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essentiallyleaf · 7 months

Text

day 07. public sex. with. soojin, zoa.

2388 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x idol x male reader, reader has the tiniest hint of rizz, but is still a loser at heart, public sex, double blowjob, standing doggy, pussy eating, fingering, stand & carry, 1mg of rimming, very smut heavy, basically unedited, complete mess.

notes.

horny + tired sounds like a recipe for terrible writing. and i don’t really know if it is, since i basically haven’t read this back :] generically, leaf.

“I need this now” and “Take me here” might be the exact and only two sentences that could get you to do anything, anytime, anywhere. But that’s a hypothetical, and despite the inhibition of three Manhattans and a couple beers, castles in the sky crumble when you hear those exact words come out of those two’s sweetly curled and devilishly full and luscious lips in the middle of the dance floor.

You didn’t really know them that well. They go to the stationery shop you work at fairly frequently (every other Friday between 3 and 5 p.m., they usually hover around the notebook and colored pens sections, try a bunch of them out - like, sooo many, can they not recite the entire color palette by heart yet? - while laughing you can’t really tell at what, then come to the checkout with about exactly one sharpie and two big smiles, and then leave. What? No, you don’t remember them particularly more than any other customer. Why would you?), but you’d never really talked. That’s why you’re surprised when they approach you on a random Saturday night at the club, talking about which their favorite drinks solely based on color are and how, if bonsai are a thing, there must be a way to make humans exist in tiny, and what if they’re out there now, going around untying shoelaces and stealing any small item that falls to the ground? They don’t look drunk, they look happy, which is a different thing. Aren’t they just talking about gnomes, anyway (which, by the way, definitely exist)?

It’s not how they wear those good girl smiles a second before sandwiching you while dancing, their bodies pressed against yours. Soojin from behind, pawing at your pecs and slowly kissing your neck up to the back of your ear, Hyewon in front of you but facing away, her ass literally rubbing against your now visible erection while she takes your hands and moves them from her hips, to her exposed belly, up to her boobs.

It’s not how she turns her head to kiss you and that smile is still there, like she’s playing a game, like this is just harmless fun between friends. Yeah, friends, you think, until the deer eyed girl turns around to face the two of you, her hands reaching around you and landing on Soojin’s ass and switches from your mouth to hers. What made you think they were just friends again? You’d think of an answer, but you’re distracted by the older girl’s hand venture lower towards your dick, which she starts stroking through your pants.

It’s not even how the three of you (and you in particular) now look like a complete mess right in the middle of the club, your bodies rubbing on each other’s in feral hunger, your tongues entangling with burning lust. It’s really not that.

It’s how pairs of eyes turn towards that filthy scene. Initially just a couple passing peeks, then a few more, longer gazes, mixing aversion with slight arousal, until the whole club is aware of the tonguing, the groping and the humping. And while some of them walk away, the people who stay seem turned on by the scene, as if intoxicated by the scent of your libido.

It really should just be embarrassing for you. And at the start, it was. To be left open-mouthed in front of a live audience like a comically fat dead trout in a fishing contest while two, admittedly gorgeous, girls alternately brush, squeeze and hump your dick wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. But somehow, that embarrassment coexisted with a sense of excitement. And as the two keep making a toy for their pleasure out of you, the latter only grows stronger and ends up completely overpowering the former.

That’s why when Soojin asks “Wanna go to the bathroom?”, the only possible answer is “Why not here~?”

“There’s not enough space”

The crowd was in fact big and quite cramped around the three of you. You are left without choice as she takes you and Hyewon by the arm and leads you towards a small black door right by the bar.

The girls throw you into the wall and kneel in front of you before the door even closes. Four hands take your belt off, or rather attempt to for a while before getting it (it probably would have been easier if only one person did it, but you don’t dare suggest it), then pull your pants and your boxers down. You can still hear clearly not only the music, but every scream coming from the room you were just in (these walls suck, even for club bathroom standards).

Your cock, already erect thanks to the scene you three made back there, falls right in the middle of their expecting faces, and all they have to do is stretch their necks a little further to start sprinkling it with wet kisses and short licks and already causing you to shed some precum. They more or less intentionally happen to move towards your base and take a longer lick up to the tip of your dick, where they collect your nectar and meet in a French kiss. Actually, that’s not even a kiss, more like their tongues messily exchanging three people’s fluids while completely outside either’s mouths, and it looks fucking filthy.

Soojin is the first to wrap her lips around your head and start slowly but steadily bobbing, taking a slightly larger portion of you in her mouth each time. Hyewon, leaving no time wasted, travels further towards your balls, first getting them wet with her saliva, then alternatively taking one in her mouth and sucking it hungrily, seemingly having the time of her life. The older girl, despite the small size of her mouth, fits almost three quarters of your length in her cavern, even managing to keep herself there and brush the underside of your cock while sucking.

“Unnie, leave some for me!”

Soojin makes way for her friend/tongue buddy, who seems immediately much more feisty, though likely less experienced, sacrificing technique for power and a much faster pace. The older gathers Hyewon’s hair together in a makeshift ponytail and starts licking from her jaw and cheek to around her ear, while the younger, gifted with a bigger mouth, is basically already deepthroating you. You hold your hands around her head and push the last bit in, her eyes watering a little as you hold position for a good fifteen seconds. And, cut.

“You okay?”

“Fuck, that was fun!”

This deer eyed slut just deepthroated you without you batting an eye (well, you were quite lost in pleasure yourself, your eyes quite literally rolling to the back of your hair, but you know), and you’re surprised that she swears?

People could literally step into the bathroom at any point, but honestly, the thought is not even passing your mind. Actually, some might have even walked beside you while you were filling their mouths with your hardness, it’s honestly just too hard to pay attention to anything else, with these two. That’s why you can’t even fathom worrying about the rest of the people in the club, even with what happens next.

