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petersbaby · 1 year

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HAHAHA I wrote this when I was half asleep PLEASE don’t make fun of it I will scream

Please - sub!billy x reader

Warnings: this is fucking crazy. I don’t know where this came from, but the idea of him being tied to a bed wouldn’t leave my thoughts. Good god. Uh, bondage/restraints, pain play, mommy kink (heavy usage), masochism maybe but not that bad, burning, smut (sex), cum talk (I love talking about cum), honestly it’s pure filth. PURE FILTH

A/N: let me know if this needs any more warnings I’m super tired and might’ve looked over something

“I love you like this. I wish the whole town could see this, that you’re not all big and bad. You’re just a pretty little boy who begs for what he wants.”

You look at his body intently, devouring it with your eyes, walking around the bed. Billy was restrained by all four limbs, wrists cuffed to the headboard and ankles tied tightly to the bedposts at the bottom. He doesn’t respond to your attempts to get a reaction out of him, he doesn’t deny it because it’s true.

“Hmm. Don’t wanna talk?”

He shakes his head ‘no’ quickly. He’s somehow already sweating, curls sticking to his face and neck, getting frizzy from the heat he emanated.

“I guess I’ll have to leave you alone, then…” you glance down at the ground, implying you’re going to turn around and abandon him, helpless.

“No, don’t. Please.” He whines, and you come back to his side.

“I know what you want, but you’re gonna have to be good to get it. Okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Fire shoots straight down to your core, setting it alight and it spreads rapidly. You almost lose your composure, having to mask how horny that made you, but you keep it together.

“Good boy.” You gently run your fingers across his forehead, pushing back the stray pieces of hair that were stuck to it.

You climb onto the bed, on top of the nude boy, still in all your clothes besides your shorts, which were already gone. Reaching to the side, you grab Billy’s pack of cigarettes and take one into your mouth. You light it, taking in a deep inhale and exhaling the smoke loudly.

“Hold this, baby.” You place it between his fingers, and he holds it, though he’s restrained.

You lean over, starting to do exactly what you wanted to do. You place the very first kiss onto his jawbone, near his earlobe. You’re horribly slow with the amount of progress you make, the ultimate goal to reach his cock.

You didn’t care, you knew he could wait, and you took lots of careful time licking and sucking on the salty, sensitive skin of his neck. Marks form all the way down the side of it, and he groans each time you bite down hard. The sound of his desperation was music to your ears, so you kept on going. You suck on the skin covering his collarbone, working all the way across it to the end.

“Everyone that looks at you is going to know you’re mine, that I own you.” You comment, pulling away and sitting up to admire the work you did with the bites and hickeys. They were already turning a dark purple color, and they were beautiful. You smell smoke and remember the cigarette you had lit, reaching over to take it from his fingers and taking a hit.

“Words, Billy. Hello?” You add.

“Yes- yeah, yeah. You own me, mhm. Can I hit that, please?” His eyes are fixated on the cigarette that sat between your lips.

“Yes, pet, here.”

You place it in his mouth and let him take a hit of it, pulling it away when he took the smoke in. He breathes out through his nose.

“Thank you.” He says softly.

“So polite, I love your manners. Sweet baby.”

You sit and just smoke, taking your leisurely time. You notice in his face that he’s staring at it, and at the cherry red burning end. He didn’t want to say it, but you weren’t a mind-reader, so you assumed he wanted more and brought it to his lips again. He just shakes his head.

“No? What is it, has your color changed?”

“No, no, it’s green.” He rushes out the words to assure you, “just… would you put that out… uh, fuck.” He gets frazzled trying to put it into words. You listen patiently, waiting.

“On me. Please. Burn me.” He finishes quickly.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Mhm.”

You knew he had kind of a thing for pain, but were hesitant about this. You didn’t want to hurt him, you really didn’t, but he asked you to. Of all the cigarettes you’ve smoked together- it was a habit you shared- he’s never said anything like that.

You hesitate for a moment, but figure he’s done it before to know he wants it. You take one last hit of the cigarette before pressing the tip of it down onto his chest, on his upper pec.

“Ah- shit,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “Fuck.” He breathes.

You discard the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table, coming back to look down at the damage, a perfect white circle with a bit of ash speckled around it. You blow the ash away, and place a kiss on top of the burn.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You reply mindlessly, not noticing the desperation in his face as he stares up at you.

He starts to shift a bit, enough that you can feel it.

“I need-“

“You need to wait.” You interrupt him, shutting him down.

You place kisses all across his torso, starting at his chest and making your way down to his abdomen. You feel his tight muscles constrict even tighter when you kiss over them, his sensitive body tensing up each time.

He’s still shifting, whining quietly every now and then, trying to be good and not buck his hips. You work your way down to his happy trail, a line of blonde hair starting at the bottom of his belly button. Continuing, you get right to where the bush of pubic hair starts to form, and stop there. He starts to whine louder, close to tears.

“Please.”

“Be patient, I’ve still got all my clothes on. That’s not very fair, is it?” You ask, tilting your head as you do.

“N-no.” He shakes his head.

You reach for the bottom hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it somewhere in the floor. His big, dumb eyes fall down to your chest. You make quick work of getting your bra off too, letting it fall away.

You feel him continue to stare at you, getting up off the bed to remove your panties. Now that you’re off of his lap, you can see how miserable he is. His cock is a darker shade of red, hard as a rock, leaking desperately from the tip and twitching on its own.

“Poor thing. Can’t do anything about that without your hands, huh? Do you need help?”

He nods, swallowing hard. When you finally get back on top of him, your warm, wet pussy makes direct contact with his erection.

“Ahh, oh god, oh my god.” He moans, and you start to rock a bit, grinding on his dick without letting it actually get in. Your slick covers it, the entire shaft, when you spread your pussy lips around it and continue the bringing motion.

The motion stimulated your clit wonderfully, you felt like you could just do this forever. Maybe you didn’t need penetration, this contact was something so good that you could cum from it already. He watches the place where your cunt is rutting against his boner, and can’t take any more.

“Put it in, please, I want to fuck you so bad. What do you want me to do? I’ll do it, I’ll do anything. Just please fucking put it in.”

You come to realize that tears are actively falling from the corners of his eyes. You decide to give in, in that moment, but wanted to push him just a little more, just for your sick enjoyment.

“Hmm. Okay, well, do you know my name?” You ask.

You see some cogs turning in his little head, trying to find the answer.

“Aww, so horny you can’t even remember my name.” You reach to caress his cheek, skin hot.

“It’s mommy.” You bend down to whisper in his ear.

“Please, mommy, please. Mommy, mommy, mommy. I need you, mommy, please,” he starts to ramble, and you give a satisfied smile.

You line it up and sink down onto him with no warning, and he cries out loud. Almost like a sob, it filled the air in the room. You sat all the way down on his cock and stayed that way for a moment, getting used to it. Soon, you start to move, riding his cock slowly.

“Oh, my god, mommy, thank you, fuck, it’s sososososo good-“ he rambles again, saying words just to say them. He can’t be quiet, moans loud and resonating, babbling incoherently, crying and mewling.

“Stop crying, I’ve got you, baby.”

You lean back down to kiss the tears off of his face.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

“I’m taking care of you. Aren’t I taking good care of you, hmm?”

“Yes, mommy’s taking such good care of me.”

“There you go, good boy.”

You increase your speed, now bouncing up and down on his cock. He watched your tits bounce with each movement, enamored. He wishes so bad that he could touch them, that he could touch any of you. Literally anything, he just wanted to feel your skin beneath his fingers.

You start to let out moans that mix harmoniously with his, riding him at just the right speed for you. The sight below you was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, your boy sweaty with wide eyes and blown out pupils, mouth hanging open and panting like a dog.

All the while covered in bruises and bite marks that you made.

For the first time tonight, you leaned down and kissed him. You finally let him kiss you, and he was over the moon. The feeling was electric, his lips on yours, and you try your best to actually kiss but end up just moaning into each other’s mouths. Having to pull away, you ride him like your life depended on it, and it felt like it did.

“Mmh, god, I’m so close.” You try to say but the words are all slurred together, and you keep your perfect pace until you’re clamping down on his cock and orgasming hard, letting it wash over your entire body and take over your senses.

You keep on riding, using him, his dick hitting your g-spot over and over again. It was almost too much, overkill, but not enough to stop. You couldn’t stop, so you didn’t. You continued bouncing your ass up and down on his cock, relishing in the feeling you get when he’s filling you up.

You hardly noticed the words being spoken. When you tune back in, it’s him just begging and begging you to give him permission.

“M-mommy I can’t, please.” He whines, unable to keep it in.

“Oh, go ahead, pretty boy. Fill me up, keep going til nothing’s left.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, and you feel him twitch inside of you before spilling. You start to slow down your pace, still continuing your movements until he started to shake and then you got off.

You immediately start spilling all over the bed below you, his hot cum leaking out. You’ll wash the sheets, just not now. You were just taking in the moment, silently appreciating it.

“Shit.” You remark, trying to get yourself together. Once you have, at least a little bit, you quickly tug on your panties and throw one of his big t-shirts on. You go to the foot of the bed first to untie his ankles, knowing that the knots you did were tight and possibly cutting off circulation.

He let out a sigh of relief at his freedom, then you grabbed a tiny key from the bedside table drawer. You move quickly to unlock the cuffs, one at a time until he’s soon completely unrestrained.

“Are you okay? What do you need?” You check in. You were tired, but not too tired to make sure he’s taken care of.

“I’m okay. Pants, please, and water.”

“Okay.”

You go to retrieve a pair of sweatpants and toss them over, then head to the kitchen and grab him a cold bottle of water. When you come back, he has a cigarette lit and is smoking it happily. You hand him the water and sit down next to where he lay.

You watch as he sort of returns to his normal self, and you wonder if he’s as exhausted as he is.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

You smile. “Yes.” And you snatch the cigarette out of his hand, stealing it.

It makes you look down at his chest, and you wonder out loud, “does that really turn you on?” as you trace the skin around the burn with you fingertips delicately.

“I dunno,” he shrugs, “just feels good.”

“Well that’s something we’ll not do very often, sometimes, if you want, but not often. Can’t have scars all over this perfect body.” You compliment as your fingers wander and caress his bare torso.

He blushes, only slightly, smiling. “Stop it.”

“What? It is. I know it and you know it too.”

“That’s all you. You’re perfect.”

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargove smut #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things smut #billy hargrove x y/n

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mishwanders · 1 year

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Blood Pact {Alcina Dimitrescu}: Drain Me

Pairing: Alcina Dimitrescu x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Vampire Smut. Blood, teeth, edging, finger penetration, thigh riding, hipnotic venom. Minors DNI.

Blood Pact Master List

Another day - another vase to fill.

You walked through the hall with a box of flowers, making your way into Lady Dimitrescu’s bedchamber, quietly closing the door behind you. It was dark in the room and the only light to be found was that of the warm glow emanating from the fireplace. It was rather toasty inside but you found yourself frozen to the core when your eyes caught sight of the wide brim hat and smoke rising above it, kissing the ceiling.

Lady Dimitrescu was already here.

The woman turned her head ever so slightly, catching you in the corner of her eye like a church mouse who’d been caught sneaking about. She chuckled at your anxious demeanor.

“Come closer.” She commanded, “I promise I won’t bite.”

You did as you were told, never daring to go against the Lady's words. You placed the box down on the floor, pulled out the old flowers from the vase and refreshed it with new ones. When you were done with the task you looked at the flowers fondly with a smile. That’s when the sound of Lady Dimitrescu’s soft laugh reached your ears. You looked up at the woman, catching her eyes watching your every move. Your smile quickly faded and she shook her head in disbelief.

“Oh come now, are you that afraid of me dearest?”

“N-No my lady.” You stammered, “I was just told never to speak in you presence by my grandfather.”

A total lie, but she seemed to believe it. Lady Dimitrescu patted the seat beside her.

“Well, I’m addressing you now and telling you otherwise. Come take a seat, I would enjoy some company.”

You were taken aback by her request, that she would ever want to speak to the likes of you. Did she know what had been going on between you and the daughters? Did they say anything to her? Or was she just telling the truth and wanting company?

Regardless of the reason, you did as you were told, again, and sat beside her.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. Your grandfather spoke highly of you, the matron less so.” She stated, “but my daughters -.”

You froze at the mention of them. So she did know.

“My daughters don’t even have to say a word, I can smell it in the room, your blood I mean.” She continued

Lady Dimitrescu leaned in and peered down with curiosity, reaching her finger up to your chin, pulling you to look into her gaze.

“Truly it has me wondering what you taste like.”

“You’re not implying -“ you began

“And what if I were? Would you deny me?” She asked

“I-” You started, looking for the words.

Would you deny her? Would you even want to? Or would you like to know what a night with her would be like?

“No my lady, I would not.”

Lady Dimitrescu smiled, her teeth sharper than any knife you’d seen, deadlier than any snake you’d know. She rested a hand on your back, pulling you forward onto her, allowing you to straddle her thigh.

“Then why wait any longer?”

She took hold of the back of your head, lacing her fingers in your hair. She pulled your head over to the side, exposing your neck and without warning, sunk her teeth in. You let out a brief cry of pain but it quickly subsided as you felt the effects of something more powerful filling your veins, replacing the blood that had been taken.

Lady Dimitrescu had venom, and it was one that she used very seldomly. She moved away from your throat, looking into your eyes, puzzled.

“Something is different - it usually smells sweeter than this.”

“That’s because it is. You’re daughter typically -“

You almost blurted out the fact that her daughters played with you before drinking from you - almost as if you were under some kind of spell in her presence. If she knew what they had done -

Oh but the look on her face proved that she did. The glint of an idea shining in her eyes.

“Well, well, then let’s make this more entertaining then.” She replied, moving her leg slightly underneath you. “Come now, if you’re not shy with them, don’t dare be shy with me.”

You looked up at her in surprise. She really wanted to do this? It baffled you, but you knew better than to refuse her.

And why would you want to? You were just as enticed by her as she was by you.

So you complied, rolling your hips back and forth along her thigh, feeling the friction between your clothes. She watched you as you began to pant desperately for some relief, your chest rising faster. She leaned back against the couch and watched you attempt to pleasure yourself alone like this.

“Look at you, so eager to please, so eager to be my dearest for the evening.”

Lady Dimitrescu reached out a finger to you, catching it on your shirt.

“Do you mind if we remove some of your things? I would like to get a better look at you.”

“Yes, my lady.”

You slowly unbutton your shirt, exposing yourself to the woman, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor behind you as you continue to ride her. You began to unclasp the belt and removed it from your trousers. After that you continued to grind your hips against her leg, staring into the woman’s eyes with lust and wanting. She was pleased with the little strip show you had given her, but she wanted to see just how much you could take. She placed a hand on your shoulder and forced you to stop.

“The trousers as well.” She instructed, “I want you to hide nothing from me.”

Again, you did as she asked, forcing yourself off of her and standing before her, removing what was left of your clothes. She could now see the naked silhouette of you in the warm glow of the flames.

You looked decadent.

You made her hungry.

“Come closer.” She said, removing her glove.

You did so, and felt her cold hand move in between your thighs, fingers trailing back and forth on your clit. You shuddered at the sensation of it. Holding onto her arm to balance.

“Losing yourself already? That won’t do, I’m not done preparing you yet.”

You looked at her, confused, but she brought her hand away from you, licking her own finger before pulling you back up to her and bringing it back between your thighs. You groaned in pleasure at the sensation, feeling her move her fingers in circles around you, picking up the pace ever so slightly, coercing you closer and closer to your breaking point.

“My lady please ~” you begged, ”fuck!”

You felt yourself come undone from her touch, under her gaze. She was pleased with you, but she knew you weren’t quite ready yet. She slid her hand underneath you and allowed you to drop yourself down on her finger, sliding in all the way. You let out a moan of pleasure feeling her digit stretch you out, her finger gently curling inside of you. You began to take matters into your own hand, giving her a much better show.

You began to ride her finger, bouncing up and down on it, feeling her thumb gliding against your swollen clit every time you came back down. You were enjoying yourself, finding that you were coming undone at the seams once again. Lady Dimitrescu knew you were finally ready for the taking, just sweet enough to taste.

“My lady, please ~” you begged, “drain me.”

She didn’t have to hear another word. Lady Dimitrescu pulled you in closer as you continued to ride her, chasing after your high as she sank her teeth into your chest, drinking her fill, taking what she wanted from you as you came for her. She hummed in excitement, feeling the sweetness dancing along her tongue, the flavor exploding as your release came.

Decadent indeed.

When you had finally ceased your movement, she continued to drink from you until she knew you couldn't handle it any more, before life left you. When she was finally done, she rested you on her bed and gently pushed the hair away from your face.

“Now I understand the meaning behind yourname, my dear.” She whispered, “We’ll have to do this again -

Sweetness.”

#alcina x reader #alcina dimitriscu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina demitriscu #alcina x female reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil fic #resident evil fandom #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil x you #resident evil x reader #re8 x reader #re8 fic #re8 fanfiction #series: blood pact #spicy writing: Alcina Dimitrescu

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1indigoisles · 4 months

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Chapter 2 - Excerpt 6

This is it, people. This is what we have all been waiting for. This is the part where you take a real step into Knightville, and understand a little of what it truly means to come from such a place. Be warned though, it will give you more questions to think about than answers...

CW: light gore, violence

I was being followed. I was certain of it.

I hadn’t taken my bike to school that day, since I’d gotten out way too early and the ride would have made me arrive too soon. I’d walked to school instead, and at the time, buzzing with energy, it hadn’t been so bad. But now, I was walking tiredly in a secluded part of the neighbourhood, at the end of a very long day.

With something following me.

What was especially troubling was that the sky had gone abruptly dark in the past few minutes alone, making it look like it was about to be evening even though it was only four in the afternoon. The wind whistled as it quickened it’s pace, even though it didn’t feel like it would rain, and a deep sense of foreboding came over me as I began to hasten in my journey. My speed increased uncertainly at first, but soon it was only fast, fast, faster. Before I realised it, I was flat-out running, just like Jolene had warned me to, although from what I was escaping, I couldn’t be entirely sure.

And that was when I heard it. The whispers. I’d thought the wind had been whistling, until I heard the words, ragged lines of poetry cracked around the edges, spoken by a scattered shard of glass from a broken picture.

We see, we hear, we smell, we touch, we taste. All will become shadow, and all shall suffer. He is here, our last impossibility, the power we were promised...

I turned around.

And I almost screamed.

Three shadowy creatures stood short of thirty feet away from me, and they were unlike anything from this world. They were completely black, so black they almost seemed slick with the color. They had no form at all, if you didn’t count their heads and arms, just black clouds of smoke hanging over the place shoulders should be, coming from an invisible source in their centre. Their heads were like black eggs, with no eyes or ears or nose or mouth or expression, an endless void of something that can only be termed as ‘evil’. Their hands were long and slim, sinisterly clawed in a way that made me shiver. Their entire presence made me shiver.

