forget that we’re in public and it’ll only help our case.”

Howard hesitated, glancing down the sidewalks, reluctantly stepping backward as his eyes met pedestrians. “How did you do it?” He fumed, the scent of alcohol billowing off his breath, “How did you break my encryption?”

“I didn’t,” Peter snorted. “Tony did.”

Howard’s attention shifted, zeroing in on his son with a vehement rage. “You gave this slut access to our company!” He screamed, “Do you even know what you’ve done? Did I not teach you better than this?” And, without warning, he grabbed Tony by his upper arm, “You goddamn waste of space!”

Peter clenched his teeth and, much like his boyfriend had just done for him, he shoved himself between them, trying to pull Tony out of Howard’s grasp. “Keep your fucking hands to yourself!” He snapped, surprising even himself with the outburst but having no time to process it before Howard’s hand was locked in his hair, harshly yanking his head forward.

“What the fuck did you just say, you little shit?!” Howard seethed, ignoring the glances from passing bystanders and, when his son flinched to stop his violence, he yelled an imposing and threatening, “Don’t even think about it, Anthony!”

Peter hissed at the pull, hands shooting up, struggling to get free. The pain was sharp on his scalp and, for a moment, he wanted to call out to Tony. Call out to be protected; to be saved. He wanted to rely on him but, with one glance at his boyfriend’s terrified face, he knew he couldn’t.

Because Tony was relying on him this time.

“You’re dumber than you look,” Peter spoke, laughing through his pain. “We were going to keep this quiet in civil court but you seem so determined to let everyone know what an abusive asshole you are.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Howard retorted, yanking Peter up to face him. “You have no idea who you’re making an enemy of!”

“A businessman.”

“What?”

“I’m making an enemy of a businessman,” Peter repeated, his eyes stinging from the pain but his expression remaining calm. “I’m not an idiot. A rich person like you doesn’t fear court or prison or lawyer fees. You don’t care about anything but your bottom-line and keeping your company out of a scandal.” His brow furrowed then, “So I suggest you let me go before I circulate the files online and burn your precious company to the ground.” Peter’s words were venomous and deathly serious, enough to convince Howard Stark into releasing his hold.

“Anthony, what have you done?” Howard turned his attention to his son, “Son, they want to take you away from me. They’re blackmailing me in court. Do you know that?”

“I-” Tony was frozen, struggling to find his words, his hands trembling, “I’m-”

Peter’s face softened as he stepped beside his boyfriend, gently interlocking his steady hand with Tony’s shaking one.

“Is that what you want? Stark Industries is yours too, son,” Howard continued. “You’ll inherit billions. They’re trying to take that away from you.” Then he pointed to Peter. “He’s trying to take that away from you. Don’t let this one mistake ruin your whole life.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Tony finally spoke, his voice cracking as tears started escaping down the contours of his face. “I don’t give a shit about the company. You do! That’s the only fucking thing you care about! So stop pretending you care about what I want! All you do is control my life and beat the shit out of me!”

“I do that out of love, Anth-! Tony , you’ll be the perfect successor. You’re brilliant, son. You got through my encryption. You’ll take Stark Industries so far if you would just listen to me ! All you need is a little tough love to keep you in line. Keep you away from mistakes like him. I’m guiding you-!”

“You’re abusing me!” Tony yelled, “Just like you abused mom and chased her away!”

“I did not abuse that bitch!” Howard shot back. “She left! That’s on her!”

Tony inhaled through his teeth, averting his gaze to the ground, “I want them to take me away from you.” He looked up, his eyes red from all the tears but his voice clearer than ever. “Fuck you. Fuck the company. Fuck that fucking house and fuck your dirty money.” He gently squeezed Peter’s hand as he continued. “You always say I’m just like mom, so I’m leaving too.”

“No,” Howard’s voice was taut, “Listen to what you’re saying, son! You’re giving up everything, and for what?” He questioned, gesturing to Peter and the old apartment building. “This?”

“Yeah,” Tony nodded, stealing a glance at Peter, “For this.”

“You fucking useless child! You need me!” Howard screamed.

And he would have continued too, if it weren’t for the flashes of red and blue and the sirens rounding the street corner.

“Boys!” It was Aunt May, hurrying down the apartment’s front steps with her hands outstretched, beckoning for Tony and Peter. “Boys, come on inside!”

~*15*~

“Why on earth do you have so many boxes of clothes?” Peter promptly complained as he opened yet another box filled to the brim and labeled Tony’s Closet . “And I swear it’s all the same black shirt!”

“It is not,” Tony laughed as he worked at unpacking a box into his nightstand. “I have at least one white shirt in there.”

“And this!” Peter stepped out of the closet, donning Tony’s cap and gown from graduation. “You looked so cool walking across the stage, getting your diploma—”

Tony snorted, “I got the folder for the diploma.”

“— and, after summer school, you’ll look so cool getting your diploma in the mail.” Peter corrected, smiling as he slid the gown off and started to fold it. “The school was not so lenient about Tony – puts the T in Truancy – Stark, huh?”

“Yeah, turns out you actually have to go to class to graduate, who would’ve thought?” Tony jested, pausing as he pulled a picture frame from his box. For a moment, he stared at the photo, distress clouding his previously content expression, but then he dropped it back into the box, sighing before picking it up again.

“What’s that?” Peter asked as he walked over, kneeling down to get a better look.

Tony shrugged, “A picture of that painting from my old man’s place.”

“You have a copy of it.” It was more of a statement than a question. Still, Peter was stunned that Tony would hold onto it after everything that’s happened.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed again as he placed it back into the box. “But I don’t even know why. I just...”

“You just?”

“I just feel weird being in a place by myself, I guess, and it’s the only thing I have with the three of us together,” Tony sighed, shaking his head. “It’s fucking stupid, I know. He’s in it so I don’t want to put it up but she’s in it so I don’t want to get rid of it.”

Peter smiled, leaning to press a kiss against Tony’s forehead. “Then, while you decide what to do, I’ll get some pictures of us that you can put up.”

Tony smirked, deciding to leave the picture in the box for now. “Can I have that one in your living room of you at the science fair? You know, the one with your hair sticking up?”

“Absolutely not,” Peter laughed, playfully pushing against Tony’s shoulder. “That one of us during spring break is still in the group chat though.” He mentioned, returning to finish unpacking the closet. “I’ll print it out and frame it for you, okay?”

“Thanks, baby,” Tony happily responded, then his voice dropped low and uncertain. “Do you think I should bring up the picture thing next time?”

“Next time?” Peter asked but quickly realized what was meant. “Oh, for your next session? That’s up to you. If you want to talk about it, then go for it. That’s what they’re for.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. “You’re right.”

Since spring break ended, a lot has happened. Tony’s dad agreed to let him move out, especially with the looming threat of a child abuse scandal above his head. More litigation was scheduled but they recently got the restraining order approved, which Aunt May called a ginormous win against that battalion of corporate lawyer dickheads .