Soojin drops her jeans along with her light blue panties and sits on the long counter that connects all the sinks together, running along the entire length of the bathroom below the mirror, while Hyewon bends over in front of her, glancing at the other girl with a playful smile before feasting on her gorgeous pink pussy. You only need to get behind her, bunch her white tennis skirt up on her waist and pull her black panties down and to the floor. Her lips are fat, her slit clean and shiny. You look back at her underwear, and notice a wet patch in the center, not particularly small, either.

“Did you cum just by humping me back there?”

“Maybee~”

You hold your tongue out and take one long lick across her womanhood as she lets a moan out and into the older girl’s crotch. Her sweet scent, her soft texture, her perfect taste are- fuck it, you need your dick in that pussy. So stand up again, align yourself to her, and push it in.

Hyewon is tight, but even moreso, she’s warm. Her hole welcomes you like that’s all she was waiting for all night, like you’re her guest and she wants to make sure you know she prepared. And as you slowly thrust into her, making sure to use your hips to hit every little spot, every patch of her pussy, she lets a constant stream of guttural groans into the one she’s eating herself. Soojin can’t help but push the younger’s face into her crotch, stimulated not only by her tongue, taking trips now on her lips, now in her slit, now on top of her pink clit, but also by the vibrations of her lewd sounds, resonating in her cavern and expanding all over her body.

As you grip the girl’s asscheeks tightly, you start picking up the pace, but she immediately reaches a hand behind her and on your wrist. You slow down again, and her whimpers tell you that this is the rhythm she wants you to hold. In fact, her lower abdomen starts tensing up as a sign that her peak is near. She wants something else. She detaches from the older’s pussy, leaving her disappointed and cutely pouting, and takes small quick steps forward towards the counter, until her face is almost reaching the Soojin’s. She then zips her white top fully down. The older, in a better position to take care of it, gets the hint and rids herself of her top as well as her white strapless bra, leaving them beside one of the sinks. Hyewon takes a millisecond after that to attack her friend’s perfectly sized soft tits with her mouth and left hand, and her hole with her right.

The older is completely thrown off by the sudden initiative and the resulting pleasure it brings to her erogenous zones, and she starts moaning uncontrollably. The younger can’t hold it much longer. Her mouth leaves her friend’s boobs to meet her lips in another tongue filled spectacle. Two fingers from her right hand slide in and out of Soojin’s slit, while her thumb circles around her clit. The older’s also so close. But you’re the one who will make the final move.

You bend down towards Hyewon’s body, reach around and under her black one-shoulder top to feel and fondle her big fluffy mounds as you keep pumping your girth into her, and that ends her.

She washes your cock with the whirlwind of her juices while she contracts repeatedly around you and releases the lowest moan of the night. That in turn triggers her friend’s peak, in her case the liquid sprays on the younger’s hand and wrist and her hips buckle as she reaches to the mirror behind her for support.

Hyewon falls to her knees. Both girls are panting for oxygen, but the one you just fucked seems particularly spent from it.

“You good?”

She nods, and shows you her index finger: “One second”

You turn your head back up.

“Can you do it?”

“Can you~?”

This bitch. You step closer to the counter and wrap your hands around the underside of Soojin’s milky, meaty thighs to spread them open even more. You share a glance with her, and she looks fucking obscene. Her hair has lost its parting, her forehead covered in sweat. That lower lip always just kind of hanging there, like she needs something to fill her mouth at all times. So you kiss her hungrily, and she lets your tongue in her mouth like she’s craving it, like she’s begging for it.

Meanwhile, you guide your head to her slit and part it, slowly entering her cavern. She is so tight. She whines softly into your mouth as you get deeper and deeper. Once you’re fully in, you give her a second to get used to your girth.

“My neck. Your arms around my neck”

She obeys as you immediately raise her from the counter and carry her towards the center of the bathroom as you start pumping into her tight heaven.

Who fucking cares at this point, people could walk in on you and you would thank them. They’d love to have a cock big like yours, to have a girl as beautiful as yours, and to fuck the former into the latter like you’re doing right now. No. They’d just have to watch, like some pathetic frat boys peeping at an older girl they couldn’t even pray to get.

Your hands grab onto Soojin’s ass so you can bounce her pelvis on yours while pushing up, accentuating the movement, as she keeps kissing you like her life depends on it. You feel your orgasm building up.

Then, you feel something below you. Hyewon, revitalized after her orgasm, is now kneeling below you, open-mouth kissing your dick, your balls, her friend’s slit and, you guess, anything else she might find in the way. This girl can truly never be idle. Meanwhile, as you get closer and closer, you switch to quick, single, powerful thrusts. One. Two. And-

You feel Hyewon’s tongue brush your asshole. It’s a sensation you never felt before, it kind of tickles, but it almost stings, at the same time. What it surely does, is to make you cum on the spot. You fire multiple shots of white liquid into Soojin’s pussy, the sensation making her scream (they definitely heard this one outside) and triggering her waterfall a second time, and as only so much matter can fill such a tight space, all of her squirt and probably most of your cum end up dripping down and coating Hyewon’s face. Her mouth is promptly open, so she gets to taste your combined fluids.

She shuffles them around her cheeks for a while, then one big swallow.

“Yummy~”

“Fuck, Hyewon. Was that on purpose?”

“Huh?”

“Your tongue”

“Oh! Well, did you like iiit?”

“He fucking came as soon as you touched him! What do you think?”

“Well, let’s see if it happens a second time, then”

footnotes.

it’s 4am. god. finally, leaf.

