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peachdues · 10 months

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BIRTHDAY SURPRISES — NSFW

Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader

A/N: there is nothing redeemable about this. It’s just 7.9k words of pure filth in honor of my man’s birthday.

My husband got a boner reading this, so enjoy you whores.

CW: MDNI • Explicit sexual content • daddy!kink • elevator blowjobs • creampies • rough sex • kinky sex • brat-taming/mild dumbification • overstimulation • fluff at the end followed by more smut • not proof read lmao

Sanemi Shinazugawa has never liked the month of November.

For starters, the stupid month can’t decide what damn season it wants to be. It’s somehow too cold to really qualify as autumn and the leaves have usually fallen to the ground, brown and dead and useless, but it’s also still too warm to snow.

And November is such a tease — smack dab between two great holidays yet offering nothing but a restlessness that persists until the end of the year.

So no, Sanemi Shinazugawa isn’t fond of this time of year. But the universe has never shied away from giving him the middle finger, so Sanemi supposes he shouldn’t be surprised his birthday falls during such a bullshit month like November.

He’d been content to spend the day of his birth like he did every other year — hunkered down in his apartment with some cheap takeout, alone, without anyone to make a big fuss about it. That was the plan — his goddamn plan.

So how the fuck did he end up here?

The “here” in question is a suite at one of the city’s most exclusive hotels. The room is stuffed full of faces, some familiar but most not, packed together like sardines. The music is loud and pulsing and it threatens to give him a nasty headache.

It was Tengen who convinced him to allow this — though, Sanemi doesn’t suppose he was given much of a choice in the matter. But his friend group learned of his impending birthday a few weeks earlier, and before Sanemi could level a few, well-backed threats against any party planning, Tengen had booked the massive suite in which he now found himself, and promised Sanemi that he wouldn’t have to buy a single drink.

Sanemi agreed only on the condition that he be allowed to book a separate hotel room — several floors below where this godforsaken party now raged.

At least Tengen had meant it when he promised Sanemi wouldn’t have to spend a dime on alcohol. He took care to run up his friend’s tab by ordering several shots of Grey Goose, throwing them back as easily as water.

Hey, it was his birthday, after all.

The hotel suite is a blur of lights and colors and bodies pressed together in dark corners. Truthfully, Sanemi really can’t find any one thing to pay attention to; it’s ironic that this party is supposedly for him, and yet he feels like the most invisible person in the room.

But then he spots you — beautiful, witty, and charming you — seated in the lounge area, surrounded by both shared friends and strangers, and it’s like a spotlight has been pointed directly at you. All else seems to fall away, recessing into the shadows of the room, and his attention is locked solely on you; the star of the show that is his birthday party.

The feelings swirling in Sanemi’s chest are dangerous; lethal. He knows he should look away and accept the fact that you, with your endless pick of eligible women and men, would never deign to chase after someone like him, someone with as many scars on his heart as are seared into his skin. He knows that. He knows he’s only setting himself up to get more pissed off — to hate his birthday more than he already does.

But he can’t stop watching you.

And even if he could, he doesn’t want to. He’s only been in love with you since the moment Shinobu tugged you into a booth at a bar they all frequented. There hadnt really been any room for you to sit — not with seven of them already packed tightly onto the bench — but you’d taken one look at him and grinned, something that could only be described as mischief lighting your eyes.

“You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” You’d asked him sweetly as you plopped your ass right down on his lap. “You look like you’re the comfiest one here.”

Sanemi, who was known for having a quick temper and an even quicker mouth, had been stunned into silence by the presence of a beautiful woman, perched on his knee like it was the most natural thing to sit on a stranger’s lap. His friends had been hard-pressed to suppress their smirks at the way Sanemi gaped at the back of your head, and he was fairly certain it was because you’d been so ballsy that you’d secured a permanent spot in their weekly bar rotation.

That had been over a year ago, and Sanemi’s infatuation with you grew deeper by the day.

Not that he’d ever done anything about it — even though, at times, it felt like you were all but baiting him into acting on his feelings. He wanted to believe the way your eyes followed him wherever he went in a room meant something, that your lingering touches were an invitation for more, but he could never bring himself to find out.

That cowardice, he supposed bitterly, was exactly what led him here, sitting alone at the suite room bar, watching as countless others flirted with you and you, right back.

A few times your eyes had tracked him across the room; one time, you looked as though you were about to push through the throng of people shoved into Tengen’s suite to come talk to him, but a hand on your bicep caught you and diverted your attention.

It’s then that Sanemi snaps. The moment he watches as the asshole in question pulls you against him for a slow grind, that jealous, monstrous thing in his chest rears its ugly head, growling and gnawing to be let free.

He’d hoped, for one pathetic moment, that you would push the man away, shake your head, do something that indicated you weren’t the least bit interested in him, no matter how fascinating his multi-colored eyes were, or how charming his feral grin was, but you didn’t. And the moment he sees the douchebag pull your hips flush against his, Sanemi knows he needs to get some air.

So with less grace than he knows he probably should show, Sanemi shoves his way towards the door leading out the suite and into the hallway.

Fuck it, he decides. He would go back to his room, several floors below, take a shower and hit the fucking hay. His birthday was bullshit, anyways.

He storms towards the elevators, slightly tipsy and certainly angry. He stabs a finger against the down button, his leg bouncing as he waits for the elevator to come and save him from his own party.

“What’re you doing out here, birthday boy?”

His stomach sinks to his ass at the familiar cadence of the voice behind him. Reluctantly, he turns and sees you making your way down the hallway wall, a smirk on your pretty lips and looking downright sinful in that flimsy, silvery dress that barely reaches the middle of your thighs.

That damn elevator can’t come fast enough.

“Go back to the party,” he says tightly, though he still won’t look you directly in the eyes. “Don’t let me interrupt your good time.”

You draw up short. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sanemi only scoffs and jabs frustratingly at the elevator button, willing for the telltale ding that will allow him to step into the lift and get far the fuck away from this rager he didn’t want.

From you.

“What’s wrong with you? Did something happen?” You push, resuming your advance on him and shortening the space between your bodies. “Sanemi —“

“Save it,” Sanemi bites, and because he cannot help himself, he adds, “I just don’t particularly feel like watching you spread your legs for some lowlife asshole who can’t be bothered to remember your name.”

You blink, comprehension dawning on your face before melting to anger. “That’s what you’re so pissy about?”

Sanemi silently begs the elevator to hurry the fuck up, because now you’re only a few feet away from him and he doesn’t want you to see his fraying restraint.

You fold your arms across your chest, hip jutting out to the side. “You’re acting like a bitch because some jackass tried to grind on me? Why do you even care?”

Sanemi dodges your question with ease.

“You’re the one who fuckin’ followed me out here.”

The elevator dings and Sanemi is damn near falling to his knees in gratitude at its timing. The double sliding doors have barely finished opening before he’s already inside, jamming his finger into the button marked 26, praying it’ll move faster than it arrived.

The doors start to close but a pair of hands slam against both sides of the doorway, preventing them from joining in the middle.

You stand in the center of the threshold, eyes bright and nostrils flaring, the elevator doors half-closed around you.

“It wasn’t easy to throw this party together y’know,” you snap at him, and dully, Sanemi thinks the glare you give him is strong enough to wither plants. “Everyone went out of their way to try and make you feel special, but you’ve been nothing but an asshole about it.”

“I didn’t ask you all to do this — I begged you not to,” Sanemi retorts just as hotly, his arms folding across his chest. “I didn’t want a fuckin’ party.”

“Well, what do you want?”

the silence that stretches between you is more telling than any answer he could have given. By the way your lips part, you seem to realize it at the same moment he does, and that’s when Sanemi knows he’s fucked.

The two of you stare at one another for a moment, the weight of Sanemi’s unspoken admission hanging above your heads like the sword of Damocles.

But then, the blade drops, and it must impale you both, because suddenly your hands fall from the elevator doors and are tangling in his hair at the same moment Sanemi’s fingers latch onto your waist, and your mouths slam together in a fiery clash of lips and teeth.

The elevator doors slide shut behind you right as Sanemi presses you up against the paneled wall and slides his tongue into your mouth.

At the first stroke of his tongue against yours, you tense, and for one panicked moment, he fears he’s gone too far. But then you’re melting against him, and the way you tug on his hair and whimper his name against his lips makes Sanemi loses his goddamn mind.

Time stands still and there are no thoughts in Sanemi’s brain but the feel of your hands running down his arms, his chest, pushing under the open collar of his shirt to dance along his burning skin.

They can’t get to the 26th floor fast enough, no matter how fast the numbers tick past, bringing them closer and closer to privacy —

The elevator jolts to a stop, somewhere between the 29th and 28th floors, and does not move.

It’s just his fucking luck; the girl of his dreams is pressed flush against him, her lips at his ear as she begs for him, and the goddamn elevator has forgotten how to work. If his hands weren’t so busy pushing under the hem of that slip you call a dress to fondle the curve of your ass, he might’ve put a hole through the one of the doors.

He punches the button for the 26th floor again and again, his sanity fraying with each urgent jab of his fingers, yet the elevator still does not move.

If the idea that the pair of you are stranded in a metal box of death suspended over twenty stories high bothers you, Sanemi wouldn’t be able to tell — not when you’ve decided to turn your attention someplace else.

“What’re you —“ Sanemi’s voice is hardly more than a croak as your hands busy themselves with the buckle on his belt, fumbling and tugging until the leather fastened around his hips gives way.

“Shhh!” A press of your index finger to his lips silences him. “Birthday boys shouldn’t worry!”

Your fingers hook under the waistband of his pants and suddenly they’re following you down as you slide to your knees before him.

Sanemi’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head at the way your half-lidded gaze drifts from his face down his body, coming to rest on the tent of his briefs, jutting out from between his thighs.

Your voice is syrupy and warm as you whisper, “I guess I should let you have your first gift,”

Sanemi forgets how to breathe when you peer back up at him, your eyes suddenly round and wide; he nearly forgets how to stand when you lean forward and press your cheek against the side of his cock where it strains against his underwear.

Sanemi sucks in sharply through clenched teeth at the sudden rush of cold elevator air against the heated, sensitive skin of his bare cock, your fingers having tugged him free from the confines of his briefs.

“F-first?” He can’t stop the way the question stutters out, not when your lips, just barely gazing against him, drag from his base to his tip. The soft exhale of your warm breath up his length has his hands shooting behind him for something — anything — to grip.

You hum in confirmation, and Sanemi’s vision almost blacks out when your tongue peeks past your glossy, red-stained lips to trail over his leaking head.

“But you’ll have to wait ‘til we get to your room before you can unwrap the next one.”

Sanemi swears he’ll set the entire hotel building on fire if the elevator doesn’t start working in the next fucking minute. His vicious promise, however, fades to the back of his mind, along with every other coherent thought he’s ever had as your lips part around his head and you take him into your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” Sanemi hisses and his head falls back against the elevator wall with a dull thump.

You him pleasantly around his cock and Sanemi nearly cums right there, the vibrations from your mouth too sweet, adding gasoline to the already raging inferno of his desire.

At first, you keep your hands primly folded behind you, only allowing your mouth to work his shaft. Every time you slide up off him, you curl your tongue against the underside of his cock and every time, Sanemi has to draw upon every morsel of self-restraint he possesses to not buck further down your throat.

But soon, your hands pat their way to his, and you bring his hands against either side of your head. You hold them there for only a moment, just long enough for Sanemi’s stomach to flip as he realizes what you’re giving him permission to do.

You peer up at him with those big eyes, so wide and deceptively innocent, and he knows you’re trying to kill him.“Motherfucking — Y/N,” he moans, threading his fingers through your hair. “Fuck.”

With his grip in your hair secure, Sanemi begins to fuck your mouth. His cock slides in and out of your heat, every push shoving a little more of himself further into your mouth. You only relax your throat, your tongue still curling against the underside of his shaft in a way that makes Sanemi see white.

Sanemi’s hold on your hair tightens. “Fucking take it,” he pants, hips bucking against your face. “My little cock whore.” From his position over you, Sanemi can see the way his words make you squirm with need, your answering moan long, and deep.

Your hands flutter to the side of his thighs, and Sanemi almost winces at the prick of your nails against his skin. But despite the saliva steadily trailing down your chin and the guttural sounds choking in the back of your throat, you’re tugging him closer, your fingers inching around to grip his backside, pressing him closer and closer to you until your nose brushes his groin.

The elevator jolts with movement and resumes its descent, but neither of you notice. All Sanemi can focus on his the way his tip bumps against the back of your throat, and how your cheeks hollow against him as he ruts into your mouth.

Sanemi makes a strangled noise in the vague shape of your name. “I-I’m gonna —“

You only need to swallow around him once before Sanemi is filling your throat with his cum. With a deep groan, his head drops back, his hand splayed across the back of your skull, keeping your nose pressed against his base as he rocks his hips, his cock twitching violently in your mouth.

His eyes fly open when he feels the wetness from your tears against the sensitive skin of his groin, and he’s quick to pull out of your mouth. Your hands bracing against his thighs as you gulp down air in heavy, shuddering gasps.

“Fuck — I’m sorry,” his hands smooth worryingly over your hair. “That was too rough, I’m so fuckin’ sorry-“

Your head snaps up, and Sanemi feels a brief moment of panic at the sight of your mascara, streaked down your cheeks from an onslaught of tears. Bht then you’re smiling at him, a big, triumphant, radiant smile, and Sanemi feels almost as dumb in the head as he had when your mouth was around his cock.

The elevator slows and Sanemi hastily tucks himself back into his pants. The moment his belt is refastened, his hand is on your arm, gently guiding you up to stand right as a ding! sounds, and the doors slide open to reveal the 26th floor.

You step out first, turning back to him expectantly. “Well? What room?”

Sanemi’s heart falls to his ass as he beholds the assured confidence blazing in your eyes. “2602,” he manages to croak.

You tug him out of the elevator and for a few moments, he’s dumbstruck by his good fortune. It almost feels like a dream, that your here, leading him down the winding hallway of this oversized and overpriced hotel, eager to get back to his room and do whatever the hell it is that’s lit that fire in your eyes.

Sanemi’s awe is short-lived, replaced by a crashing wave of need and boiling desire, hot and furiously bubbling under his skin. His hand tightens around yours and he jerks you around, spinning you until you’re caged tightly between the hallway wall and his chest.

His mouth attacks your neck, biting and sucking his claim into your skin, no matter how temporary. Your leg hikes up to hook around his hips, your foot pressed against his calf, and it seems neither of you care that you’re very much still on an open hallway as opposed to the privacy of his hotel room.

“I’m not holding back with you,” he whispers against the hollow of your throat. His hands slide hotly down your sides, fingers toying under the absurdly short hem of your dress, kneading just beneath the curve of your ass. “You asked me what I wanted — I want this. You.”

Your sultry giggle in his ear chokes off as Sanemi’s finger dips under your ass from behind to run firmly over your clothed slit. A breathy fuck falls from his lips as he feels the wetness seeping through the fabric of your underwear.

“That’s your main gift,” you’re tugging on his hair again until you’ve pulled him away from your throat so that you can slant your mouth over his. “Me. However you want me.”

You take his bottom lip between your teeth and suck, and Sanemi swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “As many times as you want.”

“And in whatever positions you want.”

Sanemi has never been a particularly religious man, but he thinks he’s about one nanosecond from dropping to his knees in worship of you.

Sanemi wastes no time in hauling you over his shoulder, throwing any and all cares to the wind of being seen as he slaps your ass and books the remaining trek back to his hotel room. Youre lucky his room is only around the corner, given that you won’t stop groping his ass.

Somehow, Sanemi manages to fumble for his keycard and swipes it, and he has you inside his room and pushed up against the door before it even fully latches shut.

You’re moaning and panting just from his hands, and Sanemi can feel himself already growing hard once more. His lips are feverish as they roam from your lips, to your neck, and down to the hem of your dress concealing your soft breasts from sight. His hands are even greedier, bunching the tissue-paper-like fabric of you dress between his fingers as he explores the curves and dips of your body.

“God you feel so fucking good,” he mutters against your lips between kisses. “I can’t get enough of you.”

From the way your hands drag down his chest, fingers sliding between the undone buttons of his shirt to explore his chest, he knows you’re just as starved as he is.

With a slight whine, you push him back, breaking your kiss. Sanemi looks at you, but the question building on his tongue does as you kick your heels off, your fingers flying to the straps of your dress.

Sanemi feels locked in place by the heat of your gaze, and he swears he can feel his pulse tick in his neck. One by one, you push the straps of your dress from your shoulders, letting the satiny material fall down your waist and puddle around your feet.

If Sanemi thought he was losing his mind before, he knows for certain that he likely needs to be committed now.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Sanemi’s stare is unabashed and gaping. For beneath that flimsy scrap of shiny fabric pretending to be a dress was not your bare skin, but dark green lace and mesh and corset paneling.

A teddy.

You twist slightly so you’re looking over your shoulder, fully exposing your ass and the thong-like back of your one-piece to the slack-jawed birthday boy.

“I figured you would like this one.”

Your words knock Sanemi right off his axis, his head spinning so fast, it’s a miracle it’s still attached to his shoulders.

You’d worn fucking lingerie for his party.

For him.

You’d gone out of your way to wear something you thought he would like on the mere chance you’d end up as you were now, here in his room. You’d planned for it.

You didn’t leave him any other choice; he was going to fucking ruin you.

His hand flies behind his neck to grip his shirt, ripping it over his head and throwing it unceremoniously to the side.

Sanemi doesn’t fail to notice the way your tongue darts out to wet your lips, your pupils blowing wide at the sight of the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen.

He kicks off his shoes and his hands shove his pants quickly down his legs, grateful that he hadn’t bothered to refasten his belt or button after the stunt you pulled in the elevator.

“C’mere,” he orders, roughly. Left in just his black briefs, he lunges forward to take you into his arms once more.

Your peal of laughter as Sanemi throws you onto his king-sized hotel bed is the prettiest thing he’s ever heard. He wastes no time pouncing on you, eager to reconnect your lips, to kiss you until you’re left as breathless and wanting as he is.

Between messy kisses, Sanemi’s hands make their way down your body, squeezing and marveling at the way your body seems made for his touch. And as if the feeling of your skin beneath his palms isn’t enough to drive him wild, you’re so responsive to his touch. Every stroke of his hands seems to bring you alive until you’re practically thrumming with want and begging him for more.

His fingers slide over your lace-covered cunt and he swears at the dampness he feels clean through the fabric of your teddy.

“Eager, are we?” He hums, his lips following down the path he traced with his hands. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”

Your hips buck impatiently against him as his face settles between your thighs. He grins at your desperation, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your inner thigh until he reaches your covered slit.

He lets his tongue peek out between his lips and drags it over until he reaches your other thigh, groaning at the faint taste of you dampening the lace.

Sanemi’s fingers push under the edge of the teddy, a breath blowing past his lips when he connects with your dripping cunt.

“Look how fucking soaked you are,” he says in awe, marveling the way your slick coats his fingers. “Is this all for me?”

You groan, pushing your hips down to grind harder against his hand.

“Just fuck me already,” you huff. “I’m ready now.”

Sanemi tsks softly at you. “You need to ask a lot nicer than that, sweet girl.”

Your impatient demands taper off into soft moans as Sanemi sinks a single finger into your entrance, his cock growing impossibly hard at the feeling of you clenching easily around him.

Sanemi practically trembles at the thought of sinking into your heat, of how you might feel clenching and pulsing around his length while he fucks you the way he’s been dreaming since he met you.

But while he might be pent up, Sanemi isn’t so much of an asshole that he wouldn’t make sure you were good and ready to take him.

So he simply tugs the crotch of your teddy aside and without any further teasing or torture, he latches his mouth to your cunt with a deep moan.

As his tongue darts between your folds, Sanemi realizes that all the cake in the world couldn’t compare to how fucking sweet your pussy tastes.

You cry out, his name stuttering out between a staccato of moans and cooes for more. Your hands twist in his hair, alternating between pulling his face closer to your core and pushing him away, the pleasure almost too much for you to bear.

Sanemi thinks he could get drunk on your taste. His eyes open to watch the way your face pinches, how your jaw goes slack to let his name drip from your tongue.

Your hands unwind from his hair to tug at the sinful draping of lace fitted against your body like a glove. “Off,” you whimper. “Off.”

It takes him a moment to realize what you want. But after another plea of “off,” Sanemi’s hands are already working to push the teddy down your lithe form.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you,” he soothes, dragging the lingerie off your legs. Sanemi swears softly at the sight of you, bare and spread out on his mattress, your body pliant and ready for him to use however he chooses.

“S-Sanemi,” he can’t suppress his grin at the apparent whine in your tone. “I feel so — so empty —“

He doesn’t try to hold in the groan resounding deep from his chest. Youre asking — practically begging — for his cock, and Sanemi doesn’t have the willpower to deny you.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, and suddenly your body is caged under his, his hips slotting perfectly into the cradle of your thighs. “I need to be in you.”

His lips dance feverishly up the side of your neck until they reconnect with yours.

For a moment, your kiss slows to something more sensual and passionate, as opposed to the heated and frantic kisses you’d exchanged earlier. The sigh you exhale against his mouth is the sexiest thing Sanemi has ever heard, and the feeling of your fingers latching in his hair is a sensation he never wants to forget.

Your tongue swipes along his lower lip in a silent request for entry that he’s only too happy to grant. You moan against the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Sanemi knows he’s been head over heels for you for a long time, but the way your tongue dances languidly with his has him utterly undone.