In the meantime, May let Tony stay in their apartment. Though, despite Peter’s promises to keep his door open at night, May refused to let Tony sleep in his room. So for the next couple of months, Tony slept on the couch, and ate dinner with a smile, and watched movies that made him laugh. He sang rock ‘n’ roll when he washed dishes with May and flirted when he helped Peter carry baskets of clothes to the laundry room. His toughest days were his therapy days, when he would come back emotionally drained and tired, but even on days like that, he still managed to smile.

After graduation, Tony surprised everyone with the announcement of his new start-up business. It was a tech company of his very own, built from his progress with Jarvis and his endless technological imagination. One good payday turned into two and soon, he was even making enough to put himself through university. May suggested MIT but Tony said he would see how he felt after summer school ended.

Moving into his own place was Tony’s next big step. Aunt May demanded that he buy the studio apartment down the hall because no eighteen year old should be all on his own, young man . All in all, things were going well and they only seemed to be getting better.

“Hey, Tones, what’s this?” Peter stepped out of the closet, holding up a brown leather jacket that seemed much too small for his boyfriend’s body. “Is this an old jacket? From before you fell into your all-black-everything phase?”

Tony laughed, shaking his head, “No, that’s actually for you.”

“What? For me?” Peter’s eyes widened as he stared at the jacket, his fingers grazing the high-quality fabric. “But why? What for?”

“Our six month anniversary extravaganza,” Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t get a chance to give it to you then and, now, I guess the surprise is ruined.”

“I’m surprised,” Peter smiled as he threw on the jacket. “It’s a perfect fit.”

“Happy eight and a half months, baby.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter grinned, biting at his lip before he spoke. “After we’re finished unpacking, how about I give you your gift too?”

“My gift…?” Tony squinted but then his eyes went wide. “Really? Today? Like today today?”

Peter giggled, “I mean, I’ll have to take a shower first, but yeah.”

“Let’s fucking hurry up then,” Tony joked, making a show of his rush to unpack.

After another hour of diligent work, every box was emptied and every piece of clothing was folded and put away. Posters were hung, and kitchen cabinets were filled, and the couch was angled perfectly in front of the TV. They even carried the boxes down to the recycling bins. Everything was perfect and, when there was nothing more to do, they glanced at each other with blushing faces and simultaneous offers of you can shower first. Then awkward laughter as they corrected with a You can go ahead. No, you can, baby. Are you sure, Tones? Yeah.

It was an exchange that left Peter laying in the middle of Tony’s bed, fresh from his shower and wearing nothing but a black t-shirt from his boyfriend’s closet. Waiting anxiously as he listened to the sounds of the shower water and the hum of evening traffic pouring from the window. Scents from the soaps he had used and the lingering smoke from Tony’s ashtray wafted in the air and filled his nostrils. The only light came from a small nightstand lamp that left the room basked in a dim hue.

Peter’s heart was racing from thoughts of what was to come and it only quickened as the water shut off. He jolted up, sitting with his calves tucked beneath his thighs, tugging at the shirt’s hem as he stared at the bathroom door. A few more minutes ticked by – where he listened to the sounds of towel drying and moisturizer bottles and toothbrushing – before the doorknob turned and his boyfriend emerged, drying his hair and wearing nothing but boxers.

Tony took a few steps before glancing up from beneath the towel, smiling when he laid eyes on Peter, “That’s a good look on you, baby.”

Peter blushed, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, “It’ll look better off of me.”

Tony gave a light laugh as he tossed the towel against the back of his desk chair, his hair unruly and damp as he made his way to the bed. “I don’t doubt that,” He said as he climbed up onto the sheets, moving to sit cross-legged in front of his boyfriend, putting their bodies only inches apart. “Hey,” He whispered, reaching to clasp their hands together. “You’re sure about this, right? You know I don’t mind waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Peter smiled, idly caressing his thumb against the back of Tony’s hand. Fresh shampoo scents filled his nose as he scooted closer – close enough to feel the warmth of Tony’s legs against his. “Are you?”

“Fuck yeah,” Tony grinned, lifting Peter’s hand to his chest so he could feel how fast his heart was beating. “I’ve never been more excited to fuck someone, can’t you tell?”

Peter giggled, rolling his eyes with a smile, “No way that’s true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Tony assured, smiling as he reached upward to place a gentle hand against the younger boy’s cheek, thumbing at his jawline and the underside of his chin and against the front of his throat. “You’re the first to make me so fucking nervous.”

“Good,” Peter let out a light huff, grinning, “At least we’re both on the same page.”

For a moment, Tony laughed – and Peter joined, the sound of their laughter blending together in the modest space – but then he was silent. His eyes flickering between Peter’s big brown eyes and soft inviting lips, his breath going a bit shallow as he leaned forward and his eyes fell closed.

And Peter met Tony halfway, capturing his lips, which tasted of spearmint toothpaste, in a tender kiss. One that morphed into an innocent flurry of pecks that he smiled into and took his time with. Only deepening when hands traveled to bodies and lips began to part and Tony’s grip at Peter’s sides pulled him onto his lap. And Peter dragged his hands through his boyfriend’s still damp locks, not caring about the moisture that clung to his palms as he draped his arms over Tony’s shoulders and pressed their bodies even closer.

The brush of their arousals sent a spark of pleasure to Peter’s core, reminding him of just how exposed he was. Spreading his legs caused the t-shirt to hike up, so the only thing that separated his hardness from his boyfriend’s was a thin layer of cotton boxer fabric. The friction left him whining into the kiss. The right angles had his lips stalling like the sensation threw his mind off balance and the wrong ones had his hips grinding to chase what felt so right.

Tony gripped the underside of Peter’s thighs, skimming his fingers against sensitive skin and stopping to cup his ass, pulling his body closer to incite more of that sweet friction. Then, he broke their kiss, opting to bite the younger’s bottom lip before pulling away with a smug grin, “Getting off just on this, sweetheart?”

Peter’s face flushed but he breathed a playful, “No, not at all.” Confidence was abundant in his tone but his lie was so evident in the way he continued moving his hips and showed no hesitation in letting his little moans free.

“Oh, and if I do this?” Tony asked, moving one hand to Peter’s erection, squeezing ever-so-slightly and stroking slowly from base to tip.

The sudden touch brought a breathless moan and a raspy Tony to Peter’s lips. His body tensed and his head lolled backward as the buzz of stimulation brought a bead of pre to the tip of his erection. And when Tony did it again, Peter started stammering, “I-I’ll c-come, T-Tony, I-”

“I know, baby,” Tony whispered, halting his movements to wait for Peter to calm down. “But you know better than that, right?” He grinned, a smug grin that made Peter’s already flushed face go a deeper shade of red.

“Yes,” Peter whimpered, excited by the way his boyfriend was talking to him. He liked this part of Tony – the part that was in control and confident.