They tilted their heads at the same time in my direction.

Kenneth Garamond, said one of them (or was it all of them together?), in a breathy, sharp, inhuman whisper of a voice, every word echoing each other like the rings of bells from nightmares. We have been waiting a long time.

Nobody had ever called me Kenneth Garamond.

Perhaps it was idiotic to feel anger at the name by which I was addressed, but it was what I felt anyway, and I did not find it in me to care. It was clarity, a rock I could grasp to keep myself from falling off the cliff. I was hanging, but I was focused on the rock. I would not slip. I silenced the other voices in my head, the ones that asked questions.

And I found my voice. “You’re mistaken,” I said. “I am not Kenneth Garamond.”

For creatures that didn’t have faces, they seemed taken aback by my reaction, retreating a milimeter back, not as though I were the danger, but as though they’d had a prior perception of me, and I did not meet that perception.

We have waited too long, they said (one of them? Another of them?). We have-

“KENNETH!” came a shout from behind the creatures.

They turned. I squinted.

Rowan and Jolene Frost (the one who’d shouted) were running to us at full speed, Jolene’s hair flying behind her like a flame. They were clad in what looked like clean-fitted, dark blue armor, complete with chest plates and weapons belts. Jolene held up what greatly resembled a dagger emanating a soft white glow, and had a similarly glowing sword attached diagonally on her back. Rowan was in the process of pointing a gun, which also glowed, at the shadowy creatures. He shot, and it seemed to hit the one standing in the middle, square in the place where a chest should have been.

My grip on the rock slipped.

It staggered backwards, but seemed far from unkilled, as its two comrades turned to Jolene and Rowan.

But then something impossible happened. Jolene ran up, jumped in the air, and somehow transformed into an eagle, flew up to the creatures, turned back into a human, and would have landed squarely on one of them, had it not moved away with lightning speed first. Jolene, unperturbed by this, landed lightly on her feet like a cat.

And I was falling off the cliff.

All this happened in less than ten seconds, and my mind struggled to comprehend it. Of course I’d seen this kind of thing before... in books and movies, where we were protected from the dangers of imaginary worlds.

Everything was a nice fairytale, an intriguing and untouchable horror, or a thrilling adventure, until of course, it existed about thirty feet away from you, battling people you’d known for a week, and did not exist in the form of words and expressions.

Then, well, you were just scared as hell.

Jolene was still surrounded by the creatures. Rowan was gaining speed, I had run forward, and Jolene had swiftly unsheathed her glow-in-the-dark sword and slashed at her opponents in a single wide, graceful arc, sending the things back. Rowan plucked a knife from his belt and flung it at the nearest creature, slicing it cleanly through the forehead. That seemed to destroy it completely; the creature immediately fell apart in a dense cloud of black, blocking my line of sight momentarily, and when it cleared... nothing remained.

Jolene grinned at Rowan, but that grin was soon replaced with a look of horror. Five more of the same creatures materialised into existence out of the shadows, and the duo was surrounded. Jolene held up her sword. Rowan cocked his gun. “Kenneth, get away!” he shouted, but I didn’t move a muscle.

That was when they really began to fight, Jolene slashing valiantly with her sword, dagger, and body, and Rowan firing his gun with deadly precision. They even shouted warnings at each other from time to time whenever a creature approached, or if there was an opening to strike, or to ‘go get’ me. Everything was happening too fast for me to even admire the way they fought, like they were weapons too. I was too busy wondering how they knew all those moves.

But then, another impossible thing happened. At one point, when Jolene was too busy fighting, Rowan was pinned to the ground with a creature’s disgusting hand around his throat, his gun having fallen a few feet too many away from his reach.

As I immediately ran halfway directly into the line of fire to help him, Rowan, who, up until then, had both his own hands around the creatures claw in an attempt to get some breathing space, extended one of his arms in the direction of his gun, and a second later, it lifted off the ground and flew into his hand, like a piece of metal attracted to a magnet. I stopped dead.

Rowan shot the thing and quickly got back on his feet as it arched backwards, its arms flailing as it began to disintegrate into black. But I was too close, I was too slow, and the shadow-creature’s arm landed with surprising amount of momentum right into my stomach. I fell, my head hitting hard against asphalt, my vision going black for a scary second as a bony hand helped me to my feet. Rowan pushed me off to the side – “Stay here,” he ordered – as I tried to stitch my thoughts together.

By the looks of things, these creatures were really hard to kill, and I could see Rowan trying to get back to Jolene, who was having a rough time with her opponents (had another creature just joined us?) It made me wish I could do something, anything apart from wincing whenever Jolene or Rowan got hurt and shouting their names to warn them of surprise attacks.

At one point, a cloud of black smoke was beginning to materialise with surprising intensity, which I took as a sign that more of these creatures were dying. There were surprised human cries from within, and for a moment, I couldn’t see either Jolene or Rowan. It was like that for a moment, and when it cleared, Rowan and Jolene were grinning ear to ear.

And they weren’t alone. A third person had joined their group.

Scarlett Raynott was in the same armor as Jolene and Rowan, gripping a long, glowing spear in her left hand. Her hair was tied in a tight braid that snaked across the harsh-blowing wind, and she was smiling a dangerous smile along with the other two, although she still had an alert look in her eyes.

And all three of them commenced fighting once more. They were going so fast it was hard to track everyone's precise movements. Now, only four of the shadow-creatures were left, and an added hand was quickening the process. Now the group was split up; Jolene and some of the creatures had gone off to one side, while Scarlett and Rowan faced off the most of them. Scarlett was just as skilful as Jolene and Rowan, if not more, and things were finally starting to look good for them.

Until disaster struck once again. Jolene, who was standing a little away from Scarlett and Rowan, took an unguarded swipe at one of the creatures, to which the creature extended it’s claws and, with a movement too quick to catch, slashed at Jolene. Jolene cried out loud as three long, deep gashes formed on her stomach, thick lines of dark red steadily oozing blood. Jolene’s sword clattered to the ground.

She fell back.

“Jolene!!!” Rowan cried when he finally turned, a look of raw horror on his face as he immediately ran to his sister, unable to care less about the creature that tailed him. Scarlett’s face just paled as she stared at Jolene’s mangled form, her eyes unreadable, perhaps at the sight of blood.

My own reflexes suddenly came into gear. The shadowy creature that Jolene had been fighting was coming back to finish the job, and I couldn’t just stand there and let that happen. Rowan and Scarlett were too far away.

But I was close enough.

I shook off my fear and unease, my legs started moving, and before I knew it, I was running to where Jolene lay on the ground, barely breathing. I stood protectively above her, blocking the monster’s view, and I faced it.

Jolene was barely conscious, but she seemed to have noticed me and recognised who I was. “No, Kenneth,”she kept on repeating, in an awful, croaky sort of voice, “you can’t-”

You are painfully foolish, Diaforian, the monster said.

“KENNETH!” It was Rowan. “Are you crazy? Get away from that thing!”

“No, let him,” came a voice. Astonishingly, this had come from Scarlett, who had a cut across her cheek and a thoughtful expression on her face.

Rowan, Jolene, and I all looked at her as though she were crazy. Even I wasn’t optimistic enough to believe I would survive today. I’d done what I’d done without thinking, and I didn’t know why I was risking it all for an injured girl I barely knew.

The creature approached. The air around me seemed to suddenly drop ten degrees, it was growing darker than any night that I had ever seen, and I felt the promise of death, deep in my bones.

But I wasn’t thinking anymore. I was functioning purely on instinct, and later, after all was said and done, I think that was how I witnessed the last impossible thing of that day.

I raised my hand so that my outstretched palm faced the monster, as if to ward it away, and for a few dangerously surreal seconds, everything seemed frozen. This was the last monster. Nothing and no one moved, and all eyes were on me.

Until it all unfroze again. Brightness exploded out of my hand, a jet of white light directed at the monster. It was blinding, it was huge, it was extraordinary. It was nothing like what I’d expected to happen and everything at the same time. Maybe I would be confused about it later, but for the moment of now, I felt powerful, dangerously powerful. And it was dangerous because nothing had ever felt so right in my life; in that moment, it was everything. Power came from deep within the center of my chest, like a ball of yarn being quickly unwound, travelling with staggering speed through my body, and bursting out of my palm.

The light connected with the monster, making it fly back, and it resulted in an even brighter explosion that blinded us all for a moment. I shielded my face with my hand, and I felt all that was dark and foreboding vanish, the promise of death gone as if it were never made. It was a feeling of light, and as the brightness faded and I lowered my hand, I felt oddly at peace with the world. The town was it’s normal grey once more.

But the feeling lasted only a second; my balance swayed, my head was too heavy, and my knees abruptly hit the cold hard ground as I fell with the feeling of being suddenly drained of all energy. I felt weak, so terribly weak that I couldn’t think or see straight. Breathing was an effort. Moving was impossible. Distantly, I heard the sounds of talking and approaching footsteps.

“She’s only fainted, she has a pulse,” said Rowan, in a strangely muffled voice that could have been due to the incessant ringing in my ears. “She has a pulse.” Even though I couldn’t see him, he sounded as though he was trying to reassure himself more than anyone.

“Look after your sister, Rowan,” said Scarlett, her voice like a broken dagger, “I’ll take care of Teigen.”

A few shuffling noises later, I felt a pair of surprisingly strong hands holding me up. Heard the clinking of glass, swallowed something terribly bitter and sleepy. My eyes began to close...

I shook my head. “No,” I said deliriously, not knowing exactly what it was I was saying ‘no’ to, dimly remembering my demands, though they seemed faraway and foolish to ask for, “I want answers. I have questions.”

Silence for a moment. Scarlett didn’t say that I would get all my answers, that I would get them later, when I was better. She just said with a strange simplicity: “We all do.”

And it all faded into dark nothing.

Do you really think anything more needs to be said?

On a different note, this is the last excerpt of this chapter, and we'll immediately jump to Chapter 3 - Excerpt 1 after this. Another notice: I won't have the time to write as much during this week and the next, until 22nd January, since I'll be having some exams. If I can, I'll post Chapter 3 - Excerpt 1 in between, but I'm not very sure. Please bear with me until 22nd, and I'll promise you'll get new stuff.

Taglist: @jeahreading, @mayaheronthorn, @damn-this-transgirl-hella-gay, @tys-kitty, @margareturtle

#Land of Magic #Chapter 2 - Excerpt 6 #Indigo Isles #Writing #Writerblr #Writers on Tumblr #Writing stuff #Novels #Tumblr Novels

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minhyeong · 2 years

Text

&. 𝐳𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐫

genre: supernatural, fallen angel au | word count: 973

↳ The harsh wind eased into a soft, gentle breeze that seemed to still the blinking city lights and lure you toward the hypnotizing stranger.

Doyoung felt like he was being torn apart by the limbs.

Under the dim glow of the flickering, yellow street lamps, the fire searing through his burning wings ignited the night and melted the litter by his body. He was writhing against the rough asphalt ground, skin scratched by the chipped brick wall he was leaning against. His fingertips turned crimson red as he helplessly grasped at anything in his reach to stop the agony. Doyoung thrashed against the wall and pulled his quivering limbs inward until he curled in on himself in a silent sob. Violet veins crawled up the skin on his back as he heaved.

The flames engulfed his white wings in hot sparks of heat until they became dying embers that dissipated through the air. Smoke spiraled toward the sky. Doyoung glowed red before cooling to a lifeless black.

The trees on the roadside swayed violently in the waves of wind. You tightened your loose scarf around your face and pushed your entire body against the wind that swept across the desolate streets of the city. You felt your nose and fingers ache in the cold that chilled you down to your bones.

A stray dog was barking at an end of the alley, frantically pacing back and forth until it uneasily sat down, tail thumping against the ground.

You took the same path home every night, the path with small buildings that simmered down to faint white and yellow lights in covered windows and traffic lights that almost felt pointless with how empty the streets were. You took the same path home every night, but it was the first time the usually crisp air vaguely smelled of smoldering smoke.

If you did not squint, it would have been nearly impossible to tell someone was unconscious in the alley. Doyoung was sprawled out, blurred against the ribbons of smoke and ash. The form only resembled something like human when you inched closer. He wasn’t moving, except for the erratic rise of his chest as he struggled to take in deeper breaths and the involuntary twitching of his muscles. Ash clung to his jet black hair. His skin was almost translucent under the sliver of moonlight that casted wavering silhouettes across his naked body.

You faltered in your hurried steps home, fear rising all the way from the pit of your stomach to your throat. You sunk to your knees beside him, chest constricting with an inhale of the smoke emanating from his body. Your voice cracked as you planted a trembling hand on his shoulder and called for his attention.

Doyoung’s skin burnt your fingers like a mound of dry ice. His cracked lips almost looked gray. You tugged your thick jacket off and draped it on top of him, running your palms along the material to tighten it around him as much as possible.

When you fumbled for your phone, patting down all your pockets for the device and coming close to tears when you couldn’t find it, Doyoung’s eyes fluttered open.

You gasped. “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

He squinted at you through his lashes, face contorting into a grimace as he shifted under your jacket. With his blurry vision, you looked like nothing but a haphazard blend of hazy lights and shadows to him.

You cautiously helped him up into a sitting position by supporting his elbow, keeping a palm on the jacket to prevent it from sliding off his frame. He snapped his head in your direction when you reached your arm behind him to support him, almost snarling. The threatening glint in his eyes made you retract your hands.

“I won’t hurt you. I just want to help,” you explained softly.

Doyoung silently stared, brows furrowed as he tried to connect the different orbs of light and splays of shadows that formed the image of you. It was frightening you; you averted your eyes and wrung your hands in your lap. It felt too inhumane to just get up and leave him behind, but his gaze felt like shards of ice piercing through your skin.

Eventually, he turned away, lowering his head and inhaling the heavy night air. The skin across his back stretched painfully when he sat up a little straighter.

“Where do you live?” You hesitantly peered at him, leaning back on your knees to create some space in between. The wind seeped through your sweater and sharply nipped at your body in a way that felt like you had ants crawling all over.

There was no answer.

“Are you able to hear me?”

He nodded, licking his chapped lips that gained a faint hue of pink.

“Do you want me to bring you to the hospital?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself when he shook his head. The cold air caused your eyes to water. You desperately wanted to be in the warmth, legs turning numb under your weight.

There was a glow in his eyes when your gazes locked, and you nearly fell back. It was serene but bewitching. You thought you could see a clear blue sky in them, feel the beaming sun and tranquil morning mist lick at your skin.

You swallowed thickly, finding your voice again. “Then, do you want to go home with me and we’ll figure it out later?”

A car drove by, tires humming against the asphalt, the deafening music echoing around until it ceased to a low buzz in your eardrums. The streets came to a rest again. The harsh wind eased into a soft, gentle breeze that seemed to still the blinking city lights and lure you toward the hypnotizing stranger.

Doyoung nodded, and you felt yourself falling for him a little, becoming weightless as if you were treading on a path of clouds.

Even the sky somehow looked different.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct 127 scenarios #doyoung scenarios

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epwrenn · 5 months

Text

“What’s Sauvignon Blanc?”: Why I love Italian restaurants

My girlfriend, Peggy, has several annoying habits. Making me watch her dog on short notice; saying “MMMmmm” after the first bite of any meal I cook her, regardless of whether or not praise is warranted; reading ahead of me when I’m trying to read - as fast as I can, damn it! - to her in bed. Yet none of these examples get under my skin quite like her smug satisfaction whenever I take her hand while walking down the road together.

“Awww,” she croons, as our fingers interlock on Quarrendon Street.

“Oh bloody hell, Pegs! You don’t have to comment every single time we hold hands, y’know?!”

She smiles and looks ahead, giving the impression she’s won some sort of moral victory over me. She has.

We’re making our way towards Vicino, an olde worlde Italian restaurant on the New Kings Road near Parsons green. Or, at least it looks olde worlde from the outside: the bright red and white paint job of its exterior makes it seem like the whole place has been draped in one of those classic vinyl tablecloths; the stencil of a lobster flanked by two olive trees watch over the street under ornate, gold lamps; Billy Joel and his band come tumbling out of the front door, congratulating each other on having just finished their best album, 1977’s ‘The Stranger’. Ok, that last bit I made up, but it doesn’t take the piano man in his prime to see why this place caught Peggy’s eye earlier in the week. Before you’ve even set foot inside, the place emanates something fuzzy and familiar. A time capsule, but without the stench of disintegrating memorabilia and Blue Peter presenters succumbing to entropy.

Given its location and crustaceous guardian, you might assume it haughty and overpriced, but it's not at all. We peruse the sunshine yellow menu near the front door and remark on how fair it all seems. Not dirt cheap (£13 for the Spaghetti Bolognaise) but very fair for this part of town. The bourgeois Bayley and Sage supermarket across the road looks on with displeasure as we walk in and aren't immediately held up by our ankles and shaken. Instead, the head waiter, a white haired italian gentleman, gives us a smile and briskly whisks us over to a little table by the wall (painted with a mural of vine leafs and waterfalls of course) in the middle of the dining area. There aren’t many patrons yet (it was 7:30ish when we showed up), but this doesn’t mar the warm, unpretentious interior with its dimly lit decorative plates, bottles of wine, jars of preserves, and art deco posters. It might all be well placed set dressing, but the effect is working on me, and I can’t help but smile as I swivel around in my chair; the smell of evaporated wine and garlic tickling some primitive bit of my brain. I immediately pull open the skinny little bag of crunchy breadsticks next to my fork and pretend to smoke one.

“Something to drink?” our man asks.

Peggy asks for Sauvignon Blanc. He has no idea what she’s talking about. I knew then that we had come to the right place.

Breadsticks smoked, we get some actual bread and olives to start. Nothing to write home about here sadly: just a stock white baguette cut into chunks with some unspreadable butter, probably the only ‘restaurant classic’ here I wish would remain in the aforementioned time capsule or, at the very least, be thawed before serving. The olives however, are delicious: Plump and lightly salted, the meatiness of each has me frantically skewering the next before I’ve finished with the one I’m working on; that toothsome, almost snappy bite of a fresh olive in limited quantity is addictive. I think Peggy gets a little annoyed at this gusto, but sips at the house white (we never found out if it was Sauvignon) instead while I gaze around in an olive induced trance.

Then our starters show up and all the bread and butter stuff is forgiven: I ordered the Cozzo (Fresh mussels) and Peggy the Burrata Con Pomodori e Basilico (Apulian Burrata cheese with heritage tomatoes and basil). Though I didn’t try Peggy’s, the plate dressing of the Burrata perfectly trod the line between rustic and gilding the lily; food you almost didn’t want to eat it looked so pretty with its decorative vegetables, strands of virgin olive oil, and casually cracked pepper. It was all gone anyway by the time I looked up from my bowl, a clumsy pile of muscles with little flecks of garlic and chilli swimming around in a white wine sauce, so I assume her’s tasted as good as it looked.