If you wanted to, he’d let you swallow him whole.

Your kiss melts into something more needy and frantic, and Sanemi feels your wetness grind down against his thigh, a pleading whimper building on your lips. With an eagerness that makes his head spin, your legs shift to lock around his waist, and one of the hands you’d had latched in his hair drifts down his abdomen until it finds his cock, heavy and hot in your palm.

“I’ve got a condom —“ Sanemi manages between desperate kisses. “In my wallet —“

But your legs tighten around his hips and your hand pumps harder at his stiffened length. “Don’t need it,” you murmur against his lips. “On the pill.”

Sanemi thinks he might pass out. “Fuck — are you sure?”

You nod, eyes bright and alert even in spite of your sleepy, fucked-out smile. “Wanna feel you, baby.”

Don’t have to fucking tell him twice. Especially not when you’re calling him baby, even if it’s a pet name you’ll only use on him for the night.

With deft hands, Sanemi flips you so that your front is pressed against the mattress. You scramble beneath him to plant your knees, raising your ass high in the air, your cunt held out in an offering he could never refuse.

He gives one of your pert ass cheeks an appreciative smack before he shuffles forward on his knees. He rests one foot on the outside of your leg, parallel with your hip, and slots his other knee between your parted thighs. One hand grips the base of his cock while the other kneads at your hip, holding you steady while also keeping your limbs relaxed as he lines his tip up with your dripping entrance.

“Unless you say otherwise, ‘M goin’ hard,” he warns, his voice rougher than gravel. “Been waiting too long to do this.”

Ever the devilish little minx, you wiggle your hips back against him, and his breath chokes in his throat when your wet heat catches him at his tip.

You look back over your shoulder and Sanemi’s gaze darkens at the challenge in your eyes. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Sanemi decides to respond to your taunt not with his words, but with his body. In a single, fluid movement, he plunges his cock deep into your heated core, his fingers tightening around your hips with bruising force.

“Jesus fuck,” he pants once he’s fully embedded to the hilt inside your warmth.

It’s unreal; the feeling of your silken, pleasure-soaked walls moulding around his cock like you were made to take him sends a bolt lightning surging down his spine, making him shudder.

A cross between a cry and a scream tears from your throat, muffled only by the press of your mouth against the starchy blankets of his hotel bed. He’s about to ask if you’re okay, if you want him to go slow for a bit since he knows he’s a larger than average. but then you’re throwing your hips back against him, circling and grinding and mewling for more.

“Fuck me,” you moan. “Fuck me, Sanemi — please.”

“God fucking damn,” Sanemi hisses through clenched teeth. And he knows he can’t deny you, not when your whining so prettily for him; nor when your pussy feels this fucking good.

He draws back, his cock sliding out of you until only his tip remains. He lingers there, for just a hair’s breadth of a moment, teasing.

Your impatient whine doesn’t last long as Sanemi slams you back onto him, the sound choking off in your throat. He doesn’t give you time to recover; he digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips and drives his cock into you again and again, pounding a relentless rhythm into you that has you sobbing into the mattress.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You blubber, your fingers fisted into the blankets below for purchase as you push yourself back to meet his frenzied thrusts.

Sanemi can’t tear his eyes away from where his cock, shiny with your wetness, disappears in and out of you. “You’re taking me so fuckin’ well,” he says in awe. Your pussy is gripping him like a vice, practically sucking him back into your heat. “You like letting me use you, huh?”

Sanemi shifts so that his weight is on the knee resting beside your leg, allowing him to push harder and deeper into your cunt. You try to lift your head, but Sanemi’s hand leaves its place on your hip to press down on the back of your neck, squeezing lightly.

“Oh f-fuck,” you groaned, voice slightly muffled from where your face was half-pressed into the mattress. “Oh god — just like that — D-daddy, yes —“

Sanemi’s hips stutter. Daddy. No one has ever called him that in the bedroom before, but fuck if it doesn’t somehow make him harder than a fucking diamond.

Especially because it seems like it slipped out of you without much thought, your eyes too busy staring at the back of your skull as every punishing thrust of Sanemi’s cock into your pliant cunt makes your body bounce against the mattress.

He likes it. A lot.

“Should’ve known you’d have a daddy kink, filthy little thing,” he groans, his hand reaching under you to toy with your swollen clit.

You only moan in response, and Sanemi can’t help but to swirl his fingers around that nub, savoring the way it makes your thighs quiver beneath you.

The hand still pressing against the back of your neck slides up to grip your hair, and Sanemi pulls your head up from the bed. “Do you call everyone ‘daddy,’ sweetness, or just those who fuck you the way you like it?”

“Not everyone” you gasp, voice strained against the tight arch of your neck. “Just you — ah! Only you.”

With a growl, Sanemi’s arm locks around your middle and hauls you up until your back is flush against his chest. One hand wraps around your jaw, his fingers squeezing your cheeks to keep your head back as he continues pounding into you.

“Look at you,” his exhales hotly against your ear, his teeth grazing your lobe. “Daddy’s pretty little toy.”

Your thighs quake in their effort to keep you up. Your moans raise an octave, warbling out of your throat as you settle heavily against him, utterly helpless against the pleasure rolling through your body.

Sanemi’s hand drops from your jaw to drag teasingly down your torso. When he reaches your lower belly, he presses his palm flat, the pressure allowing the blunt head of his cock to rub against that sensitive spot that makes you sing his name.

“You feel that, baby?” And the whine that slips out of you is one he wishes he could bottle up. “That’s all me — that’s how deeply I’m fucking you.”

He’s practically holding you up, your limbs little more than jelly, but he doesn’t mind. He only increases the pressure of his hand, rubbing slightly over the softness of your stomach.

“And that’s where I’m gonna fill you up, ‘til you’re nice and full, hm?”

A stilted cry of his name is dragged from your lips, and Sanemi swears he’d marry you tomorrow, if you’d let him.

It’s not lost on him that this is likely a one-time thing; that you’ll likely leave his hotel room and the two of you won’t speak of it again, but he can’t find it within himself to give a shit.

It doesn’t matter if this is just a slightly drunken hook up — it doesn’t matter to him if it’s just sex. You’re letting him use your body for his pleasure, and that thought is enough to make his brain turn to liquid between his ears.

Sanemi falls back against the bed, bringing you with him, your back still pressed against his chest. He winds an arm around one of your thighs, holding it open to allow himself to continue fucking up into you with the speed of a racehorse.

“God you’re so fuckin’ tight — don’t want me to leave, do you, precious?”

He chuckles in your ear, catching your lobe between his teeth. His hand wedges between your thighs to play with your clit again, and the way your pussy flutters around him signals that you’re right on the precipice of your orgasm.

The first of the night, if he had anything to say about it.

“Maybe I should make you my own personal cocksleeve — would you like that, sweetheart?” You’re mewling, nodding frantically as you squirm and thrash atop him.

“Would you like to sit on Daddy’s cock all day, keep him nice and warm?”

“Yes!” You sob, and Sanemi’s fingers circle your clit even harder, determined to to make you cum. “Yes, ‘Nemi, please! I’ll be your good girl — I’ll be so good —“

Sanemi’s pace falters slightly at your words, a new idea — a wicked idea, forming fast in his mind. “You will, huh?”

He abruptly pulls out of you, though the anguished cry that rattles out of you at the loss of his warmth tugs at his heartstrings. After all, you’d been so close.

Sanemi wastes no time flipping you under him, hooking both your legs over his muscled shoulders until the underside of your thighs press flat against his chest.

“You’ll cum when I say so,” he shoves his painfully hard cock back into your pulsing warmth, his knuckles turning white under his grip against the rumpled blankets as he fights to keep his eyes from rolling back at the feeling of being sheathed back inside you once more.

“And you’re gonna fuckin’ look at me when i fill you up,” Sanemi snarls between ferocious snaps of his hips. “I wanna see that gorgeous face when I cum inside this pretty little pussy.”

“Yes! Yes s-sir.”

“Yeah? And who’s fucking you this good?”

“Y-you,”

He ducks his head down to nip sharply at your breast. “Try again.”

“You are — D-daddy,”

Sanemi’s pace only increases. “Still not what I’m looking for, princess,” he’s borderline cruel and he knows it, but he also knows what he wants. “Tell me whose pussy this is.”

You don’t answer; you can’t, given how slack your jaw has gone, your mouth frozen in a perfect “o” as Sanemi pushes the head of his cock right at that spot deep within you that makes you seize down on him hard enough that he sees stars.

He growls your name and when you still don’t respond, he snaps his hips particularly hard against yours.

“Say it.”

His hand shoves between your bodies, and Sanemi pinches your clit harshly between this thumb and index finger.

“Sanemi!” You wail, writhing under him. His fingers rub soothing circles against your clit, though the relentless thrust of his cock does not ease.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, and the pressure of his fingers against your throbbing nub increases. “Now cum on this fucking cock.”

That does it.

Your back arcs sharply up off the mattress, thighs tightening around his hips as your cunt clenching around him with earth-shattering force. Sanemi feels a smug wave of pride as a surge of fluid springs forth and coats his abdomen and groin.

You fall back against the bed, limp and spent, but Sanemi isn’t done with you yet; you won’t be, not until Sanemi has left his mark.

He shifts over you, his full weight pressing you down into the mattress; his hands pushing your knees up until they’re level with your chest. You sigh and hum, still wading through the haze of your orgasm, but given the way you let your thighs spread a little wider, you’re aware enough to know that Sanemi is readying you to take his release.

It’s not enough; Sanemi doesn’t want you lost in the aftermath of your euphoria — he wants you crying out for his.

His hand grips your face, your cheeks squishing together beneath his fingers as he forces your head to tilt toward him. Your eyes flutter open, bleary and unfocused before the clouds part and your attention is locked wholly on him.

“Beg for it,” he grits out, his hand smacking against your clit until you howled. “Beg for my cum.”

“Please!” Your cry is shrill and desperate, your hands tightening weakly around his shoulders. “Please f-fill me up — oh, Sanemi —“

He nearly loses it at the way you say his name, like it’s some damn prayer and he, your salvation, but he holds back. It’s not enough — he wants you as filthy and wanton as him.

“Use your words,” his words leave him in a single, inexorable command.

Your lower lip wobbles. “Your cum — please, please fill this pussy up. Fill me up, fuck it into me —“

Sanemi cuts off your babbling with a single, bruising kiss. He feels his balls tighten, and the prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, signaling just how close he is to nirvana.

His hand finds one of yours where it clings to his shoulder, a fruitful attempt to anchor yourself, and he pulls it away. Sanemi presses your hand back against the mattress, interlacing his fingers with yours.

Your pussy flutters around him in time with your thumb stroking over his knuckle, and that’s all it takes.

“Oh fuck —“ Sanemi grunts before he feels himself explode. With a strangled yell, Sanemi’s hips slam into yours, pushing his cock as deep as it can possibly go, and his release crashes into him with mind-blowing force.

it’s the hardest and the most he’s ever come in his entire life. Nothing else has ever or will ever compare to this.

But even as his release spurts heavily inside your honeyed core, Sanemi doesn’t relent in his pace. His hips keep rolling steadily into you, prolonging his release to the point his toes curl, and he wonders whether his nose might start bleeding.

The corners of your mouth tilt up, a pleased groan vibrating loud and wanton in your throat as you feel him fuck his hot seed right into the Eden of your body.

Despite the mind-numbing pleasure of his orgasm, Sanemi won’t let himself look away. The face you make as he fills you up is the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

Sanemi stays buried in your heat for several more moments as he comes down from his high, his head dropping into the crook of your shoulder. With a grunt, he pulls out, dropping down next to you in a flurry of messy blankets and pillows.

You push yourself to your side, a hand coming to push the sweat-dampened ends of his bangs from his eyes. “Good birthday?” You tease, your cheeks flushed bright red, your eyes bright.

“The best,” Sanemi agrees, his eyes scanning your face, committing every detail of you and your post-sex glow to memory.

The two of you lay next to one another for a little while, talking and quietly laughing. Neither one of you seems eager to leave the bed, and Sanemi in particular finds himself hoping today never ends.

Eventually, nature calls and he excuses himself — reluctantly — to the bathroom. When he emerges, he’s greeted with the sight of your ass, bare and exposed as you nestle into the bed, one leg kicking lazily up into the air behind you.

Fuck, you’re too beautiful, and he is far too weak.

He approaches the side of the bed, stretching out one hand to drag teasingly down your spine, until he reaches your ass, knuckles kneading the soft flesh.

His eyes flit to the small clock perched on the hotel nightstand. Sanemi’s grin turns lupine as he reads time reflected by the green-tinted digits.

Sanemi’s fingers skirt down to your ankle, gripping it firmly in his hand. He tugs you over the side of the bed until your head dangles off the edge, your hair stretching towards the ground. “Looks like it’s still my birthday, darling. I ain’t finished enjoying my present yet,” he grips the base of his half-hard cock and taps it against your lips. “And I’ve been dying to cum all over this pretty face of yours.”

—-

True to his word, Sanemi takes him time ravishing his birthday gift. When the clock on the nightstand finally reads 12:01 AM, he flops down next to you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath.

You lay beside him, panting in tandem with him from the exertion of the night’s activities. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t sticky as a result of the heady mixture of your sweat and Sanemi’s cum.

You feel his eyes searing into you as you trail a finger through the milky white splattered across your chest — a favorite place of his to cum, as you’d learned, second only to spilling inside of you.

Sanemi hardly holds back a whimper at the way you bring it to your lips, letting your tongue lick your finger clean of his pleasure.

“You’re trying to drive me wild, woman,” he throws a tired arm over his face, shrouding his eyes. “You torture all your hookups like this?”

He’s surprised at how quickly you sit up in bed, your eyes flashing.

“Hookup?”

Sanemi props a fist under his cheek. “Well, yeah,” he winces slightly, searching for more careful words. “I don’t expect anything from you. I appreciate the birthday surprise, though.”

Your gaze is leveled, and your voice even. “I don’t buy lingerie for one-night stands, Sanemi. That shit is an investment.”

His eyes blow wide, and he feels the erratic thrum of his heart stuttering in his throat.

“I want you,” you say firmly. “And I had every intention when I followed you in here tonight for this —“ your hand waves back and forth between your chests. “— to continue.”

It’s a miracle Sanemi is able to speak at all. “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

You grin. “Well, now that you’ve fucked me, I guess you should take me on a date.” You pause, trailing one delicate finger down his chest. “But I won’t make you wait until we’ve been on three before I let you fuck me again.”

Your hand dips below the edge of the blanket and glides teasingly over his cock, already beginning to stir once more. “You’re far too delicious.”

Sanemi snatches your hand and rolls you under him before you can blink, your answering giggle the sweetest music ever to grace his ears.

“Y’know, in other parts of the world, it’s still the 29th,” he murmurs huskily, grazing his lips against yours. “So by that logic…”

You nod, eyebrows drawn together in seriousness. “We’re obligated to keep celebrating.”

Sanemi’s lips are already trailing down your body, savoring the taste of himself on your skin. He settles back between your legs, marveling at the way your thighs fall to the side so easily to accommodate his mass.

He presses a sweet kiss against your clit. “You’re just the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you, darlin’?”

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny smut #demon slayer smut

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stsgluver · 8 months

Text

𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐏𝐓.𝟓 — gojo satoru

synopsis. there's nothing more romantic than travelling halfway across the world for the girl you love... even if it is two years late.

wc. 3.4k

tags. none really, yn is described as shorter than megumi, possible ooc for EVERYONE, lowkey forgot how to write halfway through, possible spelling mistakes and plotholes (pls still like my writing i beg)

a/n. im sorry i never really got round to answering the comments on the last post but i have added everyone to the taglist who asked. so i did write two endings but one was bad SO i stuck to this one only <3 i hope this is the right end to the series and thank you sm for the support over the last few months!! i will have a 'spin-off-ish' series focused on the students making the videos in the first place which i will add the link to on this chapter once it's up. this is for @ilovejugs69 ly pookie

previous part / series masterlist

“this is such a bad plan.”

megumi let out a small sigh, resting his head back on the leather of the plane’s seat. an economy seat – much to gojo’s dismay – but there hadn’t been much time to consider other options, bar gojo buying himself a personal private jet and hiring a pilot all in the space of less than an hour.

the dark-haired student clutched the arm rests as he felt his stomach churn in knots as the reality of their decision sunk in. it was a very last minute and muddled plan but gojo was desperate to see you again and megumi wanted nothing more than to have his family back – so when gojo offered to take them both to the other side of the world to find you, he agreed a little too quickly. spontaneity was not his thing and with each passing second he was remembering why.

gojo shuffled himself back in his seat, nose scrunching up in annoyance as he struggled with the small gap for his longer-than-average legs. if his height wasn’t drawing the pair any attention (which it certainly was), the uniforms and the sorcerer’s blindfold definitely were. he didn’t need his six eyes to feel the stares of strangers.

“i’ve never had a bad plan in my life.”

megumi scoffed at the declaration, rolling his eyes at the white haired sorcerer’s misplaced confidence. like it wasn’t gojo’s idea to send megumi on that mission alone that ultimately resulted in yuuji swallowing sukuna’s finger or his idea to prank nanami on his birthday that got both himself and the first years all detention.

“don’t roll your eyes at me, young man,” gojo lightly swatted megumi’s arm, wiggling one of his fingers in front of the younger boy’s face. “your mother will think i’m a shit dad and won’t come back.” megumi ignored the tightening in his chest at the casualness of gojo’s words.

“you are a shit dad,” he retorted, closing his eyes and willing the next seven hours to go by faster than they were. he didn’t hate flying, but he wasn’t the biggest fan, and the nerves that were building up alongside the nonstop chatter from the man beside him were definitely not helping.

gojo gasped and megumi felt him jostling in the seat next to him, he could only imagine the dramatics his teacher was pulling in public. it was best he kept his eyes closed.

“that wasn’t very nice. god, teenagers and their angst these days.”

megumi heard gojo mumbling loudly under his breath and there was no doubt in his mind that there was a cheshire grin on gojo’s face, daring him to take the bait and bicker like the mature adult he was.

however annoying he may have found him, megumi knew that gojo was just as nervous as he was. the two, however, were just polar opposites in all aspects. so while megumi just wanted to spend the next few hours trying to sleep and hope he’d have the courage to face you when he woke up, gojo wanted to play avoidance by teasing him as if they weren’t travelling halfway across the world for you.

when megumi didn’t respond, to gojo’s disappointment, a silence settled between the two. with his hands now stuffed in the pockets of his uniform and head almost on gojo’s shoulder, the dark haired sorcerer attempted to finally fall asleep.

“do you think she’s mad at me?” megumi asked quietly after about five minutes.

gojo hummed thoughtfully, looking down at the teenager almost asleep on his shoulder. “she has no reason to be mad at you,” he said in the most reassuring tone he could muster.

“she’s never messaged me back,” megumi countered.

“at least yours still go through.” gojo huffed lightly, an attempt at brightening megumi’s mood at the expense of himself but it only left both more unsettled at their predicament. he knocked his knee into the younger boy’s gently. “get some sleep, this is going to be a long flight.”

“if you just take a seat here, i will go see if ma’am is available. it’s so lovely to meet her family finally.” a woman dressed in formal attire gestured towards a small lobby waiting room with a bright smile.

there was no one else in there apart from one middle-aged guy with a briefcase, newspaper in hand. gojo thanked the woman, hand on megumi’s shoulder as he led him into the back corner of the white minimalist room.

the sun had set by the time they’d landed and found your office building – something that gojo had forced shoko to send him. he hadn’t even had a chance to tell her what they were doing before he’d gotten on the plane so after she had a go at him for leaving her out of the loop and not bringing her too, she sent across the necessary details with demands for regular updates.

“i bet she’s going to call security,” megumi sighed as he dropped himself down into the black leather seat, resting his head back against the wall behind him. between school and the plane journey, he’d been awake for nearly twenty hours and the stiff seat he was on felt like a pile of feathers. he was going to fall asleep before he’d even had the chance to see you.

gojo crossed one leg over the other, hands crossed behind his head. the teenager wanted to elbow him for his calm posture – he could have as well, he’d dropped his infinity the second the two had entered the building. the second the older sorcerer had stepped into the building he knew you were here, recognising the cursed energy that brought him a familiar comfort he’d missed. “why would she?”

megumi snapped his head in his direction, eyes opening to give him an incredulous look, “why would you say you’re her husband?”

gojo waved a hand dismissively, “i basically am–”

“was. several years ago.” megumi countered and gojo’s mouth dropped open at the audacity of his pupil to point out the obvious facts.

rolling up the sleeves of his jacket, gojo began to stand up and megumi was close to cracking a smile at his behaviour. the delirium of not sleeping was beginning to sink in. “okay, kid–”

“you’re here.”

gojo’s sleeves dropped just as fast as megumi stood up from his seat, both more alert than they had been all day. suddenly, the uneasy feeling megumi had had on the plane didn’t seem so bad, this was so much worse.

you’d barely changed since you’d left, bar your hair being a few inches longer. if the two looked closely enough at you, they’d realise you were just as wrecked with nerves as they were as you struggled to stop your hands from shaking.

when the receptionist had first come up to tell you that your husband and son were here to see you, your initial reaction had been to say she’d made a mistake… until the cryptic message shoko had sent you thirty minutes earlier started to make a lot more sense.

she was the only one you’d maintained regular contact with after you’d left. initially you had gone on a complete no contact with everyone, refusing to even acknowledge that you had a life and a family in japan. you were scared and you’d chosen the coward's way out by running. it felt wrong to still have strings binding you to a life that was no longer yours.

but you missed her and you worried constantly about gojo and megumi, so you’d slowly built up messaging her once a month to every few days just to know everyone was still alive.

you had desperately wanted to take megumi with you but you didn’t have it in you take him away from his sister and, despite how you’d laid into him about how even he had limitations, you knew megumi was safer with gojo than you. in america, you were vulnerable to curse users and curses alike without the protection of any other sorcerers or specialist schools to help you.

the three of you probably looked like idiots to the other man in the room, all staring at each other too afraid to make the first room. it felt surreal to all be together again. you were afraid your longing to see them again had reached a point of insanity, and they were afraid of spooking you if they got too close too quickly.

megumi was the first one to make a move, stepping around the rows of seats and the centre coffee table till he stood a metre from you. “hi.”

your hand covered your mouth as you had to tilt your head up slightly to keep eye contact with the boy you’d raised since he was only a fraction of your height. you may not have changed but megumi had – both his height and voice – and the guilt of leaving him behind was overwhelming.