“Then say it,” Tony demanded as he thumbed slowly at the head of Peter’s length.

“I-” Peter groaned, his nails digging into Tony’s shoulder blades as he fought against the urge of release. “I d-don’t come unless you say so.”

“That’s right,” Tony smiled as he went back to stroking. Watching as Peter got dangerously close to the edge and then abruptly slowing down just before the younger boy had a chance to lose it. And then he would do it again, and again he would watch his boyfriend’s wanton reactions; the sweet shaky breaths, the whole body flinches, the high-pitched moans.

Soon, Peter was sweating, skin glistening in the low light as he was mercilessly teased and edged. It was torturous but it was nice; after all, this was something they had done before. The familiar territory helped him relax, helped him cast off the anxiety and the unease, helped him to be confident and stay in the moment. Helped him find the courage to steer them towards the next step.

“Tony, I want you inside of me,” Peter moaned against his boyfriend’s ear, adding a breathy please because his body urged him to.

And Tony’s muscles tensed and his breath hitched and his eyes near dilated at the sound of his boyfriend pleading for him. "Okay," He nodded and tugged at the t-shirt. "Then take this off for me," He instructed as he halted his hands and shifted off of the bed, moving to grab a bottle and two condoms from his dresser drawer.

As Peter pulled off the t-shirt and realized what the bottle was, he blushed. He found himself embarrassed that he didn't have his own – especially when he was the one asking for his boyfriend to be inside him – and he also wondered how Tony remained so unfazed when he carried those things to the bed.

Peter wanted to ask but he was already being pushed down against the pillows and sheets, his mouth once again being overtaken by his boyfriend’s lips. This kiss was more carnal than the last, a mix of swirling tongues and an urgency akin to hunger.

Tony hovered downward then, trailing sloppy kisses against the younger's now bare chest, taking a moment to lick circles against each of his nipples before continuing south. Peppering more wet kisses across Peter's abdomen and, when he reached his waist, he licked his way down Peter's length, savoring the startled moan that ripped itself from the younger's throat. He smiled as he spread his boyfriend's legs and went even further, kissing beyond the base of his twitching erection, all the way to his untouched hole.

Peter could feel the heat burning in his face and he would be lying if he said he wasn't a little nervous, especially when Tony kissed him there . “Tony?” His voice cracked.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you tell me- um ...what you’re going to do?”

Tony blushed at that, pausing his kisses and sitting up on his knees. One hand keeping Peter's legs splayed open and the other reaching for the bottle. “I’m- uh… I’m going to finger you with this first,” He explained, the redness in his cheeks still visible as he popped the cap open. “I'm going to use a lot, so I don't hurt you too much." He brushed his fingers against Peter's entrance, "You’ve never touched here, right?”

“Never,” Peter admitted, his heart thrumming as he watched Tony coat two of his fingers with lube.

“So it’ll probably hurt a little but I’ll be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter breathed, eyes squeezing shut as he felt the cold slick push against him. He held his breath and, with a little more pressure, a single finger was pressing into him, sliding into his tightness with little resistance.

“How’s this?” Tony whispered, eyes frantically searching Peter's expression for any signs of pain.

Peter exhaled slow, checking in with himself as he did. It didn't feel good or bad, just foreign and unusual. He opened his eyes, gazing up at his boyfriend and speaking an honest, “Uncomfortable.”

“Should I keep going?”

“ Mhmm ,” Peter nodded, giving Tony the go-ahead to continue.

So Tony pushed his finger deeper before pulling out slow, then he repeated, keeping his motions steady and smooth and careful. For the most part, Peter was silent, save for the small whines that escaped on the tops of his heavier breaths. In the lack of stimulation, his erection had started to soften but he was still very much aroused. The feeling of Tony's eyes on him was enough, especially when he was staring like Peter was the only thing in the world worth looking at. And between the sultry gaze and the gentle finger fucking, Peter's arousal was burning hot. It's not that bad , he thought, but the addition of another finger had him wincing.

“Wait-! Tones,” Peter flinched, reactively tensing at the pain of being stretched but fighting against the impulse when the tension only made it hurt more. “I-It hurts.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony eased, stopping his motions but keeping his two fingers halfway inside. “Is this fine?”

“Yes,” Peter’s breath was sharp on the inhale and shaky on the exhale. “J-Just don’t move.” He instructed as he forced his body to relax. The pain was not unbearable but, as a couple of minutes ticked by, the panicked thoughts swarming his mind started to be. Why do two fingers hurt like this? How am I going to fit more? Is Tony getting impatient? Is he bored with me? Is this supposed to feel good? Is something wrong with me? Peter shook his head, whispering a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, baby,” Tony immediately retorted. “If it hurts, it hurts.”

“I know but I-” Peter struggled on his words, trying to ignore his insecurities. “I just really want to make you feel good.”

“You are,” Tony leaned down, smirking as he pressed a kiss against Peter’s lips, pulling away just enough that the tips of their noses barely brushed together. “I could come just from watching you.”

“ Tones ,” Peter whined, averting his eyes, trying to hide his flushed face. “I’m serious.”

“I know but just don’t worry about me right now,” Tony asserted as he sat back up, careful to keep his fingers still. “We’re on your time, sweetheart. Take as long as you want.”

Peter locked eyes with Tony’s patient ones, feeling his anxiety ease as he did. The older boy really was just waiting, one hand gently massaging the sensitive skin of Peter’s inner thigh and the other exactly where he was told to leave it. Peter took a deep breath, actively convincing his muscles to relax and realizing that the pain was absent when he remained calm. So he breathed a quiet, “You can move them.”

And Tony nodded, wordlessly moving to squeeze more lube at Peter’s entrance before pushing his fingers in the rest of the way. Falling into the same steady pattern as before, attentively watching as Peter relaxed around the gentle finger fucking. And once Peter felt loose enough, Tony added more lube and another finger. This time, it was a painless stretch.

“Baby, you look so fucking gorgeous right now,” Tony praised as his eyes glanced across Peter’s pliant body. “You’re doing so good, you're taking my fingers so good.”

Peter’s entire body reacted to Tony’s words – even his waning erection twitched at the sound of them. “It’s for you,” Peter breathed out, his voice low and airy.

“Hm?” Tony asked, his brow slightly furrowing.

“I’m doing good for you, Tony.”

“Fuck, sweetheart, you can’t talk to me like that. It’s gonna go to my head, make me lose my patience.” Tony gave a sly smile as he started curling his fingers, slowly prodding upward, searching and seeking, like he was trying to find something and – fuck.

An unexpected jolt of pleasure hit Peter so hard that, as he moaned, his voice cracked and the sound he made came out like a strangled whimper. The intensity of the feeling left him dazed, unable to process just how good it felt because Tony’s fingers were suddenly colliding with that spot again. It was almost overwhelming; a pleasure that operated somewhere between his typical orgasms and some fictional unattainable euphoria. Yet, judging by the way his hands clawed into the sheets, and the way his back arched, and the way he couldn’t exhale without a whine, this pleasure trended towards the latter.