558 notes · View notes

coolaboutlucy · 3 months

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𝙚𝙡 𝙦𝙪𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨𝙜𝙖, 𝙣𝙤 𝙜𝙖𝙣𝙖 | 𝙚. 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙢𝙨

pairing: ex-jailbird!ellie williams x ex-jailbird!afab!reader

tags: angsty, ellie is an asshole, between past and present (indicated with dates), ellie has issues, pet names (baby), description of violence, mild language, drug use, one use of y/n (i had to im SAWREE!!), idk what trope this is, but it’s certainly something, good ending, but i HATE it ugh, lowk wanna make an alt ending, but i might not. 🤷🏽‍♀️

a/n: the word ‘jailbird’ being used in this context is lowk cringey but who cares? ive been on a roll lately!!! (i still have reqs to finish) ellie fic speed run r smth idk. tbf, this is the longest fic ive written in a while. i considered making this like a series or something but i never finish those so.. ig this is like a rlly big fat oneshot??? idk.

p.s: for my pookie @sweetysaccharine who also got a sneak peek hehe. 🤭🤭

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 | 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟷𝟽𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷

you stand infront of a burning car on a hill in the middle of the desert at nighttime. you and ellie had just stolen $20 thousand worth of diamonds at some high end store in the city where only the most wealthy of people live, and now you were destroying the evidence, burning your costumes and leaving the diamonds out for the coyotes. “ellie, i won’t wanna do this anymore.” she looks at you through the blazing fire with a slightly raised eyebrow. “do.. what?” she asks as she pushes her hands into her pockets. “commit crimes. i want to have a normal life. im tired of this. you’re always making me do crazy shit.” you explain, exaggerating a bit with your hands. “were felons, baby. there is no normal for us. you chose this life. but sure. let’s say hypothetically, you get this ‘normal life’. where will you work? at a grocery store?” “i don’t know.” “exactly. that’s the beauty of it all. we don’t know what comes next. we don’t know if the police will come after us again, do we?” “well.. no—“ “exactly. go out and buy some more fruit.” she begins walking off, leaving the burning car behind. “we don’t need anything else, ive already got what we need.” you say as you begin walking off into the opposite direction. sand crunches underneath your feet as you walk off, hood over your head and the nights cool wind brushing against the bits of exposed skin on your body.

𝙰𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗, 𝚃𝚇 | 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟽 what were the odds of two felons who hate each others guts working together after escaping together? highly unlikely. but it was your reality. let’s start from the beginning, shall we? ellie had gotten.. waaay too many years to even count. she was charged with identity theft, armed assault, two counts of homicide, and possession of illegal firearms. what were you charged with? accessory to a robbery, armed robbery and you’d also had a few DUI’s. was how many years you’d gotten even mattered now? it didn’t. you were free. and freedom smelled great. but sometimes? freedom sucks. ellie was crazy. she was batshit crazy. she was the one who helped you escape prison. she knows a lot of people. like, a scary amount of people. lawyers, drug dealers, private doctors, the whole nine yards. how’d you escape? simple.

“the other girls are gonna start a riot. cause i told em to. you’re gonna sneak into the break room. there’s a window a few inches up from the floor. break the window and—“ she explained, making sure to keep her voice down. you were a bit wary of her little ‘plan’. “wait, won’t that set the alarm off?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. “lemme ask you a question. whats more worth it — freedom or a goddamn alarm?” “.. im guessing you want me to say freedom?” she nods, then patting your shoulder approvingly. “back to what i was saying, after you’ve broken the window, there’s someone waiting for you on the other side. the security cameras should be busted by then. ill follow you.” her confidence in her plans certainly amazed you. “don’t screw this up.” “i won’t.” “good. now.. why don’t you go read a book?” she suggested before walking off. she was strange, like really strange. sometimes ellie tended to say things that didn’t really make any sense. it was also a rumour that ellie had hallucinations. she’d just sit up in the middle of the night and talk to.. nobody, or she’d stare into the mirror talking to seemingly nobody. was that maybe why she’d been so crazy? because she was fighting her own demons? you didn’t know. the riot began. you heard them in the lunch room banging their trays against the metal tables, yelling at the prison guards and attacking some. you run away into the break room. there were metal bars against the windows. “how the hell am i gonna remove this?” you mumble to yourself as you look around. you search under tables like a madwoman, even searching the pockets of the coats suspended from the metal coat rack.

you heard angels sing once you find a toolbox hidden away underneath a bench. you look at the screws. you needed a flat looking screwdriver. you search the toolbox for one that loosely resembles the screws and you hurry to the window with a chair. standing on the chair, you quickly unscrew the screws and you pull the bars from the window. with the metal bars in hand, you smash the window, all the little glass pieces flying everywhere as the prison alarms go off simultaneously. you look back at the door to the break room. ellie would come, she valued her freedom more than anything in this world.

and with all the uncertainty in your body, you followed through. you jumped down into the parking lot while the alarms ring all throughout the prison. there had been someone else on the other side. a woman with curly hair and tan skin, driving some beat up blue honda. she was pretty. “cmon, hurry and get in. we’re gonna floor it as soon as ellie gets here.” she said, relatively calm as if she’d done this before. you hop into the backseat of her car anxiously. your leg shakes and you bite your nails. looking around at the security cameras, you found that they were, in fact not busted. “that goddamn liar!” she exclaimed as you hit your hands against your thighs. “you’re an idiot for trusting her. ellie never holds her word. she said she’d pay me back a year ago. she owes me $14,000 that she still won’t pay back.” the woman says as she looks at you through the mirror above her. you didn’t trust her. nobody did. but she was a good convincing person and an even better liar. while you were sitting in the back of the car, you recalled all the times she’d attempted to kill you. she gave you concussions, she stabbed you with makeshift knives, she got her minions to beat you half to death. what had you done in retaliation? well, you stabbed her, hung her from a bathroom stall with your sheets, wounded her badly and proceeded to shoot air into the major vein until her heart almost exploded out of her chest. the two have you had gone tit for tat for a while. but is it really an appropriate time to reminisce on old memories? not at all.

the sound of her shoes hitting the ground caught your attention. you look over and see her running towards the car, hopping in her front seat and slamming the door shut. “cmon, drive dina! step on it!” she demanded as she hits her hands against the dashboard. the woman, dina, steps on the gas. the gates of the prison had been closing slowly, leaving just enough room for the car to slither out. ellie cheers to herself. why was she cheering? ellie suddenly turns to you. “we have to get out of texas. dina here is gonna take us halfway to.. somewhere. ive already arranged a place for us to stay. if you screw up? ill strangle you with the hem of your shirt.” her tone falters between the lines of something serious and something a little playful. what was this? why were you doing this with her? you’d been royally screwed now if you weren’t before.