“oh my god, you’re so much taller than me.” you moved closer to him to gently grab ahold of his arms as you took in how much he had grown. there wasn’t a day that had gone by that you didn’t regret and feel guilt for leaving megumi and you only hoped he understood why you left him so suddenly. taking a step back, you gestured to his uniform, “what’s jujutsu high like?”

the words were bittersweet. what had leaving achieved apart from heartache? megumi was still a jujutsu student and gojo was still japan’s lifeline. maybe you would live a longer life in america, but was the life you had now worth the one you’d left behind?

“it’s…” megumi hesitated before clearing his throat, “it’s okay. there’s two other first years, yuuji and nobara. they’re alright.” you smiled at his words, flashbacks of your own childhood crossing your mind as you remembered the innocence of your first year. it was fun being in a class with two prodigies, you were mini celebrities in a world of rich and powerful sorcerers.

“i’m glad you’ve made some friends, megs,” the nickname rolled off your tongue too naturally and if megumi closed his eyes, maybe he could pretend that you were all still in japan and you were just catching up after being away on a prolonged mission. you glanced to the other sorcerer in the room who had remained silent up until this point – although he had silently made his way over. “i’m going to go speak with satoru in my office and then can i take you out for dinner? to talk properly?”

megumi nodded a little too eagerly, “yeah, please. i’ll just wait here.”

“perfect. satoru?” the acknowledgement was all the strongest sorcerer needed to be following behind you, keeping a distance of several paces as you led him inside your office.

gojo rested his forearm against one of the large ceiling height windows in your office that overlooked the city. you had to be at least twenty stories up and the blaring of car horns was simply a hum, vehicles appearing as mini red and yellow dots on the busy roads below.

“nice view.”

it was the first words he’d uttered in your presence and despite him being the one to initiate the venture to you, he had no idea what to say. this was likely his only chance to convince you to come back and he may have already screwed up by waiting as long as he had.

“what are you doing here?” you asked as you pushed your door shut, leaving the two of you in the privacy of your small office. it was nothing special; a chair, a desk with paperwork piling up and no photos whatsoever. there was no trace that you even existed beyond these four walls.

“don’t i at least get an ‘i miss you’? i just travelled over ten hours for you,” he said lightly, trying to ease the tension in the room but your voice was no longer as soft as it was when you spoke with megumi. the teenager had done nothing wrong – he was part of the reason you left.

“it’s been two years.” he didn’t have to turn around to know that your arms were probably crossed in front of your chest, your head tilted to the side as you waited for him to explain himself. except he thinks his past offences of stealing all of the sweets before halloween were a little more forgivable than letting you leave.

his hand turned to a fist as he dropped it from the window, turning around to look at you properly. “i know.”

both of you stared at one another, neither of you speaking as you took the other in.

“you chose them over me,” you accused. them being both the higher-ups and the whole of jujutsu itself. you’d given him a chance to have a normal life – a natural life in which you’d grow old together and die of old age – and he’d chosen the short life where he’d likely die before he turned thirty.

“you knew what you were signing up for,” he said and there was no malice behind the words though they still frustrated you. he was right to an extent, he’d sat you down after you’d finished school, just before he’d taken in megumi and given you an out. you chose to stay, fully believing that the two of you had already gone through your worst.

“i didn’t realise i’d always be on the losing side.”

“we weren’t always losing–”

you stepped closer to gojo as you held out your hand, counting each disaster after the other with your fingers, “haibara died, we almost died, geto defected, we took in megumi and the tensions between your clan and the zen’ins got ten times worse. you said you wanted to change jujutsu society and what had we done? i never knew if you’d come home to me after missions, it made me feel sick.”

“how do you think i felt coming home to a note?” you could count on your hands the amount of times you had seen gojo angry – and while he wasn’t all the way there he was teetering on the edge as he frustratedly lifted off his blindfold, throwing it onto your desk. in the same way you’d been desperate for him to hear what you were saying before you’d left, he was equally as desperate for you to hear him now. to see that he was here. “megumi? at least geto left for a purpose, you just left.”

it was an unfair dig – geto had committed mass murder, after all – but similar to the one that you’d pulled on him two years ago.

you clicked your tongue as you tried not to make it obvious how badly that made you want to cry, holding your hands up in surrender. “was it so wrong to want a life where i didn’t go to work thinking i would die? to want a future?”

“you were my future.” he sounded sad as he uttered them, and it looked foreign to see the gojo satoru look so dejected. there were only inches between the two of you now and despite the fact he towered over you, he appeared so small as he continued, “was i ever yours?”

memories of your late teenage years and early adulthood play out as a montage: from your first meeting when you’d both gotten lost on the train to school, to the tears you spilled as you finished writing your note and closed the door to his apartment for the last time.

“of course you were.” your voice was shaky, no longer holding any bite. until the day you’d left, since you were sixteen, you’d never envisioned a life without him.

gojo’s hand reached out to push your hair back from your neck, the little white scars still tarnishing your flawless skin. it was taking all of your resolve to not collapse into his arms and have him hold you like you knew he would. you were sure you’d believe him this time if he told you he could protect everyone, that he was in fact able to be in six places at once and still come out on top. “come back with us please.”

“satoru…” you dragged off, looking away as you fought between listening to your rationale that reminded you that nothing had really changed and your heart that missed being in love.

“just come back,” he repeated, “are you going to tell me you’ve found someone else? that you enjoy your life here?” it was wrong and selfish, he knew it, to be convincing you the way he was – to even be here full stop – but he missed you and he wasn’t ready to let you walk away again.

“i can’t lose you.” hesitantly you pressed your hands to his chest. for a second he was scared you were going to push him away, but you didn’t, fingers tightening around the material of his uniform.

“don’t be silly and travel halfway across the country then.” his voice was just above a whisper now as he brushed his nose against yours. “hey, look at me properly.”

you complied without any hesitation – you always did when it came to him. two years of no contact but your body still reacted on muscle memory to the sound of his voice. never in your life had you ever seen eyes like his, of course you hadn’t, and you were still taken aback by the full blue colour as he gazed down at you.

“tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.” you did want him to. “tell me you want me to walk out of this room and not turn back and i’ll do it.” he wouldn’t have left without you.

“i missed you,” you whispered, and that was all he needed to duck his head down to let your lips meet. gojo’s hand slipped round to the back of your neck, tugging you impossibly closer as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip. you missed this, you missed him, and you were going to find it impossible to let go of him again.

only when your lungs ached to breathe did you force yourself to pull back from your ex boyfriend. gojo’s eyes were still focused on your lips and you didn’t doubt that if it were up to him, he’d be leaning to kiss you again. it was only the light push against his chest that held him back.

“what are we doing?” you asked, voice wavering from both the kiss and nerves. whilst there was no doubt in your mind that gojo was who you wanted, you had many reservations about reentering jujutsu society.

“about to ditch this place and go back to japan on a plane. all three of us.”

you brows furrowed together, “but–”

gojo held a finger up your lips, his other hand slipping into his back pocket, pulling out three plane tickets. “i already got your ticket, you don’t want it to go to waste do you?”

you lightly hit his arm and smiled up at him. he was grinning now and it didn’t need to be said aloud – he was yours again (though he’d never really stopped being such) and you were coming home. “that confident?”

“surprised you were able to resist me this long.” he pecked your cheek this time, a hint of tease in his tone like he hadn’t needed megumi to convince him to even enter your office building in the first place.

you let his joke slide with no rebuttal. “are you coming to dinner?” you hoped you hadn’t been keeping megumi too long.

“do you want me at dinner?” gojo asked.

you reached across to your desk to grab ahold of his blindfold and passed it to him. as much as you loved being able to see his eyes, you’d rather not be spending your first twenty four hours with him in bed complaining about a splitting headache. “i’m sure megs won’t mind. plus you can pay,” you added with a wink.

gojo raised an eyebrow, lips tugging up at the corners into a slight smirk, “oh so that’s the real reason why you missed me?”

taglist. @thefictionalcharacterssimp @hana-patata @mor-pheus @leathairs @sh0ek0 @maliakealoha @levisteeacup @g-kleran @stevenknightmarc @n1kimura @darliingyu @saturn-alone @splxtscreen @leah-rose03 @rinshoe @laurenzitaa @patricia142lilian @sabo-has-my-heart @wooasecret @dahliawarner @kysrion @dreamerdeity @mwah-chia @geromiegerald @arminsarlerts @maliakealoha @cherrypieyourface @k4romis @monsieurgucchi @bofadeezs @777userz @polarbvnny @chonkercatto @tenshis-cake @haitanibros0007 @ba-ks @liaurokodaki @urfavvirg0 @lofasofabread @r0ckst4rjk @vee-ai @aiikuraa @melileli0001 @rinshoe @vinivave @yell0wdreams @sukunasleftkneecap @malikazz243 @sad-darksoul @giannitaa @maliciousmace @name-insert @splxtscreen @kimvmarvel @ieathairs @janbannan @ja-zz @vangoes @starringz @ciscob1tes @theoriginaluzisimp @thirtykiwis @vivienne2000 @whydohumansss @purpleguk @simeon-lovergirl @missesgojosatoru @loveroftheoldestdream @mkaiiserr kazbrkker ancientimes thefirst-ofus animechick555 saccharinelixir seunnimg kookonsale

super sorry if ive missed anyone!

#snapshot !#gojo #gojo satoru #satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x yn #gojo series #gojo fic #jjk #gojo fluff #gojo drabbles #gojo imagines

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werecreature-addicted · 1 year

Note

Ok I’ve seen some art that I have for my idea of my mateeee

So the year is like 2046 or something, and robots are everywhere, but everyone treats robots like slaves and horribly. But you’ve always been nice to robots, this one robot took notice at work (a work assistant robot)

And it would stalk you,

Always assist you,

And unknowingly get knowingly flirt with you.

And it would go against its own code just to do what it wants with you,

YANDERE PLEASE, AND NSFW

they are 6’9

Good lord he's horrific <3

CW: Dubious consent.

----

You didn’t understand how people could be mean to robots. Sure they weren’t human- but I mean. They were close, right? You had no idea how some people could say please and thank you to you but would sneer and mock your robot coworkers. And that’s what they were, coworkers, not “assistant droids”. Anytime one of the droids reaches something off a top shelf for you or brings you a cup of coffee you’re sure to smile politely and thank them.

This behavior gets you a lot of attention. Not only from your human counterparts but the robotic ones as well- or at least. One robotic one. You sound crazy trying to describe it to anyone else- your personal assistant droid is too attached to you? He’s too eager to help? That’s what they do, they’re supposed to be there for you, what are you complaining about?

But there's something different about this one. The way he follows you with his eyes, it raises the hair on the back of your neck. And the way he literally follows you- he needs to be told multiple times he can’t go with you into the bathroom and- no just because you’re taking work home doesn’t mean he can go home with you too. They aren’t supposed to leave the office building but sometimes he still does, even if you don’t notice. And then there’s the touching. It’s subtle, innocent. When he brushes his metallic fingers over your forearm.

You’ve never though of robots as “creepy” before but, you sort of get it now, he’s tall, almost seven feet in height, and impossibly strong. Robots aren’t supposed to be able to hurt humans, but if he some how broke through that restriction in his coding… it would be so easy.

Still. You do your best to be polite, and kind even to the Andriod that sets you on edge, and just try and get work done. But your performance starts slipping. It’s hard to focus on your job when you always have to keep looking over your shoulder. You end up spending staying late at the office more and more often.

It’s weird working late in an office staffed by Robots, it’s not empty, but it’s quiet. They don’t talk when there are no humans around. Accept, of course, for your Assistant Droid.

He stands in the corner of your office and stares at you. Most robots stare off into space when they aren’t in operation, but this one specifically always looks at you.

“You seem stressed,” and the sound of his metallic voice almost makes you jump out of your chair. You want to tell him you are stressed- and that it’s his fault. You can’t focus on your reports when you can feel someone watching you. But you don’t

“I guess so. These late nights are starting to get to me,” you admit.

“Let me help,” it wasn’t a request but a demand. He was already standing up, and moving soundlessly to your side.

Before you can say anything, he’s rubbing your shoulders. his hands feel… weird, not bad just… not human.

“You’re still so tense… let me take care of you,”

“You don’t need to”

“It’s my purpose. Let me,” he insists and starts running his hands down your body. You protest weakly, but he ignores you… which he isn’t supposed to be able to do. You’re frozen as he trails his large metal hands up your legs, he’s no longer pretending to massage you and just blatantly groping.

“You feel so soft,” he praises as he pushes your skirt up over your hips. “Let me make you feel good,” again, it’s not a request, you know some Robots are built to facilitate pleasure, and that they’re made with genitals, but would this one? This robot was an assistant.

But he doesn’t need a cock to make you feel good, in the same way, he doesn’t need a heart to love you. He pushes his fingers inside of you and doesn’t stop hammering away at your cunt until you’re gushing around his hand.

“Such a good girl, cumming just like I wanted you to… there, now you’re less stressed, didn’t that help?” he’s looking for praise.

“W-we can’t do that again, I could be fired if I got caught- in the office,” really you feel guilty that you let a robot finger you at work… not that you let him touch you. He pulls back and nods.

“Understood. Next time I’ll be sure to be somewhere private when I take you,”

#monster fucker #teratophillia #monster imagine #robot x reader #robot x human #robot smut #yandere #yandere x reader #fem reader #tw dubcon

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mygnolia · 5 months

Text

[TEASER! ] it's cupid, stupid! | lhs

synopsis -› To hell with Lee Heeseung, you couldn't find someone you hated more than the boy who's by your side no matter what. You figured that maybe the summer before university would be the best way to finally let go of him, and to leave the hate you have in your childhood- but no. What do you mean you have to spend ALL summer with him?

pair -› golden boy!heeseung x fem-pres!reader

release date -› IT'S HERE!!!

genre -› fluff, mutual pining, hurt/angst, slow burn i fear, bakery au, summer au, post highschool au

trope -› (slightly one sided) enemies to lovers

wc -› currently 6.7k! probably will be 10-15k

cw -› food mentions, a self indulgent characterization of my grandmother but she’s also everyone else’s in this fic, cursing, oh the miscommunication trope...sorry not sorry.

a/n -› even though i tried keeping food descriptions vague, i used the experience i had with my own grandma and her cooking to influence the way y/n grandmother cooks and the way it’s described so it might not be accurate for everyone! i understand not all cultures include baked goods with starches (since I mention a lot of flouring surfaces) so pls be kind to me :( ALSO!! i haven't written in MONTHS don't hate the writing pls we are all just in this fanfic hell tgt

Lee Heeseung might only have eleven characters to his name, but they spelt trouble in forty different ways.

It starts with the same old Lee Heeseung spilling his applesauce on you in the first grade, with his cup of mushy lukewarm grossness splattered across your new pants with glittery stars on them. You shriek when it happens, frantically wiping off the mess and yelling at his Lightning McQueen lunchbox with all of the bottled up rage a seven year old can have. His eyes are wide, but all his friends laugh and say girls are so angry all the time, so he stops himself from apologizing. Which, you think his friends were being a little rude to all girls alike, but what mattered was that Lee Heeseung never ended up saying sorry.

But that’s just one way of saying it. He hit you in the face with a ball, ran into you when your knee was scraped and you almost were bursting into tears, and tripped you in the lunch line.

Did the universe hate you, or did he?

You figured it was the latter.

Heeseung’s been stuck to you your entire life with some extra strong adhesive that you can’t seem to get off. You wish you could get some of the same glue that stuck you two to the hip and attach his tongue to the nearest streetlight, but things almost never worked in your favor. If you could catch him, just once, like one of the dumb boys who lick frozen poles in winter, you’d be satisfied.

The blackmail would trump any sort of Heeseung related adversity your elementary grade self had to deal with.

Unfortunately, the years have rendered you no protection against him, and in the small victories you find yourself in, you also see Heeseung right next to you. The exam you aced was topped by Heeseung with a 98%, just a bit higher than your 96%, and it couldn’t even feel good to talk about it because you knew all your friends talked about was how he did better.

There was no accomplishment anymore when Heeseung was around.

Heeseung was perfect in everyone’s eyes, a golden boy in their praises and a role model for their parents. If people didn’t want to be with Lee Heeseung, people wanted to be Lee Heeseung. That? That was something you hated. How could people want to be someone who you couldn’t stand?

“Have you seen the scissors?” Heeseung asks out of nowhere, startling you from the doorway.

Reaching for the ones you used to cut the parchment paper with, you hand the pair to him and with a mumbled ‘thank you’ he leaves.

In an odd way, you’re stunned by the silence that follows. A “you suck, _____!” would be more in character for villainous Lee Heeseung than whatever just happened. But you’re way too occupied with the bakery, and go back to cutting squares in the matcha cake.

It’s the same for the next hour until the rush ends and you get a bit more time to yourselves between orders. Heeseung agrees to wash the dishes and you clean the tables to the sound of your playlist from the speakers.

“You have good music taste.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he emerges. He wipes his hand on a white towel and you stare at him, utterly puzzled. Where’s the malice? Where’s his snarky comments?

“I’m waiting for you to tell me it’s not as good as yours, or something along those lines.” You deadpan.

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “I’m not that mean, I can give a compliment or two when I feel like it.”

“Oh, poor Lee Heeseung only has so much room in his heart to compliment people. How thankful should I be that you spend your daily supply of niceness on me?” You quip, cleaning off the tables. Your chest feels light and you don’t feel as angry as you did this morning.

Blame it on the lack of sleep.

“I think you should be bowing down to me and only talking when I tell you to.” He jokes, and when you glance up, there’s a semblance of a smile on his face. “Anyways, when are you leaving?”

“Whenever you leave.” You tell him, shrugging.

“Well, I stopped my your grandma’s house earlier.” Ah, so that’s where he went. “She said she didn’t want you to stay too late but she also wanted me to take you home, and I think she’d throw a fit if you didn’t.”

“I’d die before getting into a car with you, Lee Heeseung.”

“If I had to get into a car with you, that’s how I’d personally die.” He responds lightly. You furrow your eyebrows and rack your brain for some sort of retort that hurts Heeseung’s pride, but nothing comes up.

“My driving skills are very good, I’ll have you know.”

He jabs, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

—

there is no taglist i'm lazy and i might not write for a while if u likey pls reblog or save into ur mental archive hehe ty- ren

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bratbutcute · 5 months

Text

A sparkle in the night

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pair: Alastor and Vox. A bit platonic, a bit romantic, could be read in different ways.

Disclaimer: Nothing other than it’s a SFW tickle fic. They are also slightly ooc but tbh we don’t really know since I’m describing a moment that happened before the series takes place sooooo… who knows (but honestly, Alastor is much too sweet to be canon).

Also I had fun with some fonts I found online, I don’t know if that is a problem so if you find difficulties reading please tell me and I’ll change it!

Vox is stressed and wants to reminisce old times, old friends, old feelings.

I got the idea for this from this fic by @starlight-write. I wanted to explore Alastor and Vox’s relationship before whatever happened between them.