At £12 for mussels nowhere near the sea, mine was just ok: the majority were on the smaller end of the mussel spectrum, but at least there were plenty of them. The sauce tasted fine but was a little on the fishy-er side of things, to the point where it lingered on my mussel wielding index finger and thumb until I got home and had a good scrub. I felt, and still feel, a little torn about this: Yes, I remember my dish being so-so, but that only seemed to add more credence to the charming, homely ambiance of the evening. I imagined an authentic ‘mama’ back there, adding a little too much of this and not enough of that, perhaps ballin’ out a skinny sous chef for spending too much time on Peggy’s wonderful looking plate while neglecting my own.

Onto mains: Peggy, once again, chooses an aesthetically beautiful option: the Penne Quatro Formaggi e Tartufo (four cheese pasta with black truffle). Steam billows from the perfectly portioned bed of silky yellow tubes and heterogeneous, mole hill-like truffle shavings. Her face is full of glee, and I am jealous immediately of the five or six thousand calories I can see and smell. I almost regret my decision as the Linguine Gamberoni (King Prawn pasta) comes to rest in front of me:

“Only three king prawns?!” I think with greedy displeasure; Dudley Dursley incarnate. Thankfully, adult me snaps back to centre, and I pick up one of the prawns to inspect it. Not only is this thing bulbous - the thin, orange shell barely containing the swollen, blanched meat - but dripping with a fragrant, boozy red sauce. I almost swoon. An old memory comes back to me then:

“Sometimes, less is more.” My guitar teacher, Chris, playing a pirated clip from the Rush band documentary for me in a lesson: “Not every band needs a fourth member, y’know?”

I take the prawn’s hat and coat off, and place him back with his pals. He looks embarrassed, so I cut him in two (sorry) and enrobe one half in a twist of linguine. The pasta itself is dressed in the same saucy attire as the power trio, tiny flecks of olive oil dancing around on the surface. It oozes back into the bowl as I take my first bite. As anyone knows who’s tried this dish at its best, the combination is simply magic: the meaty, slightly springy - not rubbery - bite of prawn against the sweet and sour comfort of the dressed pasta, it’s like spending the afternoon with the recently older posh: everything is rich with nostalgia, flavours still vibrant, but all ensconced in the safety of a well-worn Harrod’s cashier sweater, and a glass of whatever will get them pissed the fastest. I’m pleased to say, this was one of the best examples of the dish I’ve tried in London. I relished the annoyance of having to put my cutlery down to rip apart the crustaceans, like a very well-off caveman, before picking up my doffed etiquette and gobbling down another wonderful mouthful. Even towards the end, pasta sans prawn, the sauce stands on its own.

Satisfied, our empty bowls disappear, and we, Peggy and I, go through the charade of pretending to not be very interested in the dessert menu. She orders the strawberry cheesecake, while I, twat that I am, flag down an older waitress and ask for an off-menu affogato. She casually looks up to our man from earlier:

“Affogato?”

There’s a beat.

He looks up from a long receipt and gives an ‘ok’ hand gesture, his eyes already back in accounting mode. I love this man.

By now the restaurant is full and it’s a wonderful sight to see a perfect cross section of Fulham life happening in front of me: three city guys near us meeting after work; a big family at the back celebrating something to do with the bald old man in their number; some kids on the cusp of being teenagers looking bored and embarrassed by Dad’s jokes; a gaggle of girls at the front with a big gold ‘30’ balloon; several dates too, their romantic content hidden in the cacophony of local voices. That feeling of set dressing hits me again. The place is making me feel like I’m a character in a Richard Curtis film.

Here comes dessert: Peggy’s cheesecake is a generous portion, with two spoons (the waitress knew I was gonna steal some before I did!) and it had obviously been made a while ago, the strawberries slices beginning to weep into their creamcheese bed. This didn’t make it look particularly brilliant, but the taste was superb. Again, I’m struck by the homely quality of it: the biscuit base nearly disintegrates at the touch of the fork, but this to me is just a sign that there aren't any pesky, unnatural emulsifiers holding it all together. This is the kind of food that is meant to be served immediately, then hastily refrigerated for tomorrow before pesky hands move in for the kill.

The affogato arrives and it’s exactly what I suspected it would be: two balls of off-brand vanilla ice cream with a hot, crappy nespresso poured over it - in a massive wobbly metallic sundae cup to boot. “That sounds awful,” I hear you cry. I suspect you’re right. Alas, for me, this is the pinnacle of what an affogato should be: My first was made by my (Hungarian) grandmother, Musi, and was exactly as described above, except in a mug. My (Liverpool-Irish) Grandad, Trevor, had one too, except his mug had a picture of himself next to Shakespeare on it; “England’s Greatest Authors”. I remember having “proper” semifreddo affogato years later at a very spenny Italian in Richmond, after hundreds of delightfully subpar ones with my grandparents house listening to Classic FM. I knew I was supposed to like it more, that this was a capital A, Authentic Italian dessert I was eating, an experience I was having… but, for me, it was just tasteless whipped cream dipped in presumably decent espresso - all it needed was a green straw and a mermaid. Peggy tries a spoonful and makes a face like she’d swallowed Bitrex. I laugh and continue to gulp down delicious, sugary, nostalgia.

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beigehearts · 3 years

Text

Yandere Dabi wants you for his own

he's not a very giving man so you should be very thankful for what he does for you

TW: blood, violence, yandere themes

"No, no I'm not crazy." He turns his head towards you and his eyes glow red. His shoulders rise and fall with each of his heaves and you can see the hot air from his mouth in the cold atmosphere.

"IM NOT CRAZY" His voice travels through the darkness and rings through your head. Everything about him points to the opposite. He stands up straight and tightens his fingers around the crowbar.

You try to silence the fear that screams at you to run, run and save yourself. You try so that you have some chance at saving your tormented boyfriend.

He's laying on his stomach, staining the snow with an unforgiving red. He lays almost naked except for his boxers and ripped up shirt. Fabric lay in tatters around him, along with some teeth and tufts of his own hair. A piece of his head is missing, the flesh just ripped from the skull so cruelly. The only reason you know he's still alive is that pleading, desperate, scared look in his eyes.

You clear your throat and reach a shaky hand out to the crazed man in front of you, "No, you're not crazy." You force a smile and take a step towards Touya, "I know you're not crazy."

Touya's grip on the crowbar seems to loosen and you gain the courage to take another step forward. "Come on Touya-" You try to soothe him with your voice, "Come on, it's okay..."

"...d..o...n..t..." Your boyfriend manages to squeak.

Touya turns on his heel and raises the crowbar above his head before promptly swinging it down, lodging it in your boyfriend's skull. Your deceased boyfriend's skull.

You let out an ear pircing scream and stumble backwards. Touya lets go of the crowbar but instead of it falling, it stays standing in your boyfriend's head.

Touya turns around to face you and you can see the smoke emanating from his body. "We're no different." He states. "You and I?" He gestures to both of you with his finger, "Are the same."

All of your faux kindness and sympathy have gone out the window now that he's killed the person you loved most. You don't bother putting up any kind of front anymore. "No, you're a monster. You killed my boyfriend!"

He interrupts you before you can berate him anymore, "It happens all the time in nature, it's no different than now." He takes a step towards you, "God doesn't punish animals for killing one another. Humans have made up this concept of morals..."

You slowly start backing away but he speeds up as he gets further into his maniacal and nonsensical rant. "I killed him, but it's no different than you eating chicken or streak."

"It is very different! What the fuck is wrong with you Touya?!" You scream at him.

"No it really isn't. It's murder either way... but between us I'm the only one who can face reality." He reaches out and grabs you by your coat hood. "So wake up and smell the bacon, sunshine."

His other hand meets your neck and begins biting into your flesh with it's intense heat. You don't have to do much waking up to smell the bacon he's making with your flesh. You cry out in pain and grab his wrist, but his wrist is just as hot. When you try to pull away he just pulls you back by your hood and intensifies the heat on your flesh. So you're left standing there with your arms at your side and biting back your sobs.

He leans so that his lips are pressed against your ear and he whispers, "Just be thankful. I could have made him suffer."

You scream in anger and punch his bare chest, burning your hand in the process. You fall backwards and land in the cold, cold snow; a wonderful contrast to the burning of your skin. His body is so tortured. This is the first time you've been able to see it up close. It's the first time he's ever been shirtless in front of you. You realize that the burned skin and staples aren't secluded to his arms and face. It's hard to believe that anyone could be so wounded and still alive.

His body is smoking and there's a puddle of melted snow around him. You wish you had never met him, you wish you had never been kind to him, you wish you had never been his friend, you wish more than anything you had never introduced him to your boyfriend.

He looks down at your feeble form and tuts. He leans down and grabs you by your hood once again, beginning to drag you through the snow. You kick and scream, flailing all of your limbs in protest but it's futile. He bends down and grabs you by your face, and shoves the side of it into the snow.

"Look." Is all he says.

You open your eyes and whimper; your boyfriend's lifeless gaze meets yours. Your poor boyfriend, what did he do to deserve this? He didn't deserve this. Why did he have to get involved in any of this?

Touya kneels on the other side of your boyfriend and grabs him by a fistful of his hair. He holds his head from the snow and you're given a painful view of the missing chunk of cheek and bit of nose.

Touya raises your boyfriend's head next to his own so they're side by side and the crowbar in your boyfriend's head lands in the snow. Touya takes his other hand and hooks his finger in the side of the corpse's mouth, pulling it to create a deformed smile.

"I could have made him suffer." A smile pulls at Touya's own lips and a trickle of blood falls from between his rough flesh and his burnt flesh. "But he's smiling."

#touya #touya todoroki #touya x reader #dabi #dabi x reader #yandere dabi #yandere touya #mha #my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia

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meat--grindr · 3 years

Note

I can request a story of Yandere Brahms with his reader, where Brahms kidnaps the reader by taking her inside the walls of the Mansion to be loved and protected. How did you come to this situation, maybe you can have a little NFSW?

Ahh, Brahms. How I love him so. I just wanted to let you know before we get into anything too serious, that this might be a little different than you were expecting, and for that I’m going to apologize right off the bat. I’ll admit I’m a massive weeb, but I never really saw the appeal of yanderes. Cringe, I know. So, I’m going to do my best here and take yandere more as ‘possessive’ if that’s alright? Also, I took some liberties with ‘kidnapping’ as you’ll see, just because I don’t want to walk too far into non-consensual territory when there’s NSFW involved. I don’t want to write anything explicitly non-consensual here, so it was a fine line to walk, but I think I found an okay solution. If this isn’t at all what you’re looking for, maybe drop me a PM and we can try to work something out? Anyway have like 5000-ish words of Brahms smut :)

Possessive (Yandere [?] Brahms (Female Reader) – NSFW

· Standing at the foot of the stairs, you are struck, though certainly not for the first time, by the beauty of the house in which you find yourself. The golden hue of the wood which panels the walls reflect and amplify the soft glow emanating from beneath frosted glass lampshades. The diffused amber glow is cast about the room, throwing elongated shadows against the walls and into the far corners. From your place at the very bottom of the stairwell, the ceiling, now several floors above you, is lost to the early darkness of a winter evening.

· Through the window, you can see the first soft flakes of snow drifting through the air. But here, inside, with your back braced against the newel post, you are warm. Tipping your head back, you gaze up into the yawning void above and cast your mind into it, losing yourself in daydreams of the beautiful rooms it conceals; your bedroom with its fourposter bed, all draped in velvet and silk—the dark, lacquered wood of the study, which still smells of cigar smoke, though as far as you can tell one hasn’t been lit in there for years—and, of course, the library.

· Dark shelves line the walls, so tall they stretch from the wooden floor to the moulded ceiling. They stand, filled nearly past capacity with volumes of every shape and size, from encyclopedias so large you can lift only one at a time, to pocket novellas no bigger than your palm. Pages and spines alike, embossed with gold and silver shimmer from both the shelves and the tables set beside each of the overstuffed armchairs. The plush rug which lies beneath those tables and chairs makes even the floor a comfortable place to stretch out and lose oneself in a book. And the smell. Old leather and paper, printing ink and glue, dust and the very passage of time itself. It’s like every crooked old bookstore you’ve ever entered tucked away in a cozy corner of your own home. Whether or not you remember having dreamt of owning a private library, you were quite sure you could never go back to life without one and find yourself contented.

· Even now, you long to curl up in one of those plush chairs and sink into another world until bedtime. You knew a soft blanket and a half-finished novel waited for you there, begging you to come back and see to them. And why shouldn’t you? What else was there to do on a chilly night such as this? The day’s chores were completed—the rat traps were checked (empty as always), the laundry was done, wood for the fire was stacked in the shed, and the supper dishes had been washed and put away. There is very little else that requires your attention. So why not?

· Your socked feet sink into the plush, green carpeting as you mount the stairs. The banister is pleasantly cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. As you ascend, the light from below begins to dim, unable to reach any further into the darkness above. The difference made by the two flights of stairs between the lighted foyer and the dark second floor leaves you light-blinded and blinking in the shadows.

· When again you regain your sight enough to behold it, even in partial darkness, the hallway that stretches before you is beautiful—the wooden paneling on the lower half of the walls takes on a sleek shine, while the deep green wallpaper above it fades into a stately and sober black. The paintings and portraits that line the walls are somber; muted without the proper lighting to show their colours, but they are no less impressive or imposing. A ship, barely visible, save for the canvas sails, is tossed on a rapidly darkening sea, lighting flashing far in the distance—a bright brushstroke of pure white, clear even in deep shadow. An old woman, her name rendered illegible in the gloom, stares down her nose at you in deep disapproval. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are severe and grey, and they seem, through either a trick of the light or the mastery of the painter, to follow you down the hall.

· It is very dark. A thin, watery light filters through a small window at the end of the hall, but it does little to help guide you. You suppose you could turn on one of the many lamps that line the long and ponderous hall, but you know you can find your way just find without one. You’d spent several adventurous afternoons and many restless nights exploring the house and grounds. Though in the beginning you could barely follow the straight hall from the front door to the kitchen without getting lost, these days, you rarely, if ever, found yourself wandering the halls with no idea where you were.

· You reach out, brushing the wallpaper with the tips of your fingers as you walk, grounding yourself in the darkness. It’s almost rough to the touch, stiff with age, though it’s clearly been well taken care of. In the daylight, there is little sign of aging at all - no scuffs or faded sections. You knew the house itself was well over a hundred years old, but it showed its age in astonishingly few places. Sure, the phones were ancient and the lack of wi-fi was irritating but—

· Thump.

· You freeze in place. You’re sure the sound had come from within the wall, just to the left of where you stood. There is something in there. The blood roars in your ear as you press it up against the wallpaper, straining to hear even a hint of movement, be it the shifting of the wood as the house settles, or the pitter-patter of something living. The seconds stretch on into minutes, but no further sounds come. You scrunch up your nose, feeling rather silly. It’s probably just a mouse…or maybe a rat. It sounded big. Perhaps those traps were good for something after all.

· Your gaze lingers on the spot for a moment longer, but still, there is nothing but silence. Maybe it had been the house creaking in the wind. Old houses were prone to groaning after all. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to move some of the traps further up into the house for a little bit, just to be on the safe side.

· You turn and continue down the hall, mind once again turning to the blanket, the book, and the comfy glow of the library. You press your palm flat against the wall as you walk, the whisper of your skin sliding over the wallpaper barely audible, even in the quiet that envelops the house at night.

· Then your fingers catch against something—an indentation in the wallpaper. It’s subtle, but definitely there. You stop to inspect it closer, worried that perhaps your assessment about the house not showing its age may have come a little hastily. Your fingers explore the seam with care, and you decide it’s not a crack—it’s too regular, too straight. It feels intentional in its design. And it’s practically invisible in the darkness—likely just as difficult to spot in daylight considering how frequently you find yourself in this hall and your failure to take notice of it before now.

· You crouch down, following the seam with your fingers. It stretches all the way down to the floor. Why…it’s almost like…a little door…

· Almost at the same moment this thought trickles into your mind, the little section of wall gives way beneath your touch, swinging inward on silent hinges.

· From within the inky darkness beyond, a pair of long, thin arms surge forth, snaking around your waist. The grip in which they envelop you is bruising as you are pulled back into the darkness beyond the secret door.

· It slams behind you hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hall. You scream, long and hard, struggling against the arms that cage you. You flail your limbs, lashing out blindly with fists and feet and nails, hoping desperately to strike your attacker, or at least wriggle enough to squirm from their crushing grasp. But the grip around your midsection only tightens, squeezing the very air from your lungs.

· You lurch into motion, the figure in the darkness half-carrying, half-dragging you along a narrow passageway. You try to scream again but find you can’t get enough air to do so. Instead, you lash out, legs kicking against the walls, knees and shins colliding painfully with rough, wooden support beams and sharp corners.

· While rounding a particularly tight corner, you manage to kick the opposite wall hard enough to throw your attacker off balance. A hissing shower of dust and plaster rains down on the pair of you. The figure stumbles, grip relaxing for only a moment, but it’s enough. You wriggle from their crushing grasp and dart back the way you came.

· The figure recovers quickly, and you can hear them bolting after you in the darkness. It doesn’t take long before they’re on you again, one large hand fisted deep in your hair, wrenching your head back. You cry out in pain, stumbling back against the intruder. The hand in your hair doesn’t relinquish it’s hold as their other arm wraps around your chest, locking in place like an iron bar. You struggle uselessly, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you’re dragged back the way you’d come, seemingly with even less regard for your physical well-being.

· Not far beyond the corner where you’d made your escape, you’re shoved to the ground unceremoniously. As you make to crawl away, the figure circles around you, blocking your path of escape. Even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can’t see much more than an outline. Even so, you can tell they’re much bigger than you. You feel a large hand sliding beneath your knees, and another on the small of your back and suddenly, the floor beneath you drops away. Instinctively, your arms shoot out, fumbling in the darkness for something solid to grab hold of. Your grasping hands find a fist-full of the intruder’s shirt. It’s soft and well-worn in your hands, and you clutch so tightly to it that you can feel your fingers beginning to cramp almost immediately. A soft rumble rolls through the figure, and after a moment, you realize they’re laughing at you. You want to let go, but the fear of tumbling backward into the darkness stills your hands.

· With the way you’re being jostled about, you get the distinct impression that you’re ascending a flight of stairs. Secret tunnels and staircases in the walls? Under any other circumstance, you would be ecstatic, ready to drop everything and explore them. But caught as you were, in the arms of a stranger, there is nothing but panic within you. Taking advantage of your new position, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intention to scream, though you’re sure there’s no one around to hear you.

· “Don’t.” So, it’s a man? His voice is soft, a half-whisper that thrums through your body where it’s pressed up against his chest. There is a distinctly British tilt to his voice, and it’s oddly muffled, as though something was covering his mouth. You’re reminded of those old cartoon bandits who wore bandanas across their mouths. He doesn’t want to be identified. The though sends a cold chill through you. This isn’t good. “Scream and I’ll drop you.”