𝙰𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗, 𝚃𝚇 | 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟷𝟽

you drove for hours on end while ellie sat in the front, blabbering about seemingly nothing. she sat in the front, smoking weed and changing the radio station until she settled on some sorta rock station. “ellie, do you realize how much you owe to me?” dina asks seriously as she takes the two of you through some sort of desert. “mm.. how much?” “14k. you owe me big time, ellie.” ellie laughs. she turns to you, whites of her eyes turning a light red colour. “can you believe her? me? owing her 14k? that’s insane.” she sat there laughing to herself. dinas iron clad grip on the steering wheel told you what you needed to know. she was fed up with ellies shit.

dina stops the car abruptly on the side of the sandy road. she turns to ellie with a face full of fury. “yknow, ive offered you enough. i said you can pay in installments. you didn’t pay. i gave you time. you still won’t pay. now im being complicit in your fucking prison break!” dina exclaimed. ellies laughing almost instantly stopped as dina raised her voice. “you don’t seem to understand how this works. i don’t owe anyone anything. the way ive paid you back was giving you a good fuck like you asked.” “ellie, i was as high as a kite when i said that! jesus christ, you really don’t listen do you?” you don’t intervene even though ellie is looking for you to do so. something you learned was to never fight battles that weren’t yours. this was between them.

they argued. a lot. going back and forth while ellie took super long drags of the joint between her fingers. dinas car reeks of the smell of weed. ellie wouldn’t take anything seriously until dina raises her hand to smack the daylights out of her. a ringing sound resonates throughout ellies ears as she looks at dina in shock. “why the fuck would you slap me?” “i.. i don’t know.” dina was shocked and you were equally as shocked. ellie opens the car door and she gets out. “get out the car.” she says to you, opening your door. “what, but we’re in the middle of the—“ “get out the fucking car!” ellie yells. you get out. “thanks for nothing. don’t call me again when your boyfriend can’t make you cum!” ellie yells at dina, flipping her off before grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you off into the sunset. you look back at dina and you see her with a look of shock on her face. as if now she regrets what she’d done.

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 | 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷 after that day, dina hadn’t come around anymore. maybe because she was under investigation for helping you and ellie escape prison. you and ellie lived in a rv and it was pretty peaceful. she chilled on trying to kill you for a while. you sat outside in a beach chair, looking at the sunrise with a cup of tea.

she joins you, sitting in the chair right next to yours. she was smoking a cigarette. “i wanna do something with you. before that ‘normal life’ you want.” she said as she looked at you. “one last heist.” she exhales the smoke, the smell of tobacco entering your nose. “a heist? ellie, you know we can’t do that anymore. the police have our photos.. and fingerprints.” “they’ve had our photos and prints since 2017, baby.” those goddamn pet names that rolled off of her tongue made you a little weak in the knees. you hated her but you couldn’t hate her voice. “ellie, this isn’t a good idea. we need to think about this. the last time you tried to pull off a heist, you almost got arrested.” you tried to be the voice of reason in this ‘relationship’ (or lack therefore of.) “i hate doing this, ellie. i want a normal life. i wanna go home.” your voice was sad. “and what happens if you go back home? your parents will be happy to see you, naturally. someone could betray you. your mother, your brother. anyone.” her words hang in the air as she looks at you. she puts her cigarette out in the makeshift ashtray that sat on a small wooden table. “what do i always tell you?” you thought about it for a moment. ellie had lots of weird sayings. so you take a guess. “hate is the worlds strongest motivator?” she nods her head. “and what else?” “the person who doesn’t risk, cannot win? but quick question— what does that have to do with anything?” she gets up and she stands in front of you. she squats down to your eye level.

“you’re either one of two things in life. a fox or a rabbit. the fox will hunt the rabbit and won’t back down till it gets what it wants. the rabbit will run for its life so the fox doesn’t let the fox get it. who would you wanna be in life?” ellie had a strange way of looking at life. maybe when you’ve been locked up for so long, attempted to escape so many times and had some mental issues, your outlook on life changes drastically. her analogies always made you wonder how she’d even been able to look at life this way. when you don’t answer her question, she answers for you. “a fox. you wanna be a fox. right now? you’re being a rabbit. tighten the fuck up.” her hands give your thighs a few slaps as she spoke. they were a bit hard but not hard enough to leave marks. after your little talk, she goes back into the rv.

you’re sat there with a racing mind and a swell of emotions. the once warm tea had gone cold. whatever she’d been planning to do on this heist must’ve boosted her head up enough to the point where she could go around, telling people to tighten the fuck up. you resented her heavily. ellie wasn’t a hard person to hate. well, maybe a better word is loathe. she was a terrible person with no moral compass. she didn’t care about anyone else but herself. and maybe she’d been going through things on her own, but she had multiple options to get help. she lived knowing that she’d survive, and only would be at the top of the food chain. as if.