Tony playfully grinned, unrelenting in his assault on Peter’s sensitive bundle of nerves. “Is it good, baby?” He asked as he upped the ante, bringing his free hand to stroke along his boyfriend’s stiffening length.

“ Tony !” Peter’s hands shot down, clutching at Tony’s wrist, urgently pulling his hand away from his erection. “W-Wait, I’ll come-!”

“That wasn’t an answer, sweetheart.” Tony clutched the base of Peter’s dripping length and massaged his thumb across the wet tip, syncing his teasing with each thrust of his fingers.

Peter released a gasp that quickly morphed into a harsh moan. The heady feeling left him frantically squirming backward, trying to evade the fervent pleasure but finding himself propped up on the pillows, trapped between the headboard and his boyfriend’s torturous hands. “It’s good!” He choked out, all teary-eyed and desperate. “Tony, I- ah! Can I c-?”

“I want you to beg for more,” Tony interrupted, slowing his hands before pulling away entirely, watching with a smirk when Peter’s hips flinched to chase the contact. “Will you do that for me, baby boy?” He asked as he leaned forward, holding himself steady with one hand and placing the other against his boyfriend’s throat, squeezing just enough to make his breaths come out shallow. “Will you beg me to fuck you?”

And Peter, whose eyes were blown from the stagnant bliss, immediately did what was asked of him. “ Please .” His voice came out slightly hoarse, strained by the pressure against his neck. “Please fuck me.” He begged, keeping his eyes trained on his boyfriend’s face. “I-I want it...your dick...inside me, please .”

“Fuck, I want to fucking ruin you,” Tony whispered, using his grip on Peter’s neck to guide him into a harsh kiss before pulling away and releasing his hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much.” Then he took a deep breath and smiled. “You’re such a good boy for me, Peter.”

Peter’s heart was racing and his face was warm and his erection was aching; Tony just had that effect on him, especially when he spoke like that. “Tones, please …” He whined, eager and pouty, like he couldn’t wait another second.

Tony laughed low, excitedly moving to pull off his boxers before returning to his place between Peter’s legs.

And just like the first time he’d seen it, Peter had to actively prevent his jaw from dropping. Tony’s dick was big, thick, hard – basically everything Peter wanted when it was being shoved down his throat. This, however, was much different. A shiver ran through his body at the thought of it in his ass. “Is it going to hurt?” He asked on impulse.

“Maybe a little.” Tony was honest. “I stretched you a lot but it could still be uncomfortable,” He explained as he rolled on a condom and slicked on some extra lube. “But I’ll be gentle,” He said as he positioned himself at Peter’s entrance. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

With a small push, the tip slid right in, popping inside without resistance like Peter’s body had been used to it forever. The feeling was hot and tingly, but Peter remained calm, attempting to keep his muscles from going rigid as Tony kept going. Halfway in was more of the same but beyond that was an uncomfortable pain. Not a sharp or stinging kind of pain, but a dull and throbbing one that left Peter flinching and sucking air through teeth.

“You okay?” Tony asked as he stopped his advances, dragging a tender hand through Peter’s hair. “Is this too much?”

“No,” Peter shook his head, reaching to hold Tony’s hand. “Don’t stop, keep going, I can take it.”

Tony’s breath hitched, his resolve to be gentle faltering under the weight of Peter’s tempting words. “You want the rest of it, baby?” He asked, squeezing Peter’s hand before he pulled away, hooking his arms beneath Peter’s thighs and gripping at his waist.

“Yes,” Peter murmured, moving to clutch at the pillow above his head, bracing himself.

So Tony pushed forward again, quicker than before, plunging deep enough to rip a loud groan from the younger boy. And then he held himself there, indulging in the pleasure of his boyfriend’s tightness, his voice strained, “How’s this?”

Peter felt like the wind was knocked out of him. The swift thrust left him tremoring around the thickness, panting like Tony’s dick had stolen his oxygen and replaced it with the strangest blend of pleasurable pain. The drag of the shaft against that bundle of nerves was what did it; he was sure, especially when Tony moved to pull out and the sensation was enough to make him feel like he was going to come. “I l-like it, Tones. It feels g-”

Peter couldn’t finish his sentence as Tony started pushing back inside. The thrust was just as fast as before, leveraged by his tugging at the younger’s waist and fueled by the ecstasy buzzing within them both. So Tony repeated his thrusts in quick succession, pulling out halfway before rolling his hips and burying himself back inside, occasionally pulling out until just the tip remained so Peter could catch his breath.

And Peter could tell with one glance that Tony was melting in the sensation; his eyes were half-lidded, his hands were gripping bruises, his forehead was beading sweat. The way his body flexed was pornographic, making Peter’s already stiffened length even stiffer, and the force of his motions was eager, overexcited, indulgent. Yet, none of that could compare to the sounds he was making. Peter had never heard Tony moan like this; so unbridled and honest. It left him leaking pre all over his stomach.

But Peter couldn’t come – not because Tony had not given permission, but because he couldn’t. The pleasure was there but orgasm still felt far away, like all he needed was just a little more. Just a little .

“Hey!” Tony grabbed Peter’s wrists, yanking them above his head and pinning them there with a single hand. “Who said you could touch yourself, hm?”

Fuck. Peter was so wrapped up in the feel of it all that he didn’t realize his hands had started moving toward his erection. “S-Sorry, I just...it wasn’t enough.” He blushed, his heart racing at his boyfriend’s strength.

“What?” Tony gave a mischievous grin, shifting his weight against Peter’s crossed wrists and bringing his free hand to Peter’s throat. “You want more?” He asked as he squeezed, laughing low when Peter gasped. “I’m not going to be gentle anymore, Peter,” He whispered, “Let me know if I should stop and I will.”

And when Peter nodded, Tony let loose. Keeping his grip at Peter’s throat steady as he slammed all the way to the base, pulling out almost entirely before driving back in. Besides the amount of force, Peter thought it would feel the same. He was wrong . So fucking wrong. This pleasure was different – different enough to leave Peter screaming – and the only changed variable was the angle. Tony wasn’t just rubbing against his prostate anymore, he was practically brutalizing it. Each thrust hitting it so directly Peter wondered if pleasure was even the right word anymore because, for him, it felt euphoric.

“This enough for you, baby boy?” Tony teased, loosening his grip on the younger’s neck as he continued his fervid assault.

Peter wanted to be playful, challenging, witty, but the only words he could manage were coated in a desperate need for release. “ Yes , T-Tony, can I- please, can I come? P-Please, please .”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Tony finally gave in, releasing Peter’s wrists and using his hand to stroke at the neglected cock. “Since you asked so nicely,” He rubbed his thumb against the head, keeping his thrusts steady. “You can come.”