· The scream dies in your throat. While you certainly don’t like being caught in a strange man’s grip, the thought of lying broken at the bottom of a secret staircase no one else seems to know about hammers a worse kind of fear into your gut. You could die…or not and that might be the worse option: injured and completely at a stranger’s mercy. No. As it stands, if you follow his instructions, you remain unharmed, and the longer you remain unharmed, the better your chances of finding a way out.

· At the top of the steps, you find yourself in front of a rough wooden door. Here he readjusts his grip on you, bracing your weight against his hips as he taps the door open with a gentle kick.

· Suddenly, you’re bathed in a soft, golden light cast by the dozens of candles that lay scattered about the room. After so much time spent in the dark, the burst of light dazzles your eyes. In spite of your fear, you curl up against the strange man’s chest, turning away from the light that blinds and burns your eyes. It’s too much too soon.

· The man laughs again, bouncing you gently in his arms, like one would a small child, “No hiding.”

· His tone is light, but it is still a command. Sensing scant room for disobedience, you turn your face up towards his, cracking one eye open, then the other. You had been told not to, but in the flickering light, as you blink up at the face of your kidnapper, you can do nothing to stop the scream that builds in your throat.

· His face is hidden, not behind a bandana, but a porcelain mask. The pale white surface is littered with a spider’s web of thin cracks and what looks to be dried blood. Your eyes sweep over the soft curve of the mouth, the delicate nose which turns up at the end, and the empty spaces behind which dark, human eyes burn into your own.

· The moment the scream leaves you, ringing loud in the enclosed space, the man snarls, striding into the room with purpose. As he weaves through the maze of dusty old furniture, you beat your fists against his chest, squirming in his grip, trying with renewed desperation to escape his clutches. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

· Ignoring your pleas, he stalks to the far corner of the room, where a low-slung cot waits, tucked close against a rough brick wall. He dumps you none too gently onto it, and you scrabble backward, knocking your head against the wall behind you. Your ears ring with the force of the blow, but your eyes remain trained on the masked man as he clambers onto the cot with you.

· You jam yourself back into the corner, as far from the menacing figure as possible. He comes toward you slowly, laughing, as though this were all some silly game the pair of you were enjoying. You kick at him, and he swats your leg away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes, however, aren’t laughing. Where they peak out from beneath the mask, they blaze with only one thing: hunger.

· You kick out at him again, catching him, this time, on the jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask. And just like that he’s not laughing anymore. He goes frighteningly still, and there’s a change in the air. You know he’s done playing.

· He lunges for you, and you shriek, cowering back against the wall, the rough bricks digging into the flesh of your arms. His hands close around your ankles and he pulls you down toward him.

· He slots himself between your legs, pinning your thighs down with boney knees. You squirm beneath him, but he’s too heavy for you to shake off. He looms above you in the candlelight, breathing hard, his eyes flashing behind the mask. With a jolt, you realize he’s going to hurt you. You’re so sure, you flinch, cringing away from him as much as is possible, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

· But, when his knuckles brush against your cheek, it’s not in anger. It’s a gentle caress that jolts through you like an electric current. You turn to look at him, as he brushes the damp hair back from your forehead. He stares at you for a long moment, drinking in your shock, before leaning down to press cool porcelain lips against yours.

· The kindness of his gestures surprises you almost more than any blow he could have delivered. When he promised to play rough, he usually meant it. With shaking hands, you reach up to touch his face. Your fingers slip beneath the mask, brushing the hair and skin beneath with feather-light touches. You want to see his face, want kisses from his real lips, want—

· But the man’s fingers curl around your wrists, wrenching your hands from his face. “No.” There is force behind the word equal to the force with which he pins your wrists against the sheets, indenting the mattress beneath them. His voice, in that same soft whisper from before, rasps in your ear, “Not even when we’re playing, Love.”

· You swallow hard, all the pretenses of your little experiment dropping away in an instant. You realize you came dangerously close to crossing a line. “Okay. Brahms. I-I’m sorry.”

· You expect that he’ll want to stop now, and you wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he surprises you by nuzzling against your neck, “Not ‘Brahms.’”

· So, he still wants to play. You smile up at him. “Oh, right! Sorry.”

· He bends over your neck again, pressing porcelain kisses against your neck. You crane your head back, eager to make up for your misstep with the mask. There’s something about these kisses that makes your heart flutter—perhaps it’s simply the rush of a new sensation against sensitive flesh, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his real lips lay just beneath that hard surface, so close and yet completely out of reach.

· When he lets go of your left wrist, you’re so caught up in these kisses, that you barely register it. That is until you feel the mask slide in an unnatural direction against your skin, and you feel Brahms’ real lips against your neck for the first time. Your whole body jerks forward, pressing against him with a soft sigh on your lips. His mouth is softer and warmer than you ever could have imagined. Even his beard feels good where it scratches against you.

· His teeth scrape over your pulse, drawing another sound from you. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down on top of you. His laugh rasps out against your throat, as he stamps warm kisses all across your collarbone.

· You roll your hips against his and he groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. He surges upward fixing his teeth into the meat of your neck as he grinds down against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants you. His name slips between your teeth as a hiss and you feel him smile against your neck. His tongue flickers over the mark he’s left, though it’s more to lay further claim than to soothe the ache his teeth pushed into your flesh.

· When he pulls back, he’s already pushing the mask back into place, though you catch a quick flash of the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

· He looks down at you, eyes sliding slow down your body, head cocked to the side like he’s thinking. He has that hungry look about him again and it lights a white-hot bolt of desire in your gut. You lift your hips, rolling them against his, relishing both the spark of pleasure that shoots through your stomach, and the shiver that rolls down his spine. A little whine escapes his lips, and you feel your heart leap. God, you’d do anything to hear that sound again. He meets the roll of your body with a stuttering jolt of his own.

· You can’t help but beam up at him. “What are you thinking about Brah—Mister?”

· He sighs deeply, running his hands down your chest, his fingers tracing along your ribs. “About all the things I could do to you…”

· A breathless puff of laughter escapes you, “Oh, yeah?” You guide his hands down to your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Like what?”

· “Hm…let’s see. I could, hold you down,” His hands, still resting beneath yours tighten against your hips, pushing you down against the mattress. You try to buck up against him, but he holds you fast, “I don’t think so, Love.” He grips you hard, dipping his head to whisper into your ear, “I could just hold you here, and you’d have to take whatever I decide to give you.” His thumbs trace the seams of your hips. Even through your jeans it makes you shudder.

· “Or, I could give you very little at all,” He lets go of your hips in favour of ghosting a hand down your thigh. His other hand presses gently against your zipper. His fingers trail down the seam, until you feel the pressure against your clit and jerk against his hand. He pulls away, “Just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to satisfy you.”

· You whine, feeling a damp patch growing in your underwear. You know he’d get such a charge from dragging this out, teasing you until your arousal had soaked through the denim of your jeans. You could hear him now, ‘A few kisses and some dirty words…it’s that easy?' While you’d usually be willing to indulge him, you weren’t willing to give him that satisfaction today. He was already so uppity as it was. “Or you could just toss my legs over your shoulders and take what you want.” You toss an arm over your forehead in an attempt at playing toward his flair for the dramatic, “Look at me, baby. I’m defenseless.” You roll your hips against him again, nice and slow. You can tell by the hitch in his breathing that you’ve almost got him convinced. You can barely keep the smirk from your face as you arch your back, and whimper for him, “Please?”

· That one word is all it takes to break him. In a flash he’s slipped out of his cardigan and tossed it off into the darkness of the attic. His suspenders follow suit with a metallic clinking. It isn’t until he’s unbuttoning his trousers that you realize you have mere seconds to undo your own before Brahms falls upon you and tears them off himself. You’ve lost more than one good pair of jeans this way and you don’t intend to lose another if you can help it.

· Your shaking hands fumble with the button, managing to pop it only after a few tries. Taking them off from your position underneath Brahms is no small feat, especially considering his reluctance to move, now that his trousers rest about his knees and he’s rolling his hips against your still clothed thigh, his cock already leaking against the denim.

· “Want you now.” His voice is rough, breaking in time with the thrusting of his hips.

· “I know, baby. But you’ve gotta wait.”

· Brahms huffs in irritation. ‘Wait’ is not a word he likes to hear at the best of times, let alone when his dick is this hard.

· You tap his hip gently. “C’mon, up.”

· He drops his head against your shoulder with a petulant whimper, his hips stuttering against your thigh.

· “Brahms…” You sigh, half-frustrated, half-amused. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find it incredibly sexy when Brahms acted like a brat, but your pleasure was at stake here as well. “You can’t fuck me properly with my jeans on.”

· His hips slow for a moment, and he whines again.

· “C’mon, be a good boy for me.” You feel his cock pulse against your thigh, and he relents. He scoots back just enough for you to push your jeans and underwear down your thighs. Brahms takes care of the rest, tearing the offending fabric from your legs and tossing it from the bed to join his cardigan on the floor.

· His hands are on your shoulders in an instant, shoving you back against the mattress, all patience spent. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and barely have a time to take a breath before he’s pushing inside with a single, smooth stroke.

· “F-Fuuuck…”

· “Yeah, that’s the idea, baby.” Your hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, your voice tight as your body grows accustomed to the stretch once again. You’ve taken Brahms with little preparation before. You know you can handle it, but somehow the girth of him almost always comes as a surprise.

· To his credit, he does his best to keep still until you give him the ‘okay,’ though you can feel his hips shaking with the effort. He’s mouthy while he waits though, any trace of the gentleman within him his gone, replaced by a cursing, dirty-talking stranger, “Gonna pound you into this mattress, gonna fuck you like—fuck you’re so wet—like your my whore…mine, mine, ah fuck! Mine.”

· You roll your hips, testing the water, and he bites back a string of curses. His hips stutter forward unbidden, and you moan low in your throat.

· Behind the mask, you see his eyes roll back. He starts to beg then, changing his tune entirely, “Please, Love, let me fuck you, please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good. I will, just please!”

· You reach up, carding your fingers through his hair, “Show me what a good boy you are, make us feel good, baby.”

· Without missing a beat, Brahms’ hips take up a frantic rhythm, tearing a litany of pretty sounds from your throat. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair as he drops his head to press doll’s mouth kisses against your throat.

· Your hand slips between your bodies, spreading your lips to circle your clit. You buck against him, gasping his name as the pleasure courses through you two-fold.

· A strong hand grasps your wrist again pulling it away from your clit. “We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.” You nearly whine in frustration, but your displeasure is quickly forgotten when you feel the soft pads of Brahms’ fingers against your sensitive flesh.

· “You,” he groans in pleasure, angling his hips to push deeper inside of you, “You belong to me.” He punctuates the sentiment with a sharp snap of his hips. “That means I am the only one who can make you feel good.” He presses his fingers hard against your clit, and your thighs begin to shake. “Tell me who you belong to.”

· It takes you a second to find your voice. “Y-You, Brahms.”

· “Yesss,” the rhythm of his thrusts is beginning to fall by the wayside as his hips buck and stutter. “Say it again.” His fingers circle your clit faster, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm.

· “Fuck, Brahms! I’m yours! A-All yours! You’re gonna make me cum.”

· “Mine.” You feel the mask slide to the side again and his lips are on your neck. You feel his teeth graze the bite mark he’d left. His teeth are in your throat, his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt, and you’re cumming. His name tumbles from your lips, the only coherent thought in your mind.

· He groans against your neck, trying to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight around him, forcing him into an agitated stillness. His fingers work your clit feverishly until you push his hand away, too oversensitive to stand another second of it.

· You’re still almost painfully tight around him when the rhythmic pulsing of your own orgasm begins to push him over the edge. He thrusts into you once, twice, thrice more, before pulling out and shaking apart, his cum painting your thighs and stomach. He whimpers and trembles, fisting his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, desperate to chase every last ounce of pleasure.

· Only when he’s well and truly spent, nearly sobbing from the agony of the overstimulation does he flop down on the cot beside you, panting heavily, cock still twitching against his thighs.

· He kicks off his trousers, and curls up by your side, throwing an arm around you. For the longest time, the only sound in the room is that of your breathing slowing in tandem as you each come down from your high.

· Brahms’ voice is small when he speaks up at last, “Did I do okay?”

· You turn to face him, laying on your side. You reach out a hand and readjust his mask, before pressing a soft kiss against the delicate bow of his lips. “You were perfect. Thank you, Brahms.”

· He nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he won’t look you in the eyes.

· “What’s wrong, honey?”

· He shakes his head, burrowing against your side. “Nothing…”

· “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It’s okay to talk to me about things like this, you know.”

· He’s silent for a little while longer, and you wonder if he needs a little more prodding to use his words. But then, he speaks, “I wasn’t…too rough? In the passages?”

· “No, baby. No. It was exactly like we talked about.”

· “Okay.” There’s a little touch of a frown in his voice, like he’s trying to puzzle something through in his mind. “I didn’t expect you to fight me so hard. It felt…real.”

· “I wanted to make it seem real. Did I upset you?”

· There’s a long pause, but when he speaks, he sounds genuine. “I don’t think so. It was a little…thrilling.”

· You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, “It was, wasn’t it? Where did you get an idea like that? Pretending to kidnap me and all that?”

· He’s quiet for a moment, as he remembers a time not so long ago, when the idea was meant to be more reality than fantasy. He was supposed to have that girl. He should have done better, should have fought for her harder, should have killed her and buried her in the yard with the others. He should have done a lot of things. The scar on his stomach burns with the memory of all the things he should have done. But they don’t matter now. She doesn’t matter now. He has you.

· He presses another kiss against your neck and lies, “Recreation of a scene from 'Jane Eyre.' You know how I adore that novel. And you being such a pretty lady, simply had to fill the role of the damsel in distress.”

· “If you say so.” You snuggle closer against his chest. He really was a very strange man. A yawn blossoms in the base of your jaw, but you do your best to fight it off. You know you’ll be sore later, but for now you’re happy and sated and perfectly content to doze in the arms of the man you love.

· Then a thought hits you, “Hold on, Jane Eyre doesn’t get kidnapped, Brahms.”

· He chuckles softly against your shoulder, “So you have been reading my books after all.”

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #the boy 2016 #slasher x reader #im so sorry this is so late #i couldnt figure out how to wrote brahms in a way that i liked :/#enjoy i hope #im off to bed #also ive never written het smut before so...i hope its alright #ripper fics

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themostdivisive · 3 years

Text

Amortentia

Pairing: Severus Snape x reader (professor)

Summary: You ask Severus for a favor and end up with more than just a simple potion.

Genre: fluff

Warnings: none

I just wanted to do a short little fluffy fic for Snape. My requests are open for any reader x HP character pairing fic! Marauders content coming soon >:)

You lazily pulled open the door to Severus’ classroom and saw his dark figure behind a table of potion ingredients. It was cold and dark but by now you were used to it having been down in his little dungeon so many times. He didn’t look up as you approached him. You footsteps were instantly recognizable to Severus.

“Sev, I was wondering if you had any Invigoration Draught,” You walked past the rows of empty desks towards Severus. “I had to stay up all night to finish grading assignments and I was hoping you could spare some to help me get through the day.” You let out a sigh and stood on the opposite end of the table. Severus seemed to be laser focused on the potion he was making. You yawned and rubbed your sleepy eyes in order to stay awake. “I can’t be expected to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts without first being able to master Defense Against Acute Exhaustion.” For a moment you could have sworn you saw a small smirk tug at his lips. However, you were quickly distracted by a strong scent hovering in the air. You inhaled softly. “Severus,did you bathe in cologne this morning? It’s quite strong.” You said absentmindedly. He froze almost suddenly and looked up. When your eyes met you paused, thinking you might have offended him but he began to speak.

“I’ll give it to you,” He said. A wave of relief crashed onto you.

“Thank you, Sev. I really appreciate it-”

“If you can answer this simple question.” He crossed his arms.

“Oh,” You straightened up. “Well, let’s have it then.” You said confidently.

“Name the powerful love potion that is known for emitting a smell that is different depending on what attracts the person who smells it.” He said slowly, punctuating every syllable as he usually does. You paused for a moment to think but after a few seconds it came to you.

“Amortentia,” You smiled proudly.

“Correct,” He turned around swiftly and grabbed a small bottle off of the shelf behind him. He held it out to you, but when you went to take it he pulled it away again. “Perhaps you should more carefully consider the consequences of your actions next time.” He gave you a severe look and finally handed over the small vile.

“Thank you,” You smiled and subsequently uncapped the potion to take some. Almost immediately after swallowing the contents of the bottle you felt more energized and awake. Severus made no haste getting back to his potion making. You looked at the cauldron and saw a beautiful pearl sheen emanating from the potion inside it. It looked familiar. “Are you making Amortentia for your class?” You asked.

“Yes,” He said plainly. You leaned over the table to look at the potion.

“You know, I’ve never gotten the chance to smell Amortentia. May I?” You asked. He nodded and watched you lean slightly closer to the cauldron.

“It smells like…” You paused for a moment to evaluate the scent. It was unlike anything else you had ever experienced. To you it seemed as though the Amortentia was liquid happiness. All of your best memories and most passionate loves were captured in the steam that drifted above the cauldron. “... crackling firewood, butterbeer, and-” You stopped in your tracks when you smelled something incredibly familiar. It was light and fresh but also a little bitter. You tilted your head curiously as you tried to identify the familiar scent. For a moment you couldn’t pinpoint it but then it hit you like a ton of bricks. You cleared your throat, trying to seem inconspicuous. You took a step away from the potion. “... and cologne.” Your eyes darted somewhat nervously around the room. Severus raised his eyebrows at you. You knew he could see the cogs turning in your brain as you desperately tried to figure out what to do. Despite your racing heart, you smiled as if nothing happened. “What does it smell like to you? Let me guess, the tears of first year students?” You let out a half hearted chuckle as you tried to shift the conversation. He didn’t laugh. While keeping his eyes on you he walked around the table and stood next to you. He leaned over the cauldron and inhaled lightly.

“Fresh pine, candle smoke, and…” The silence of the dungeon was tense. You tried to mask your emotions but as he stood so close next to you, you could feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “... coconut.” He said slowly before turning towards you. For a brief moment he looked at your hair. You felt breathless. Realization hit you instantly; every morning you washed your hair with the same coconut shampoo. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out of your throat. “You’re a clever girl, miss (Y/L/N.)” He lifted his hand to stroke your hair gently. “I’m sure you’re aware of what’s going on here.” You took a moment to decide what to say next. Severus’ gaze was intense and penetrating but it almost felt softer and more intimate than ever before. The wall between you seemed to break down almost instantly and you could read his emotions quite clearly. You and Severus had always been close. Maybe not close in regular terms, but it seemed as though you were one of the only professors at Hogwarts that Snape actually took a liking to. Still, you never expected this. It wasn’t until now that you were aware of the fact that all this time you had liked professor Snape. Every morning you would find yourself in the Great Hall early to eagerly await Severus. You always sat next to him despite his impressively grumpy morning demeanor. You would tease him playfully or tell him jokes and he would pretend to not be amused but secretly, you thought, he liked the attention. But throughout all that time, he must have gotten used to smelling your hair beside him every morning and associated it with seeing your pretty face.