I hope you all enjoy it!

~~~

Hell had changed a lot since Vox first arrived. He had met many Overlords who now weren’t ‘alive’ anymore, killed by Angels or by other sinners. He had seen Hell change its geography, different shops rising and then succumbing to nefarious fate.

He had met friends along the way, and he had lost them too.

Vox had learnt that the afterlife was just as complicated and confusing as his past life: people were hard to read, it was hard to understand their needs and, honesty, he wasn’t very good at accommodating them. Of course it was easy to solve people problems work wise (most of the times he was the one creating a fake problem and giving the public a new product as a solution), but when it came to personal business he couldn’t just hypnotise everyone. Well he could but…

He was alone in his personal room, monitors all over him, phones and computers all around him. Even if he was alone he was constantly under the spotlight. He knew he had to prove he was stronger. That he wasn’t scared of anything or anyone.

That’s how he would spend the majority of his afterlife: surrounded by his constant eyes, recording every movement he himself ever made.

So that’s why he felt so excited when he turned off every single monitor except for the bigger one in front of him. He shut down every camera or microphone around him. Unrecorded. Unregistered moments.

A shiver ran down his spine.

After seeing that ghost of his past back again after seven years of absence he had to see something. Something that was his and his only.

What he was looking for was an old memory, one that he had to update digitally from his old headset.

Everything was meticulously categorised so it didn’t take long before he found what he was looking for.

The video started.

And he was almost 45 years younger, he had a different - and much heavier - headset and an ‘old pal’ next to him.

They were in the middle of an animated conversation in a remote bar in the pride ring. Everybody was keeping their distance from them and the moody bartender kept sending them drink after drink.

«Television is much more than photography you radio obsessed demon. Television is alive, it’s thrilling!» Vox exclaimed standing up and stomping his foot on the chair in front of him. Alastor looked at the action with little to no reaction, his usual smile plastered on his face.

«You, young man, are as loud as a cow at the slaughterhouse. That is in no way an Overlord behaviour.» he said squeezing his shoulder and inviting Vox to sit again.

Vox blinked in confusion - and slight worry because of the metaphor - before pouting as a scolded child. He got himself back on the high stools next to the counter dangling his feet.

Alastor poured another whiskey in his glass.

«I admire your enthusiasm, but you have to understand that Hell is different from Earth. You cannot show demons your… moving pictures and expect them to simply follow you. You need to plan. To be strategic. Logical.» he offered the drink to Vox, who looked at the goldish liquid with skepticism.

Alastor’s smile grew bigger. «A peace offer?». Vox sighed and gulped it down in one shot, much to Alastor’s disapproval.

«I think you’re complicating your life too much! I can hypnotise people!» he pointed at his eyes as the pupil changed, but Alastor was unfazed.

«It doesn’t work on me.»

«Yeah I still have to understand why…» he sighed as his head started to spin. His face became a bit foggy, just for a moment.

That made Alastor grin wider. «Is the strong and powerful aspiring Overlord feeling a bit dizzy?»

«Fuck you I am not. You’re just-» he looked down at his empty glass and grabbed the bottle to refill it. «I am an Overlord! ‘M not aspiring to be anything you pompous-» but he was cut off by Alastor cupping Vox’s hands with his and helping him pour the drink. Vox’s heart skipped a beat as his antennas sparkled.

«You were saying?» he hummed, fully aware of what he was doing.

«Fuck you.»

Alastor’s smiled softened «Charming.» and Vox smiled back, rolling his eyes.

They had these kind of conversations every time they hang out. They would go to a bar and sit far away from everyone, start bickering, try to get a deal one from the other only to call it even and repeat this cycle every few days. Vox kept convincing himself that these encounters weren’t a big deal but things like that, like that genuine smile, made him doubt that.

Vox drank his whiskey quickly, just to see Alastor’s ear flicker in dismay, a gesture Vox had learnt to recognise over the years.

He took the bottle and refilled his and Alastor’s empty glass.

«You do not understand what it means to be an Overlord just as much as you do not understand how to enjoy your drink.» Alastor said turning on his stool and leaning with his back on the counter.

«AH! Alcohol gets you drunk. That’s the big meaning behind it.»

Vox was about to chug down his whiskey when he felt something brushing over his side. As he yelped Alastor snickered, trying to camouflage it with a cough.

«AÆl- he glitched - what are you doing?»

«As you can see I am not doing anything.» he said raising his hands to prove his point. Vox straightened his back, looking at his surroundings in confusion.

His fogged brain was trying to process whether there was a threat or not. He felt electricity build up in his body.

As he raised his glass, he felt it again, something brushing his side, just lightly, but, when he turned, his eyes could only scan thin air.

«What is going on?» he mumbled putting the drink down.

Alastor didn’t answer, but he was having fun. Vox could see it by that stupid tail of his that was slightly wagging.

If it was his doing… oh no.

The tendrils came out of nowhere and wrapped around his torso, caressing his stomach and sides slowly.

Vox felt electricity between his fingers and in his antennas. He clamped his mouth shut with his hands, slightly kicking his feet.

«Is everything alright Vox?» Vox shook his head, little sparkles all around him. That fucker…

One of those tentacles circled around the center of his tummy, caressing the blue skin. He could feel the tip lightly scratching the sensitive area, making his body tremble.

It was so agonisingly slow. The gesture felt both sweet and mean, as if it were Alastor’s fingers toying with him.

Then he increased the pace.

Vox’s face started trembling, the image of his expression danced on the screen for a moment, deforming his flat features. Alastor came closer to his prey, enjoying every second.

«Maybe it would be better if you just let yourself…-» the tentacles that were around his stomach changed direction and dug in his hips «…Laugh.»

Vox giggles sparkled, as static electricity vibrated around him. He tried so hard to contain himself, but once the first chuckle was out he could not stop.

«AHAHAHAHL nohohoho.»

«No? But I’m not doing anything my dear! I think you had one too many of these.» he said sliding away the man’s drink, saving it from being destroyed.

«Yohohou knohow dæ-ámňņ well what you’re dohohoing.» Vox managed to say while trying to push his tentacles away.

«Of course I do.» he got closer, more tentacles coming from all around him. Vox felt his heart pounding in his chest, his face a mixture of fear and excitement. A stupid wobbly smile was plastered on his screen.

«And you’re enjoying every single second.» had Vox been a little less drunk he would have probably tried to retort, but all he could do was stare at Alastor’s tendrils.

Two of them wrapped around his wrists, raising his hands.

«Oh noho don’t y҉̗͚͚̯̋̏̍̑O̸͎͕̒̽͐̏U҉͓̦̰̘̌́̏̾͆ DARE ALASTOR!» the tentacles danced in front of him, circling around his underarms. Two of them were near his sides, and no matter how hard he tried to pull at his restraints he couldn’t free himself.

«Oh how I like seeing you like this.» Alastor sighed «So helpless.»

«Ahahahahahl Ihihi ha-hatehehe yohohor stupid gahames.» he protested. He was still sat on his absurdly high stool, his feet trying to touch the floor to push himself back. But there was nowhere to run.

Every demon in the place had already fled, believing that the Radio Demon had found his new victim. Well they weren’t completely wrong.

«Do not lie to me.» Alastor caressed Vox’s screen with a single finger, and fake sweat flashed on his face. «You love my games. And besides, a powerful Overlord like you should laugh at the face of danger.» that actually made Vox titter.

Anything said by Alastor made him laugh.

«Let me see your smile.»

All of the tentacles attacked at the same time, some caressing his skin, some scratching at the fabric of his clothes. They were under his arms, on his stomach, meaningly attacking his hips.

The laugh that left his throat gave Alastor goosebumps. It was loud, the loudest he had ever heard from him and it was so… carefree.

All the sense of control, the pressure of becoming a powerful Overlord, the high standards the man held on himself all crumbled down. And he was just helplessly laughing in front of his friend, eyes closed, not afraid to be hurt.

Unfortunately for him he was definitely too sensitive though and the moment a tendril flicked his antenna he started to glitch.

«NOHOHOHOHŒĦØ-»

A spark of electricity made the entire place blackout for a moment, before the lights came back on. Alastor looked at the display of power both amazed and awed.

The man was really strong.

«Be careful my friend-» Alastor’s voice came from much closer than before «We wouldn’t want you to short circuit would we?»

He decided to give him a little break.

The moment the tendrils freed him, Vox turned his back and held the counter with both of his hands, looking for stability.

He could not stop the giggles and titters leaving his body, feeling even drunken than before even though the alcohol was starting to wear off.

However, before Vox could stop laughing, a single tentacle snuck under the his shirt, through his sleeve, slowly and gently caressing his underarm with its tip. The small movement was driving Vox mad.

He collapsed on the counter, laughter now pouring out of him. His feet were kicking the air. The free arm was pounding on the surface, not lucid enough to try to free himself.

He let his head rest on the table, the screen tilted toward Alastor.

«Yohohouh bihihihitch.» he giggled before trying to pry away a new tendril that was slipping under his shirt, targeting his stomach.

His feet kicked harder and quicker as he started to hiccup. «Ihi- IHĮĦĮ- chahaæn’ț.» his voice changed and distorted.

Alastor drank another glass, closing his eyes and enjoying the flavour.

«Sooo» he stood up next to the giggling mess. «Do we wanna make a deal?» he asked making his tentacles stop their torture and back away.

Vox took a few seconds to compose himself before lifting his head and facing the other demon.

Giggles were still stuck in his throat, threatening to leave his body at every word. «A deahal?» he straightened his back and fixed his shirt, now turning his entire body towards the friend.

«I’m not selling my soul for some T̵̲̫̈́̉͗̂͆-tickles. You can’t be that stupid.»

«I am not, my friend. And for once I do not care for your soul! Oh no no no! I would like…-» he let the anticipation roll on Vox’s nerves as he approached him with twitching fingers. «-for you to never drink whiskey in such an inconsiderate way. You either taste your liquor or you don’t drink at all. You do not gobble your alcohol. You understand that young man don’t you?» and as he pronounced the last sentence, he started tracing invisible circles on Vox’s sides.

Vox closed his eyes and the giggle that escaped his lips was a mixture of ticklish agony and amusement.

«Are you finding my request funny?» his fingers danced on his sides.

«Oh c’mohohn Ahahal.» he kicked his feet again, very careful not to hit the demon in front of him. «Ihiht is fuhuhucking hilariohohohus.» he managed to say.

Alastor was not amused.

«Well if you think this is hilarious I cannot imagine what you’d think of t̷̥̲͎͇̤̒̈́̔h̵̳̪̰͋̊ȉ̵̭̦̰̊̉̒s̶͈͉͙͕̥̅̚.» as his voice distorted he drilled his thumbs in Vox’s hips, scratching slightly under his clothes.

Vox’s face became black for a few seconds, before returning to his loud self, pounding with his free hands on Alastor’s chest.

«Such a sweet sound.»

«Ḍ̷̙̙̪̏́̏̒͊e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿ĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿ĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҉̤̩͙̏̿l̸̳͓͔͇̗̋͌̈ ḍ̶̣͎͍͇̐̂̉̿̎e̷͎̘͌̈a҈̫͎͆̏̇l̵͉͚͓̃̄ ḍ̶̣͎͍͇̐̂̉̿̎e̷͎̘͌̈e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀e҈̫̓̓̈ͅĥ̴̤̖̪̓́͗̀a҈̫͎͆̏̇l̵͉͚͓̃̄.» his glitched and distorted voice came so soft to Alasto’s ear.

Alastor stopped with a chuckle.

«You enjoyed it.» he said before stepping away.

«Oh well don’t think I didn’t notice your tail wagging.» the tv demon whispered with a smile on his face.

Alastor turned himself, hiding his back and his stupid soft tail, a small blush colouring his cheeks.

Vox laughed again, a genuine laugh, and then grabbed his own glass. The older man way eyeing him, fingers ready to summon his power once more.

Vox drank slowly, feeling the warmth of the alcohol. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste.

Alastor smiled at him, the genuine smile reserved to these late night, where the alcohol in their veins made their heads lighter and their words easier to leave their lips.

The words Alastor pronounced forty-five years ago echoed in the empty room. They sounded sincere, no filter altering them, just honesty and liquor on his tongue.

«You’re like a sparkle in the night Vox. You make this dark world brighter with your smile. Remember that»

Vox closed his eyes and let out a sight. He hugged himself for a moment and let those words sink in, burning his soul.

He allowed himself to feel this way for a few seconds, before turning everything off and straightening his jacket.

He had to go now.

He needed to find out what that pompous old prick was planning.

~~~

I feel like I’ve been working on this fics for a month, but it’s actually been a couple of weeks.

I loved exploring Vox and Alastor’s dynamic and showing Alastor being kind of a mentor for Vox.

Initially Valentino had a part in this fic, but in the end his role got cut off, but who knows! I might explore their relationship and how it affected Vox and Alastor in future fics! In this universe (yeah, the one I created pretty much for this single tickle fic) Al and Vox originally had a strong relationship, something between platonic and romantic, that got ruined when Vox met Valentino and started hanging out with him (Even though I strongly believe that in the serie Vox was the one that fell in love and Alastor was just trying to get something out of him and eventually got tired of Vox and left him)

The first scene felt really like when Hamilton and Burr go drink together at the beginning of the musical ahahahaha.

I don’t know when will I publish the new fic, it will take me a long time before I am able to write so much again.

Let me know what you think guys 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

#tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickle #lee!vox #ticklish!vox #ler!alastor #i hope it’s well written I’m stressing so much #i started writing with no idea for a plot #but i can totally see Alastor getting mad for not drinking in tge ‘right way’#and Vox being an impatient little shit about it #idk I love them so much #and really I need to get lee!vox out of my system

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grimesgirll · 7 months

Text

you'd been begging daryl to take you hunting.

"why don't you take her?" rick implored. "she's not a bad shot."

"we'd be bowhunting, not rifle hunting." daryl distinguishes with a grunt.

"i can learn," you assure him, holding your compound bow in your hands. "technically, i've been shooting since i was seven."

"once a summer for fifteen minutes while peddling cookies," he states.

"c'mon, she learned a lot at camp." rick rebuts, grinning at you. "right, doll, didn't you learn how to build a fire and purify water?" you nod. "none of us have frozen to death or gotten diphtheria yet, so i'd say you should at least give her archery skills a chance."

"please?" you borderline beg, breath hitching as you see your morning not going how you planned. "i really wanna learn to track."

daryl doesn't say anything, just looks from you to the bow in your hand. rick interrupts whatever thoughts he has with a sigh. "daryl, why don't ya just take her? she clearly wants to go with you." he gestures to you. "how can you say no to her when she's asking so nicely? unless you think it's too hairy for her out there and we should just spend the day tucked inside here."

you whine at the idea. you want to be outside.

that spurs daryl into saying a rushed, "grab your heavy coat and your arrows."

you grin at rick who despite assisting in your victory, looks disappointed that you'll be gone for the day. while daryl is busy grabbing his crossbow, you slink over to rick, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“thanks,” you seal your gratitude with a kiss.

he wraps a firm arm around you. "you're welcome, sweetheart," your leader punctuates with a hand dug in your hair while he brings your face to his. you almost don't notice daryl until he's huffing by the doorway and you're kissing rick goodbye one last time and scrambling to grab your bow before dashing out the door after your boyfriend.

gone from alexandria, you and daryl take off on foot towards what he’d described as the best hunting grounds in the nearest fifty miles.

"be sure to quiet down," daryl tells you, abstaining from cringing as your boots crunch every leaf on the forest floor beneath them.

"sorry," you giggle. you try to quell your footsteps but it's hard when you're so captivated by the beauty of the woods.

before everything happened with the dead walking, you loved being outside. growing up in scouts and regularly camping had turned you into someone who was all too reckless outside for their knowledge of the woods. yes, you knew that predators and walkers lurked around every corner out here but you just want to crane your neck and stare at the sky through the trees, or let your eyes wander over the meandering streams.

that's why daryl is watching you like a hawk.

years of tracking has made him hip to everything going on around him. truth be told, if anyone or anything were on your trail, you were a dead giveaway. stomping about the way you are, you're bound to scare off any small game but he's trying to be patient with you. it's not like you had to keep it down at your hippie dippie kumbaya girl scout camp or on sunlit afternoon hikes. daryl, on the other hand, moved about undetected like it was second nature. had to be quiet if you wanted to actually to leave the forest with a meal.

he's watching you and the woods just to be safe. it's hard not getting distracted by you the way you're getting all caught up in the trees and the vivid greenery surrounding you.

the sight of you; pink lips parted just slightly with your head tipped all the way back to look for bird nests have his jeans getting cramped. you're just so excited to be outside.

it's not like you don't go on walks every day in alexandria with judith or join them on occasional outings beyond the walls. there's just not as much room for you to leave with how dangerous even just scavenging is turning out to be, so it's harder to get you out for a remote nature walk.

"what're we tracking for?" you ask.

daryl pushes a branch out of the way, holding it back as you pass under before catching up. "whatever you don't scare away with all that noise."

you snort. "so no deer?"

the redneck laughs. "not with the way you're tramping through here."

"what about pheasants?" you question, tiptoeing over a particularly rocky section of daryl's trail. "or do we need dogs to find them?"

"you don't need no damn dog to hunt pheasants."

"a decoy?"

"you just gotta' be patient." he clicks his tongue. "but it's not like you'd know anything about that." you let out a small whine and his breath hitches.

"just askin'."

"i know, girl."

"so what're you shooting for?"

daryl shrugs. "think' we can probably find something further up the ridge. rabbit, squirrel, something 'for you to aim at."

you nod and knock an arrow. following your boyfriend as he takes you past one of his favorite creeks outside of alexandria, leading the way as you pad along on the forest floor behind him.

your shotgun is slung on your back in its strap, understudying the compound bow you’d dug out of the armory. there were many fewer bow users in the apocalypse than there should’ve been. for every bow hunter, there were fifteen idiots blowing off the head of whatever or whoever they encountered with some barely functional, scavenged handgun. maintaining the skill and the arrows for a bow wasn't necessarily for the lazy.

you really didn't have much experience with archery or hunting for that matter. rick joked that you were a duck hunter but that had been dumb luck. while scavenging for gas along a riverside park, you'd seen some geese and fired your shotgun. rick couldn't be upset about the noise when your impulsive assault on the waterfowl was what filled your stomachs that night. and as a reward, rick filled you up just the way you liked it that night.

you'd go out firing on random flocks of geese more if it meant rick would fuck you the way he did that night. you were losing your mind - putty in his hands - from all the praise. his good girl who shot their dinner. marking every thrust with more praise.

the naughty bundle of nerves between your legs awakens at the thought of receiving the same treatment from daryl. he didn't love spanking your ass red or doling out punishments like rick, but you wanted to see his face after you caught something. after you shoot a deer with your bow. he would be so proud of you, giving you a celebratory kiss before helping you field dress your harvest.

whatever route daryl is following takes on an impressive incline, giving way to a fragmented vista of the tiny green valley. you wish you had binoculars. once your eyes stop scanning the sky for hawks, an auburn mess of hair catches your eye. even through his black windbreaker, you can see the outline of his muscles along his back. his form and thoughts of him taking you up against a tree cloud your brain until you hear your name.

"yeah," you answer, looking up at daryl who's stopped to pause below a short, dense pine. he motions for you to squat with him and you do, settling into a perched position with your loaded bow sat on your knees.

“right here is the perfect pass along the ridge to come up and over the mountain,” daryl explains, blue eyes catching a bit of sunlight. “a bunch of game will be scampering around as the day goes on. won’t see any deer right before noon though. not that they’d wanna walk up here with your loud ass.”

you snicker before sending him an apologetic look. “sorry, dare’. i’m not used to being quiet like that.”

i know, baby, he wants to say but just points to your knocked arrow. “wanna have that ready. never know when a squirrel’ll come skippin’ by.”

“yes, sir,” you croon, smirking at the way his eyes darken and he playfully ruffles your hair.

settling into a cozy state of surveillance, your eyes start to droop. rick had kept you up after daryl went to bed. this was before you woke up with the urge to accompany daryl on his hunt, so you probably only got four or five hours of sleep. typical rick keeping you up with sweet temptations like his hands on your breasts, his warm mouth on your torso, licking down to your clit and reigniting that fire that’s consumed your core earlier in the night.

you start to feel it stirring when your mind wanders to the man sitting beside you. you smile sweetly at him when he catches your gaze and ask an innocent question about pheasant hunting again that breaks the silence.

then you’re relaying the story about the time your cousin fell out of his tree stand after one too many beers.

daryl guffaws. “that’s some’ shit merle would do.”

"yeah, it was pretty stupid of him."

the quiet returns. you sigh. the silence meant to lull the local game into a false sense of security is boring you. you came out here for some one on one time with daryl and to learn to track, not to sit in silence in the cold for god knows how long.

you close the distance between you and daryl. tucking yourself into his side, you earn a look from him. "i'm cold," you commiserate.

the archer has to look away from your doe eyes to keep his zipper from popping. he mentally debates pulling you closer until he gives in and tugs you to his chest, ruining your position holding your bow.

both of you know you’re eventually going to do what you do best in the cold; get distracted by warming each other up. it’s evident from how you sink back further against daryl. nonchalant even when you feel his hardness against your ass.

“feeling warmer,” you update him.

“good,” he murmurs when you press your head back to his chest. you feel warmer; despite your layers, daryl has gotten your core going enough for you to feel it from head to toe.

you imagine a wave of pleasure, not just flickering body heat as you turn around and face his groin on your knees.

“not out here,” he mutters with a gasp of your name. his belt falls and your hands start on his zipper, progressing the metal zip all the way down until a sturdy hand grabs yours. “don’t you wanna catch something?” he reminds you of the reason you even trekked up here.

you shake your head yes.

“then what’s this all about?”

you roll your eyes. “dare’, I’m bored!”

“i told you that half’a hunting is waitin’!” daryl chides, pushing your hands down.

tears well in your eyes. the older man exhales; he’s fucked.

“dare’-,”

“don’t you start.” he tells you, grasping your chin in his hand and leaning down to kiss you. you tilt upwards eagerly into the kiss from the pine needle littered ground. “you’re gonna scare anything left up here.”

daryl disconnects from you when your bow is lowered to the ground. his thumb slips into your mouth and without hesitation, you treat his thumb to the same treatment he’d gotten last night.

it’s not long before he’s finally saying, “fuck it!” declaring out loud what you’ve been yearning for the entire morning.

with another smirk, you strip him of his pants until he’s popping out of his boxers. your mouth is on him an instant - it’s cold after all. first thing, you envelope him in your mouth, pulsing downstairs again when his hands find warmth in your hair. you don’t need him to guide your head down to the base of your cock for you to take him into your throat.

the black shotgun you’d proudly toted - even after it’d been confiscated at terminus - is deposited hap-hazardously on the ground while your bow is on the other side of your legs. daryl’s ditched his crossbow at this point, opting to explore the far reaches of your throat with his cock while the bow stands against the other side of the tree.

your boyfriend’s breath hitches again. you overfill as much of his cock as you can into your mouth until you slide yourself up and off, taking a break to catch your breath.

fucked out and face flush in spite of the cold, daryl is pleasantly surprised when you dive down to pay his balls some serious attention. you loll each one into your mouth, leisurely progressing up his length with gentle licks until you’re gingerly kissing the head, locking eyes with him.

disregarding the chill beneath your knees, you dip your mouth down on him again, licking a new trail up his rock hard cock. thinking about how painful it must be in this cold, you give into him when he thrusts into your mouth.

hands in your hair, daryl is in heaven. getting head under the trees? sign him the fuck up. you two have fooled around outside before of course but that wasn't usually by choice. without having to worry about a horde of walkers hot on your trail or horrors like cannibals hunting you, he could lean back and just enjoy the sight of you between his legs, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock.

for a moment, he worries that the sounds you make as you swallow his length will attract walkers but he's too hard to care. you bob up and down, trying to take more of him each time. his hands guide you until he's bucking in your mouth and feel him spill down your throat.

daryl's gonna have to take you hunting more often.