And Peter did. He came harder than he ever has. All shaking and screaming and teary-eyed as his cock pulsated, shooting thick lines of cum against his stomach and twitching when Tony milked out the rest. The aftershock had him dazed and sensitive, even Tony’s touch burned with an agonizing bliss. All he could do was lay there, trembling around Tony’s dick, which remained buried deep inside of him.

“Look at you,” Tony breathed out, grinning sly as he smeared his hand through the cum. “You think we’re done?” He shook his head, bringing his wet hand against Peter’s face and rubbing it across his cheek and lips. “All that talk about wanting me to feel good, but here you are, looking fucked stupid.”

“I’m not done,” Peter exhaled, tongue darting out to lick the mess on his lips, challenging his boyfriend despite his body urging him to reject more pleasure. “We stop when you say stop.”

“Big talk,” Tony gave a light laugh and then, without warning, he lifted Peter by the waist and flipped them over. “Let’s see you back it up,” He said as he ran his fingers up the younger’s thighs. “Ride me.”

When Peter felt the gravity keeping Tony’s dick buried inside, his body screamed with overstimulation and, judging by the smug grin plastered across his boyfriend’s face, it must have shown. He didn’t care. Instead, with the goal of making Tony come at the forefront of his mind, he pressed his hands against the older’s chest, lifted his hips halfway up, and dropped them back down.

“ Fuck ,” Peter muttered under his breath, wincing from the overwhelming spark of pleasure. “Like this, Tones?” He whined as he repeated his motion, moaning and letting his hips fall into a rhythm.

“Yeah,” Tony groaned out as he skimmed his fingers to the sides of Peter’s thighs, which would tremble after each drop. “Just like that,” He assured, his eyes flickering between Peter’s lust drunk face and his diligently working hips. “Tell me how you feel, baby boy.”

It wasn’t a question – Peter knew that – but his focus was on keeping stable, fighting through the sting of breathtaking stimulation as he vigorously bounced his hips. So, instead of obeying, he took a page out of his boyfriend’s book and talked.

“Are you going to come inside me, Tones? Are you going to give it to me? Fuck, I want it so bad. I want your cum, Tony. You feel so fucking perfect. You stretched me so well. Look how good I fit around you now.” He managed to say it all confidently, despite his slightly ragged voice.

And it paid off because, soon after, Tony was coming. Peter could feel the warmth of his climax filling the condom inside. It was a strange but gratifying feeling, only improved by Tony’s blissed out expression.

Peter carefully lifted himself off and collapsed against the sheets. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and panting. The aftermath of his orgasm still imprinted on his senses. His body felt floaty and, if he even thought about the pleasure he had experienced, a wave of chills would quake through his body like a visceral reaction to being so utterly pleased. “Is it always like that?”

Tony breathed a short laugh, looking just as wrecked as his boyfriend. “Fuck. I hope so.”

Peter giggled as he scooted closer, draping his arm across the older’s torso, “So you liked it?”

“Yes,” Tony answered without hesitation. “Holy shit, baby, of course, I did.” He stressed as he eased into the cuddling, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist. “Did you?”

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed but quickly lowered his tone, blushing at his overexcitement. “It was good. Really good. You’re really good. Like almost too good.”

Tony snickered, “I’m glad, especially since I ticked every box but the one.”

“What?” Peter was confused and then he wasn’t as he remembered his drunken list of wants. “Oh. Oh! ” His blush deepened as he nervously shook his head. “You don’t have to check that box if you don’t want to. We have plenty of time to say it later. Honestly, it’s okay.”

“But I want to and you deserve it,” Tony whispered. “Because you mean everything to me, Peter.”

Peter was stunned by his boyfriend’s candid words and his heart pounded in his ears as he responded with a quiet, “I do?”

And Tony just nodded and leaned in for a kiss, pouring his emotions into the gentle contact and, as he pulled away, he whispered it . So perfect and meaningful that Peter almost burst into tears as he shakily reciprocated. The soft laughter that followed kept him grounded as Tony said it again and again and again. The moment was special. Precious.

And it was theirs, and theirs alone.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #badboy!tony au #nff #obligatorywrites

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

ACITW AU one-shot “Hidden Talents” (Rated PG13)

Summary: After the stress and pressure of wedding planning drives them out of the city, Kurt and Sebastian hide out in Sebastian's old room. Kurt starts cleaning Sebastian's closet while Sebastian flips through old yearbooks, being of no help whatsoever. While weeding through Sebastian's collection of clothes and shoes, Kurt stumbles upon something he'd never thought he'd find in a million years - Sebastian's long lost violin. (4613 words)

Notes: So, we all remember that in ACITW Sebastian plays the violin, that Julian claimed he was really good at it, and could have probably done something with it? Then it just never gets mentioned, not even once by Sebastian's parents, which leads me to believe there's a reason. This one-shot explores that reason, and whether or not Sebastian is really as proficient as his brother claims.

Part of ACITW AU

Read on AO3

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, holding up a fitted Marc Jacobs polo, fashionable despite its age. Then again, polo shirts are the standard, and designer never goes out of style. Like a fine wine, it matures, even if the shirt’s owner - sitting cross-legged on his bed, chuckling over photos in an old yearbook - has managed to remain perpetually sixteen.

His sense of humor pinging at a solid age twelve.

“Jeff, you bastard!” Sebastian snorts, flipping off a photo that Kurt can’t see from where he’s standing. Sebastian finds a block of sloppy text at the bottom right corner and runs a fingertip over it. He reads the slanted script, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, gatekeeper of another undignified snort. “Fuck, I miss you, man! See you at the wedding.”

Kurt clears his throat, aggravated by the amount he keeps losing Sebastian’s attention, but he can’t help smiling either. They don’t reminisce about high school often - too many mines left undetonated in those fields. But it’s nice to see Sebastian like this, especially considering the current stress they’re both under - a stress that’s driven them from their penthouse in the city back home to Westerville for the next few weeks.

Unfortunately, retreating to this sanctuary of family and nostalgia has caused that stress to amplify tenfold.

“Sebastian,” Kurt sings when even his most dramatic throat clearing doesn’t do the trick. “Oh, Sebastian. Eyes up here, please.”

Sebastian’s head snaps Kurt’s way, his brow pinched as if he only now remembered that Kurt is in the room with him, and that they have a job to do. “What?”

“Donate,” Kurt repeats in a syrupy tone (more like pine tar as opposed to maple - thicker, darker, more bitter), shaking the navy blue shirt on its hanger for emphasis, “or keep?”

“Keep,” Sebastian decides in an instant, then returns to his yearbook, snickering at another picture on the same page.

“Good,” Kurt murmurs, setting the polo aside. I intend on borrowing that one, he thinks, finding the silver lining since he’s the only one of the two of them taking this task seriously. He rifles through the closet and pulls out another shirt, one less style-savvy than the polo. That’s okay. At this point, it can be deemed retro. Regardless, Kurt has no intention of borrowing it. “How about this one? Donate or keep?”