Without any further hesitation, you gently cupped Severus’ cheeks and leaned forward to press your lips against his. He kissed you back deeply, with more passion than you had ever seen him express before. His hand stayed caressing your hair as his other hand moved to your waist. Your stomach lit up with butterflies. The both of you pulled back from the kiss. You wondered if he could feel how hard your heart was beating.

“Tall, dark, and handsome Professor Severus Snape crushing on a fellow professor? And a former Gryffindor at that. I can see the Daily Prophet headlines already.” You teased.

“It’s not ideal. I suppose I’ve been accustomed to your unfaltering charisma and tendency to be insufferably lovely.” There was a peculiar type of softness in his tone. “It’s positively loathsome.”

“If this is how you treat a loathsome individual then I’m afraid to ask what you’re doing when you spend all that time with the Headmaster.” You chuckled then awkwardly realized what time it must be. “Well,” You removed your hands from Severus’ face and cleared your throat. “I suppose I should start my lesson soon.”

“Indeed, you should.” He said slowly. You nodded once and began to walk away. Your heart fluttered.

“Expect to see me after dinner tonight.” You smiled confidently as you made your way out of the classroom.

“Very well, miss (Y/L/N).” He called after you.

You walked quickly down the corridors and to your classroom to teach your Defense Against the Dark Arts class. The small group of Slytherin and Gryffindor students congregated separately by the door waiting for you to arrive. You beamed at them.

“Good morning,” You greeted them cheerfully as you sprang open the door. As the students filed in, you could hear a distinctly snobby voice from the back of the group.

“What’s got her so chipper? Just finished snogging Professor Snape in the dungeons?” Draco and his cronies were snickering. They must have assumed you didn’t hear their little joke. It almost made you laugh with how ironically right the little blonde boy happened to be. You held the door open for the three boys. As they passed by, an innocent smile played across your face.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points from Slytherin.”

#severus snape #fanfic #fluff #snape x reader #cute #amortentia #harry potter #hogwarts #fan fiction #fan fic #oneshot #drabble #blurb

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plush-rabbit · 3 years

Text

Consumed by Flames

So for the request i was wondering maybe like dabi with really really beautiful and kind s.o, like people always start with her or text her and harass her but she loves him from the bottom of her heart and comforts him , he bascially gets really jealous and they fight in an alley way and a few villains who are after dabi see them fighting and decide to try to attack her infront of him, he toasts them but he is scared that now his s.o hates him and think hes cruel only for them to hold him and tell him nomatter what he does she will follow him to the depths of hell itself if it means she gets to be with him

Warnings: Descriptions of death

Word Count: 2.4K

A/N: I hope you like it and I’m sorry it took so long!! It’s been a week

Jealousy is an ugly thing. It sticks to him like syrup and sets itself firmly in place. The alleyway smells musty, like mold clinging to the drywall of a place he once lived and he can only give you a sharp humorless laugh that makes you give him a pointed stare. You are everything he is not. You are good, you are free from the lasting sin that settles deep within him, something that he is sure he was born with. You are desired and wanted, and yet you stick with someone who is broken and stapled together. He wants to leave you here alone, to have you go home alone and never contact him again. He wants to be free from the kindness that you give to him, the caring stares and holds that you reserve from him as if he were an injured animal, feral and ready to strike, untrusting and unwanted.

“Dabi,” you tell him with a stern voice, brows knitted together and he already has his back turned to you. “Dabi, come on.” Your hand touches his and he’s quick to yank it away. He can hear you gasp and he hates the sick feeling in his chest. “You promised you would walk me home.” Your voice sounds so small and he can feel heat pool in his hands.

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and he turns his head, raising a brow. “We’re close enough-” he turns to fully face you, gravel crinkling under his boot- “you can make it the rest of the way.” He jerks his head and he rolls his eyes at your pointed look. “Trust me, you’ll be okay.” He continues to look at you, offering no hint of an apology or that he’s joking.

You scoff and shake your head. He can already hear the venom in your voice and you shuffle in your place, crossing your arms. “You’re being immature about all of this, you know.” His jaw itches, and he rubs the pad of his finger over the scarred tissue but it isn’t enough. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off but this is getting old, you know?” He can already hear the resentment in your voice and it’s starting to get tiring. His lids lower and he stares at you with an almost bored expression. “You can’t just shut down every other day. This-” you gesture between the two of you and all he can do is scratch the back of his head- “isn’t some game that you can just care whenever you want to.” You take a step closer to him and he takes one back.

He really doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to go home and lay in bed. He wishes he never opened his mouth. You continue to talk and it’s just mumbled in his head. He hates everything about tonight. His skin aches and he feels gross and sweaty, he’s standing in the open and you’re in front of him scolding him like a parent. Bile rises in his throat and he’s so tempted to turn around and walk away, to leave you here and have you figure it out. He wants to hear you cry to him the next day so he can make it up with some half-assed apology and hug. He just needs to leave. Somewhere in the distance, gravel is crushed underneath and you stop talking. You both look at each other and turn around and Dabi hates the day more and more. He raises a brow at the four figures who approach from seemingly nowhere.

“Dabi, right?” The one who speaks is tall and lanky, limbs that seem to stretch longer than average and eyes that droop. He doesn’t respond and he can see the way your shoulders tense. “Come on, there’s no reason to be so cold.” His smile stretches and his fingers dance in the air as he waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll keep it short, hm?” He doesn’t wait for a response and instead continues to walk towards the both of you. You keep yourself in front of Dabi, still and cautious. “Oh? I didn’t know you had a special someone. It’s uh- it’s funny. I did too. Well, we all did.” The man gestures to the people behind him, one stocky with minerals that coat his skin, the other almost transparent with a mouth kept shut and black sclera, and one with almost reflective with sharp, jagged pieces that just out from their joints. “You see-”

“Leave.” Dabi’s voice cuts through the monologue of the man. He isn’t in the mood for it right now. He wants the group to leave. Whatever their issue is, is best left alone. You still haven’t moved from your spot.

“Come on, there’s no reason to be so disrespectful. You’re out with your partner so I understand that you want some time alone with them but you know. If you’re going to treat them so roughly-” the group takes steps forward, reflective material shining from the stray street lamps that light up the night- “then perhaps we should just take them home.”

Dabi’s upper lip curls in disgust and his body tenses. “You’ve talked for long enough.” His arm raises and heat pools deep in his arm. But just as blue starts to lick at his palms, long, stretchy arms wrap around you and you’re pulled away from him and into the group of strangers. His eyes widen ever so slightly, and he lowers his hand, an unsettling feeling settling in his chest. “What do you want?”

You wrapped tight with rubber arms around your body and he can see they way your legs tremble and he’s sure that if you weren’t being held, you would have fallen to your knees by now. You look back at him with a scared expression, eyes wide and bottom lip trembling, and he can see his name mouthed by you. He looks away from you and forces his attention towards the presumed leader of the small group.

The man who holds you now has a twisted smile decorating his face. “You see, a while back you burned a couple-”

“I’m not here for your life story.” Dabi holds his hand in the air again. “So hurry up and let them go.” He glowers at the individual who still holds you and his eyes meet yours. He calls your name, you furrow your brows and when he gives you a curt nod, you nod rapidly. Your mouth opens and you immediately bite on the arm that holds you, teeth piercing down and cutting down the rubber, and the arm uncoils and snaps back to its default length, a hand grasping at the wound, while curses fill the dark alleyway. “Get down.”

You run until you’re against the side of the building, and immediately crouch, hands covering the top of your head and face hidden. The men look at you and back to Dabi and there is a fear in their eyes, pleas that start and hands that raise in surrender. Immediately, blue and heat fills the small space, flames that burst out of his hand and encasing the four people. His arm starts to sting, a slight pinch that starts biting in different areas to spreading and consuming his arm in an unbearable pain that feels as if he is being set on fire from inside. Blood seeps between his staples and his hand lowers, steam rising from him and the smell of burnt flesh filling the alley way. He stares at a bundle of charred remains, limbs stretched and faces morphed into a horrific nature, eyes white and black, bloated and exposed, staring into the sky above where a plane drones overhead.

“Dabi?” Your voice is muffled, hidden between your legs and chest. “Are you okay?” He looks over at you, and he sighs. “Dabi, please answer.” Your voice comes out shaky and there’s a crack in it, your hands clench and your hand knits into your hair, muscles tense and you jerk randomly.

His steps are quiet, the bones creak from the deceased and he gives a mere glance towards the pile, watching you as you slowly twitch from your position. He stands in front of you and he wonders if you can smell the burnt flesh from him. You’re shaking, huffed breathing that escapes your lips and he frowns. His hand reaches out to grab at a wrist but he hesitates and lets his hand hover over you. Heat emanates from him and warms your skin and the smell of death is increasing, filling his lungs with something foul and smoke. He pulls his hand away from you and clenches it into a fist.

He calls your name in a soft whisper only to clear his throat and call it out louder. “They’re dead.” there’s no use beating around the bush. He just wants to go home now. “You can get up now.” The smell never grows old and a warm trickle of blood curves over open scars on his arm.

You rise shakily, spreading out and when you look back at him, tears have stained your face. You watch him and he can only stare at you with a blank expression. You knew who he was, what he’s done, the crimes that he’s committed but you have never witnessed it first hand until now. Your hands press into the filthy floor and he worries that you’ll get cut. You push yourself up and he stares at you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows the acid and saliva that has pooled in his mouth. His mouth opens and he’s ready to call it off before you have a chance to.

“Are you okay?” His eyes widen. “Your- I know that you get hurt by your flames and I-” your eyes dart to his arm and your shoulders jump- “you’re bleeding,” you whine, hands reaching out towards him and grabbing his hand, your other hand grabs his under arm, pulling it close to you. “Does it hurt?” You lean forward and hesitate, only to look up at him and lower your head, your lips kissing at the scar that has reopened, and when you pull back, blood has smeared across your lips in a lipstick mark that makes his throat close.

You aren’t disgusted by him. You don’t run away and you stay close to him, holding his arm tenderly, his blood on your lips and his hands held tightly. Perhaps you just haven’t realized how monstrous he is, the disgrace of a person that he truly is must not have been realized as of yet. You hold him like an injured man rather than a murderer of people. People that he never knew of. People who held you and the underlying of a threat thick in their words all because of him. You hold him as if he is the victim, caressing him and your arms around him in a tight hug and he’s slow to return it, his head held high with a steely look as blood coats your shirt and he’s sorry.

“Can we go home now?” You ask in a small voice, hands clutching the jacket into fistfuls.

“You still want me to walk you home?” You still want him around you? You still trust him to step foot inside your home and lay beside you? It has to be a trick. Something so wicked that you would have picked up from him. His hands tighten around you and his muscle tense, blood leaking out and it’s warm.

“Please?” You ask in a soft beg, stepping closer to him. “I don’t- I don’t want to be alone.” And you trust him to be with you? You trust a man who murdered people in front of you to keep you safe?

“Why?” Second to everything, the afterthought to society and people. Only first in what a failure he is, in the body count that he holds, the shame embedded deep within him. But he is still a person, still yearning for the warm embrace of another, still desperate for the validation that he will never receive.

He feels you tense around him. The staples in his abdomen are pressed deeper into him and the pain, once sharp and agonizing, has now grown accustomed to a dull pain. “Because I want you to be with me.” Your voice is tight and he hates the sudden urge to press you closer, but he does so anyways. “Dabi, I- This was a scary situation but you protected me still. You waited until I was out of the way and I- Dabi you have to know that by now, I’d follow you wherever you go. I’d walk into the depths of hell, flames and all, if it meant that you would be with me.” Your voice cracks and he’s sure that his blood has now stained all of your back and the blood on your lips has dried.

The smell of the bodies lingers, thick in the air, blue that still crackles against charred flesh. It’s filthy here, his body burns and aches, you cling to him as if he might disappear, pulling him close to you and mumbling how you want him to come home with you, how you need him to be with you. You concealed your feelings with different words, told him you’d stick by him if that’s what he would wish for. You’d walk into hell and in the alleyway, you’ve already entered the domain, the screams that still echo against the walls, the sirens that sound far away and he smiles down at you, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head, smoke lingering against your hair and he pulls away, grasping your hand and leading you away from the fire that has begun to die down, fading into sparks and disappearing into the night. He wants to keep you close, to keep his body against yours, to make you follow through your promise and stick close to him, to never let you go and have your touch given to him freely, wanted and desired, hands that will trail his body and lips that will kiss his and remind him how he is yours till the pain in his wounds and flames make him combust.

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bnhabadass · 4 years

Text

Pairing: Dabi x reader Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rough sex, name calling, alcohol, angst Word Count: 4185 Prompt: Fuck against a door A/N: A big thank you to @honeytama for giving this piece a quick read through before posting.

Tags: @bakugoukatsukiswife

When You Joined the League of Villains everyone warned you about the same thing. Stay away from Dabi. It was simple enough advice which you took to heart at first, trying your hardest to leave the room when he would come in and only meeting him with a small smile and wave everytime he would greet you.

But you began to wonder why people warned you to stay away. Yes they gave their reasons, but everyone told you different things.

“He’s practically useless,” Shigaraki told you. “He never does his job correctly. He usually ends up incinerating people and just leaves their bodies lying around for the police to find. It’s like he’s leaving a trail right to the hideout.”

“He’s hot, don’t get me wrong,” Toga said, “but he’ll just break your heart and move on to his next victim.” It was clear as day that she wasn’t speaking from personal experience, rather out of suspicion or hearing the unfortunate crying of girls he’s dumped or kicked out in the middle of the night.

Twice had both good and bad things to say about Dabi. “He’s the best partner a guy could ever ask for. That jerk! He’s such an asshole!”

It was strange to you how different all of their responses were, and that difference only made you more curious about what kind of person Dabi is.

Your first real conversation took place at the bar. You had just come back from a mission with Toga. Your villain costume was covered with mats of blood and dust, and while Toga told you it made you look even cuter, you still couldn’t help but complain about the new found rips in the fabric from tumbling across concrete and gravel.

“Double scotch,” you told Kurogiri when you sat down at the bar.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Dabi leaning against one of the brick walls, cigarette hanging off his lips like a water droplet about to fall from a faucet. He took a drag of the cigarette. His eyes shot daggers at you from behind the hazy cloud of smoke that came from his lips. A lazy smirk etched its way on his face when Kurogiri set the drink in front of you and you took the first painful gulp.

“That’s a pretty bold drink for someone like you,” he said, leaning his back against the counter.

“How so?” You didn’t look up at him, instead opting to stir the ice cubes around and watch as they ever so slowly melted into the drink.

“Well I’d expect a bubbly princess like yourself to order something a little sweeter.”

Your eyes shifted to glare at him. The light emanating from the bulbs hanging from the ceiling bounced off his staples. The way it shined down on half of his face illuminated his blue eyes making them seem almost pretty. “What makes you think I’m a bubbly princess?”

That was good. Dabi likes it when a person has a bit of a bite to them, and your teeth were proving to be sharper than he thought. “You’re prissy,” he said.

“Prissy?” Your voice grew shrill at his comment, only proving his point. Your eyes had widened as you turned your head to look at him.

“Exactly.”

You didn’t know what to say. It was a staring match between the two of you, and the first person to speak would lose. “I’m not prissy.” It sounded more as if you needed to say it for yourself than anything.

“Then why are you so upset about a little dirt and blood on your outfit, doll?”

The nickname sent shivers down your spine and a warm blush crept over your face. How did he know you were so upset over that?

“Isn’t it just so,” he paused for a moment pretending to look for the right words. “Trivial?”

Trivial. That must be what he thinks of you. That you would drown yourself in whisky over a messy outfit when there are real injustices in the world. You’re pathetic. “I’m not prissy,” you repeated under your breath. It’s as if you were a robot having technical difficulties and could only say the one line.

Kurogiri placed a shot of whiskey on the counter for Dabi and took the empty glass away seconds later.

“Oh?” Dabi’s eyes widened as the shot ran down his throat and settled in his stomach. “You wanna prove it?” The blush creeping up your face ran cold as Dabi placed a scarred hand on your thigh. “Why don’t you come with me, doll.” His other hand delicately tucked itself under your chin and his thumb caressed your bottom lip. “Show me what that pretty mouth of yours can do.”

You’re not sure what you were thinking when you stood up to follow him, and it’s safe to say you regret getting on your knees for him. But what you wish most of all is that you didn’t enjoy it as much as you did.

With a new realization of why your fellow league members urged you to stay away from Dabi, you tried your hardest to avoid him. It was proving to be much more difficult than planned. The week following your alone time together he was hard to find. You suspected he was either out on the town or spending time in whatever shit-hole apartment he probably lives in.

You appreciated your week alone from him. It was silent and gave you time for reflection. You thought a lot about the night you shared and what your friends warned you about. As shitty as you felt, you couldn’t shake the memories of his hardened cock slipping in and out of your mouth with tears spilling out of your eyes as he grabbed the back of your head and thrusted his member down your throat.

Memories of you wanting to touch yourself but Dabi slapping your hand away rang through your head.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I, princess?”

Flipping your pillow over and burying your head inside, you let out a muffled whine. The more you thought of how much you enjoyed that night, the crappier you ended up feeling.

“I need a drink,” you said to yourself. Standing up from your bed, you left your apartment and walked the few blocks down to Kurogiri’s bar. The wind seemed to brush right through you as you walked the dimly lit street. Even so, you didn’t bother going back to grab a jacket.

The bar was near empty, as you expected it to be on a Wednesday night, aside from the league members who like you had nothing better to do with their time. Shigaraki was sitting in a booth playing some video game. Looking up at you as you walked in, he gave you an acknowledging nod which you happily reciprocated.

Spinner, Toga and Twice waved you over to the booth they were laughing in, but you respectively declined to sit at the counter.

“Double scotch,” you told Kurogiri.

It wasn’t long before you could feel a warm presence behind you and hot breath tickling the back of your neck. “It’s been a minute since I’ve seen you, doll,” Dabi’s sly voice croaked out. “Don’t tell me I scared you off.”

“I should be saying the same thing to you.” You smiled at Kurogiri as he set the drink down in front of you. Even after taking a sip you refused to look at Dabi. You weren’t trying to play coy with him, you just knew that if you did look into those piercing blue eyes of his, you would freeze entirely.

“I shouldn’t be complaining,” he chuckled, turning around so that his lower back was flat against the edge of the counter. “But we both know that this little confidence act you have going on is just a decoy.” His eyes shifted to glare at you. Dabi has a way with words, and he could tell just how flustered you were getting underneath the layer of makeup you had put on earlier that day. “So why don’t we just cut to the chase and you follow me around back.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a demand that he knew you would follow. Kicking back the rest of your scotch, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the burning sensation to pass. You stood up to follow him into the back room, all while training your eyes on the hardwood floor.