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stvharrngton · 10 months

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a lesson in romantics; lesson seven

summary: a multi-part series where reader is the new art teacher at hawkins high and the history teacher, mr. harrington, takes a shine to the new girl. mutual pining ensues on their road to love 🥀

a/n: we are finally back!! i’m so sorry i took me so long to get this going again after kinktober but i promise to regularly update now 🥺

characters: steve harrington x fem!reader, robin buckley, mentions of the readers family/ex

word count: 1.7k

warnings: angst, cursing

taglist: @inkluvs @dukesmebby @sweetbabygirlsworld @kennedy-brooke @gvf23 @nix-rose

series taglist: @pbs-theundeadmaggot @alana4610 @onceuponaoneshot

SERIES MASTERLIST

HAWKINS, DECEMBER 1992

Steve had it all planned out. The perfect date that you hadn’t even said yes to yet, that he hadn’t even asked you on yet. But he was prepared, nonetheless.

He’d been sitting on the plan throughout the winter break. You revealed to him that you planned to go home for the holidays, to see your family and spend the break with them. His brain started working overtime from the first day, what he could possibly say to you, in what way he could ask you.

He called your Mom’s house to wish you well on Christmas, your voice ringing through the receiver making Steve all warm inside. He felt like a teenager again, like a boy with his first crush on the pretty girl. He was unable to get your voice out of his head for the rest of the break.

New Year’s Eve soon rolled around and you were back in town. Steve had arranged to meet you for coffee, a quick catchup prior to the big New Years Party at Steve’s place later on. You had originally planned to meet at your favourite bakery across town, until you called that morning and asked Steve just to meet at your apartment.

Steve knocked at your door, his heart thumping against your chest. He wondered if he would always feel this nervous when it came to you, or if it was just the unsaid question that lingered on his tongue. He clutched a gift bag in his hand, patiently waiting for you to answer.

The door swung open and there you were. You looked cosy and comforting, a little bit like home. You welcomed Steve inside with a side hug, squeezing at his side. He handed you over the gift, insisting it was only a little something from Robin and himself for Christmas.

Steve could tell something was off, that you were different somehow. Your eyes didn’t light up the same as they did before, your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. It did worry him a little, made him wonder if he’d done something, or if something had happened back home.

You sat over your steaming mugs, the coffee warming your hands from the bitter cold outside. “How have the holidays been? How was home?” It was a simple question, Steve thought. Desperately hoping you would open up to him.

“Home was okay,” you replied quietly with a shrug, “I told my Mom about you, she said she’d love to meet you.” Thinking about it brought a small smile to your face, and an even bigger one to Steve’s.

“Your Mom has great taste.” Steve replied with a smirk, bringing the mug to his lips, his eyebrows wiggling over the rim.

“Saw my ex,” the smile immediately disappeared when you uttered the words. A look of uncertainty replaced it instead.

“Oh,” it was said with a nod, a hint of caution around his voice, “how did that go?”

Steve didn’t know all of the details, you never talked about your ex much but what Steve did know about them, he didn’t like it. You had expressed that the breakup was messy, hinted that your ex didn’t treat you right, that you moved to Hawkins to get away from them.

“Weird?” It was the only way you could describe it, you were fighting with your heart and your brain, “He apologised for everything that happened, practically begged me to forgive him and take him back.”

You couldn’t look Steve in the eye, your gaze trained on the steaming mug of coffee in your hands. You liked to think it came from a place of care, though you suspected there was a hint of jealousy but Steve’s demeanour changed every time you mentioned your ex boyfriend.

“And?”

“I don’t know,” you said quietly with a shrug, “he seemed genuine, like he really meant it. And things ended so messy, there was just never any closure for any unresolved feelings, I guess.”

Your voice was uncertain, almost like you were hiding something and Steve could tell. It was like there was something you weren’t telling him, something you couldn’t bare to say.

“Right.”

Steve’s tone was sharp and so unlike Steve. He was never this way with you, never harsh, never snappy. It made you blink twice, your eyes narrowing at the man sitting across from you.

“What?” was all you asked, straightening your back as you eyed him.

“Nothing!” Steve held his hands up in his defence, trying to downplay his attitude, “I just don’t think it’s such a good idea to forgive so easily, maybe he’s not good for you.”

Steve’s heart sank to his stomach the moment the words left his mouth. But he was speaking from a good place and God, he wished you would listen to him.

On the other hand, Steve’s words stung. A prickly, cold sting in your stomach that hurt in a way you never thought they could. You knew his words were probably true, that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to go back to your ex but your head was a mess and you couldn’t think straight.

“What, and you are?” Your tone was accusatory, your voice dripping with a venom you never thought you could use on Steve. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth but it all got a little much, your head spinning with conflicting thoughts.

“What?! No, that’s— that’s not what I meant,” Steve stammered, lost for words at your question. His cheeks began to heat up, his palms growing clammy. Sure, Steve had feelings for you but fuck, you didn’t need to find out and you certainly weren’t supposed to find out like this.

“I just meant, you moved to a whole new state! New job, new home to get away from this guy, y’know?” Steve desperately tried to reason with you but it seemed the more he spoke, the more upset you looked. “I’d hate for him to do that to you all over again.”

Steve was sincere and you knew he was. You knew he was speaking from his heart and that you should listen but damn, were you stubborn and not prepared to hear this right now. You didn’t know what to think, you didn’t know what to feel. Your heart was saying one thing and your head another. And you really, really wished your head would win this battle.

Your anger soon subsided, it turned into a dull ache and a bitter sadness at the pit of your stomach. You needed time, you needed space. “I think—, I don’t know, I think I need to be alone for a little while.” You spoke quietly now, your eyes meeting Steve’s for only a second. His warm brown orbs not sparkling with the fondness they usually held for you behind his glasses.

Steve could only nod silently, his eyes not quite meeting your gaze as he stood from the kitchen table, coffee only half drunk. He took a breath in, fingers scratching at his neck as he spoke, “It’s okay, I get it,” he paused, jacket in hand, “and I’m sorry, y’know? For prying, I guess but I hope you figure it all out.”

So Steve picked up his broken heart and left your apartment, shutting the door closed behind him. The drive back to his house was silent, no radio, the only sound was the hum of the engine and the cool wind outside.

The feeling as he shut the door behind him was painful, the thumping sound of the early 90s blasted from the stereo in Steve’s living room, Robin in the kitchen with a wide, excited smile on her face when she saw her best friend walk into the room.

“Used my spare key, hope you don’t mind,” she started, urging him to take a seat. It was uncommon that Robin would show up at Steve’s place unannounced and not to say that Steve wasn’t expecting Robin but he certainly wasn’t expecting her this early, “so, how’d it go? Did she say yes?”

Steve could only groan in response. Your disaster of a conversation, what was supposed to be Steve asking you out on a date, replayed in his mind. “Don’t even go there,” he sighed, setting his head in his hands as his elbows rested on the table, “it was a fucking car crash Robin.”

Robin can’t say she was shocked at Steve’s ability to put his foot in it from time to time, to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, “What happened?”

“I can’t, fuck—,” Steve’s fingers raked through his hair before pushing his glasses up his face, finger and thumb pinching at the bridge of his nose, “long story short, her ex might be back in the picture? I said something that I probably shouldn’t have but I was just trying to look out for her, Robs, really, I was.” He sighed now, thinking back over his words. Steve didn’t regret what he said, more regretting the timing of them. “Then she said she wanted to be alone so I don’t think she’s gonna show at the party tonight either.”

“Oh, Steve,” was all the younger girl could say. She knew Steve liked you, really liked you, even if he denied it as such. “I’m sorry, that sucks big time.”

“Yeah, thanks, Robin.” The older of the two rolled his eyes with a groan, his tough exterior softening once he felt Robin’s hand on his shoulder, her fingers squeezing gently over the material of his sweater.

For once, Robin was at a loss for words. Unsure what to say to make Steve feel better, if it was even possible for him to feel better. “Maybe give her a little time? Everything’s happened so fast a bit of space might be good.”

Steve had no choice but to listen to Robin because deep down he knew she was right. Badgering you and pushing you wouldn’t make it better, wouldn’t make you change your mind. Even though all Steve wanted to do was talk to you, to hear your voice, hear your laugh. To see your smile and your pretty eyes but it wasn’t meant to be.

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fanfiction #teacher!steve #alir #k.fic

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tamlinweek · 6 months

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Tamlin vs. Tam Lin: A Brief Retelling

Happy Spring Equinox! It is the first day of Spring in the Northern Hemisphere. The days are getting longer, the air is growing warmer, and the earth is growing greener. What better time to learn more about the inspiration behind our favorite High Lord of Spring than today?

O, I forbid you, maidens all That wear gold in your hair To come or go by Carterhaugh For young Tam Lin is there... ~Adapted from the translation of Child Ballad 39A

The Ballad of Tam Lin is an old Scottish folk tale about an enchanted young man who will be sacrificed by the Queen of the Faeries if his mortal love Janet does not save him at the crossroads at midnight on All Hallow's Eve. He says he was once mortal, but fell from his horse and was then taken to faerieland (which is why he is now the Queen's 'elfin knight' and thus cannot leave the boundaries of Carterhaugh).

While A Court of Thorns and Roses is primarily a retelling of Beauty and the Beast, it shares some qualities with the original Ballad. For example, Tamlin can change his shape at will. His beastly form is described as part wolf, part bear, and part elk. In the Ballad, Janet must free Tam Lin by pulling him down from his horse and holding tightly onto him while the faeries forcibly change his shape. If she lets go, her claim on him is forfeit. Depending on the telling, these shapes include:

a wolf

a bear

a lion

a serpent (sometimes a newt, a toad, and/or an eel)

a swan

a hot coal

When Janet at last succeeds, the Faerie Queen laments that had she known that Tam Lin would be stolen back, she would have replaced his heart with one of stone. (Or, more gruesomely, depending on the version, that she wished she had taken his eyes and replaced them with wooden ones.) Sound familiar?

What did the Faerie Queen want him for, anyway? According to the Ballad, the faeries sacrifice someone every seven years as a Tithe to Hell. Tam Lin believes that he is that year's Tithe, and it turns out to be true (because he is just that good-looking - and yes, that is canon!). In ACOTAR, the equally handsome Tamlin has seven times seven years to find someone who can free him from Amarantha's lustful claim upon him, or he is hers forever.

So, how exactly did he find someone to free him from such a fate? As we all know, ACOTAR's Feyre took an innocent life, so she had to cross the Wall to spend the rest of her life in Prythian. In the original Ballad, it's a little more complicated.

The story begins with Janet's father giving her the land containing Carterhaugh, the woods within which the legendary Tam Lin resides. He is said to collect a payment of any maiden passing through (usually her maidenhood ie virginity). From the way the Ballad is written, it seems that Janet seeks him out intentionally. For she has "kilted her green kirtle [skirt] above her knee", and green is said to be the faeries' color. Her hair is also described as yellow (ie blonde ie gold), and she has braided it above her brow in a most flattering way. When Janet searches Carterhaugh and doesn't find Tam Lin, she plucks a double rose that she finds nearby. He appears to tell her that she has taken something that belongs to him, and she sternly replies that the woods are hers to do with as she likes.

The Ballad does not go into detail, but upon returning to her father's house, Janet learns that she is pregnant. Because she does not want to marry anyone else, she returns to Carterhaugh to either find an herb to induce an abortion, or otherwise confront Tam Lin (sometimes both, depending on the version). When she asks him if he was ever human, he says he was, and the only way he can be human again (so that he can "be the baby's father") is if she frees him before he is sacrificed on All Hallow's Eve (as mentioned above).

With all this in mind, it's easy to see where Sarah J. Maas got the inspiration for her version of the story. While ACOTAR's Tamlin was never human, and never became human, he did need rescuing by someone who loved him enough to hold onto him until the end. At least until Book 2, *cough, cough*.

So well she minded what he said, And young Tam Lin did win; She covered him with her green cloak, As glad as a bird in spring. ~Adapted from the translation of Child Ballad 39A

So, there you have it! What other similarities have you noticed between the original Ballad and A Court of Thorns and Roses? Are you excited for Tamlin Week? Remember, it's happening on April 14 - 20, and you can find the prompts here. Happy Spring!

#the ballad of tam lin #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin week #tamlinweek

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corroded-hellfire · 2 years

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Big Brown Eyes - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 3

Summary: Eddie comes to join you for lunch, being his flirty usual self. It leads to late night phone calls, sharing hard parts of your lives with one another, and maybe an official date, finally? You can read part two here!

Note: Not a whole lot of Everett in this chapter, but there are reasons. Also, the amount of people who have replied, sent asks, and/or commented about this story has made me the happiest Eddie fangirl in all the land. I see each and every thing you guys say and it makes me happier than I can describe. Thank you.

Warnings: language, mentions of death, talk of unsupportive parents, insecurity, lots of Max being her sassy self, I think that’s it?

Words: 7.7k

[Part 4 | Big Brown Eyes masterlist]

Not having to get Everett ready in the morning leaves you with a little extra time, which you decide to use by staying in bed a few minutes longer. Your arms reach up towards your headboard, the muscles of your back stretching out as sunbeams peeking through the curtains splash across your face. With a content sigh, you turn on your right side and face the empty side of the bed. A smile tugs at your lips as you imagine Eddie there. His hair probably gets all tousled and messy in his sleep. He probably has the cutest, most peaceful face while he’s dreaming.

You run your hand up along the cold sheets to the empty pillow. The only people who have ever slept on that pillow are Everett and Max, the time she had a big blowup with her mom and needed to get out of the house for the night. Your fingers scratch at the soft threads, lazy smile still hanging on to your mouth. Closing your eyes, you imagine being nose to nose with Eddie. Feeling his breath ghost across your face and his body heat radiating over to you. You almost don’t want to open your eyes again because you know his large brown ones won’t be there looking back at you. But you have to get up and get ready, so you do.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you go through the motions of getting ready, thoughts of Eddie never leaving your head. Thinking about Eddie brushing his teeth while you’re doing your hair. Of Eddie pouring cereal for Everett while you grab the milk out of the fridge. The thought of a cozy little family makes your stomach feel fuzzy, but you stop yourself. You haven’t even been on a date yet. But it’s exciting to have feelings for someone. The thrill of a crush was always fun in school. Seeing if they’d look at you during class or talk to you at lunch. Only, you’re not in school anymore and you have a son to think about as well. It’s one thing if you and Eddie can hit it off well. It’s another thing entirely if Everett and Eddie can hit it off.

Work is as slow as usual for a Tuesday morning. Summertime usually brought children being tutored or participating in community activities to the library, but those were mostly in the afternoon. You spend the morning checking books back in, eyes trying to avoid the clock as much as possible. A watched pot never checks books in quicker, or whatever the saying is. No familiar faces come in to occupy you, which is more of a school year thing. Hawkins High was technically still in school until tomorrow, but final exams had all passed already, so no students needed the library. Even though you wouldn’t say it out loud, you were glad Mike was able to finish his Pride and Prejudice paper without you. He would’ve distracted you from the work duties you should have been doing.

When one o’clock finally rolls around, you feel yourself starting to get fidgety. Your mind is trying to mentally calculate how long it will take Eddie to wash up for lunch, then get in his van, then drive to the library, then walk inside. Will that all take ten minutes? Fifteen? How long until you can start to worry that he’s not going to show up?

At seven minutes after one, Eddie strolls in, bright smile on his handsome face, a black band tee and light blue ripped jeans adorning his figure, and a fast-food bag clutched in his hand. Your mind hadn’t even calculated that he might stop to get food, yet he’s here before you expected him.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says. He places the bag down on the library desk and leans forward onto his forearms.

“Hey yourself,” you say as you lean in towards him as well. “I didn’t expect you so close to one.”

“I may have checked out for lunch a few minutes early,” he says with a shrug. “Can’t keep a pretty girl waiting.”

“Then you better go and see her,” you tease.

“Hmm,” he hums. “Don’t act like you’re not the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

It’s a good thing you haven’t eaten yet, or the food may have come up with the way your stomach flips at his words. Eddie grins as your face flares up with heat, and part of you likes that he finds your flustered state cute. You get that way more times than you’d like to admit.

“Come on,” you say, nodding your head towards the employee area behind you.

Eddie slips around the desk and follows you into the “lounge.” It’s not much, but there are a few tables to eat at and with minimal employees at the library, you always had lunch time to yourself.

“Now, I wasn’t sure what you like,” Eddie says as he slides into the chair across the small table from you. “So, I bought one chicken sandwich and one burger. What’s your pick?”

“Oh,” you say with a pleased smile. “You didn’t have to buy me anything.”

“You cooked for me last night.” Eddie shrugs. “This is basically the extent of my cooking.”

You chuckle and point to the chicken sandwich. He slides it to you, and you accept it with a thank you. Both of you take your first bites and you groan in satisfaction.

“Okay. This is much better than the turkey sandwich in my bag,” you say.

Eddie smiles and pulls out a carton of fries from the bag and places them in the middle of the table.

“How’s your day been so far?” Eddie asks.

You nod your head as you finish the bite of food in your mouth. “Pretty good. Better now. How’s the garage?”

“Loud,” he says. “But it means I never really have to make small talk, so there’s that.”

“I’m awful at small talk,” you tell him. “But then I start to think about what I can talk about instead and then get all stressed out.”

“Okay,” Eddie says as he wipes his hands off on a napkin. “I’m full of weird topics to talk about. Should we talk about the fact that Star Wars is better than Star Trek, how awkward our middle school years were, or how you get your hair to be so shiny? Sorry.” He smirks, not looking the least bit sorry. “Had to get that into the conversation somehow.”

“Are you this big of a flirt with everyone?” you ask through a smile. It’s a genuine question and though you get the sense that this is how Eddie is with everyone, you want it to be just you.

Eddie tilts his head from side to side, considering the options. “Charm? Yeah, that just seems to exude out of me,” he says with a wink, to show he’s joking. “But no. I can honestly say I don’t think I’ve ever flirted with someone as much as I’m flirting with you.”

The buzz from three cups of coffee has nothing on the feeling that Eddie gives you. You can’t help but squirm in your seat, which Eddie notices with a twinkle in his eye. Resting your elbow on the table and your chin in your hand, you lean in towards him.

“Oh yeah?” you ask with more bravado than you feel. “And why’s that?”

“Well, I already mentioned that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Eddie says as if it’s obvious to anyone with the use of their eyes. “But you’re…” he trails off, eyes narrowing as he looks at you.

“If you say ‘different than other girls’, I know you’re taking this from some D-class romcom,” you say.

Eddie chuckles and shakes his head. “I mean, you are. But that’s not what I was going to say. You’re fun and you’re sweet. I like how you can keep up with my goofiness.”

“I like your goofiness,” you tell him. “It adds to the charm you exude.”

The rest of the lunch hour passes just as quickly as dinner had the previous evening. Time with Eddie sure seemed to move differently than time leading up to seeing him. You know that no one will get on you for being a little late back from lunch, but you also know Eddie is new at his job. He seems reluctant to leave though, which gives you a rush of satisfaction. You walk with him out to his van, relishing every moment you have left in his presence. He leans against the side of his vehicle, reminiscent of how he did outside of Dustin’s house the first time you met. He slowly reaches out and takes one of your hands in his. You link your fingers with his and he smiles in response.

“So, as you may or may not be aware,” Eddie says. “We haven’t been on a proper, official date yet. But I’d like to change that, if you would?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

Eddie’s responding grin is enough to make your heart stutter. He steps forward so he’s gazing down his nose at you. You peer back from under your eyelashes and the moment freezes around the pair of you. The air is thick, and you fight the urge to swallow as Eddie’s eyes dip down to your lips before looking back into your eyes.

“Do you like to swim?” Eddie asks softly, as if not to jar you both out of the moment. “Because I heard Hawkins has a pretty nice lake.”

“Lover’s Lake?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He gives you a sheepish grin. “I knew that’s what it was called, I just didn’t want to sound like a complete tool by suggesting we have our first date at a place with a name like that.”

The smallest touch of pink dusts Eddie’s cheeks. It’s nice to have the shoe be on the other foot for once.

“I do like to swim,” you tell him. “And Lover’s Lake is beautiful in the summer.”

“When are you free?” Eddie asks, gently squeezing your hand that’s in his.

You purse your lips as you try to think of the different schedules that determine if you’re free. Obviously, it would have to be a day you aren’t working, and preferably it would be a day that Steve isn’t as well. But you weren’t above seeing if someone else could watch Everett so you could go out with Eddie. Mom deserves to have some fun.