Sebastian’s eyes flutter up from the page, barely focusing on the shirt before returning to the book in his lap. “Keep.”

Kurt rolls his eyes as he lays this shirt over the polo. He’d really hoped this one would end up in the donate box. If they hold on to it, there’s a chance Sebastian might actually decide to wear it, which puts the burden on Kurt to come up with something for himself that matches (provided they don’t want to run the risk of blinding anyone).

Kurt didn’t fall in love with Sebastian for his taste in clothes, which, to be fair, is decent - long lines; primary colors; simple, clean-cut elegance that pairs well with Kurt’s bolder, more adventurous choices. Sebastian can be quite the fashion plate himself when he has a mind to, one rogue t-shirt notwithstanding.

He lets Kurt style him more times than not so Kurt can’t complain.

Kurt goes back to the closet and selects a pair of shorts he knows don’t fit Sebastian anymore. They’re from Sebastian’s lacrosse days, when his thighs were bulkier, his glutes rounder. Not that Sebastian doesn’t have a gorgeous body now. His fitness regimen is impressive, even by Kurt’s standards. But spending hours on end running up and down a grass field does wonders for the buns and thighs.

Kurt doesn’t want to banish everything from Sebastian’s Dalton days. Sebastian’s lacrosse uniforms were the first things Kurt slipped into the keep box without asking his say so. But these tan shorts are atrocious! He’s glad that after an hour of this, they’ll finally have a submission to the donate box, which has collected only dust so far along with one lonely copy of Mein Kampf - a relic from senior year AP European History.

“Donate or keep?” Kurt asks, dangling the garment presumptively over the donation box.

Sebastian glances at it, tilting his head and giving the matter a soupcon of thought. “Donate.”

Kurt removes the shorts from their clips with a sigh of relief. Finally! he thinks. Now we’re getting somewhere! But before he has the chance to drop them in, Sebastian recants (without looking up). “No, keep. Keep.”

“What!” Kurt stares at Sebastian, mouth agape. “Why? These don’t even fit you!”

“Are they too big or too small?”

“Too big! Plus, they’re cargo shorts, Sebastian! Cargo shorts!”

“They’ll be good for layering.”

Kurt’s eyes go buggy and wide. Sebastian hasn’t peeked, but he grins knowing what Kurt must look like right now, that vein in his head that throbs when he gets upset ready to burst. “When in the world would you need to layer shorts!?”

“I dunno,” Sebastian mumbles, eyes glued to a new page.

Kurt growls, slamming the offensive item into the overflowing keep box, which might as well be labeled the Why are we wasting our time here? box. “Are you planning on getting rid of anything?”

“Uh …” Sebastian looks up and around. “Yes. That burrito wrapper over there.” He points to the corner of his desk where the trash from their lunch had been unceremoniously abandoned in favor of this. “That definitely needs to go.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt says, reluctantly cleaning up the mess. He objects to playing maid in his fiance’s old bedroom, but since he’s not currently doing anything of value, he grabs the stiff paper wrapper and crumples it in his hands - no, strangles it, using it as a stand-in for Sebastian’s neck. Sebastian turns to the next page, but looks up when he hears the wrapper succumb to Kurt’s crushing fingers.

“Oh, wait! I don’t think I finished …” Sebastian gestures repeatedly at the wadded wrapper, unable to think of a suitable end to his sentence, his brain sandwiched between curbing Kurt’s annoyance and processing the sentiments on the page without them bringing a tear to his eye. People say that if high school was one of the best times in your life, you were probably a privileged asshole. Well, he was. And it was … mostly. “I may want to hold on to that a little while longer.”

“Why!?”

“Dunno.”

“What the---!?” Kurt slams the balled up wrapper down with an irritated yawp. “Cleaning out your closet was your idea you know!”

“Oh contraire,” Sebastian retorts with maddening superiority. “All I said was that I may want to siphon out a few things while I’m here. You’re the one who came up with the brilliant idea of paring down my things and donating them to charity.”

“And why not? What good does any of this stuff do just sitting here in this closet? It’s not like you’re planning on moving any of it to our place and wearing it!”

“True, but if I get rid of it, what would my mother have in her later years to rummage through sentimentally, hold to her cheek and sigh when she misses me?”

Kurt shakes his head slowly, unamused on Charlotte’s behalf. “That’s just … horrible. Like the plot of a bad Hallmark Christmas movie.”

“There are good Hallmark Christmas movies? I sure as hell never seen one.”

“Hmph. And you say I watch too many cheesy chick flicks.”

“You do, but that’s entirely beside the point.”

“You’ve got tons of clothes here you don’t use,” Kurt presses with renewed vigor. “It wouldn’t hurt to get rid of some of it, make someone else’s day brighter by giving them the opportunity to purchase name brands for a bargain. I know that always cheers me up.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me that as much as you love Marie Kondo, closet purging is overwhelming the charity industry, and that most of the stuff we donate ends up on barges traveling the world, bouncing from port to port until they inevitably sink into the sea and devastate the aquatic ecosystem?”

“Yes, but at the time you were trying to get me to trim down my Jimmy Choo collection.”

“Because no one in their right mind needs eighty-six pairs of the same patent leather loafer, Kurt!”

Kurt tuts sharply. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

“I do know you! That’s how I knew that if I came out against your plan, you’d get loud and yell-y! That’s what I was trying to avoid! I only went along with it because …“ Sebastian’s sentence cuts off when he clamps his jaw shut with a clack that shoots straight up Kurt’s spine. If Sebastian’s tongue had been anywhere near his teeth, part of it would have been chomped clean off.

“Because what?” Kurt asks, sore at being accused of acting ‘yell-y’ - a stone’s throw too close to ‘groomzilla’, which they’ve both accused one another of too many times in the last three months to count.

Sebastian sighs, rearranges his legs on the bed so that they’re spread and not twisted like a pretzel. “Asking you up here was an excuse to get you alone for five frickin’ minutes. We’ve been swamped since the second we got here! We left the city to escape your friends and my friends and the wedding planner’s incessant phone calls. But my mom and Olivia took over where everyone else left off.”

“They’re just excited for us,” Kurt says soothingly, not admitting yet that he knows exactly how Sebastian feels.

“I realize that. And I’m glad they’re excited but …” Sebastian thumbs the edges of the pages he has yet to read, watches them fall beneath his hand one by one “… who knew that deciding to get married would mean never getting a moment’s peace?”

“I guess they figure we’ll get enough of that after we’re married.”

“Then they don’t know us very well, do they?” Sebastian scoffs, venom lacing his words, so palpable it gives Kurt a rash.

Ever since Kurt moved up the ranks from Flying Monkey in the cast of Wicked to the more coveted role of Fiyero, he’s been in higher demand, and thus, less available. Even to Sebastian.