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 | 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟷𝟾𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷

ellie still wanted your help. she tried everything to convince you. a share of her earnings. a 60/40 share (you having 60%, leaving the other 40% to her.) but you don’t budge. she needed to think, her brain wasn’t functioning well at finding a different approach. maybe she could just let you go with that ‘normal life’ you’ve always wanted. but this wasn’t something she could just easily do alone. it was much bigger than that. and she also couldn’t threaten you cause then you’d definitely run away. ellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kind to someone. she’d been met with a harsh response to anything she’d ever done in life, so she projected her issues onto other people. maybe it wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but she felt like she had nothing to lose.

she approaches you slowly. “we should talk.” she mumbled. “about.. what?” you ask. “the heist.” “ellie, no—“ “just hear me out please.” she takes a breath before she starts talking. “i swear we won’t get caught. and if we do miraculously, ill take the blame. you can say i kidnapped you or something.” “why are you do adamant about doing this? do you even have a reason?” ellie slowly shakes her head. she sits next to you. her hands fall in her lap as she twiddled with her fingers. “yknow, i don’t really know. i just get these urges to do these things that don’t really make sense.” her tone was genuine, but you werent sure. ellie had a tendency to guilt trip you into doing things that you really didn’t wanna do all because you were the only person she had left and nobody else would do this for her. of course you knew what she was going through, albeit you didn’t understand on a personal level as she had because she was living with this everyday.

you saw all her pill bottles — some SSRI’s, something for her hallucinations, and some other stuff with scratched off labels. “ellie, i really hope you’re not trying to guilt trip me into doing this heist with you.” a part of you was fed up with her shit, just like dina had been. but another part of you wanted to be there for her (even though she didn’t open up), and you also like liked her a little. not too much. “of course this isn’t me guilt tripping you. in fact, you don’t even have to worry about it.” she turns to you and she smiles. it felt weird seeing her smile. with all that serotonin she got from the SSRI’s, she didn’t really ever smile. you didn’t put too much thought into it. you just hoped she wouldn’t do anything impulsive.

𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 | 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚎 𝟷𝟿𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷

ellie was up early the next morning. it was six something. she was pacing around outside while she was biting her nails. she was nervous or anxious about something. sometimes you wished you you’d be in ellies brain when she was being like this or being way too brief with her explanations when there was clearly something up with her.

what was she thinking about now? well, you. she was thinking about you. how long you’d put up with her, how long you’d live. stuff like that. there’s only one certainty in life — death. everyone inevitably dies one day even though they may not wanna. ellie planned on dying on her own terms. something else ellie thinks about often was her life before all this. she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her dad. she missed him. she also missed dina. ellie had dated a few people in the past, some girl named cat and dina. they didn’t end up really working out together because of ellies impulsive nature, but they stayed friends until.. the incident when dina slapped ellie.

in her own way, ellie wanted her old life back as did you. she wanted to wake up to the smell of joels coffee and dinas sleeping form in her bed, all that pretty curly hair sprawled over her pillow. but she knew what she was doing when she made this decision. she knew what she was doing when she decided to steal the identity of some rich lawyer so she could withdrawal all their money for herself. she knew what she was doing when she’d went to that very same lawyers office with an unregistered pistol, robbing them and leaving them with practically nothing. this couldn’t have happened coincidentally. she wanted her old brain back. the one that didn’t have violent and impulsive thoughts. the one that didn’t keep replaying her heinous crimes.

“you’re a mess.” ellie looks up. she sees herself wearing her prison uniform. her hair was much longer then (she’d cut most of it off.) “don’t tell me that. you’re a mess too.” she says to herself. “you want this heist so bad, then do it yourself. it’s nothing you can’t handle.” the split image of ellie was pushing her hands into her pockets and looking at the trees around her. “what’s stopping you?” “you know the answer to that question.” “i don’t. tell me ellie, what’s stopping you?” “y/n.”

as she says that, she hears your footfall behind her. she looks back at you and then back to where the other copy of herself had been. the other ellie was gone. you approach her slowly. “who were you talking to?” you ask, offering her a glass of orange juice that you’d made. “nobody. and uh, the heist.. it’s off.” she muttered as she takes a sip of the orange juice, quenching a thirst she didn’t know she had. “oh, well, that’s good.” you nod in approval. “im sorry.” ellie said it loud enough for your ears only. “i fucked up big time. i know i did. im sorry for putting you through this. im so sorry.” ellie almost never apologized for anything. your face flashes with multiple emotions at once, not sure which one you should feel right now. “it’s.. okay. it’s gonna take me some time to forgive you, but id like to try.” ellie turns to you once you finish speaking and she gives you a firm pat on the shoulder before heading towards the rv.

you felt yourself smiling a bit. you always knew she could do it. you just had to wait for her.

#wlfabby #tlou #the last of us #the last of us two #the last of us part two #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams x female!reader #ellie williams x afab!reader #tlou x reader #reader insert

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tka-trashfire · 3 months

Text

I’m actually on break-of-sorts! There’s extra free time in my days, and I can do what I want with it! (Even better—after a couple days spent zombie-ing in front of a video game and tv shows—my brain even kinda wants to do things. How refreshing flsdafjsa;)

So! A fic author interview, which the lovely @lynne-monstr tagged me in half an age ago. :D

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

327, apparently. God knows how many have been let loose to swim in the sweetly-orphaned seas.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

863,428.

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

How Impolite, How Imprudent (The Walking Dead, Beth/Daryl) - 1,108 kudos.

Stripped (Death Note, Near/Mello) - 720 kudos.

let’s embrace the point of no return (Guardian, Shen Wei/Zhao Yunlan) - 669 kudos.

Hoping's Free (The Walking Dead, Beth/Daryl/Rick) - 639 kudos.

The Married Ones (BBC Sherlock, Sherlock/Watson) - 625 kudos.

Mostly this is just… happening to write for popular ships sometimes, I think, rather than any reflection on the actual stories themselves.