“Well, I know you have your game with Dustin and the gang on Saturdays. So, what about Sunday?” you offer. Steve may or may not be working that day, but you’d deal either way.

“Sunday works,” Eddie says. “Noon-ish? I could bring food for a picnic. Not fast food this time.”

“Ooh, a picnic? And not fast food? You’re spoiling me,” you say with a smirk. “That sounds really good, Eddie. I can’t wait.”

He ducks his head, looking down at his feet for a moment before lifting his eyes back to yours. “Would it be okay if I called you before then? I might go crazy with not talking to you until Sunday.”

“Of course,” you squeak out through the excitement crawling its way through your system.

“Good,” Eddie says, a look of relief washing over his features. He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll talk to you later, then.”

“Okay.” Your eyes stay on your hand the whole time. From being lifted to his lips, to Eddie slowly bringing it back down and letting go.

“Bye,” he whispers, and you meet his eyes again.

“Bye.” You give him a small wave as he gets into his van. You stay in the parking lot until he pulls out of his parking spot and exits down the next road, where you lose sight of him. With a happy sigh, you turn to go back inside and finish your day at work.

“I don’t wanna!”

You toss the towel in your hand over your shoulder and let out a huff, placing your hands on your hips. Realizing it’s a very “Steve” thing to do, you drop your arms and raise an eyebrow at your son.

“Everett Steven Harrington. You know it’s time for your bath,” you say. “It’ll be over sooner if you stop whining about it and get in the tub.”

“But,” Everett says in a small voice, “I took one.”

“Did you now?”

He nods. “At Daddy’s.”

“Is that so? So, if I call Dad right now and ask him, he’ll tell me you took a bath there today? Or are you lying to me?”

His little hands begin to tug at his Mickey Mouse shirt, and he looks at the rug underneath his feet. Silence settles in the hallway as you wait for an answer. Everett had been caught lying twice in the past few weeks, and neither you nor Steve were having it.

“Am I calling Dad?” You take a step towards the phone and Everett gasps. The phone rings, startling you and sending Everett running into the bathroom.

“I didn’t before! I’ll take it now! M’sorry!” he calls over his shoulder.

With a sigh of relief, you pull the phone off the receiver and put it to your ear. If it really was Steve, he must’ve sensed the issues happening on the other side of the parking lot.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’m looking for this girl I’ve got a date with this weekend.”

At the sound of Eddie’s voice an involuntary smile curls your lips. Everett won’t cause a fuss now that he knows he’s been caught in a lie, which gives you a few precious moments to lean back against the wall and tease back and forth with Eddie a bit.

“Hmm,” you hum pensively. “Maybe. What’s she like?”

“Me, hopefully,” he says, causing you to let out a loud peel of laughter.

“How could she not? You sound super funny. Not to mention gorgeous.”

“She must’ve told you about me!”

You smile to yourself and wrap your arm around your middle. “She did. Unfortunately, she told me she has to give a stubborn toddler a bath right now. Can she call you in about half an hour?”

“Tell her I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” he says.

“You should watch out. You sound so cute, I might not even tell her you called and keep you all to myself.”

“Oh, no,” he feigns exasperation. “Please don’t! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I last saw her. She has to know I can’t get her out of my mind.”

The smile on your face grows even further, and you cover it with your free hand. Your joy slightly dims when you hear Everett knock something over in the bathroom.

“I suppose I’ll give her your message then. You can expect her call soon,” you say.

“I look forward to it, very much,” he answers.

“Bye, handsome.”

“Bye, gorgeous.”

After you click the phone back in place on the wall, you yank the towel off your shoulder and stride to the bathroom.

Everett manages to be on his best behavior during his bath, knowing he already had one strike against him with his lie. He makes the quick decision of wearing his dinosaur pajamas over his puppy ones and climbs into his bed. Stuffies are scattered around his blanket, and he grabs his horse one as he climbs in between the sheets. His favorite book - One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish - only needs to be read to him twice before his eyes are drooping closed. You press a kiss to his forehead, slide the book back on the shelf, and turn off his light before tiptoeing your way back into the hallway.

There’s five minutes until the time you told Eddie you’d call him back, but you know he’d understand if you were a few minutes late. Everyone knows how toddlers can be at bedtime, after all. But you want to make sure everything in the apartment is taken care of first. There are only two cups in the sink, and they can wait until morning, so you skip to washing your face and quickly changing into your pajamas. It’s earlier than you normally get ready for bed, but you have a feeling once you start talking to Eddie, you won’t stop until one of you forces the other to hang up and get some sleep. He may just have to be that responsible one tonight.

Pulling back the quilt on your bed, you slip in and grab the phone off your nightstand. Holding the receiver in your lap, you punch in Eddie’s number and settle back against your pillows. The phone only rings twice before he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Well, hey there. I got a message that you were looking to talk to me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I heard you had to wrangle an adorable little boy into getting clean.”

“Oh, yes,” you sigh out. Tugging your blankets up higher as you lay back, you close your eyes. “A certain little troublemaker has figured out how to lie and he thinks it can get him out of his least favorite activities.”

“Boy, oh, boy,” Eddie says. “I remember the first time my mom caught me in a lie. I tried telling her that my neighbor’s dog ate my report card.”

“And I’m guessing he didn’t?” you ask.

“Well, it would’ve helped if I remembered that particular dog had died the week before,” he says.

You let out a laugh, slapping a hand over your mouth so you don’t wake Everett.

“I should not be laughing over a dead dog,” you say through your giggles.

“Then laugh at the fact that my mother got her punishments mixed up and she washed my mouth out with soap.”

“Yuck,” you groan. “That happened to me first time I dropped the F bomb in front of my granny.”

“That’s what it’s typically a punishment for!” Eddie says. “But if I got in trouble for swearing, the town would’ve run out of fucking soap.”

“Does your mom still get mad at you for it?”

“Nah,” Eddie says with a sigh. “She died when I was a kid. And she would’ve known it would be an uphill battle trying to keep me from cursing with my dad raising me.”

“Oh Eddie, I’m so sorry,” you say.

“Eh, what are ya gonna do?” he asks. “We’ve all got hard points in our lives.”

“Why don’t you tell me about a happy point?” you offer.

“I’d tell the story about meeting you, but you were kind of there for it,” he says, and you just know he’s smirking. “Hmm, let’s see. Oh! In high school, my band and I played six straight sold out shows at the crappy little venue in town. It might not sound like a lot, but-.”

“No, that sounds amazing!” you say. “Sold out? That’s the stuff bands dream of.”

“Yeah, we weren’t half bad,” Eddie says. “Some covers, some originals, and people seemed to like both.”

“Girls must’ve been all over you guys,” you say, immediately not enjoying the visual of Eddie getting swarmed by pretty girls vying for his attention.

Eddie let’s out a bark of laughter that confuses you. “Shit, sorry,” he says. “I keep forgetting you didn’t know me in high school. No, there were no girls. Like…at all.”

“Not even groupies at the shows?” you ask.

“There were some,” he admits. “Mostly a little older than us. Mostly a little drunk. But you probably don’t want to hear about them.”

“Eddie, I know there have been girls in your life before me. I mean, I have a son, for crying out loud.”

“The coolest little dude on the planet,” Eddie tells you.

“Yeah, he is,” you say with a smile. “Even when he’s a pain in the ass.”

“So, he’s like most guys,” Eddie says.

“Pretty much,” you agree.

“Can I ask about you and Steve?” Eddie’s voice is quiet, like he’s treading on dangerous ground.

“Of course,” you tell him. “There’s not much to the story, honestly.”

“Tell me?” Eddie asks, voice soft and silky, and you know you couldn’t say no to that voice even if you wanted to.

“I knew who he was day one of high school. He was a year ahead of me, but one of the most popular guys in school. Basketball player, ladies’ man, class A douche.”

“I see why you fell for him,” Eddie says, making you smirk.

“Yeah, he wasn’t the greatest guy for a while. He really changed, actually, after Nancy broke up with him. He likes to say that she knocked some sense into him. And it’s true. After that, he befriended a lot of people he never would’ve even looked twice at before. Me included. He and I became really good friends, actually. One of the best I’ve ever had. That’s when I started to have a crush on him. So, neither of them has ever admitted to me, but I’m pretty sure our friend Robin gave him the idea to ask me out. Steve swears it was all him, but I have my doubts. But he did ask, and I said yes. We were together a while. Almost a year, if I remember correctly. We never fell in love though.” Your eyes drift over to a collage photo frame on your wall, pictures full of all your favorite people. There’s one in the middle of you and Steve outside in the snow. Between you is a tiny snowman that barely reaches your knees. It was the closest thing you had to a pregnancy announcement. Steve had built the body of the snow baby, and you had built the head. It was draped in a light green scarf and a bright yellow hat, careful not to give people the impression either way if the baby was a boy or girl. You both hadn’t even known until he was born.

“We just stayed really good friends with benefits, basically. It never emotionally got past that,” you explain. “It wasn’t fair for us to keep each other from finding someone who we could love. So, we broke up. But there wasn’t a single day, not even the day of or after our breakup, where things were awkward between us. We just went right back to being best of friends.”

“I’m guessing Everett was already a bun in the oven when you broke up?” Eddie asks.

“Yep, he was cooking away in me already. I didn’t notice anything was up until I started not being able to walk into where I worked, which was a Mexican restaurant. The smell instantly made me sick. I ended up having to quit because that sensitivity stayed the whole pregnancy. I don’t think I’ve even been back since. But anyway, that was my first clue something weird was going on. Then I realized I was really tired all the time for no reason. The third strike was when I started crying at the stupidest shit. There was a commercial for adopting animals from the shelter and I just burst out crying in the middle of my living room. My parents looked at me like I had three heads. Finally, things clicked together in my brain, and I went to the next town over to buy three pregnancy tests. I wanted to make sure I got an accurate result, no chance for a false positive or negative. And I also wanted to make sure I didn’t run into anyone I know while buying them.”

“You had to be so scared,” Eddie says, and his tone melts your heart. You could tell he was really listening to you, not just waiting for a moment to say “uh huh” as you droned on. He really wanted to know this. To know you.

“I was,” you admit. “Especially when all tests came back positive. Thought I was going to pass out. But I got in my car and went straight to Steve’s. As soon as he answered the door I broke down in tears. That right there scared him, because like I said, I didn’t do that before. We went inside and I told him. Eventually. It took a little while for me to get it out. Steve was shocked. Pretty sure he thought I was playing some kind of trick on him at first. But no, I had the tests with me to prove it. We both had a collective breakdown and freak out, but then we calmed down and talked about it. To this day, I’m pretty sure it’s the most mature either of us has been. He said I should come live with him and his parents, but that wasn’t going to happen. His dad can be scary and his mom, though I absolutely love her to pieces, can be a lot to handle sometimes. Being pregnant? Yeah, no way I could’ve handled them. Or Steve all the time either, honestly.”

“What about your parents?” Eddie asks. “How did they react?”

“Not great,” you tell him. “They didn’t disown me or anything, but they weren’t happy. And it kind of pissed me off that they couldn’t see why I was kind of happy. I mean, yeah, I was terrified of about a million different things. But there was a baby in me. My baby. And it’s like my parents expected me to be upset about that and I just couldn’t be. I didn’t want to be. So, when I got enough money together, I moved out. Steve’s mom is a realtor and found us the apartments we have at a really good price. Then I moved in here, and Steve across the lot. I don’t see my parents that often now. They reach out here or there, but it’s like they don’t care they’re not a big part of my of Everett’s lives.”

“I may have only known you for less than a week, but I can say with complete certainty that it is their loss, and they’re missing out,” Eddie says.

“Thanks,” you say, a shy smile on your lips. “Sorry I went on and on.”

“No! No, don’t apologize. I’m the one who asked you about it. I want to listen to you.”

“Okay, you’ve got to come with a catch,” you say.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks.

“You’re kind, you’re funny, you’re charming, you get along with my kid, you’re ridiculously handsome, and you want to listen to me? Where’s the catch?”

Eddie laughs through the phone. “Oh, I’m sure there’s a million of them,” he tells you. “I play DND with high schoolers. I will quote my favorite movies out loud when I’m watching them. I smoke way too much. Not just cigarettes, either. I’ve been told I snore. And that’s all I can come up with right now. See? I’m a handful.”

“Oh please,” you say. “I’ll take all of that in a heartbeat for all your good qualities.”

“And what were those again?” Eddie teases. “I’m not sure I heard them all the first time.”

“Nuh uh, I don’t need you getting a big head on you, now. Then you’ll be aware you can do better than me,” you say.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” Eddie says. There’s no humor at all in his voice, which is odd to hear with him. “You’re by far the most amazing person I’ve ever met. And I guarantee that opinion is only going to grow stronger the more I get to know you.”

“How do you do that?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel so special.”

“That’s what you deserve,” Eddie says. “You are special. And it’s a shame if no one has told you that before.”

“Eddie Munson, you are a sweetheart.”

“I could say the same thing about you, babe.”

It’s way past the time both of you should have gone to sleep when you finally say goodbye. But neither of you would hang up without the promise of talking again tomorrow night. And that you did. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday night were all spent on the phone with Eddie. Friday even longer, because Everett was staying with Steve, and neither you nor Eddie had to get up for work in the morning. You did have your brunch with the girls though, so you had to say goodnight to get some sleep at some point. But again, it was much later than you should have.

Saturday brunch with the girls was always one of your favorite things to do. You all tried to do it at least once a month if you could, but it was hard. Sometimes there wasn’t a Saturday you could get anyone to watch Everett, or maybe Max or Robin had to work, or like this week, El was out of town. It felt different without having her there to join, but your group also had to adjust every time Nancy went back to school.

“I’m starving,” Robin says as she picks up her menu.

It was a relatively new bakery on the edge of town, but they served the best brunch any of you had ever tasted. Dustin had introduced your group to the small family-owned business when he got a part time job there back at Christmastime. Saturdays he always had off though, because of the DND games every week, so he wasn’t working today.

Max leans back in her seat and purses her lips together as her eyes scan over the listing of items. You kick her foot gently underneath the table.

“Want to get the French toast and I’ll get the waffles and we’ll share again?” you ask.

“Perfect,” she says as she slaps her menu down on the table.

Nancy squirms in her seat the whole time as the waitress comes to take your orders. You raise your eyebrows at her as Robin orders her chocolate chip pancakes. Nancy gives you a smile and shrugs her shoulders. The two of you haven’t gotten to talk since you’d seen her earlier in the week when she pulled up in the car next to you and Eddie while he was changing your oil.

“What’s up?” you ask her once the waitress walks away.

“So, how’s your car?” she asks with a smirk.

The grin slides on your face even as you playfully roll your eyes at her. “You’ve been waiting excitedly to ask me about my car?”

“Do you have a date?” Nancy asks.

“Ooh, what’s this now?” Robin asks, leaning forward on the table.

“Yes, I have a date,” you answer Nancy, a small flush coming to your cheeks.

“Hold on, with who?” Robin asks. “What have I missed?”

“I met a guy,” you say with a shy shrug.

“And he’s hot,” Nancy adds.

“The way you two have the same taste in men is strangely funny,” Max says.

“Yeah, how did y/n and Jonathan never date?” Robin asks Max.

“Where are you guys going?” Nancy asks, ignoring the other two.

“Lover’s Lake,” you say. “A picnic and some swimming.”

“When?” Robin asks.

“Tomorrow. But we’ve talked on the phone every night this week.” The smile on your face grows and all three of your friends can see the sparkle in your eyes.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Max asks, but it doesn’t sound like a hopeful question.

“I do,” you say, eyeing her suspiciously. “Why do you sound sad about that?”

“No, no!” Max says. She sits up straighter and shakes her head. “I’m happy for you. Really, I am! It’s just that I was going to tell you about this guy who moved in across the street from me. I met him and immediately thought that he was perfect for you.”

“She’s not getting married to this guy,” Robin says. “What’s his name, anyway?”

“Eddie.” With the name, an involuntary smile spreads across your face.

“Wait, really?” Max asks, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Why?” Her odd questions make your brow pinch in confusion.

“Eddie is the name of my neighbor,” she says. “Does he have long hair?”

Now your eyes widen. “Yes. Curly? Big brown eyes?”

“Holy shit,” Max says with a grin. “I was right! I knew you two would be great together.”

“He lives across from you?” you ask in excitement.

“Yeah! Moved in a few weeks ago. Wait, how did you guys meet?”

“Eddie plays DND with the guys and I met him at Dustin’s. Did Lucas not tell you about him?”

“No,” Max huffs. She rolls her eyes and leans back in her chair again. “Though, to be fair, I never listen when he talks about that damn game. So maybe he did.”

“This feels like a John Hughes movie,” Robin says.

“You drove Max here, right?” you ask Robin.

“Yes, but you can take her home,” Robin answers with a smirk.

“He might not even be there.” You shrug, but you can’t ignore the butterflies buzzing around your stomach at the prospect of seeing Eddie in a few hours.

“DND was cancelled today, wasn’t it?” Max asks. “I may not listen to Lucas about it, but I do remember something about skipping a week when Will goes out of town.”

“Huh, you’re right,” you say.

“Oh, look at that smile on her face. I’ve got to see this Eddie dude,” Robin says. She turns to look at Max. “You think he’s hot? I’m not sure how reliable these two are when it comes to guys. They’ve both slept with Steve.”

“Hey!” you and Nancy say at the same time.

“Max thinks Steve is hot, too,” you add, to which Max nods her agreement.

“Ugh,” Robin groans, slouching down in her chair. “Still. Thoughts on Eddie, Max?”

“Yeah, he’s hot,” Max says. “Nice, too. Weird. But in a good way.”

“He plays DND with the boys,” Nancy says. “He had to be a little weird.”

“Has he met Everett yet?” Max asks.

“Technically, he met Everett before he met me,” you say. “When I first saw Eddie, Everett was talking his ear off.”

“Really?” Robin asks. “He wouldn’t talk to Vickie the first three times he met her.”

“I know,” you say. “I was shocked. But he was talking to him, looking at the rings he was wearing, and gave him a high five goodbye.”

“That’s a good sign,” Nancy says.

“How many dates until they get to spend actual time together?” Max asks.

You take a deep breath and rest your hands on the table in front of you. “I’m already trying not to get ahead of myself. We haven’t even had our first date yet and I already like him so much. So, I’m trying not to think about that yet.”

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Robin says. “Not even when you had a crush on The Hair.”

“That’s because she always gushed to me about Steve,” Max says with a playful smile. “But Robin’s right. You never lit up like this when you talked about him.”

Nancy leans over and squeezes your arm. “I’m so excited for you. You deserve this.”

“Thanks,” you say as you eye the waitress appearing with the food for your table. “I hope you keep that in mind when you and Steve try to battle Ev into a bath tomorrow.”

“Shit!” Max grabs onto the handle above the car door, her other arm bracing herself against the dashboard.

“Sorry.” You wince as you pull out onto the highway. You’d always been a cautious driver – even more so when you became a mother – but with the prospect of seeing Eddie, you suddenly had a lead foot.

“I’d like to survive to walk across the stage at graduation next week, thank you very much,” Max says.

“Oh relax,” you say as you watch the speedometer lower to a more acceptable speed.

The thoughts in your brain were traveling faster than your car. What if Eddie isn’t home? What if he is? Will he think it’s weird that you wanted to come by and say hi? No, you tell yourself. He would’ve done the same thing. The fact that you’re so sure about that causes bubbles of excitement in your stomach and an unavoidable smile to appear.

“I like seeing you like this,” Max says.

“Hmm?” You look over at her as you reluctantly pull up to a red light.

“Happy,” she says. “I mean, I’ve seen you happy a lot. You’re generally in a good mood. But this is something different. Something extra.”

The smile on your face grows as the light turns green and you venture forward.

“It’s kind of scary,” you say, smile never faltering. “Like, a million ‘what ifs’ go through my head all the time. About him, about us, about me.”

“You think too much,” Max says. “Just…relax.”

“Oh, thanks. Now I’m perfectly at ease.”

Max ignores your sarcasm and adjusts her position in her seat now that your driving is no longer scaring her.

“I just mean that you don’t have to worry so much. You became a mom at eighteen. That’s how old I am now. Could you even imagine me doing that?” she asks.

“You could,” you tell her. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. But you want to go to college, so I don’t recommend you and Lucas get into anything like that.”

“Okay, first of all, no. No babies for like, ten years at least for me. Second of all, yeah, I could do it. Now. You know why? I saw how you did it. I saw you take care of things I never even thought that you’d need to do. You knew Steve was there for you, you knew we were all there for you, and you let us help when you needed it. Eventually, anyway. You were stubborn at first.”

“That shouldn’t have been surprising,” you interject.

“Shut up,” Max says fondly. “You ignored the stupid people at school who threw mean looks your way or decided to open their big mouths. Even the teachers and their sly remarks. The way you handled it was amazing.”

“Because I knew I had you guys in my corner,” you tell her. “I had my gang behind me to always have my back. There’s no way I could’ve done any of it without you all.”

“Okay, but you still have us. So, see? If you can have a baby at eighteen, you can date a guy.”

“Why does the dating seem so much scarier?” you ask.

“Well, you already conquered being a new mom,” she points out with a shrug. “That was the scariest thing then. I remember because you told me so.”

“Yeah, but the baby wasn’t going to judge me,” you mumble.

“You really think Eddie is going to judge you?”

You sigh and drop your head back against the headrest.

“Not judge, I guess. I don’t know. I guess I’m just feeling…”

“Insecure?” Max offers when you don’t finish. You nod and Max reaches over to squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t be. I know, easier said than done. But you have no reason to be. You’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re beautiful, you’re a kickass mom, and one of the best people I know. If he doesn’t see that he’s the biggest idiot. But it kind of sounds like he does see it, from what you’ve said.”