Kurt has dreamed of planning his own wedding for years. He’d started an idea book along the way, cutting out photographs from bridal magazines and gluing them into the pages, creating palettes and themes depending on current trends, potential venues, and time of year. But with both Kurt’s and Sebastian’s schedules so hectic, they had to weigh the importance of Kurt planning their wedding against the probability of them marrying before the turn of the century.

Getting married won, but only by a slim margin.

They hired the best wedding planner in the city, recommended by everyone in their tax bracket, whose artistic vision matched Kurt’s nearly beat by beat (according to the pictures on her website of ceremonies she’d helped bring to fruition). To Sebastian’s naive mind, that meant they would leave everything in her capable hands while they went on with their lives, drop in for the occasional consultation to check that the roses she chose suit Kurt’s vision or that the place settings have the right number of candles in them.

But Kurt literally hated everything their planner came up with.

So they’ve had to be present for every second of their wedding’s creation to ensure they’ll get the chance to celebrate the way they want.

They’re paying someone else thousands of dollars for Kurt to plan their wedding anyway.

The irony is staggering.

To that end, they’re having two weddings - one for their New York friends and associates, and a second intimate ceremony for their Ohio family.

Sebastian knew from go that Kurt’s pack of female friends from high school would descend upon them and monopolize Kurt’s time with the obligatory brunches and showers, which was understandable and therefore forgivable. What Sebastian didn’t factor in was the amount in which the theater company would use Kurt’s engagement as a PR instrument, slipping it into every interview, at every opportunity how one of their leading male cast members is months away from wedding his wealthy boyfriend, playing the whole thing up as some sort of fairy tale (with the term ‘fairy’ vaguely but constantly applied).

Broadway’s full of gays, remember! And this one’s gettin’ hitched!

Sebastian thought the whole thing vulgar but he didn’t sweat it … not until the side-effects of that exploitation began to bleed in to their every day lives.

Namely the celebrity.

Sebastian is accustomed to having eyes on him. He’s a handsome man and he knows it. He’s used his charm and his checkbook to open doors that weren’t already propped for his arrival his entire life. What he wasn’t used to was the sheer amount of eyes that would follow him everywhere. Letters addressed to Kurt showed up at his office. Paparazzi camped out on their doorstep. Admirers stopped him on the street to ask him every manner of question.

And Kurt’s fans knew no shame.

An unsolicited tide of attention chased them back home, along with an utter lack of privacy because everybody knows.

Everybody.

Even out here in backwater Ohio.

Checkers at the supermarket, cashiers at Target, the guy filling up the tanks at the gas station down the block, pretty much every single person they’ve come in contact with has congratulated them on their wedding.

How people found out Kurt and Sebastian had gone to Ohio, Sebastian has no idea. They left in the middle of the night and drove so they wouldn’t have to fuss with tickets. No one needed to be informed because time off for both of them had been arranged ahead of time. But someone found out they’d left early, and that person told because they’ve received everything from gift baskets to magnums of champagne at both the Smythe estate and Kurt’s father’s home.

The (now mildly - because that’s considered progress) homophobic country club that refused to let Kurt and Sebastian take dance lessons as a couple had the nerve to call and congratulate Greg and Charlotte on their son’s upcoming nuptials, offering them use of their main ballroom for the wedding, the reception, any accompanying shindigs they had planned - the same ballroom that hosted both Presidents Reagan and Carter during their administrations (they mentioned more than twice).

Olivia happened to be at the house the day they called, so Charlotte gave her the honor of the telling them where they could shove their offer.

It made Olivia’s day.

“If you’d told me from the beginning that you wanted to get me alone,” Kurt says, arching a suggestive eyebrow, “we’d be on your bed making out instead of doing mindless busywork on opposite ends of the room.”

“Ooo. Sounds like a plan,” Sebastian says, throwing Kurt a wink … then goes back to his yearbook, finger raised in a pause gesture. “Just … give me … one second.”

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Wow. That’s just … that’s just … wow. Thanks a lump.” Ego bruised, he turns back to the closet. He pushes the clothes aside, giving up on that front for a while, and tackles the floor. He smirks when he sees Sebastian’s shoes, stored in their boxes, lined up in rows and stacked three deep. If he knows his fiance, the majority of them are boat shoes, each in the exact same style but different colors.

Make fun of me for my eighty-six pairs of loafers, will you?

He reaches for the topmost box but gets distracted when his hand brushes something hard and canvas leaning against the wall. Kurt steps aside to let more light in since the object blends in with the shadows. Kurt gets a good look at it, realizes what it is, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Oh my …” He grabs hold of the handle and tugs it out gently. “So here it is. The fabled violin.”

That succeeds in getting Sebastian’s attention. His eyes light up when he sees Kurt approach carrying the case in his arms. Kurt hands the violin case over and Sebastian takes it, bringing it to him like a sacred artifact from his own past - one he thought he’d never lay eyes on again.

“It’s been forever,” Sebastian gasps. “I forgot I put it in this closet. I thought my mother had it.”

“Why did you give it up?” Kurt asks, watching Sebastian open the case to reveal the sublime instrument, wood polished and gleaming, appearing deceptively brand new with the exception of a few tells that speak to how much Sebastian played it - light-colored wear on the fretboard, a cloudiness to the finish on the chin rest, scratches here and there on the veneer.

“It’s just one of those things that faded from my life, stopped bringing me joy … about the same time everything else did.”

“Do you think you’d ever play it again?”

“Possibly.” Sebastian removes the violin from its case and holds it lengthwise in front of his eyes, examining it from end to end. “I mean, it’s been a dog’s age. I’m not sure I’d be any good at it.”

“Any chance it’s like riding a bike and you never forget?”

“Only one way to find out.” Sebastian plucks the strings in succession and smiles. It doesn’t sound too far off pitch to Kurt. Sebastian adjusts the strings, checking them against one another to make sure they’re in tune. Then he removes the bow from its resting place and tightens it. “Don’t rag on me too hard if I completely suck at this.”

“I won’t,” Kurt says. “I promise. I’ll just, you know, bring it up subtly at special occasions and bank holidays, maybe find a way to fit it into my toast at the wedding.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Sebastian rosins up his bow. He fits the violin underneath his chin. From the second it touches his skin, his attitude changes. He simultaneously tenses and relaxes, reminiscent of the way he behaved during their first sushi date, when he dropped eel and flecked soy sauce all over Kurt’s clothes. Kurt refrains from laughing at the memory. He doesn’t want Sebastian to think he’s laughing at him. But he can’t help smiling. Yes, their past is riddled with landmines, but the memories hidden in the flat, stable ground between never cease to make him glad.

Glad that he and Sebastian got together in the end.

Sebastian runs the bow experimentally over the strings, the sound it produces warm and rich, like hot Godiva cocoa on a cold, rainy day. Sebastian leans into that tone as he runs through scales, drawing end notes out a full four beats before launching into the next set. The quickness in which he picks it up takes Kurt’s breath away.

If Kurt was thinking of making fun of Sebastian for anything, he surely isn’t now.