It happened again and again. Dabi would approach you at the bar and you would end up with bruised knees the next day. At first it was a weekly ordeal, but after a while it became more regular. You were sucking him off so often that you were sure the other league members assumed you were dating. You were curious why no one bothered asking if you were a couple. Then you realized.

Dabi doesn’t do dating.

Still, you didn’t want to believe that you were nothing to him. He was the closest league member to you physically yet the most distant in all other forms. He had taken a liking to you so much that he let you put your mouth around his most intimate area. That had to mean something, right.

Walking into the bar on a Friday night, you scouted the booths of tipsy men gambling away what little money they have in order to find him. Tears pooled in your eyes, however, when you saw Dabi leaning against a booth talking to a young woman you had never seen before.

She twirled her fingers through her long black hair as she spoke to him, a tipsy smile on her face like she had just taken a hit off a joint. She reached out for what would be the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to her.

The sly smirk on his face didn’t go unnoticed by you. It was a smile your heart had grown to flutter at as you assumed he was only giving that smile to you.

The woman stood up and dragged him out of the building. As they walked right past you, he didn’t even bother to glance in your direction.

You cried yourself to sleep that night having finally realized what you were to him; a toy, his plaything, someone to abuse when he had nothing better to do. Loud muffled sobs echoed through your room as your feather pillows began to smell like mildew from the tears and snot that kept dripping out.

Your face was blotchy and the inside of your head felt like one big bug bite. You were miserable.

You ignored Shigaraki’s constant berate of texts and calls and missed your meeting with the league the next day, instead opting to watch reruns of shojo animes that appeared on your crap TV and eat copious amounts of instant ramen.

Eventually you texted Shigaraki back telling him you were sick. In a way you were. Every time you thought about going to the bar, more images of Dabi fondling that stupidly beautiful woman plastered themselves into your mind.

It’s not fair, you thought, how hard I’m falling for him and he doesn’t think to take a second glance at me.

Most of your day was spent yelling at yourself. You yelled at yourself for crying over a boy. You yelled at yourself for letting him get to you, for being so vulnerable that he could easily manipulate you into being his little puppet. But what you hated most of all was how you longed for him to stroke your hair, something he’s never done in a loving way, as you would sob into his chest.

Looking down at your knees, you frowned at the tender bruises that made you feel so exposed. You stood up to walk over to the poor excuse that you call a closet. The only items in there are a heavy duty jacket and a strapless dress that Toga got you as a birthday present. You never had a reason to wear it but it was long enough to cover your knees and that’s really all that mattered.

You slipped the dress on and spread it out with your hands. You modeled for yourself and couldn’t help but smile. She got your size right and everything.

Maybe you would go out tonight. You felt confident in the dress, something that you hadn’t felt in a long time. After putting on makeup to hide the blotchiness of your face, you left your apartment and headed straight for the bar.

The bar was less crowded than usual for a weekend. Your fellow league members hung around their usual booths and a couple other parties of a few people looking to get wasted were strewn about various tables.

Strutting over to the counter, you could hear Toga gushing over how cute you looked in the dress she got you.

“Double scotch?” Kurogiri asked.

You scrunched up your nose trying to decide for a moment if that’s really what you wanted. “Let’s change it up. Gin and tonic.”

You watched as Kurogiri prepared your drink. He handed it off to you and you thanked him. It was a lighter drink than you were used to, but you didn’t mind. If anything, you felt happier drinking something more bubbly.

“Howdy.”

You turned your head to face a rather confident stranger who had sat down in the stool next to you. You had never been approached by a stranger before. It was almost exciting. Maybe it was the dress or the lighter drink or maybe it was the sorrow you were trying so hard to mask over, but you felt as though you had a vote of confidence sitting next to this stranger. Taking another sip of your drink, you smiled at him. “Hi.”

“What is a fine young lady like yourself doing in a place like this?” His eyes raked up and down your form. Though you were slightly repulsed by the act, you giggled nonetheless.

“Just looking for a fun time,” you said, leaning your cheek against your hand.

The stranger bit his lip and looked down at your chest. “Can I buy you a drink?”

You were about to respond when a gruff hand grabbed your arm and yanked you away. “Sorry, pal. She’s not interested.” Dabi dragged you along towards the back room you two have spent oh so many nights together in. He flinged you in front of him and slammed the door behind. The only light in the room was coming from the full moon peeking its way through the window.

“What the hell, Dabi?” You raised your voice, something you were not used to. It felt off but at the same time empowering.

“What the hell? What do you mean what the hell?” The usual sultry look in his eyes was replaced with rage.

“Why did you drag me away from that guy?” You weren’t sobbing like you expected to be the next time you saw Dabi. No, the sadness that once clouded your mind was replaced with anger.

He scoffed. “Oh, so you think you can fuck any stranger just because it’s been a few days since I let you suck my dick.”

You cursed yourself for the small ache that formed between your thighs. And you hated that you could feel yourself getting wet as Dabi inched his way towards you.

“Nah, sweetheart. You belong to me.”

Those were the four little words that you longed to hear since the first day he forced his cock into your mouth, leaving a small bruise on the back of your throat. Now that you’re actually hearing them, all you wanted to do was scream.

“How can you fucking say that?” Now it was your turn to back him up against a wall. “I’ve seen you flirt with other girls at the bar. I’ve seen you leave with other girls at the bar. So don’t tell me I’m not allowed to talk to another guy when you’re clearly out and about fucking whoever. I don’t belong to anyone.”

You don’t remember the few seconds leading up to Dabi grabbing you and slamming you against the closed door. The next thing you do remember is his hands pinning your wrists against the wood. The moonlight illuminated his eyes that stared into you with a mixture of lust and anger.

It wasn’t long before he crashed his lips onto yours like you were the last meal he’d ever eat. It’s then that you realize that this was the first time he had actually kissed you. You had never fully tasted him until this point. He tasted like stale cigarettes and whiskey, an intoxicating combination.

Dabi pulled away, glaring at you. You tried to lean back in and recapture his lips, but you were stopped when one of his hands delicately gripped your throat.

“Do you really think you’ll find anyone who’s better than me?” Slowly and cautiously, his hand tightened around your throat, gripping it enough to feel your pulse in his hand. His deep chuckle bounced throughout the room. “You haven’t even seen what I can do.”

The hand around your throat left to wrap around your hips and hoist you up. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him. You couldn’t stop the look of shock from spreading across your face like butter as you felt the tent in his pants poking at your panties.

Dabi chuckled as he reached into your dress, pulling it down and scooping your boobs into his hands.

You gasped as you felt him latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your hands instinctively traveled to his hair to support yourself. You squished your body further into him.

“Someone’s eager.” His remark caused your nether regions to twitch. “Has sucking my cock not been enough for you, princess?”

You didn’t know what to say. So instead, you tugged on his hair letting him know that you wanted him to continue.

“I see,” he said. He began trailing open mouth kisses from your clavicle bone all the way up to the shell of your ear. “If you keep this up, I might just have to take you right here, where everyone can hear you screaming my name on the other side of that door.”

His words didn’t click immediately. All you could think about was the thought of screaming his name as his pierced tongue ran laps against your tender and puffy clitoris. “Please,” you whispered. “Please.”

It was one word that spoke numbers. Dabi’s shit-eating grin widened as he hiked up your dress. “Well then, I guess we better see how wet your little pussy is for me.” With your arms still wrapped around his neck, he gripped your ass with one hand, using his thumb to stroke up and down your already soaked panties. “You’re already this wet for me and I’ve barely touched you?” There was a hint of smugness to his words like he knew that he as good at sex and if you weren’t already soaked it wouldn’t be long before you were.

You bit your lips as the warmth from his palms dug into your core. In a split second, your panties were ripped and the remnants were left forgotten on the floor. You would have been mad if they were a nice pair or if you weren’t so focused on Dabi’s knuckles barely grazing your hardened clit.

“You want me so bad don’t you, you little slut?”

The words rang in your ears loud and clear. You do want him, more than anything.

Dabi sticks two fingers in his mouth and rubs them across your clit after gathering the slick from around the outside of your walls.

Your breath staggered a bit at feeling his warm fingers. You tried to grind your hips forward, matching his pace, but the way Dabi pulled at your hair and bit your collar bone told you to stop.

When he pushed his fingers deep inside you and your walls clenched around him, he could finally feel just how tight you were.

With your eyes squeezed shut and face contorting in ecstasy, Dabi could truly see just how beautiful you were to him. He slid two of his fingers inside and scissored them up and down, back and forth, just feeling the way your walls pulsated around him. He snickered at the sloshing sound of his fingers hooking around your walls and the little breaths that escaped your mouth.

Dabi pulled his hand out to spit on his four fingers, and rapidly rubbed them against your clit, causing you to cum instantly onto his palm. He caught you in his arms again before your knees could give out.

When the waves hitting you had finally subsided, you opened your eyes to find a smirking Dabi, clearly pleased with the performance you had just given him.

“Look at you,” he said, wiping his hand covered in your juices across your breast. “You’re so fucking messy. Did you do all of this just for me?”

The sight of you coming undone like that had him palming his dick through his black jeans. The ways your mascara trailed down your cheeks as tears rolled down the side of your face made him want to take you right then and there.

So he did.

Dabi made a big show of unbuckling his belt and letting his cock spring free.

Even though you had sucked his dick countless times, it looked so much more intimidating knowing it would be going inside you.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared, doll.” Dabi stroked his length, fondling the pieces of jewelry dawning its head and underside.

You found yourself drooling at remembering what his jacob’s ladder felt like against your tongue.

Hoisting you up again, Dabi slammed your back against the door. You could feel it wobbling against your back as your jaw went slack.

With your arms around his neck, Dabi pushed your still bruised knees to the side, exposing your tender pussy to the air. He held the base of his cock in one hand and gathered up as much slick as he could. Positioning his head along your opening, he snapped his hips forward, roughly penetrating you.

You let out a harsh moan that seemed to rile him up.

“That’s it.” Dabi eased out of you, only to snap his hips forward again. “Say my name.”

“Ngh. Dabi,” you muttered in a breathy moan.

“Louder.”

“Dabi!” Your throat felt raw at saying his name like that.

As his hips snapped forward and his piercing tickled the edge of your cervix, your back rubbed up against the old wood of the door. The burning sensation was beginning to feel unbearable, but the feeling of Dabi playing with your breasts and biting your neck distracted you from the pain.

“Who do you belong to?” he barked.

“You.”

“Who do you belong to!?”

“You dabi! I will always belong to you. I won’t fuck anyone else. Only you.”

He chuckled. “Not so much of a priss now, are you?” He grabbed your chin, forcing you to turn your head towards him. Your shaky breath tickled his face as he forced your hips further and further against the door.

You knew there would be bruises the next day, that you would probably ache all over, but you didn’t care.

Dabi pinched your clit and he thrusted into you and you couldn’t help but scream. Your pussy tightened and you came around him. He thrusted again, once, twice, until he shot his hot ropes of cum inside you.

He stayed there for a moment, knees shaking as your back was held against the wall. As the both of you caught your breath, you stroked a hand through his black hair, exposing a couple white roots into your sight.

Dabi pulled his softening cock out of you and tucked it back into his boxers.

Barely able to stand, you used his shoulder to prop yourself up and stretch your legs. “How do I look?” you asked, bleary eyes looking up at him. “Is my makeup too smudged?”

He smiled down at you, a smile you have never seen before. This one was sincere and in a way loving. “You look beautiful.” He wiped underneath your eye with his thumb “My little cumslut.”

As Dabi opened the door leading to the rest of the bar, you pulled the top of the dress back up to cover your tits and spread it down with your hands so it wouldn’t expose your pantyless ass. When you left the dark room you paused to see the entire bar was staring at you, both your friends and the complete strangers.

Toga had a shit-eating grin plastered along her face whereas Shigaraki looked at the two of you with disgust. Twice, in all honesty, looked like he was about to cry.

“Everybody here needs to back the fuck off,” Dabi said, looping an arm around your waste. “This one belongs to me.”

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #Dabi #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi smut #tw: alcohol

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eggtoasties · 3 years

Text

hold me between your fingers

Pairing: Shikamaru/Sakura

Rating: T for smoking

Summary: They've always been in each other's orbits, but now she's too close.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711796

_______________

Shikamaru leaned forward on the railing and looked over Konoha. It was just past sunset and the village was cast in cool blue shadows. Men and women were walking home from work with overflowing brown paper bags filled with the night’s groceries, eager to get out of the early spring chill. The sound of shinobi sandals slapping against rooftops could be heard along with the fading peals of laughter as children ran home.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette and hummed as he felt the smoke settle pleasantly in his chest and exhaled to hear the door behind him slide open. Peering at her from the side of his eye, he watched as Sakura deftly took the pack of cigarettes out of his left breast pocket and angled an eyebrow at her when he saw her shake one out.

“Will you let me bum a smoke?” Sakura murmured around the cigarette already in her mouth.

Shikamaru stared at her as she placed the pack back in the pocket of his flak vest and secured the clasp. He started to dig in his pocket for Asuma’s silver lighter, but she beckoned him closer with a jerk of her head. Rolling his eyes, he bent down towards her and lit her cigarette with his. As she took a deep inhale, Shikamaru studied the faint veins across her eyelids—delicate purple and blue trails. Her eyelashes fluttered open as she exhaled, and she braced her arms on the railing and heaved a sigh.

“Should you be doing that?” he asked, gesturing to the smoke lazily curling around her hand. She rolled her eyes and surveyed the village around them. She studied the pinpricks of light that marked front porches and caught glimpses of families through open curtains. A cool breeze rustled the Hashirama trees around the roof of Hokage tower and brought with it a scent of pine and spice—home.

Home. Despite the way the village’s borders had expanded and there were new developments Sakura had never step foot in. The hospital had underwent a major renovation following Pein’s attack and while it was very much her domain, the way the hinges of her office door didn’t squeak, the unchipped pastel green walls, and even the shiny clipboards for patient charts were all reminders that everything was different.

She looked over to Shikamaru who was rubbing his thumb over his silver lighter, periodically flicking it open and thought well, not everything.

“Shinobi die from kunai wounds to their vital points, nasty jutsus, dumb luck,” she tapped the cigarette with her forefinger and watched the ash fall, “Their own hand,” she concluded. She took a drag and exhaled through her nose. “We don’t die from lung cancer.”

Shikamaru turned towards her, his right forearm leaning against the railing as he assessed her. Her hair looked almost lilac under the moonlight, candy floss strands pulled neatly into a low bun. Weariness emanated from her drooped shoulders and tired eyes. Reconstruction had been hard on everyone.

Following the Pein invasion, the village was a disaster. The water systems, electrical grid, sewage systems—everything—was decimated. Every able bodied person had to assist with rebuilding physical infrastructure, but the attack also showed that many of the administrative protocols and bureaucratic red tape that had been set during the Third Hokage’s rule led to inefficiencies and delayed responses. Using the turmoil after the invasion, Tsunade had strong-armed the council into agreeing to a massive review and overhaul of executive protocols. Not only did Konoha literally need to be rebuilt from the ground up, but the attack also left the village vulnerable to outside attacks.

Shinobis were pulling double and triple shifts—guarding, patrolling, rebuilding—adding to the constant edge of tension and paranoia. Sakura and Shikamaru had the privilege and stress of being roped into the political and administrative side of reconstruction. While they rarely were on projects together with Shikamaru drafting strategy after strategy for potential attacks and Sakura focusing on revamping the medical system with Shizune and ensuring alliances with Suna through diplomatic correspondence and meetings, they were both near constant fixtures in the Hokage tower.

Despite it being nearly a year from the attack, the pain wrought from devastation was only just starting to dull with time, but the looming war in the horizon overrode any semblance of true normalcy.

“Just don’t tell Sasuke,” Sakura muttered. “He might not seem like it, but he detests anything remotely bad for your health.”

Shikamaru scoffed. “I thought Naruto would be the one losing his head over the fact that his Sakura-chan smokes.” His lip curled minutely at the thought of Naruto breaking down in theatrical hysterics and the fact that Lee would probably join in on the mayhem.

Sakura scoffed and broke Shikamaru out of his daydream. “Naruto consumes ramen to a point where it’s detrimental to his health—he can’t tell me shit,” she responded wryly.

“Also, how have they not noticed by now,” Shikamaru drawled on. “Ino’s always complaining about the smell and won’t let me borrow her kunai because she swears she can smell it on the wrappings,” he complained, rolling his eyes and wringing a hand through his ponytail. He shifted his weight and slumped over the railing dejectedly making Sakura softly laugh. Laboriously pulling himself up he said, “There’s no way you can get around Kakashi’s nose either.”

Sakura turned so her back was against the railing and looked up conspiringly at Shikamaru. “I can be very sneaky when I want to be,” she said cheekily, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

Thinking back several months, to the one council meeting Shikamaru attended with his father where Sakura also made appearance, he recalled the way Sakura placated the conservative elders with mollifying words and soft smiles, tempering Tsunade’s clear exasperation. While she was able to twist her words so prettily and convincingly, forcing the elders to believe that she was Tsunade’s level headed counterpart like Shizune, they failed to catch the sharp gleam in her eye as she subtly bent them to her will.

He had known loud, brash Sakura. The Sakura that screamed at Ino during their Chuunin exams in front everyone with no shred of embarrassment. The Sakura that would publicly berate Naruto in the middle of a street and punt him across the village without batting an eye. The Sakura that would shatter the earth with her small fists and laugh at the wreckage. At the time, he hadn’t known sharp, cunning Sakura, that lied in wait like a viper. Waiting for the most opportune time to strike with a honeyed tongue and bright green eyes. The Sakura that would meld opinions to mirror hers and smile when it was then presented as an original thought.

He remembered slouching in his chair, hardly stifling his yawns, but watching Sakura through half lidded eyes. Waiting for a tick in her jaw or a slip of the tongue that would give her away—he searched for any weakness that would betray her defense or offense.

He couldn’t find any. She had been perfect.

At the end of the meeting, trailing after an incensed Tsunade, she stopped to politely bow to Shikaku and waved at Shikamaru before running after Tsunade, likely to join in complaining about the elders. Shikaku had slung an arm around Shikamaru and gave a low whistle.

“You’d learn a lot from her.” Shikaku’s bright eyes stared ahead at Sakura’s retreating figure and he thumped his son on the back. “She’ll have you eating out of her hand, Shikamaru,” Shikaku said with a wink, making Shikamaru groan in embarrassment.

Watching Sakura taking one last drag, flicking the remnants to the ground, and crushing the butt of the cigarette with her heel, he realized he didn’t know this Sakura either.