Although, The Walking Dead ones were very much just posted at exactly the right point in time—AKA right when the folks who were gonna be reading Beth-centric stories were turning up to find it…and when there really weren’t many. I remember finding it really fun to write for that ship, in no small amount because it felt exactly like writing for my usual rarer pair stuff… but with bonus readers. XD

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always plan to. They make me so happy! Unfortunately, my brain makes replying to comments a whole lot more complicated than it actually is… meaning I put it aside for when I’ll have the energy/capacity… and then my executive dysfunction sneaks in and eats my good intentions for breakfast. ;;

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t really write angsty endings very often. I guess… against the world? Probably? That’s pretty miserable through-and-through, and is definitely lacking my usually compulsive need to find a happy note to end on.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

…everything? XD

Honestly, my first thought was to crib off Lynne’s answer and say a story that goes real sad before it gets happy. But… that just makes me want to say my Reunion Dinner GaoQiao break-up fic (In the space of your leaving), except… I haven’t actually posted the final chapters for that yet. Meaning it’s happy ending is currently hypothetical, and it’s therefore disqualified from this category. 😂

In which case, I guess… maybe Hoping's Free, actually. I wouldn’t have thought of it, except that I was doing the sort-by-kudos thing, which made me look at it again. But it’s probably a better answer for this than my usual fluff, if only because it was written in this almost grimly hopeful tone that was very intentionally at odds with the canon I was writing from (TWD). (And was probably influenced by the fact I was sitting there writing a “pregnant at the end of the world” story whilst hugely pregnant myself, ha.)

7. Do you write crossovers?

As in, non-fusion crossovers? Where you have characters from both things interacting? Not really, to be honest. I used to, a fair bit, although I’m not sure I ever actually posted any of them. I just recently stumbled across some unfinished drafts for some Harry Potter x Bleach stuff, which was honestly fascinating to look at because I would not think of something like that now.

I do still write a bunch of fusion-style crossovers, though. Like, I’m plotting constantly plotting those bastard things. (Seriously, constantly: my poor SO cannot engage with a show or a video game with me without knowing that I’m probably sitting there thinking about where Qiao Yifan would fit into it jadlf;jasdfl.) Unfortunately, it’s just… a lot harder for me to actually finish those stories. Or sometimes, even to start them. They’re definitely one of those cases where I need to get much better at just… dropping my worldbuilding glee into a tumblr post or something, sigh.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Once. So very long ago that I don’t even remember what it was about, just that I had the sweetest group of friends who made it immediately less devastating for my rejection-sensitive ass (thereby saving me from quitting fandom not long after I had discovered it). <3

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

So much smut! Mostly the kind with a whole lotta feelings.

It’s not that I don’t write other things—I write so many other things—but smut comes with this bonus setting for me, where it’s just a hundred times simpler than anything else (especially when compared to anything that tries to grow Real Plot—see Question 7, so help me). And that just makes it wayyy easier to actually, y’know, write. And finish. And edit. And post.

(Not that sex can’t be complicated, or complex, because of course it can! But it’s still easier than so many other forms of human interaction, y’know? Or… maybe it’s just that sex is the perfect chill-switch for my brain, and that’s carried over into how I use it for writing, too? Who knows!)

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope. At least, not to my knowledge.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yesss, and it’s always exciting! Translators are the best. ♥!!

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I’ve planned to! Life got in the way, alas.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

What’s an all-time favourite anything, precious?

Whatever’s bouncing around in my head in the moment, generally. Although, that said, I do keep returning over and over and over to GaoQiao in a way that definitely should give it some kind of special status, so… there’s that. XD

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Hey, that’s quitter talk, Question 14. Anyway, everyone knows I’m trapped in a fandom until I’ve had all my WIPs wrung out of me. (That’s how it works, right? Right?)

More seriously, though, I… am not really sure. There are definitely some WIPs I am constantly thinking I should just give up on and post as partly fleshed-out outlines—because I love them, but I’m not sure I have the spoons to genuinely finish them.

Like, uh, haha, y’know—the insane FangWang fairytale-esque thing, the structure of which was very purposefully built off Propp’s functions (the, uh, narrative elements of a folk tale, per Propp’s Morphology of a Folk Tale stuff), because… I’m a raging nerd who re-falls down the folk tale rabbit hole at least once a year…? I do really love that fic, so very much, because there’s so much going on in it (actual witches! changelings and neurodiversity! Lin Jie baggage! FangWang being insufferable and wonderful and full of feelings! fae folk being terrible! fae folk being So Fucking Right! trials being passed! trials being failed! homely cooking, and magical needlework, and grumpy softhearted healers chopping firewood, oh my!) But also… there’s so fucking much going on in it, dear god.

It’s probably my best candidate for being flung up as a dot-point fic, but… I remain swimming in a sea of self-delusion, haha.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I think… I really like getting in the guts of things, when it comes to writing about characters as people-in-bodies. (Which… is a sentence I keep re-writing, but it’s not getting any less unhinged any time soon, so it can just stay there as-is.)

I really like that sense of grounding, anyway: of being grounded in skin and bones and body-connected feelings, which is… mildly hilarious considering—therapist noises intensify.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Executive dysfunction.

Uh. Yeah, so, I’m super bad at internalising that grammar exists for Reasons, and that those Reasons are that other people don’t necessarily think or read with the apparently weird rhythm that I do. And that means… y’know… that my own shit needs to confirm to at least a baseline of some kind or else it’ll become kinda unreadable. (I am getting better at it, I think. I am. It’s an endless project. Commas are my own personal hell.)

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I do kinda get why people might do this, because baby-me was pretty enamoured with it.

Now that I’m no longer Baby, however—at least, not when it comes to this—it’s not really something I would do. I’m also more likely to politely exit back out of stories that do choose to do it, although that’s mostly because it tends to be one of those markers that says Things about whether or not I’m going to jive with a story. (As a boring-ass adult with too little functional time on her hands.)