“Why don’t we start with a classic, hmm?” Sebastian suggests, cheeks starting to pink from the look of open and unabashed awe on Kurt’s face.

“Where do you want to start? Bach? Beethoven?”

“I think …” Sebastian sits up taller, corrects his posture “… Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

“Are you sure?” Kurt teases, but with less snark than usual. “I wouldn’t want you to set yourself up to fail or anything.”

“It’s good to go back to the basics. Limber up the old chops, so to speak.”

“Are they still chops if you’re talking about your fingers?”

“Don’t know,” Sebastian says with a shrug. “I didn’t invent it.”

Kurt settles in comfortably on the bed as he waits for Sebastian to pull something mid-range from his bag of tricks, like Minuet in G, a piece that millions of children have hammered out on innocent instruments since learning the recorder in middle school became mandatory. But true to his word, Sebastian starts with Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, picking the notes on the strings with his forefinger. But one verse in, he puts the bow to the strings, and starts a whole other story.

Kurt had expected Sebastian to be rusty, suffer a few false starts before he got into the swing of things. Scales are one thing. They follow a predictable pattern. It’s fairly simple to keep them smooth. But Sebastian sounds like he put his violin down for the last time yesterday. Kurt almost stops him to accuse him of having a secret violin hidden somewhere that he’s been practicing on this entire time, probably at his office where Kurt wouldn’t see. He considers pulling out his phone and texting Sebastian’s secretary, interrogating her to see if she’ll spill about any mid-afternoon practice sessions when the partners were out at lunch.

Though, in this particular instance, Kurt doesn’t know if Sebastian is more likely to hide his tremendous talent or rub it in his face.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star ends and Sebastian melds it into a classical melody, one Kurt can’t name off-hand though he knows he’s heard it before. It’s slow, romantic - the kind of piece a director would use to cap off the credits on a bittersweet rom-com, one where the tragic heroine, diagnosed with a withering variety of late-stage cancer, dies after the love of her life proposes.

It’s sad.

So incredibly sad.

That sadness lingers in the air after the notes dissolve, becomes stronger, more powerful with every sway of Sebastian’s body. He’d closed his eyelids when this piece started and he’s fallen into the sadness, let it envelope him.

It’s become a part of him. Maybe it’s always been a part of him and he’s just now letting it out for Kurt to see.

Or he never intended on Kurt seeing it, and this is simply an accident.

Whatever it is, Sebastian finally notices it because he switches, keeps the same key but changes the song, seamlessly transforming into something more contemporary, slightly more upbeat.

Kurt’s heart stops when he realizes the song Sebastian is playing is from Wicked. Not only that, it’s a song Kurt sings as Fiyero.

As Long as You’re Mine.

Sebastian has never, to Kurt’s knowledge, played that song on the violin or any instrument, has never sung that song himself, hasn’t seen the sheet music. He’s heard Kurt sing it over and over, practicing it in their bathroom until the tile could sing it back to him. But now he’s playing it on an instrument he hasn’t picked up in decades.

Kurt swallows hard, heart swollen with pride but his chest hollow with jealousy.

That’s talent. True talent.

Even Blaine might not be that talented.

Kurt would kill for that kind of talent.

Years they’ve been together, they’re about to get married, and Kurt thought he knew everything there is to know about this man. But Sebastian is still such an enigma. What is Kurt going to learn in another ten years? After twenty?

On the one hand, it’s daunting the way these secrets pop up out of nowhere.

But more than that, Kurt is excited to find out.

Sebastian plays through the first verse again when the song ends, a twinkle in his eyes trying to coax Kurt into singing it while he plays. Sebastian plays with such emotion that, even though Kurt would love to duet with him, he can’t bring himself to - too transfixed to make his mouth move, or even hum the tune. But he hears the words in his head, hears their meaning ring in his ears. He’s never paid too much attention to the words outside of what they mean in the musical. Now he’s hearing them, understanding them, for a different reason all together:

Kiss me too fiercely Hold me too tight I need help believing You're with me tonight My wildest dreamings Could not foresee Lying beside you With you wanting me

Sebastian ends not on a note of completion, but open-ended, with the promise of more.

Longing for more.

“Julian was right,” Kurt says, clearing his heart from his throat.

“He’ll be ecstatic to hear that,” Sebastian teases, casually shelving the emotions his violin brought to the surface.

“You do play beautifully. You should have gone to NYADA.”

“That’s … that’s very kind of you, babe,” Sebastian says, flashing a rare shy smile, knowing how great a compliment that is coming from Kurt, how much NYADA has meant to him. “But being good at the violin and being a musician are two completely different things. And I’m not a musician. Or a performer. Not like you. I enjoy it … I definitely enjoy that you enjoy it … but it’s not in my blood. I mean, obviously, seeing as I could put this violin down for so long and not even think about it, hmm?”

Kurt wonders about that after Sebastian says it. It’s easy to believe considering Kurt found out about Sebastian’s playing not from Sebastian but from Julian (the night he devised a plan to break the two of them out of dance lessons no less). Other than that, he can’t remember for the life of him either brother bringing it up again. Even Charlotte, who praises in excess everything her children have accomplished, has never brought it up, not even to say that she misses it. The way Sebastian holds the violin to his chest reminds Kurt of the way Blaine held his favorite guitar - as if it, and not Kurt, were his soulmate. As with so many things in Sebastian’s past, Kurt suspects there’s a bigger story surrounding this violin and why he stopped playing it than he’s putting on.

It had faded from his life, he’d said. Stop bringing him joy about the same time everything else did.

The same time things went south with Julian and Sebastian moved away, which would explain why it seems to have been erased from family history.

“So what do you think? Donate?” Sebastian asks with a surreptitious sniffle. He doesn’t let go of the violin, doesn’t return it to its case. On the contrary, he seems to hug it tighter. “Maybe to one of those inner city performing arts programs you love to volunteer for so much?”

“No! Keep! A definite keep!” Kurt gushes. “Maybe you can put it down and never play it again, but now that I’ve heard you, I don’t think I can exist without your playing in my life!”

“But I thought you said I was keeping too much stuff.”

“Meh,” Kurt dismisses with a wave, done with the whole concept of cleaning Sebastian’s closet anyhow. “What’s too much stuff when you can fit half of Central Park in your penthouse? Plus, I have to think of your mother, right? Wasting away in this run-down, rickety shack with nothing at all to remind her of her youngest son? Especially not the thousands of photos and videos she’s taken over the years.”

Sebastian looks at Kurt through long eyelashes, a wicked streak creeping into his smile, turning it into a full-fledged smirk. “I guess we could always switch out some of my old lacrosse uniforms for it.”

“What?” Kurt sits up straight, the color draining from his face. He knew Sebastian would find out about that eventually (on their honeymoon, if not sooner), but he didn’t think he’d caught him when he did it. “No! No, no, no reason to do that. Who says I even … uh … weren’t we going to make out?”

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #Kurt Hummel #Sebastian Smythe

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