She had turned back to face the village, and crossed her arms over her chest to trying to retain warmth in her thin doctors coat. During Shikamaru’s silent musings, she had undone the elastic that kept her hair in place. Long, thick hair cascaded around her shoulders in waves, framing her delicate face in a haze of silvery pink. The tip of her nose and the tops of her cheeks were flushed with the drop in temperature and Shikamaru could see the near invisible tendrils of her breath in the cold air. She licked her lips, slightly chapped and dry from the cigarette and his eyes traced the soft curve of her cheek, dusted with light freckles, the cut of her jaw, and her exposed neck.

Feeling his stare, she looked up at him and he felt a warmth in his chest and a rush to his head that wasn’t from the nicotine.

He averted his eyes and threw his hands behind his head. Ignoring the way she peered up at him, she was closer than he could ever remember them being. He murmured around his cigarette.

“Troublesome.”

#shikasaku #shikamaru #sakura #shikamaru nara #sakura haruno #naruto #naruto fanfiction #shikamaru fanfiction #sakura fanfiction #shikaku

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 2

Rating: Explicit. 18+

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it’s own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV.

Summary: You’re Peter’s classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don’t know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you’re lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: Bad girls are sad girls! Always wondered what goes through the mind of a spoiled, rich but intelligent and perceptive teenager? Have you found yourself craving that adrenaline rush, the danger of a forbidden fruit? Okay. That was cheesy as hell. Gross.

Let’s try again. Sarcasm? Check. Vine references? Hell yes! Crude humour? Check. Blunt honesty? Double check. We’re living in a Lana del Rey song, ladies.

The author doesn’t actually condone codependent relationships in real life. This is a filthy little fantasy. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @vozit @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings ! She deserves all the love 💙

Peter woke me up at eight AM the next morning like the little shit that he was, demanding I make him pancakes. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had the joy to experience him in the morning and he knew exactly how to antagonise me enough to make him the special pancakes he liked so much. They had become kind of a ritual whenever he stayed over at my house, which was quite often - teachers liked me enough to pair me up with one of the most sensible kids for any projects that couldn’t be done alone by yours truly on her own.

I put on my yesterday’s dress, applied moisturizer and obediently trotted behind an excitedly mumbling Peter. The kitchen was large, beautiful and delightfully empty of any resident superheroes. I’ve indirectly crossed paths with all of the tower’s residents hanging around Tony, but I’ve yet had to speak more than polite niceties to any of them.

Spying a bowl of boiled eggs and some sort of weird salad alongside half burned toast on the counter, I suddenly understood why Peter demanded his pancakes. I strictly instructed the disaster child to stay away from my cooking process and set to work with one ear listening to his ramblings and a headphone in the other.

A set of thumping footsteps appeared behind me as I was pouring the batter for the first pancake. Their owner loudly sat down next to Peter, sighing, groaning, generally making “I’m not a morning person” sounds.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes,” Peter’s tone was way, way too chipper.

“‘mrng,” The Sergeant grumbled. “Who’s this and why is she making pancakes?”

I turned around, spatula at the ready. “It’s me,” We’ve actually met before, but Barnes had left before I could even come over from my side of the work bench to say hello.

He nodded in acknowledgement after giving me a suspicious once-over. “One of Stark’s science children. I’m James but you can call me Bucky,” His voice sounded rough and gravely, and he clutched a coffee cup half the size of my head.

I snorted. “Science child, sure,” It wasn’t half-bad actually. I wisely choose to ignore the part of being Tony’s. No matter how hot the man was, I wasn’t anybody’s but my own, thank you very much. “Go get the bananas, Nutella and maple syrup, fellow science child.”

Peter scrambled to follow instructions as I plated the pancakes and cut the bananas into neat little rings to fill the sweet circles with. A tablespoon of Nutella, half a sliced banana, wrap, garnish with powdered sugar and pour maple syrup generously on top. I really didn’t see how this could be difficult but any and all attempts to teach Peter how to recreate my masterpiece always ended up in an absolute mess. I turned around to ask Bucky if he wanted any. The look of a man starved answered all my questions.

“You’re a goddess,” Peter moaned around his mouthful, nose smudged white with the powdered sugar.

“Gross, chew first then talk, you neanderthal,” I scoffed, prepping more batter for the second batch of pancakes. I wasn’t sure if everybody would show up but figured it would be rude to exclude them from the sheer magnificence that were my pancakes. I was just that good.

The music in my ear drowned most of Peter’s disgusting chewing noises, thankfully. My second batch vanished into thin air, inhaled by the two males like the garbage disposals that they were. Peter, in particular, ate an alarming quantity of food and I was surprised how he managed to stay so skinny. His daily eating schedule resembled the Hobbits.

More people appeared, this time acting less surprised regarding me standing at the stove. Hawkeye, Black Widow, Scarlet Witch and her brother, all of them wandered in wearing sleep attire with various amusing prints. Thankfully, they mostly kept quiet or chatted with Peter - I would have definitely grumbled if someone tried to talk to me. As far as my body was concerned it was still the middle of the night.

“PANCAKES,” A booming voice announced and I shuddered at the sheer intensity and devotion contained in that one word. Thor.

“Please use your indoor voice,” I snapped reflectively. My brain caught up with what I just did so I hastily backtracked. “Sorry, I’m a bitch in the mornings.”

The blonde man chuckled, coming over to poke his nose into my flurry of pour-flip-fill sequence. Then, with all the grace and manners of a prince, he dipped one (1) large finger into the jar of Nutella and wandered off with it stuck in his mouth. With this turn of events the Nutella was bound to run out sooner than expected.

I turned around, annoyed confusion in plain sight. “The fuck?.. That’s gross, don’t do that,” Finding his brother (adopted!) sitting next to Thor, wearing a haughty smirk, finger still in his mouth. So Loki turned into his brother to steal Nutella from a jar. I sighed. Nobody even batted an eye. “Your alien germs are in there now, double ew.”

“Alien germs? Where?” Bruce entered the kitchen with a tablet under his arm, wearing Hulk themed pajamas, Captain America in tow. I was honestly on the verge of breaking down into hysterical laughter. Domestic Avengers wasn’t something I’d expected to see or experience, ever, much less be a part of. It took a moment for me to remind myself that they were people, too, and each of them was entitled to their own quirks.

“America, egg-splain,” Peter muttered under his breath, giggling. “Loki stuck his hand in the Nutella jar,” He pointed at said jar. “She got grumpy,” Peter pointed at me. “Don’t make her grumpy, please, I want more pancakes,” And turned his pleading puppy eyes in my direction again.

“This is indentured servitude,” I pointed my spatula at the little shit. “You just had, like, ten.” But I made more batter nonetheless. I must admit it was kind of cool, seeing the earth’s mightiest defenders so relaxed. And Pete being happy, that was just… The best. I don’t know how to explain it. His eternal cheerfulness was highly contagious.

Chuckles filled up the room, the adults chatting and bickering amongst themselves while they patiently waited for their own breakfast.

“Do you need some help?” Bruce approached me after stopping to fetch himself a cup of tea. It smelled strongly of tangy herbs and honey.

“I need more Nutella and bananas,” I admitted, surveying the sheer amount of people I had to feed. I didn’t doubt the Captain and two Asgardians had an appetite to match Peter’s which meant a literal extra set of condiments was required. Thankfully, Bruce fetched them for me, coming to a stop next to me. “Anything else?”

“You know, I tried making these with Peter and he just ended up with powdered sugar and chocolate all over himself,” I mused, noting the way Banner was carefully observing the assembly of a pancake. “You think Doctor seven-phds can manage to add a few toppings to a pancake without causing a disaster?“

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly, bumping me with his hip. "I’m no Clint Barton when it comes to cooking but at least I don’t burn my toast like Steve,” True to his word, his hands made swift motions of filling, wrapping and plating each individual pancake. They were almost as good as mine albeit more messy. I had lots of practice though. We finished off a batch in companionable silence, sounds of the team and my music playing in the background.

I didn’t notice when I started swaying to the rhythm, catching a confused look from Bruce. I brushed back my hair, revealing a wireless headphone in my ear and he chuckled in understanding. “What are you listening to?”

“Right now? Kings of Leon,” I said, leaning towards him so he could hear the chorus “Use Somebody” currently occupying my right ear.

“I like them, too,” He said, his cheek gently touching mine. His hands slowed on the pancake, a soft hum vaguely reminding me of the song’s melody emanating from his throat. “What else do you usually listen to?”

“Mostly heavier stuff, but I have a whole separate playlist dedicated to mid-2000s bops,” I answered. “I’ve heard I’m quite old school when it comes to music.”

“Well, I am an old man, so…” Bruce grinned mischievously. “But my guilty pleasure is Lady Gaga,” He admitted with a laugh.

I laughed, too. The image of his dancing in his lab to Born This Way was too much for my brain and I hung my head, fighting giggles. Bruce bumped me with his hip again, faking a pout. “Okay, okay, that was a fucking hilarious image, you go dude,” I finally powered through my struggle to contain laughter. “My own guilty pleasure would be… Umm… Lana Del Rey, I guess.”

Bruce made a vague noise of confusion. I took a brief break from mixing the batter to dig out my second headphone, presenting it to him and switching to a song. “This is what makes us girls”. Despite the fact I have never stolen a car or had a close female friend, the nostalgia was real. “Carmen” followed after the first song and I silently thanked whatever deity that “You can be the boss” was taken out of Spotify - I don’t think I was prepared to share that kind of information with a lab partner. An older, handsome lab partner. Wait… Where did that come from?

“I like it,” He said after the song ended and my more usual stuff began playing. “It suits you, I think.”

I groaned. “Really? I think it’s edgy,” Hiding away the embarrassment, I passed him a tray of freshly baked pancakes, occupying his immediate attention.

“You’re an old soul,” He gave me a lopsided smile. I saw a very faint blush tinting his cheeks, the kind of blush that had me wondering about the meaning behind his words.

I gave an attempt at a smile in response, the left corner of my mouth barely tilting up. We talked some more about the rock music we shared in our earphones. I had a lot of 80s hair metal and 90s grunge in my playlist. Bruce was not a Curt Cobain man but enjoyed the works of his legacy, Marcy Playground.

A tan hand wormed its way between me and Bruce, snatching a handful of banana slices and disappeared just as swiftly. “Tonyyy,” Bruce groaned, picking up another banana to replace the stolen pieces.

The spatula in my hand became a weapon as I blindly aimed at the target behind my back. A loud “ow” indicated I hit it. When I turned around, Tony was clutching the side of his face, a hurt look in his eyes and cheeks stuffed full of stolen goods. I stared him square in the face, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was shirtless - the arc reactor glowed brightly in the middle of his toned chest. Fuck.

His chest was honestly what I was aiming for. I constantly kept forgetting how short he actually was. There was this one time when Tony had to put his arms around me to steady a piece of tech - he felt huge, hard and enormous around me.

“What’s that for, Princess?” He finally chewed through his food and found his voice.

“For being a Tony,” I retorted. “Stay away from my workspace and wait for your breakfast like everybody else.”

“Hey! This is my kitchen,” He whined immediately, like the adult man that he was. I nearly cried from how adorable his face became, eyebrows scrunched up. “I don’t want to wait! And why does he,” Tony’s finger accusingly pointed at Bruce, “Get the bananas?!”

“Because he’s Brucie-bear,” I stuck my nose up in the air when Bruce’s arm wrapped around my waist. “He’s my science father,” I stuck my tongue out at Tony, seeing Bruce’s triumphant smile. Banner used every opportunity to get back at Tony’s incessant sass.

The gleaming in Tony’s eyes should have alarmed me. “But he’s not your science daddy,” Tony’s flirting was accompanied by a salacious eyebrow wiggle and Peter’s screech of “OH MY GOD!"

It took me every ounce of willpower to not flush. It was one of those rare times that I was at a complete loss of words. Thinking on the spot, I gave a very meaningful look to Bruce - thankfully, he got the gist and returned an equally filthy smirk back. Tony gaped.

"Is this how they are in the lab?” The Captain’s quiet voice leaked horrified amusement.

“All.The.Time.” Peter’s resonating groan was followed by Romanoff’s laughter.

We went up to the lab after breakfast. Thankfully Tony stopped his dramatic bitching when I served him my pancakes, scarfing them down much like everybody else. So me and Pete were accompanied by one (1) happy engineer, all three of us tinkering away on a robot that we were supposed to present in our science class in a month. The focus that was required to solder was immense and our usual banter was missing, replaced by an occasional request for a specific tool or a water bottle.

It took a few hours to get the dirty job done even with Tony’s help (technically he wasn’t supposed to but neither me nor Pete had the heart to forbid him from it when the man looked so content and happy soldering away). By the time I uncurled from my spot on the bench, my back was in knots and my dress had oil stains and holes all over it. I immediately went to the nearest water bottle, finishing half of it in seconds, picking up my phone to see if I had any important messages from my mother.

None.

Just a message from Bruce.

I tapped on my phone, idly scrolling through the Instagram app, liking some pictures of people I barely knew and keeping up a general appearance of being very busy. When the ringtone started playing, it took me a whole five seconds to understand it was, in fact, coming from my phone - I certainly wouldn’t put something so… Outrageous as my main tone.

Banner had discovered the power of the internet. You Can Be The Boss played loudly, and it played from my phone and Bruce was calling me. I picked it up, turning around, fighting the incoming laughter. “Yes, Brucie?"

To say that Tony’s and Peter’s faces were scandalised was nothing. The boy’s face was such a deep shade of red, I started worrying about his blood pressure and Tony’s mouth hung open limply, like he was witnessing the second coming of Christ.

"Is Tony sufficiently traumatized?” Judging by the breathless tone of his voice, Banner was resisting a mighty laughing fit of his own.

“Oh, absolutely,” I happily chirped.

“Good, keep it up. Come to my lab before you leave,” Banner snorted and then, realising what he’d done, promptly hung up, the tell-tale beginning of a giggle fit abruptly interrupted by a dial tone.

I put the phone in my bag, gathering the rest of my things with a look somewhere between innocence and indifference. At least, I hoped it was - my mind kept jumping between the engineer’s ridiculously scandalised face and the way his mouth went slack, lips moist and soft and plush. That’s a very dangerous trail.

A very dangerous trail I couldn’t resist exploring in the solitude and privacy of my own bedroom, at home.

#bun writes #party favours #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n

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thatesqcrush · 3 years

Text

After Hours

Bryan Kneef x Reader. NSFW. For holiday bingo: very, very loosely “ugly sweater.” But it’s my bingo, sooo, c’est la vie. Follow-up to “The Trip” and “The Trip, Pt. 2.” Bryan makes good on a promise to reader.

WC: 3010

You were surprised when you and Bryan flew back into Chicago that he did not make immediately good on his promise to fuck you in the office. In fact, it seemed that Bryan was done with you – he was all business in the office, no pleasure. You watched with secret jealousy and longing as he flirted and charmed everyone in the office – with the exception of Diane, of course. You even tried to dress a little nicer in the office, in hopes that he would notice. You tried to even bring up a novice mistake Diane had made in court and it was met with a curt smile and raised brows that screamed ‘are we done here?’

That all changed one late evening in the Firm’s copy center. A partner in your own right, you had your own stockpile of paralegals to call on handle whatever you needed. But it was late – and it was the holidays. Unlike other attorneys, it felt cruel to keep them burning the midnight oil. You had worked for asshole bosses like that when you were a paralegal many moons ago and you always vowed to not do that if you ever became an attorney.

You were fiddling around the printer, nary a soul in sight. The overhead lighting was awfully bright and it was emanating a hum. The monstrous printer was jammed and you could not figure out why it was still jammed even though you had removed the stuck paper. Your heels ached and throbbed from the day and with not even an afterthought, you took them off, leaving your feet bare – but still in stockings.

Your frustration was mounting and you decided to kick the machine, which somehow kickstarted the machine back to life, spitting out an obscene amount of pages as if it were confetti. You hit stop and gathered the paper from the floor. Finding some useable pages, you pumped the air victoriously before going back to your office. You remained sans shoes, enjoying how the floor felt against your feet. You spotted a ‘wet floor’ sign ahead and with a weary sigh, you slipped your heels back on, groaning.

Your heels clacked down the hallway to your office, echoing loudly with each step on the marbled floor. You paused in your step, when you realized despite your dim office and surroundings, that Bryan was in your office. He was leaning against the doorway, waiting with a drink in one hand and a cigar in another.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?” You asked, pushing past him. You stood at your desk, and continued to bind your courtesy copies, so it could be picked up by the messenger in the morning and be hand delivered to court.

Bryan cocked his head and swept his eyes over you, taking in your form. Your shirt was untucked from your pencil skirt, but it was not long enough to hide your form, with shapely and curvy hips and thighs. Bryan had been with his share of women – and men – but there was something about a person with curves that he was always a sucker for. There was something about how a bit softer they were, the way a pair of thicker thighs would feel against his hands as his hips crashed against them – something the way a pair of big tits spilled over his hands as his mouth nipped and sucked on them. He loved watching their tits bounce as they rode him or how his fingers sunk into their luscious hips as he took them from behind.

And ever since you and he fucked at the conference, which basically was almost every night until you both flew home, he could not get you out of his mind. He tried to keep things back to business but even weeks later, there you were still, from work meetings to partner votes.

At one meeting in particular, he sat next to you and he had to will himself to not slip his hand up your dress from under the desk. That then led to the image of you under his desk sucking him off. He ended up having to take matters into his own hands and rub one out that afternoon in his office.

He took notice at how you upped your appearance – skirts that hugged your shapely hips and (in his opinion, ugly) sweaters with a v-neck which showed off the swells of your tits. Your lips were always decorated in some kind of bold color and he could imagine those soft pillowy lips around his cock. The promise in Florida haunted him and he decided to make good on those words.

“I was on a settlement call with Tokyo when I noticed your office lights. I never see you here this late.” Bryan replied, his voice low and gravelly. The smell of the cigar burning – which to you smelled like coffee and surprisingly burnt marshmallow filled the air. The combination of that and his cologne sent your senses into overdrive.

“I am finishing up on some courtesy copies and then heading home.” You replied, continuing to work, avoiding his eyes.

“There’s a hundred paralegals in this place – you should offload that to one of them.” Bryan replied, taking a sip of his drink. He shut the door behind him before sitting down in front of your desk and kicking his legs up.

You shot him a look. “It’s fine – it’s humbling at least. You should always know how to do the mundane tasks – it makes you a better manager when you can relate to your subordinates.”

Bryan rolled his eyes and puffed on his cigar. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“Are you here to just antagonize me or…?” You asked, now placing your hands on your hips. You gave him an unyielding glare to which he responded with a dangerous smile. Your glare softened, feeling very much like prey being hunted. You swallowed hard, feeling your stomach knot up.

“What if it’s or?” Bryan asked, his voice laced with lust. He swung his legs off the desk and placed the drink and cigar on your desk before standing and walking over to you. A sound rumbled from his chest and you froze in your spot as he took place behind you.

Your eyes met his. There was palpable tension and you’d wonder who’d crack first. You got your answer quickly as he pressed himself lewdly against your buttocks; you could feel his hard bulge.