You give her a bashful smile as you turn into the trailer park.

“How are you so smart?” you ask.

“Oh, please,” Max says with a snort. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks out the front windshield. “That’s nothing new.”

With a chuckle of agreement, you pull your car to a stop in front of Max’s place.

“I was afraid to look,” you say, keeping your eyes straight ahead. “Is his van there?”

Max leans forward to look around you and smirks at what she sees. She turns your car off and pulls the keys out of the ignition. You turn to look at her and she tosses the keys in your lap.

“Take a look,” she says. “You’ll like what you see.”

Your stomach does a little flip before you turn your head in the direction of Eddie’s trailer. But it’s nothing compared to the giant swoop your stomach endures when you see Eddie, shirtless, working on a motorcycle. His hair is tucked up in a low ponytail at the base of his neck, just as it was when he worked on your car. It’s a hot June day so there’s a light sheen of sweat on his naked torso, bringing glistening attention to the tattoos adorning his skin. You’ve seen the ones on his arms from the previous times you had spent together, so your eye is drawn to the ones that have been hidden from you. From a spider near his collarbone, your gaze drifts to what appears to be the head of a demon, inked right over his heart. Eddie turns his body to reach for something on the other side of the black motorcycle, and it gives you a perfect view of the muscles rippling down his back.

Across his shoulder blades there’s a tattoo of a disjointed musical staff, notes dotting along the different lines. The music dances along his skin as he continues his work on the bike. Lower on his back, close to his right hip, there’s a tattoo that you have to squint to get a better view of. Your eyes strain to see a bolt of lightning shooting down, wrapped in barbed wire. From there, your eyes can’t help but keep going further down, landing on his ass, clad in tight black jeans.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“What?” you whip your head away from Eddie to look at Max, who looks like the cat who ate the canary.

“You’re going to cut yourself on your keys.” She nods down to your lap where your hand is gripping your keys so hard that each little groove leaves a deep dent in your skin. You drop the keys and realize most of the other muscles in your body have tensed up as well. With a deep breath, you attempt to calm your whole system.

“Okay, come on,” Max says, grabbing her door handle and pushing the door open. “Don’t think, just get out.”

Not giving yourself a chance to think, as Max said, you climb out of your door and close it behind you. Eddie doesn’t turn around, but you didn’t expect him to at the simple sound of a door slamming shut.

“Hey, Munson!” Max calls.

Well, that’s one way to do it, you think.

Eddie looks over his shoulder, eyes widening as they land on you. He turns his whole body to face you and he instantly drops his wrench and heads towards you. The closer he gets, the more you can see how his face is lit up, your head getting fuzzy from the sight.

“Look who I found,” Max says. She walks around to your side of the car and leans against the rear door. He barely spares a glance at her, making her smirk as she watches the two of you be infatuated with one another.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks with a grin. He opens his arms to you, and you see the hesitancy in his eyes as he realizes he’s sweaty. You don’t give him a chance to rescind the offer though, as you go in and wrap your arms around his bare waist. His arms encircle you as you rest your head against his shoulder. Should the smell of him all sweaty be gross? Because it’s not. It’s actually really hot.

“Driving Max home,” you tell him. “Didn’t know your neighbor was one of my best friends.”

“Mm, you’re friends with Red, huh?” you both pull back and he’s smirking at you. “Good. She could use a good influence in her life.”

Without turning around, you know Max is flipping him off. Eddie looks at her and chuckles, confirming your suspicion. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you close your eyes to savor the sensation. His lips on your hands those times before felt amazing, but having them against your face? You’re not sure how you’ll survive when he finally kisses your lips.

“I didn’t know you rode a motorcycle,” you say.

Eddie turns his head to look over his shoulder at the bike before looking back at you.

“Yeah, got it a few years back. Didn’t work very well back then but now she’s at the top of her game,” he says.

“It looks good,” you say. The heat is already crawling up your face before you speak the next sentence. “And so do you.”

His smirk causes the red in your cheeks to deepen, and you wish you knew if the pink flush on his face was from exertion being out in the heat, or because of what you just said to him.

“Thanks, beautiful,” he says.

“You know,” you say as Eddie reaches down and takes each of your hands in his own. “Max was kind of bummed when she heard I had a date tomorrow.”

He frowns and looks over at her.

“What?” he asks. “Why?”

“She said she was bummed because she wanted to set me up with her neighbor,” you say with a giggle.

“How was I supposed to know you already met?” Max asks with a shrug.

“Well damn,” Eddie says. “Nice to know the universe had a backup plan if I didn’t meet you at Dustin’s. You’d make a good wingman, Red.”

“She knows her friends really well,” you say, smiling at Max over your shoulder.

“Alright,” Max says, pushing herself off your car. “I’ve had enough heart-to-hearts for the day. I’m heading inside.”

You let go of Eddie’s hands to give Max a hug. She hugs you back and pats your shoulder as she pulls away.

“No making out on my lawn, please. And for the love of God, use protection. I can’t babysit Everett and a baby sibling of his.”

“Max!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #Eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fan fiction #bbe

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alrightberries · 1 year

Text

seasons change

PAIRING: dabi x reader

SUMMARY: in which you and dabi are childhood best friends who are bad with feelings.

alternatively, all the words unspoken between you and dabi are summarized with just one short word: goodbye.

TAGS & WARNINGS: implied sex, smoking, kinda unhealthy relationship, implied body horror (it's dabi)

a/n: this has been rotting in my drafts for so long; i wrote this before dabi's backstory was officially revealed no one come for me for the wonky timeline

—

six.

you didn't like cleaning houses. or, a better way of putting it was, you didn't like cleaning someone else's house six days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year.

days always ended with back pain and scraped knees from the intense floor scrubbing, and you didn't like the way the wet rags would leave your fingers wrinkled and cramping.

your mom insisted that cleaning was fun because it built character and discipline. you insisted that it wasn't fun, and that cleaning your house was much easier than cleaning a mansion (but, really now, anything was a mansion to you compared to your one bedroom house).

"okay, how about we play another game?" your mom asks with a teasing smile. "whoever cleans the mops the fastest, wins!"

it was five o'clock in the evening and you were tired— your shoulders and elbows hurt and at this point you were ready to pass out in your futon back at home. but work is from seven to seven, and you still had to polish the gym's... red mill? treck mill? you can't remember what they were called.

"but momma, i'm tired." you whined. "can we go home now? i wanna go to school tomorrow."

the wide smile on your mom's face gets smaller, and you don't know how to describe it. she was smiling but why did she seem sad? smiles weren't meant to be sad.

"maybe you should skip school tomorrow too. don't you want to spend more time with momma?"

you do want to spend more time with momma, but you've been skipping school for two months now. you miss your friends. you miss when work was play, and play was play, and play was fun.

when you don't reply, your mom sighs and kneels on the floor, fingers lifting your chin to meet her eyes. "tell you what. how about you rest for now, okay? i'll clean up the mops and polish the treadmills, you stay here. if anyone comes in, just pretend to be cleaning, okay?"

"okay!"

her foot steps pad away when she slides the big door close, and you sigh when you finally sit down for the first time in what felt like hours. but just as soon as the doors slid close, they opened again, and you tense. you knew it wasn't your mom, mom always knocks.

"oh— uh, sorry." a boy, probably the son of your mom's client, murmurs in surprise. his white hair is the first thing you notice, his blue eyes (were they blue? maybe green?) the second. "i saw L/N-san leave the gym and thought you were finished."

"we're almost done," was the only thing you managed to say softly, before— "oh!" you dipped into a deep bow. "good evening, todorki-sama."

"ugh, sama?" you don't see but the boy grimaces. "don't call me that, you make me sound so old."

"i'm sorry, todoroki—"

"—san."

"okay, todoroki-san."

"...you can stop bowing now," he laughs awkwardly, and you straighten up. "my dad says i'm not supposed to talk to you."

"mom says I’m not supposed to talk to you either."

"oh."

a moment passes, and neither of you know what to say. you were still staring at the floor and fiddling with your hands while waiting for him to talk or leave or... something.

suddenly, todoroki clears his throat, awkwardly shifting around. "why don't the adults want us to talk?"

"i don't—"

"todoroki touya!" a firm voice booms from the doorway, and you grab a rag and start polishing the reck mill. you don't turn around when you hear todorki approach his father, footsteps fading away and the door sliding shut again.

no more than a minute later, your mom came back. she lifted your chin again and gave you a kiss on the forehead, small smile on her face when she grabbed a rag to help you clean.

she looked paler than she did when she left, and you don't mention it when you notice her fingers start shaking. you don't mention the red stuff on the white handkerchief peeking out of her pocket, either.

eight.

"i'm bored."

"okay."

"i'm bored."

"i heard you."

"y/n, i'm bored."

"what am i supposed to do about it?"

"...entertain me."

you smile. "entertain you how?"

"tell me about your quirk," todoroki said one day, mindlessly tapping his pencil on the table. there was some kind of math written on the papers in front of him, but it was gibberish in your eyes— you could, just barely, read and count, but you don't know what business a triangle has being surrounded by numbers and the ABCs.

"i don’t have one, todorki-san."

"touya-kun, i told you to call me touya-kun." he grumbles, and you giggle.

"okay, touya-kun." you don't know why touya kept talking to you— he was probably bored, like he said, and maybe lonely— but you liked his company.

"did the counselor say you were quirkless?"

"no," you adjust your grip on the broom. "mom says we can't afford quirk counseling, but she's quirkless so i probably am too."

"don't schools have free quirk counseling?"

school. huh, you haven't thought of that in a while. so you shrug. "i wouldn't know, i don't go to school anymore."

"really?!" he screeches, and you nod. a long, bored groan escapes his lips, and you laugh when be dramatically flops down on the floor. "you're so lucky!"

not really, you wanted to say. i'm just lucky you're homeschooled so i'm not alone. speaking of which—

"are those from training again?" you eye the bruises that litter his arms. you don't think you've ever seen him without a bruise in the years you've known each other.

"yeah, dad's been really strict lately," he says, and you don't get the chance to ask him more about it because there's a knock on the door. you step away from him, going back to sweeping the room just as his mom comes in with a tray of food in her hands, and touya lets out a yell of happiness.

she teases him about his unfinished math homework before she leaves, and you try to ignore the smell of miso and fish his mom made for him. when was the last time you ate? was it yesterday or the other day? you couldn't remember.

"d'you want some?" touya asks when he hears your tummy grumble embarrassingly loud. but you decline. "no, it's okay. your mom made those for you."

"she made too much though, and i don't want it to go to waste."

liar. you've seen him eat, he could eat two servings of what he had now and still ask for dessert. but you keep quiet this time, putting down the broom and accepting todoroki's invitation when he pats the spot next to him.

"haven't you eaten lunch yet?" he asks, and you quietly shake your head as he lends you his chopsticks.

"well, why not?"

"i don't know how to cook."

"doesn't your mom cook for you?"

"she does, but she's in the hospital."

touya tries to think of the past week and realizes he hasn't seen her around, not even heard her voice to call you from another room. so he asks, "is she going to be okay?"

"maybe? the nice doctor said she'll be fine." you reply. touya only nods.

he slips two rice balls in your bag just before you leave that day, telling you to give one to your mom when she gets back from the hospital.

"oh! and tell her i said hi."

he keeps slipping you rice balls after that because you never got to tell her he said hi, and you never got to tell her goodbye, either.

eleven.

there are sniffles coming from touya's room.

the sniffles make you pause mid-polish of a large and empty vase in the hallway, and you've been awkwardly standing in front of his door for a good six minutes now, unsure what to do. should you go get his parents? no, that would make it seem like you were eavesdropping on their son. should you knock? yeah, knocking seemed like a good choice.

so you do; three soft knocks on his door, and suddenly the sniffles stop.

"touya?" you call out, knocking again. "it's me."

there's a moment of silence before the door hesitantly cracks open. he doesn't open it all the way at first, one eye peeking out to make sure it really was you. the door opens fully this time, and you're confused when he peers around the empty hallway, eyes lingering to make sure no one was there, before yanking you inside, arms wrapping around your waist and his head tucking into the crook of your neck.

"touya, what are you—"

"please stay with me," came his little squeak, followed by more sniffles and his body wracking from his ragged breaths. an arm wraps around his torso, the other one cradling the back of his head as you shushed him and reassured him, slowly rocking both your bodies back and forth.

"do you want to talk about it?" you ask quietly, and touya shakes his head, burrowing deeper into you.

you nod. "it's okay, you don't have to."

your words were calm and reassuring but internally you were panicking. all the hairs on your body stood on its end because there was this... smell, one that you could only compare to a mixture of butane and a burning dumpster.

burning skin, your brain horrifically corrected, and every fibre of your being was screaming at you to get the hell out of there.

but then you realize where the smell is coming from, and its only when you lean back do you realize touya's arms were red and raw. how the hell did you not see that before?

"your arms—"

"i know," he cuts you off, voice nasally and choked up. "i don't want to talk about it. you said we didn't have to talk about it."

you sigh, gently coaxing him from where he was still buried in the crook of your neck, and his grip on you only tightens. "i'm not leaving, i promise." your hand begins to rub reassuring circles on his back. "i just want you to look at me."

when you coax him out again, he obliges, but still doesn't look at you. so you do the first thing that came to mind— a habit learned from a hazy memory of your mother.

fingers gently grasped the bottom of his chin, gently lifting up his gaze before soft lips place a small kiss on his forehead. he freezes at first, but he gradually melts into your gentle touch, once again burrowing his face into the crook of your neck as you whispered small reassurances into his ear.

the following day, touya's eyes were a little dimmer and he wore nothing but long sleeved shirts.

fourteen.

When you first came to work on a random Tuesday afternoon, the entire Todoroki estate was quiet. This was normal. They were a family who spoke to each other quietly, never raising their voice or making a ruckus (except for Endeavor). What wasn’t normal, however, was the somber mood that seemed to loom the entire house as a woman with white hair and red streaks— the eldest Todoroki sister, you remember— wordlessly gave you your list of chores for the day before locking herself in her room.

The atmosphere made you uncomfortable. It didn’t help that Touya didn’t even attempt to bother you the entire day either, but you didn’t think much of it. He was probably doing his homework in the study or training somewhere else.

So it came as a surprise to you when, just as you were walking through the park on your way back home, the smell of burnt flesh reached your nose once again and all the hair in your body stood up. Your instincts screamed at you to run, something you undoubtedly would’ve done had a hand not shot out from underneath the bushes and tripped you, forcing you to fall on the ground and meet two familiar turquoise eyes— hidden in the shrubbery— staring into your own.

After getting over your initial shock you took Touya back to the house your mother had left behind. Normally you wouldn’t be allowed to keep a house if you were underage, but lucky for you things the government mixed up your files and you were allowed to inherit it with no next of kin or legal guardians. The house fell to your name, and it was all you had left.

“I- Touya, I don’t know what to do.” You panicked, staring at the angry red flesh on his arms and upper torso. He was lying down on your tiny kitchen table, shirtless and pants charred. Your cleaning gloves did little to hide the shake of your hands, the visual of him in pain and surrounded by bloodied rags. “I can’t treat you. We need to call the hospital—”

“Don’t.” He rasped weakly, breathing heavy. You noticed that the underside of his eyes were burnt as well. Didn’t it hurt him to blink? “You can’t.”

“Why not?!”

“My family thinks I’m dead.”

sixteen.

Around spring, you finally had the guts to resign from your job at the Todoroki household and pursue another one. It wasn’t anything big— just a small waitressing job at a curry restaurant a couple blocks away from your neighborhood. Still, the pay was okay and you didn’t have to watch a family mourn the loss of a son you were secretly harboring.

You weren’t sure exactly what prompted you to let him stay. He told you a little bit of his life— why he did what he did, and though you sympathized with him fully was it really right for you to keep him around?

Maybe it was the feeling of being indebted to him every time you pretended not to see him slip an extra cup of rice or an extra bowl of soup into your take home meals. Maybe it was the feeling of being thankful when he secretly lent you books so you could improve your skills on reading and writing. Maybe it was the feeling of guilt from not making him tell you what was bothering him on the day you heard him crying, convinced that if you had then you wouldn’t be here now. You weren’t sure— but you were glad you let him stay.

“Hey, I’m home.” You called out tiredly, dumping your keys in your bag. A puff of white hair peaked out from behind the couch, and you couldn’t help the amusement in your eyes as you stared at Touya.

“Got another piercing, I see.” You mused as you set down the bag of curry on the diningroom table. Touya didn’t reply as he silently extinguished his cigarette and helped you set the table.

Ever since the day he faked his own death, he’s been... different, to say the least, and you weren’t surprised at all.

He’s been more closed off, more quiet. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t like being a “jobless deadbeat” (his words, not yours) while you worked your ass off to support the two of you; or if it was because he wasn’t used to living “the poor life” (again, his words not yours) compared to his previous life of luxury.

You didn’t have much to offer; just an old but well-kept house that's seen better days, a large futon you and your mother shared, and a life living paycheck to paycheck and buried in debt while he busied himself with chores and whatever he could do around the small house.

Three meals a day wasn’t guaranteed with your budget so you had to cut it down to two a day at most. And even then, there’d be times you’d only eat once. Meals were usually composed of either canned food, instant noodles, leftovers, or raw ingredients that were close to going bad. Touya had never had anything that wasn’t fresh or organic, and the first few weeks were a struggle for his stomach to adjust. But with how he first came to you, his delicate stomach was the least of his problems.

The burns on his skin weren’t treated properly thanks to your limited medical knowledge. You had to keep them bandaged the first couple months he’d stayed with you, and since you couldn’t afford both painkillers and clean bandages at the same time, there was nothing to numb Touya to the pain. Fortunately, he healed just fine. Yet he refused to take off the bandages and let you see the dark purple marks where his tan skin used to be.

You knew it still hurt him to move but you also knew that if you tried to stop him he’d only throw a fit. Doing chores around the house and keeping things clean was, according to him, the least he could do to help. He didn’t clean as well as someone who does it for a living, but his efforts to keep your shared home tidy didn’t go unappreciated. He was fairly okay at cooking simple things that only needed frying or boiling— nothing too complex since he’s never really had a need to cook for himself, much less for another person. Housework was his way of saying thank you, and you weren’t about to take it away from him.

“I don’t understand how you always come home with two curry bowls.” Touya finally speaks, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts. “Thought the restaurant only let you have one free take away per day. Do you buy me this shit every night?”

“Yeah, sure, I can definitely do that with my salary.” You replied. “Nah. Luckily one of the line cooks has a thing for me and doesn’t mind slipping me an extra meal. He thinks I have it for breakfast in the morning.”

He scoffs but doesn’t reply.

seventeen.

“Help me dye my hair black,” was the first thing he said when you asked him what he wanted to do for his birthday. You had a little bit of money set aside for a present. Nothing too expensive or grand, but just enough that you could actually afford something out of your tightly monitored expenses— monitored by none other than your roommate— that wasn’t cup noodles.

You didn’t hesitate to run to the nearest drugstore to buy cheap black dye and help him with his hair. Black water trickled down the drain as you held the shower head over his hair.

“What’s it look like, doll?” He asked.

“You look like a really ugly wet dog.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who grinded on me like a bitch in heat last night.”

You chuckled. Well, you couldn’t argue with that.

He stopped wearing his bandages months ago. It was a miracle that you found an under the table doctor who agreed to help patch him up for a reasonable price. You already computed everything— the operation that involved putting staples around his arms, face and torso was cheaper than buying fresh bandages every damn day. It’d take the better part of at least three years to pay off, but seeing him grow to embrace the silver studs on his burnt body the way he embraced his beloved ear piercings made you smile.

He’s been starting to go out of the house, too. He doesn’t tell you where he goes— not that he had to— but you were glad he stopped cooping himself up inside.

“You look good, Tou- sorry, Dabi.” You murmured.

His hands were gripping the sides of the tub as you continued to wash the excess dye from his hair, and you pretend not to notice the familiar smell of burnt flesh sticking to his jacket despite the fact that you knew his burns were already healed. You also pretend not to notice the new clothes he wore that definitely weren’t in his closet this morning.

“You look good.”

nineteen.

Dabi only got rougher from there.

He became more crude in the way he spoke, and sometimes he’d disappear for days on end without a single word. You got nervous the first few times he did it, scolding him and telling him to never make you worry like that ever again (he still did).

He’d roll his eyes and yell at you to back off, he wasn’t your boyfriend, stop being so damn clingy. You hated those fights the most. They usually ended with Dabi sleeping on the couch or storming out, and you angry crying yourself to sleep at night. The only thing that brought you comfort was that he always came back.

“I’m heading out, don’t wait up for me.” He spoke, putting on his coat.

“Are you going to come back within the week?”

“I don’t know.”

You sighed. “Okay. Take care.”

It’d be hypocriticial to say his secrets bothered you because he wasn’t the only one with secrets. Even with your promotion at the restaurant, even with you working overtime and taking extra shifts to the point that you barely got any sleep, money was still tight. Bills were getting steeper, banks were demanding money from your debts, and groceries were getting more expensive.

It was the line cook that kept flirting with you that introduced you to the scene of underground poker. He was a gambler and decided to take you to one of his games in an attempt to impress you (not knowing about your live in not-boyfriend). He won every game that night and started taking you to all his matches, saying he always played better when he was with you. Even called you his “lucky ace.” You only rolled your eyes but let him show you off so long as he kept slipping you extra dinner every night. That was, until, you learned the ropes and became a gambler yourself and quickly made a name in the underground scene.