(On the other hand, I am deeply into terms of address/honorifics being kept and used. They can provide such a rich dose of information about intimacy, familiarity, and all the rest of it. That said, I tick-tock back and forth like a busted clock on whether I think they should be translated or not.)

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Animorphs, probably, although I didn’t know what a fandom was at that point. My first posted fic was for Stargate Atlantis.

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

I’m going to find a way to write that sedoretu Gao Yingjie/Fang Shiqian/Wang Jiexi/Qiao Yifan story if it fucking kills me.

(Also this random Gao Yingjie/Qiao Yifan & Su Mucheng/Wang Jiexi partner-swapping thing that’s been living rent-free in my head for literal years, but which has never actually been written down as anything more than a one line note. C’mon, story, get out of my head and onto some damn paper!)

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written

We play favourites in this house! Also… I’m just really bad at making those kinds of choices.

But—you know what? Fuck it, in the days this draft has been sitting here, I gotta say, I’ve kept thinking—probably the older the ginger (the spicier it gets). It’s peak rare pair, but I had such a blast writing it, and it’s one of those odd things I actually enjoy re-reading, too. <3

#askmeme

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dykeomania · 11 months

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i remember one of my first experiences reading tlou fics were with your writing as far back as late 2021/early 2022 (and if im misremembering when you first started writing, then you definitely fit in the early 2022 bracket hahaha). yours and others fics were things i looked forward to when i had some downtime. im white and always appreciated seeing fics specifically catered to black/POC fans and fics that never specified race, weight, gender expression, etc. it felt extremely inclusive to everyone involved and there was something for everyone to enjoy. i wont knock what others may be interested in because thats scummy and probably not what you want said on your behalf either, but these tags feel significantly less inclusive now and only fit the same exact mold of a hypothetical person involved with abby and/or ellie. its genuinely hard to come online and find anything worth reading because of how little diversity there is in whats being written. its far from what it used to be, hence why i still go back and read fics of yours and others from that time period. i am so sorry you and other black writers had to witness whats gone on recently. this is meant to be a safe space for queer people who enjoy tlou and fun little fantasies that should mean no harm to anybody. you guys do not deserve to have that tarnished and more needs to be done to change what this community has turned into.

i’ve like been thinking ab this and other asks that i’ve gotten expressing something like this because tbh, like,

i just,

idk i thought about it and like i don’t know really what to say. but, i do understand.

niche reader inserts are in fact, niche, yeah. (cont)

it’s really awkward when like the tag is filled with like, one specific perspective, and your personal experience or your desires just doesn’t click with that — like it relies a lot less on the sexual or romance aspect of things and more into bending into a particular role, a particular lens of desire and/or being desired, etc — and when it’s like one strain of that all of the time, people are bound to feel left out. right? (cont)

and it’s common sense, like that’s just how it is. like, back innnn idk early?????? mid???? ‘22, the tag was only filled with like dom!ellie fics. a big thing at that time was like, oh i wish there was more sub ellie fics, dadada, i’m a top, there’s nothing for me, and like, that was really real, and now we have more sub ellie stuff. cool. i think all of the shit that happened just speaks to the fact that not everyone can really like, vibe with certain things on here like that, and they would like to be able to. i dont think it’s appropriate to like shit on that vibe or anything like that, but it is a valid complaint to have. so, yeah, i’m really hoping that in light of all of this, more diversified content is added to the tag — not even pertaining to a particular race or ethnicity but things that just deviate from a particular aesthetic, trope, and other common things that are typically seen nowadays on the tag. that’s not to say that erasure is necessary because now you’re just dtm but like ideas get circumvented pretty quickly and tbh that’s not exactly harmful, but it’s nice that there is some change that is happening that’s allowing people to settle into something that’s comfortable for them. i’m not even saying this just cause you like my stuff, but i think what you + some other people are grated by is pretty valid and, yeah, i hope that when you do sift through the tag in the future that it’s easier for you to find a story that you can feel more comfortable in and it incentivizes you to come back.

and like, on the fuckin.. being black and being here thing as of rn thing…. hey. like, i mean….. the way i saw people telling black women how they should feel about like some black girl receiving racially motivated hate was absolutely nuts and the fact that people were either motivating others to either look past it or were trying to tell other people how they should feel about things / what they should do was. Sick. LMFAO. but i mean! hey. just… hey. juuustt….. yikes. and the way it’s (like random people policing black people on this app) still going is just so… ghetto i just….. yyyikes. little bit too comfortable, in that chair. i think that’s a bit of an understatement.

i just, yeah. i don’t have much to say. justtttt… justt.. just… yeah LMFAO

#mia what are you talking about #sorry about that

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saetoru · 2 years

Text

contact photo | sakusa kiyoomi.

synopsis: your roommate is not too happy when his teammates comes over and takes a liking to you—especially when it’s one setter in particular

tags: nsfw 18+, minors do not interact, roommates to lovers, jealous sakusa, possessiveness, afab! reader, dom! sakusa, fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, he takes a photo of you after

word count: 2.3k

notes: ty ris again for beta-ing sobsobsob you’re the loml

sakusa likes to think that he’s one to keep his temper under control. sure, he’s a bit blunt and lots of things tend to get on his nerves more often than not—but he’s not one to lose his temper, and he’s certainly not one to let his composure go.

but then you giggle at miya’s jokes. now that, he just can’t seem to ignore.

miya is a sore spot. miya is everything sakusa is not, everything he chooses not to be, everything he can’t be. miya is loud, exuberant, cocky, doesn’t care about being reserved. so of course, it’s not hard for him to let a few flirty comments glide off his tongue, and pretty soon, you’ve exchanged numbers—right before sakusa’s eyes.

sakusa kiyoomi has been raised by his mother and older sister to never treat someone he loves as an object, he knows you’re not someone to own, that you have your own feelings and your own wants and needs—but still, you’re his. he’s not exactly told you that yet, and he’s not exactly made a move either, but you’re still his.

your socks get caught in his compression sleeves in the laundry machine, you have free access to his snacks in the pantry, you know where the spare key to his room is, and he lets you skip out on your turn with sweeping in exchange for doing the dishes—miya atsumu has never had a taste of domestic life with you. and you might only be sakusa’s roommate, but you’re his roommate. his.

not miya’s.