Bryan’s large hands gripped the tops of your arms and he nuzzled your neck, his beard tickling your skin and further heightening the feelings of arousal that were beginning to stir. You let out a soft sigh in response, nearly sinking back into him.

“Remember what I said in Florida?” Bryan whispered into your ear. He nipped your ear playfully which caused you to shudder. His mouth found the slope of your neck and he sucked a deep mark on your skin, before using his teeth to nip some more. Your eyes fluttered shut..

“Yes.” You half moaned. You could feel your heartbeat and pulse quicken as Bryan soothed the bruised skin with his warm, wet tongue.

Bryan ran his hands down your arms and then to the curves of your hips trailing down until he got to the hem. Your breathing began to quicken in anticipation of what he’d do next. Bryan let out a growl as he pushed up your skirt and discovered you were wearing stockings with peacock feather lace tops which were held up with blush colored garters. Finishing the look was a matching blush pink thong panty.

“My, my… is this for me?” Bryan murmured against your skin. You slowly turned around and looked down, meeting his eyes, which were blown with lust.

“Yes. It’s all for you.” You admitted, averting your eyes briefly.

Bryan stood and faced you, using his index finger to tilt your face to his. “I fucking knew it.” Bryan whispered. “Your daddy’s little slut Y/N.”

“Yes, daddy.” You replied weakly, dizzy with desire.

Bryan pulled you into a kiss. Your mouths mashed against one another’s, your tongues rolling around and exploring each other’s mouths. You could taste the alcohol and cigar smoke and you moaned as he sucked in your bottom lip. You ran your hands through his thick hair and his hands grabbed at your ass, rolling the fat between his fingers.

“Is this what you want?” Bryan asked as he pressed your body closer to his; you could feel his erection against your stomach.

You ran your hands down to his collar and tugged him down. Bryan followed your lead as you hoisted yourself onto your desk, not caring at all that that objects on your desk fell over to the floor. Bryan made quick work of undoing the buttons of your blouse and spreading it open. His hand ran down your sternum before he reached down to the cups of your bra, your breasts popping out. His mouth immediately latched onto a nipple, rolling his tongue over a hardened bud. He used his free hand to pinch and roll your other nipple. Your head lolled at the sensations, your body was warm with increasing desire. He switched his mouth to your other nipple, sucking and nipping harder than he did to the other one, causing you to whine.

“I need to hear it Y/N. Or this all stops.” Bryan growled against your flesh before using his teeth to graze a nipple.

“Yes.” You finally managed to choke the words to describe your assent. “Fuck me.”

Bryan stood straight, his eyes taking in your appearance. Your hair was fanned out on the desk, your tits exposed, and your skirt pushed up to your waist, legs spread. The garter straps were strained along your skin as the elasticity was pushed to its limits. He undid the hooks and then stretched your legs wider. He felt his some primal urge swell deep inside at the very noticeable wet spot on your panties.

He bent down so that he was on his knees; his breath was warm against your soaking cunt, and you were desperate to relieve the aching in between your legs. He cupped your clothed pussy with his palm. “You’re so wet.” Bryan noted, a pleased lilt in his voice. He slipped a finger in and he let out his own groan of satisfaction at how easily it sunk in. Your cunt gripped his finger tightly and you sighed in relief at the feeling of his finger stroke you.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned, your back arching off the desk at the sensation. Bryan’s tongue lapped one long hard strip from your opening up to your clit, the wet, warm muscle circling your bundle of nerves before his lips closed around it. You groaned, murmuring Bryan’s name with praise. You grabbed at your own flesh, pinching and tugging on your nipples, as you felt your orgasm begin to build.

Now two fingers pressed at your core, slowly sinking inside, curling them and stroking your sweet spot while his thumb rubbed your clit. You couldn’t think straight, all you could focus on was the orgasm that was bubbling in the pit of your stomach and desperate for release. Your chest was heaving, a light sweat breaking out everywhere.

Bryan worked your orgasm alternating with his mouth and fingers. You were on the edge teetering, just about to let go and fall off. He could feel you clenching around his fingers. Bryan’s hot mouth was back to abusing your clit with such vigor.

“Oh god, oh god, I am going to cum!” You sobbed. His fingers curled to your g-spot again, and the feeling was even more intense than usual.

“Come for me like a good girl.” Bryan commanded. Your body obediently obeyed. You wailed his name as you fell apart, this orgasm different from any other you had, practically shooting out. Your pussy clenched over his fingers and a warm, wet liquid emanated from your body.

Bryan groaned, as he buried his face against you before sucking your clit once more, coming off with a wet squelch. You lay there shuddering, completely dazed at what just happened. Bryan pulled you up and kissed you hard. His beard was soaked and you could smell and taste yourself on his beard.

“Never made a woman squirt before. That was fucking hot.” Bryan rumbled, as lecherous grin spread over his bearded mouth.

“Is that what it was?” You asked, reaching up to touch his soaked beard in amazement.

Bryan nodded. “I have watched enough porn to know that was definitely that.” You leaned up to kiss Bryan again. He kissed you softly this time as he undid the buckle of his pants. Bryan’s lips remained on yours as he used his hands to push down his pants and boxers, releasing his hard cock. You moved to bend and return the favor, but Bryan shook his head. He waved his index finger around. “On your back, facing me.”

You gave him a curious look but did as told. Your head was to the edge of the desk and watched near upside down as Bryan pumped his cock. The air was erotically charged; seeing his hard cock – knowing you were the reason it was the way it was – made you feel powerful. Some cum wept out and he used that as lubrication as he pumped his cock. You bit your lip once more to stifle a moan as you snaked your own hand down to rub your clitoris.

Bryan ended with his head near your head; his cock sticking up gloriously straight in the air. It gave him a beautiful if upside-down view of your face and breasts. You leaned your head over the edge and he leaned forward into your mouth. Bryan thrusted in and out your mouth, relishing in the feel of your tongue on his erection. His cock felt heavy and delicious, stretching your mouth. Bryan cupped your breasts again as he continued thrusting in and out of your mouth. You sucked the pre-cum that dripped out from the slit in the head of his cock. The salty taste flooded your mouth. Bryan grunted as your tongue, soft and warm, swiveled over his cock. You licked every ridge and meaty vein before you hollowed your cheeks to suck him harder. You spread your legs wantonly and continued to pump your fingers, in and out and in again.

Bryan grunted as he leaned further to cover your hand, guiding you as you pleasured yourself. You slipped your fingers out and Bryan sucked them clean before slipping his thick fingers in, replacing yours. You moaned against his cock once and the vibrations caused Bryan’s hips to jerk in response. Your hands wrapped against the backs of his thighs. You could feel him getting close - the sinewy muscles in his thighs were twitching and trembling. Bryan stumbled backwards, leaving your mouth and aching pussy empty.

You let out a sound of frustration as Bryan walked over to the other side. You thought he’d might climb the desk and fuck you, but instead, he pulled you down to standing. You felt light-head as the blood rushed back down from your head. He pulled down your panties and he began to stroke himself against your soaked pussy. Over and over he rubbed his cock along your folds and swollen cit. It was rousing and lewd, the filthy act of him using you to get himself off, as if you were his own personal sex doll. You hooked your arms around his neck and began to undulate your hips, rubbing yourself equally on his thick, hard cock. It didn’t take long and Bryan groaned, shuddering against you as he came along your mound and panties in thick, hot, white, creamy ropes.

Bryan took a step back to survey the damage done – there you were, standing with your tits hanging out, your hair askew, and your panties ruined with your release as well as his. Bryan gathered some of his release onto his finger and offered it to you. You sucked in his finger, as if you were mimicking the blow job you had just given him. Your want and desire had grown exponentially and your pussy ached to be filled up and wrecked by his monster cock.

“In due time.” Bryan spoke. “We’ll continue at the New Years party.”

“Excuse me?” You asked. “We’re not…?”

Another grin appeared. Bryan reached and pulled up your panties until they were back on and he rubbed your clothed mound, that was full of his cum and your own messy release.

Bryan stood back and tucked himself. He pressed one last kiss to your lips. “New Year’s. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

You nodded. “Okay.” Seeing your disappointed look, Bryan kissed you once more. “Good girls get rewarded with daddy’s cum. So be good for me. Or else.”

Arousal shot through your body at his promise and threat. “Ok daddy.”

“Good.” Bryan replied with a wink. He turned to leave, with a very certain swag in his walk. You were now alone, in complete disarray of the evening’s events. But you had to admit, having his come in your panties made you feel completely defiled; you could hardly wait for New Year’s Eve.

Soon enough.

TBC.

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents

#thatesqcrush holiday bingo #bryan kneef x reader #bryan kneef smut #bryan kneef imagine #bryan kneef and reader

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wonderwomanfantasy · 3 years

Text

Today, Tomorrow, Forever.

Behold, the four AM dabi fic. Also this is the first part of a series so look out for the next part. Also Also, this is based on a lot of different books and shows so if at any point you’re like “hey this is just like X” you’re probably right.

Dabi x Reader (not really in this chapter but we’ll get there)

warnings: swearing, violence, abuse, Endeavor, spooky shit, cannon divergence (Dabi is a good brother), this is a full AU so I did mess with the ages of the Todorokis,

words: 2,300

summary: Out of the frying pan into the fire, that was the expression right? leaving one bad situation into something much much worse? That’s where you were right now, in the fire.

Sometimes it was hard for you to tell what was real, and what was fiction. Often you’d wake from a vivid dream and as you blinked the spots from your eyes and looked up at the textured ceiling of your bedroom, and for an instant, or in truth much longer than an instant, you’d still be there. In the dream. Then you would get up and you would remember, you were in your room, in your bed, in your body. At least that’s what it seemed like.

Then of course there were the ghosts. You weren’t sure if the ghosts were reality or fiction, they seemed like a gray area between the two. Sometimes other people could see them, which lead you to believe they were real, but then most of the time it was only you seeing the figures and shapes, But that didn’t mean they weren’t real.

All this to say when Enji Todoroki told you his house was haunted, you were surprised to meet someone so open to believing in ghosts. Of course, he rather quickly squashed that idea with the next words out of his mouth being “Those rumors are of course ridiculous but some idiots still believe it,”

“Of course,” you replied meekly, dropping your eyes from his stern gaze. “Ghosts, real or not don’t bother me so that won’t be an issue, Sir.”

You needed the job, badly, so you were willing to lie. Enji was looking for a Nanny for his youngest son, you were looking to get away from where you were coming from, so you were both in a position to help the other. And the only catch seemed to a slightly haunted house. You could live with that, as long as your own ghosts stayed away.

“When can you start?”

The Todoroki manner was a large one, Ornate and lavish if not old, clean and well taken care of it seemed, but empty. There was a housekeeper, a cook, a gardener, and a pool boy, all of whom seemed very nice but all of them seemed to slip into the shadows the moment you turned your back, and as it where you were to be the only one who lived in the manner full time, isolating you further.

As Enji walked you through the home you couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was more than the ghost rumors that were keeping people away. There were framed photos on the wall, of Enji, his wife, and four children all of varying ages, you found it strange that none of them seemed to be here, save Enji and Shoto.

Speaking of Shoto, You were warned about the scar that covered nearly half of his face, but the warning wasn’t enough to prepare you for seeing it in person, it took all you had not to gasp when you looked the boy in the face. Similarly, you knew that he was a quiet boy, but you hadn’t been expecting him to give you a single “nice to meet you,” then stay silent for the rest of your interaction.

“He’s just a little shy, we’ll warm up to each other,” you assured, smiling first at Shoto and then at his father.

Then Enji left leaving you alone with his son. You were awful with kids, terrible really and if you had had any other choice you might not have taken this job. You had no idea how to even begin acting around this kid.

You decided to pull from what little human interaction you could and decided to treat him like a coworker. Right so what would you do with a cold coworker?

“Shoto, I’m still new so why don’t you show me your favorite part of the house alright? Then we can do something fun,” you offered. He thought about it and nodded. While he didn’t say anything just stood up and started walking out of the room. You followed him as he lead you out into the backyard there was a large grass field and a pool with trees lining the promoter. It was a warm spring day, but most of the trees in the yard were dead, not yet budding, still suffering from the harsh winter.

Shoto lead you into a patch of trees further in the back of the field to a cluster of oak trees and you saw one had an old ropes wing hanging from the lowest branch.

“You like to swing?” you asked and he shook his head

“No? Then why this spot,” you asked and for the first time since meeting him, he spoke

“My mom used to like this swing, she’d sit on it and read me stories,” he said, crouching down and sitting down on one of the roots of the old tree. You crouched down beside him.

“I see, so you come here to remember your mom?” you asked and he nodded silently. You took a shuddering breath and reached down the collar of your shirt pulling out a slender silver chain that held a locket, and showed the necklace to Shoto.

“I do the same thing with this locket, it helps me remember my mom too,” you said.

“Your mom went away too?” he asked.

“Yeah, she got really sick when I was younger and, she went away,” you said, choking back emotion, you were surprised that talking about your mother still brought up this sadness in you, Shoto reached out and touched your hand. Almost like he was trying to comfort you.

“We still see her sometimes, in the hospital, but it’s not the same,” He said quietly, a cold breeze passed over you, ruffling your hair and making you shiver.

“That must be hard,” you said and he nodded, “why don’t you show me some of your other favorite places okay?” You said and he nodded. You both stood and walked back into the house, another shiver going down your spine as you tucked your locket back into your shirt.

It only took you a week to realize that Enji Todoroki had never spent a day in his life with his son. While Shoto’s room was littered with sports equipment, soccer balls, baseball bats, tense rackets, all unused.

Shoto liked the library, he liked to read and draw, he wasn’t a hard kid to look after, you would read with him, or fill in coloring books at his request, and often the two of you would walk around the field talk about the books he’d read.

Sometimes Shoto would ask to see your locket, and you’d show it to him and you’d talk about your mothers together.

“Is there a picture inside the locket?” he asked and you winced, instinctually closing your fist around the silver heart.

“No,” you lied, “the latch is broken so it doesn’t open,” you said. He nodded and dropped the subject. You tucked the locket back inside your shirt and went on with the game of chess you were playing, losing badly to Shoto.

He was a good kid, and he opened up to you easily, which only solidified in your mind that Enji had never once tried to understand him but you weren’t getting paid to play family therapist.

While taking care of Shoto was easy, living in the manner was anything but. The house was old and made a lot of creaking settling noises that never failed to make you jump. The rooms were dimly lit and furnished with dark wood making the rooms feel smaller than they where, making you clostrophobic. Even though you had been living here for over a month now the lay out of the house still perplexed you sometimes, leading to geting lost in rooms you’d never seen before and would never see again.

The rooms of the Elder Todorokis, Shoto’s brothers and sisters, always remained locked, not that you had ever tried to open any of those doors, the strage chill that seemed to emanate from that room was always enough to keep you away.

All of that was annoying, chilling even, knowing what you knew. But none of it was unbearable, but the ghosts. The ghosts made you want to leave.

Sometimes you would wake up with a transparent blue woman looming over you and you had to clap your hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. She left as soon as you saw here, leaving you shaking.

“I am in Todoroki manor,” you started shakily, touching a hand to the top of your head. “I’m in my bed, I’m in my body,” you reminded yourself before collapsing back to the bed

No one else seemed to be able to see the man in the kitchen or the apparitions that plaied out side. So you kept quiet, and didn’t say anything.

Some nights how ever, they kept you up. You would sit shaking in your bed, one hand firmly around your locket the other over your mouth while widows slammed open and things toppled from shelves. While most of the ghosts in the house seemed docile there was at least one who wasn’t. This villant ghost never showed themself, until one night.

It was pitch black when you returned home. You had been permitted to Take Shoto out of the house and the two of you had gone to a movie.

He tieredly rubbed his eyes as you helped him out of his jacket.

“Ready for bed?” you asked and he nodded. He took your hand and slowly you both made your way up the stairs. There was a loud cracking sound and before you saw the heavy oak banister crack.

You frose in place. Not now, you silently pleaded, not in front of someone else, you couldn’t contain your fear and still play it off as normal. You could smell smoke.

Shoto suddenly gripped your hand tighter. “We should run,” he said, could he possibly see what you were seeing?

Before you could ask him anything, the painting on the wall to your left fell to the floor with a crash, blood oozing out of the eyes of the people inside, Shoto screamed, and without thinking you lifted him in your arms and took off running. His short nails dug into your shoulders as he clung to you. You saw a door cracked open and without thinking you burst into the room slamming the door closed behind the two of you and slumping to the floor, Shoto in your lap your back to the heavy wood. You took a look around assessing your surroundings and saw you were in Shoto’s neat and tidy room.

There was another loud crash and you felt Shoto go stiff in your arms frozen in fear and suddenly there was only one thing you could think and that was oh god I have to protect this child I have to protect this poor poor child. You lifted him easily in his arms and marched to his bed, then you firmly removed him from your shirt and place him down.

“Hide under the covers, I’ll be right back okay?” you ordered, he looked terrified, he didn’t say anything just crawled under the covers. You spun around on your heel and headed to the door, picking up his toy bat as you went. Sure it was a toy but damn if you weren’t going to swing it hard enough to cause some real damage. And you barrage into the darkened hallway.

At first, there was a disturbing quiet, just the labored sound of your breathing. “Don’t play coy now you son of a bitch,” you hissed under your breath. There was a groan and you whipped around seeing your ghost for the first time.

The first time you’d seen a ghost, and known it was a ghost, was when you were seven. You were five or six. You were in a park sat on the swingset trying to learn how to swing without needing to be pushed like the big kids did when you saw an old woman who had neither arms nor legs. Most ghosts were like that, half-formed, incomplete as if they had lost more than just their lives.

Not this one, however. You could see him perfectly from the tip of his spikey white hair down all the way to the clasps on his boots. He looked surprisingly like Natsuo, with white spikey hair, a lanky body, and angry eyes. Toya, he had called his dead brother. Toya was right in front of you now.

This revelation paused you for only a moment before you glaired at the spectator.

“Can you-” he began to speak but you cut him off by swinging the bat through his middle section, it passed through him harmlessly but you didn’t care you moved to hit him again.

“Stop,” he growled and caught you by the thought, you gasped feeling his cold skin touch your throat, then his fingers clamped down choking you. He looked stunned, not that you really cared about whatever revelation this bastard was going through if he could touch you that means you should be able to touch him. You swung the bat again this time hitting his wrist knocking his hand off your throat, you stagged back and sneered at the ghost your heart pounding in your chest so loud you wondered if he could hear it.

He, Toya, Looked at his hand flexing his fingers, then at you, then vanished. You whirled looking for where he would pop up next, but he didn’t appear. You rushed back into Shoto’s room coking him out of the covers and holding him while he sobbed. You might have cried a little too, it was hard to tell.

In the morning there would be bruises of fingers on your neck.

#dabi x reader #dabi bnha #bnha dabi #mha dabi #imagine dabi #toya todoroki #toya todoroki x reader #my hero academia #my hero acadamy #my hero academia imagine #my hero academia head cannon

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