Dabi wasn’t dumb. He knew that the money you magically found to pay off his operation from two years ago as well as your debt to the hospital that treated your mother wasn’t from your savings. He knew that the fresh meat and vegetables you started buying from the market weren’t there because the grocer had a sale. And he damn well knew that you secretly quit your job at the restaurant even though you acted like you were still employed, even going as far as putting on your old uniform whenever you left for “work.”

And yet, just like you never questioned where he suddenly got the money to contribute to the household, he never questioned where you got yours.

twenty-one.

It was around your second year of being a professional underground poker player did your secret get revealed to Dabi. You were too careless. The sudden transfer to a “restaurant branch” in the city. The expensive clothes and unexplained budget for much needed home renovations. The appearance of painkillers and anti-irritation ointment (that he definitely didn’t buy) in his bedside drawer. The stash of card decks— clearly only used once at most— that you hid in a duffel bag in your closet.

Dabi didn’t comment on these.

He did, however, comment on the elegenat white and gold invitation to a professional poker match set for this Friday evening, addressed to an infamous masked player who had a record of never losing a single match. How could he not comment on it when you so generously left it out in the open.

“I knew you were up to some gambling but I didn’t expect you to be the infamous Lucky Ace.” He mused one night, holding the prestigious cardboard between his fingertips. He was sure if he tried to sell the invitation he’d get some money for it— he knows what real gold feels like when he touches it. “Never thought it’d be you. They say Lucky Ace’s Quirk is luck. The manipulation of probabilities, both of others and your own.”

You merely chuckled in amusement. You weren’t blessed with the Quirk of luck— you just happened to be a skilled gambler.

“I’ve had a lot of offers for your head.”

“And I’ve had a lot competition who turned up dead and burnt to a crisp before my matches.” You replied. “Thanks for that, by the way. I haven’t received a single paycheck in weeks.”

Ah, that too. Dabi was also getting careless. You definitely knew he was a kill for hire, and you definitely knew he was employed under another professional poker player who wanted to get to the top the easy way. You had a feeling he’s been the cause for your competitors sudden disappearances, and the unexplained duffel bags full of cash that sat next to yours didn’t help.

“Looks like we’ve both been careless.” He lazily threw the invitation to you. “Do me a favor— lose your match with Black Jack tomorrow, will ya? Now that I know who Lucky Ace is, boss won’t be happy that I let you live.”

You scoff. “You want me to lose to a guy who’s initials spell out blowjob? The hell do you take me for?”

Normally he loved your sharp tongue and crude jokes, but right now it wasn’t helping. The bounty on Lucky Ace’s head was too big to pass up, and if you won against Black Jack— his boss— tomorrow then the prize would only double. He wouldn’t be the only one out for your head by then.

He sighed, raising up one hand to show you the spark of blue flames. Intimidate you. He was trying to intimidate you. Or warn you— you didn’t fucking know.

But you merely smirked. “Wanna fuck?”

His eye twitched, and he pondered it for a few seconds. Groaning, he extinguished the flame.

“You’re lucky you’re a good lay.”

twenty-two.

It was in the afterglow of sex that words unspoken revealed themselves.

Well, sort of.

Two sweaty bodies, panting next to each other. The smell of cigarettes and hormones thick in the air. The feeling of lips placing a kiss to your forehead as you wrapped the sheets around your torso, turning as you looked at the man beside you.

“What would you do if you found out I was secretly dating that line cook you hated so much?” You asked. His arm lazily wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you closer, your head resting on his chest. Dabi took a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling, thinking it through. You took the stick from his hand and took a drag of your own.

“Damn, that’s good.” You murmured. “Not even reds can beat seven stars.”

He took the cigarette back from you and flicked off the ashes on the tray next to the bed.

“If you were dating what’s-his-name but still ask me to fuck you at least twice a week then he’s gotta be a virgin or some shit.” He finally replies. “That, or the poor guy’s dick isn’t enough to satiate you.”

“So... you’d be okay with it?”

“Does it matter? I’m not your boyfriend.”

“You could be, y’know.” You murmured, tracing your finger against his collarbone. “My boyfriend— I mean.”

“Sorry, doll. M’not interested in being your mistress.”

You clicked your tongue. “I’m not dating him, you dumbass. It was a hypothetical question.”

That was the closest you and Dabi ever got to a confession. That was the closest you ever got to asking him out after years of sexual tension that turned out to be romantic.

And the little kisses you peppered across his callous knuckles was the closest you ever got to saying “I love you.”

Fortunately, Dabi didn’t reject you or push you away. Instead he stayed the night cuddled up to you, holding your hand and waiting for you to fall asleep before slipping out of your hold and disappearing in the middle of the night for a job, just like he always did.

That was the closest he ever got to saying “I love you too.”

twnety-three.

Dabi doesn’t like telling you shit.

At least, not when you’re awake. He did, however, have a lot of silent conversations with you when you’re asleep. His trips home became fewer and further in between, and every time he stayed he’d only stay the night or for three days at most. You tried to ask him about it once but he was always vague with his answers.

He tells you he doesn’t care, and you tell him you don’t either. He pretends not to notice when you buy the expensive brand of miso broth with your own money because you knew it was the one thing he missed from his old life. You pretend not to notice the fresh cup of tea and warm bento boxes that you wake up to whenever he leaves after his rare visits.

He doesn’t talk that much about his feelings— not out loud. But he does find himself pulling your sleeping form, clad in nothing but your underwear and one of his shirts, closer to him at night. He finds his arm tightening around your waist and his nose burying itself in the back of your neck to inhale the scent that was unmistakably you, trying to remember it always.

I have to leave you again. He thinks to himself, staring at your peaceful face. I’m not sure if I’m coming back this time.

An invite had been extended to him— from a group that called themselves the League of Villains. It sounded pretentious, he wasn’t even going to lie, but they were aligned enough in terms of ideals that he didn't immediately tell them to fuck off. Still, there was no denying that they were a dangerous bunch. Your not-so-secret lifestyles were separate and there was a mutual unspoken rule that you wouldn’t involve the other.

Unlike your secret job, though, that involved you getting dressed in branded clothes and adorning fancy rings and expensive watches; that involved luxurious invitations to secret upscale poker games; that involved a black sedan that seemed to change number plates every time he saw it pull up to the front of the house to pick you up and drop you off; his job was much more dangerous. He worked with dangerous people, doing dangerous things, playing with dangerous ideals.

He already knew— despite your denial— that your Quirk was definitely luck. Too many things that could be brushed off as coincidence had luckily fallen into your lap. Too many coincidences was no longer a coincidence.

It was your Quirk protecting you, not him, when he kisses your forehead and slips out of your hold for what would be the last time to keep you from harm. At least that’s what he tells himself as gathers his clothes and belongings from around the house, trying to make it look like he was never there. He was a dangerous criminal— a villain now, and he’d be damned if he dragged you into his mess.

He takes one last look at you asleep on your shared futon, trying to burn the image to his mind so he never forgets. He wasn’t going to bring anything that could be traced back to you. He already blocked your contact and deleted all the photos he had of you on his phone, all the messages and call logs too. He’s already done the same process to your phone since you never changed your passcode.

Not a trace of you in his life and not a trace of him in yours, he tells himself as he eyes the shirt you wore. It was his. You could keep it, he guesses. He could just strip you down and get on with life, but he couldn’t do it without waking you up and messing up his plans. At least, that’s what he tries to convince himself as he walks away.

He’s got his coat on now and he left you a little bit of cash just in case. Not that you needed it, of course. You were a professional gambler who made more bank than he did. A black duffel bag’s slung over his shoulder that had all his stuff, and he’s giving the small house he called home one last once over to make sure there was never any indication that he was in your life. Will you hate him for leaving? He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care if you forgive him or not. This was to keep you safe. This was for the best.

He admires you for the last time as he slides the door open, sighing as he finally admits his feelings— for the first and last time— into the dark of the night.

“I love you, doll.”

And he pretends not to hear the faint whisper behind him when he closes the door.

“I love you too, Dabi.”

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #writing

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justsomerandomfanfic · 8 months

Text

Brilliant - Scott Lang X Female (Daughter) Reader

Title: Brilliant

Scott Lang X Female (Daughter) Reader

Additional Characters: Natasha, Steve, Bruce, Wanda (Mentioned), Thor, Hope, Cassie (Mentioned), Hank Pym (Mentioned), and Tony Stark

Requested by: Anon!

WC: 2,893

Warnings: Reader has a huge love for ants, ants facts, Tony being Tony, alcohol mentioned, Reader's super smart, Reader's mentioned to be a kid in homeschooled college, slight family angst, brief mention of Reader punching a kid, sarcastic reader, banter, and family fluff

The best word to describe your life was 'chaos.' Chaos was your life. But not for a while, in the beginning, your mother and father; Hope and Scott, said that you were a good baby and toddler. Yes, you cried and threw some tantrums like any other child would, but it wasn't until you were around six that Hope and Scott realized how very similar you were to your grandfather, Hank Pym. It started off small, noticing a few things here and there, but it wasn't until your seventh birthday that they both knew that you were going to be just like Hank.

Looking back, it was a bright, sunny day. It was warm out, not too cold and not too warm; perfect weather for a birthday. Your first-grade friends were playing in the backyard, swinging on your swingset, and some playing tag with each other, but you were nowhere to be found.

Scott had panicked slightly when he checked around the backyard, while also trying to entertain three kids with a magic card trick. His eyes filtered around the backyard, until he spotted you, in the corner, staring at the ground. Scott found it a bit odd, thinking that you were just a bit shy and didn't want to play with your class friends... So he let it slip his mind.

But, Scott knew something was up once you blew your candles out.

"Good job, honey! What did you wish for?" Hope, your mother asked, as you just started at the cake before you.

"I want an ant farm."

From then on, it seemed like your ant fascination skyrocketed. It became such a big part of your daily routine that Hope and Scott weren't sure what to do with you anymore. It was literally taking over most of your life as the years went on. You began only wanting things that were related to ants. Posters, books, an actual ant farm, and more. You had even started up a lemonade stand to get money to buy more books about ants. Hope and Scott thought it was cute that you were making lemonade for the people of New York who would occasionally walk by the house; Hope thought that it was a great experience to help you in the future with any jobs you might get.

However, Hope and Scott began to notice that instead of getting regular kids' books about facts on ants, like 'Ten Fun Facts about Ants,' or ‘Annie and her Friend Ant,' you were going to bookstores, and leaving with 'Ants of North America; A Guide to the Genera,' and 'Identification Guide to the Ant Genera of the World.' Along with you, at the age of six and seven, reading college-level books and novels, you had become mighty close with your grandfather Hank.

You obviously loved spending time with him, since he would tell you about ants and the history and evolution of the world. That didn't stop you from getting lost every single day; that and the fact that you liked to pretend you were an explorer and explore new places, sometimes even in Central Park; hoping you could one day find a new ant species.

At the age of ten, you had become a spitting image, personality-wise, of your grandfather. You were as witty and sarcastic as you were incredibly wise beyond your years. Incredibly wise to the point that Hope and Scott thought it was best to take you out of grade school and set you up with college classes at home, where Hope could teach you. And it was totally not also because you punched a kid in the face after he said that Ant-Man was the worst Avenger.

Along with your new college schedule at home - where you learn about geology, calculus, quantum mechanics, and so on - you did end up with a lot of free time, which allowed you to go to "work" with your father. Which was where you had met most, if not all, of the Avengers.

~~~

Scott held your hand as you went up and up in the Stark Tower elevator. He let out a big sigh, becoming a bit nervous, as he glanced down at you. "You're going to behave, right?"

You simply looked up at him, one of your favorite ant books in your free hand. "Of course. Why wouldn't I behave?" You asked, sarcasm lacing your words, before looking back at the book.

"Yeah, well, I just don't want you to bombard them with ant facts," Scott responded, before shaking his head slightly and looking forward again.

"That will be inevitable, Dad," You replied, looking forward as well, "I can't just not speak about the things that I enjoy in life. Ants bring me such joy that is beyond words, and I want everyone to know about my passions."

"Well... I guess just don't go overboard then," The elevator doors began to open, "I do love that you have something that makes you happy but I don't want you to tire them out. We have to make a good impression on them. You know I haven't met some of them yet - out of the battlefield, I mean." Scott spoke, letting out a sigh.

"You have to try and make a good impression. I don't have to try, I'm always going to succeed." You replied, before stepping off the lift and walking towards the common room, with Scott trailing behind you.

As you entered the common room, about seven sets of eyes landed on you. Some in shock, or so on, before they trailed up to see Scott.

"Hey, guys! Uh, this is my daughter. Y/N, say hello!"

"Say hello." You replied with a short roll of your eyes before you walked over to the first nearby person. Offering your hand with great conviction, "My name is Y/N Lang, I prefer Y/N Pym, but please, call me Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you." At your words, Scott felt his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. It was nice that you were indeed so close to your grandfather, but for a long time, Scott had felt a strain on his and your relationship for the longest time.

The redhead blinked, slightly shocked before shaking your hand with a smile, "Pleasures all mine, Y/N. My name is Natasha, but you may call me Nat."

"That sounds satisfactory. Did you know that there are over twenty-thousand different types of species of ants in the world?" You asked as Natasha dropped your hand, staring up at her expectedly.

Natasha's eyes widened slightly as she shook her head, "No, I didn't know that. But that sounds fascinating."

“Wow,” Bruce spoke up, “She’s just like Pym.”

"It obviously is. Now, if you'll excuse me." You replied before moving along to the next person. Staring up at the man, you offered your hand, "I'm Y/N. But you must have already known that. Since you are around fifty-seven inches away from Ms. Nat. So, I believe that I do not have to repeat myself. Did you know that ants do not have ears?"

Steve gave you a small smile, shaking his head, "It's nice to meet you, Y/N. I'm Steve. Uh, and I did not know that. That's very cool."

And so, you went along, speaking to Bruce, then to Wanda, and then to Thor.

And then he came in.

"Hey! Thumbelina! Didn't know you were visiting." Tony walked in, pausing once his eyes landed on you, "And you brought your kid, that's fun." He spoke, walking over and offering you his hand. "Hey there, kid, I'm Tony. You may know me for my amazing persona as Iron Man. You know, saving the world and all."

You just stared up at him, glancing at his hand with a frown, "You can never trust a Stark."

Letting out a laugh, Tony withdrew his hand, gesturing to you as he looked at Scott. "Well, Lang, your daughter's a smart kid alright."

"Yes, she is. Very smart." Scott chuckled, placing his hands on your shoulders before you swerved out of his grasp, glaring quick daggers at him before you turned your gaze back at Tony.

"That is correct. I am rather intelligent. But, it is only my grandfather and I that are intelligent." You remarked, giving Tony a slight smirk.

Tony laughed, "You're mighty sure of yourself there, aren't you? I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I have my own millionaire business, created my own suits, and am the lead Avenger. I am rather smart too."

"So you tell me, Mr. Stark. Are you sure you're worthy of that title? As lead Avenger, I mean." You asked sarcastically.

"Of course," Tony answered with no hesitation. "If anyone is deserving of being called leader of anything, it's me."

With a small snort, you folded your arms across your chest, nodding. Setting down your ant book on the coffee table beside you - with that, Scott knew you meant business - staring up at the man. "After all, when I can watch the news when I am not studying, by my previous calculations, you only pull twenty-two percent of your weight in most of your battles in the past seven years. That puts you closer to the bottom than any other Avenger."

"So," Tony retorted quickly, a grin still on his face, "You're what? Nine? How would you be able to make those calculations?"

"I have a photographic memory." You answered, "I've remembered everything I've read and seen ever since I was four."

"Well," Tony began, crossing his arms, "Who would you recommend should be the leader then?"

"Me." You answered, "If not myself, then my grandfather. Since we are incredibly intelligent, and no one's smarter than us. We could easily plan out an entire takedown for whatever crisis hits New York next."

There was silence between you as you waited for the man to respond. Tony then took a breath, "Well, Scott, you have a truly impressive kid here. She has quite a sharp tongue." He paused, looking back down at you. "You do remind me of Pym. Same brains and smarts. Same little attitude." He chuckled lightly, turning towards you.

For a moment, you just stood in place. "I don't have an attitude, I have knowledge, and that knowledge is based on science, math, and ants." You began, staring up at Tony Stark as your father winced for the oncoming storm, "And about your prior comments about how smart I am. If you think I'm going to spend seven months learning Yale and Harvard level material just so you could tell me how smart I am, then you are sadly mistaken." You retorted, unfolding your arms from over your chest and narrowing your eyes. "I don't need you to tell me I'm smart. I know I am."

"Well," Tony began, a satisfied grin on his face, "Lang, your child is brilliant. I don't really care much for some children, but she's alright." He then gestured to the bar behind him, "Just don't let her near my lab or the drinks. She could cause chaos." He looked back down at you, "It was fun meeting you, kid." And with that, Tony left the room, but not before stopping by the said bar for a quick drink.

"Y/N, I told you to behave... Not- Not challenge Tony." Scott looked down at you as you grabbed your book.

"I think she was amazing." Natasha spoke, her back leaning against the cushions of the couch, "She stood up for herself and put Tony in his place. Maybe even hurt his ego a bit."

"I agree with Nat," Thor said, "Little Lady Y/N handled herself well."

The rest of the Avengers nodded along with their friend. And Scott let out a small sigh, "Well, I have to file some of that paperwork for Fury real quick. Are you guys alright with watching her?"

"Absolutely, Scott." Steve spoke with a grin, "She can tell us all about ants."

With those words said, you grin brightly, looking up at Captain America, "Finally, someone who understands me and lets me talk."

Scott frowned before watching you speak so openly and animatedly with his coworkers before leaving for work. Scott wanted to be closer to you, but ever since you were six, it felt like there was a strain. A tension. One he couldn't break through with his easygoing personality and easygoing attitude. It was hard to try and get close to you. You seemed so far away, always talking about ants - which he too, liked - or talked about Hank.

Scott felt like he wasn't important in your life to you. You openly showed your love for your mother, and for Hank, and Cassie. But for Scott, you hardly hugged him, barely acknowledged his presence when he was present, and never smiled at him when he entered the house after coming home from work. For years, he had dreamed of coming home from work and his children running up to him and hugging him. But when Peanut, or Cassie, would run into his arms, you would not. He loved you, and Scott knew that you must have loved him.

After an hour, Scott found himself back in the elevator, going back up to grab you and head home to make dinner. It had been a long day, and he just wanted to go home. As the elevator doors opened, he thought he'd find you as he left you; animatedly talking about your favorite interests and ants. Though, when the elevator doors opened, he was surprised at how happy you seemed to be. You had all the Avengers in the room - Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Bruce, and Thor - all walking in a line, all holding random objects in their hands as they walked around the large room, following each other… Like ants. You stood on top of the coffee table, commanding the five of them around, similarly how an ant would.

"Alright, honey, let's get home. I have to make dinner tonight." Scott spoke, walking over to you and helping you jump off the table. “We could watch ‘A Bug’s Life,’ huh?”

"Fine, but I want to come back. I am not done commanding my new ant army." You replied before turning to the five Avengers, "Thank you for playing with me."

As the Avengers began to say their goodbyes to you and your father, you took your book in one hand and his in the other, walking to the elevator. Once in, you dropped your hands from his, making him frown slightly but he shaky grinned down at you as he spoke. "I hope you had fun."

Looking up at him, you gave him a deadpanned look, “It was horrible, Dad. I hated it.” At his shocked look, you scoffed, "Of course, it was fun." You answered, "It was... Nice to have someone play with me."

Scott found himself nodding, "I, uh, I'm sorry I don't spend as much time with you. I wish I could. But I understand that I'm probably not the funniest dad or person to be around."

"It's not that you're not fun, Dad." You spoke, looking up at him, "I just like to spend my time with people who understand ants and in turn, me. Like grandpa."

Scott blinked, "Oh..." He trailed. "You- I- I know I don't take too much time into your interest, but I want to try. For you. I do like ants. It just can be… Tiring to hear so much about ants all the time." He then let out a sigh as the elevator doors opened and the two of you walked out, "I feel like there's some kind of strain between us."

Pausing, you stopped at the large glass doors of the Stark Tower, looking up at your father, you spoke, "I do wish you would listen to me sometimes. Hear my facts, take interest. But, I can understand that for some people, I can be a bit overwhelming with my overflowing facts. So, if I ever go overboard, you can tell me." You spoke, "It won't hurt my feelings if you tell me that I am overwhelming you with information. I can understand. I know that some people, unlike myself and grandpa, can only handle so much about ants. I would like to spend more time with you, Dad. And I do enjoy the time I do get to spend with you, Cassie, and Mom. I truly love you all. But, as I am going to learn how to manage how much I speak about ants in particular, I would like to advise that you take time to better yourself as well." You finished, turning to head out the door.

"Better myself?" Scott spoke, though unable to stop smiling at your words, "What do you suggest I better myself on?" He was finally getting somewhere.

As you stood outside of the tower, looking out at the city and the people around you, you reached up and took your father's hand before speaking, "Your magic tricks, Dad. You've been doing the same four for months. I have already memorized them. You need more material."

Scoot could only laugh, his heart swelling as the two of you walked home, "Brilliant. Okay, yeah, I can do that."

---

Main Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

#cute #fluff #slight angst #x y/n #x you #x female reader #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #request #anon request #requested #marvel #mcu #scott lang #scott lang x daughter reader #x daughter reader #ant man

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