“kiyoomi,” you hiss, rubbing your elbow as he closes the door behind you and presses you against it rather harshly. throwing him a glare, you shove lightly at his chest so he’s not pressed up against you like he is. “what has gotten into you? why are you acting like a pissy teenager—”

“don’t text miya.”

“what are you—”

“do not text miya. ever.”

“are you my dad?” you raise a brow, crossing your arms. he huffs, lips curling into a slight pout, jutting out in frustration as you refuse to just listen to him.

“not miya,” he insists. “anyone but miya.”

“so then bokuto—”

“no.”

“you just said anyone but—” he interrupts your sentence without hesitation.

“anyone but miya and bokuto.”

“then how about—”

“not miya, bokuto or hinata,” he cuts you off again before you can even utter the name. it’s silent for a moment as you glare at each other, your eyes narrowing as you cross your arms.

“so hypothetically if a hot, muscular MSBY volleyball player caught my eye, which of them would i be allowed to talk to if not any of the three sitting in our living room,” you ask sarcastically, and sakusa just barely fights the urge to tell everyone to leave, his own eyes narrowing as he scowls at you.

in a sudden moment of boldness—one he’s not even sure where it’s sparked from, he mutters, “me.”

and then everything pauses for a moment, his eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said, your mouth opens in shock, and there’s a slight hitch in both of your throats.

“what—”

“nevermind—”

“kiyoomi i swear to god if you cut me off one more time,” you warn, holding a finger up to prod at his chest. it’s firm, muscular, and sakusa is certainly hot—he fits into the criteria of hot, muscular MSBY volleyball player a little too easily. “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” he grits his teeth, nails digging into his palms as he clenches his fists. it’s now or never, he tells himself. now or never. “you’re allowed to talk to me. i’m a muscular MSBY volleyball player.”

“you don’t think you’re hot?” you tease, face breaking into an amused grin, and sakusa relaxes, relief spreading through his veins that you seem to be taking this rather lightly. crossing his arms, he rolls his eyes, fighting off the small bit of blush threatening to bloom over his cheeks.

“that’s kind of being conceited,” he mumbles.

“it’s called being confident. i’m sure miya is a confident—”

and suddenly, you’re being pulled off the door with a harsh tug of your wrist. it all happens at once—the door clicks locked, your back hits his mattress, and he hovers over you, an angry glint in his obsidian eyes as his hand squeezes your cheeks together and forces you to meet his gaze.

“don’t talk about miya either,” he growls, and then his lips are on yours, hungrily kissing you as your hands instinctively fist his hair and tug at the roots. he grunts, slipping his tongue into your mouth when you gasp at the way his already half hardened length pokes at your thigh. “why do you need his attention when you’ve got mine?”

“kiyoomi,” you gasp, eyes widening when he tugs your pants down and wrenches your thighs apart, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. you try to grind down onto his thumb and he pulls his hand away, glaring at you.

“you’ll take what i give you,” he spits, “since you’re so greedy for attention.” his lips attach themselves onto your neck, sucking harshly as if he’s making a point to mark you so you know you’re his. whimpering, you clutch onto his bicep—large and bulging, and as you feel his muscles ripple under your palm, you think they might just be larger than miya’s.

not that it matters to you, either way. you don’t think you even remember a time when you didn’t long for your too hot for his own good roommate.

and sure, sakusa’s sweaty form when he comes back from jogs is nice, and so is his shirtless figure when he walks out of the shower, and so is his v-line when his gray sweats hang a bit low on his waist—but the best sakusa kiyoomi is the one who runs to his room from the kitchen after he turns the lights off because he’s scared, or the one who snorts when he scrolls through his phone as he waits for his food in the microwave, or the one who hides his sniffles when he watches cheesy romance films with you.

he’s a hot, muscular MSBY volleyball player, but he’s also a sweet, awkward man you’re in love with, and this isn’t the worst turn of events, you think—definitely not if it means he’s just as into you as you are him.

“k-kiyo, please,” you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. he groans at the name, hiding his face into the juncture of your shoulder while his hand reaches for the hem of your underwear, tugging with a quick motion and ripping it off, making you gasp. “hey—”

“i’ll buy you more,” he grumbles, nipping at your skin, “buy you as many as you want so i can keep ripping them off. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he smirks, fingers gathering your slick and sinking his fingers into your folds, curling to find your sweet spot as his palm glides over your clit.

he does it almost expertly—and it fills you up to the brim with jealousy that your cunt isn't the first his fingers have fucked. you know all too well what it means when he comes home early in the morning after a night out of drinking with his team. you know that even someone as closed off as sakusa has had a one night stand or two here and there—but it doesn’t mean you like it.

then again, as long as your cunt is the last he’ll ever fuck with his fingers, you don’t think it can be all that bad.

“fuck, kiyo,” you moan, “like that. ‘m gonna cum,” you pant, digging your forehead into his shoulder as he hovers over you.

his cock is stiff, heavy as it strains against his boxers, and on any other day, sakusa would take his sweet time with you—make you cum on his fingers and tongue until your mind is blank before splitting you open with his cock. but you both don’t have sweet time, and he doesn’t think you deserve it for the stunt you pulled earlier—even if it wasn’t necessarily on purpose.

he slips his fingers out just before you can cum, making you let out a muffled sob against his shoulder and writhe from the dying down orgasm as he reaches to palm himself through his pants. groaning, he frees his aching cock, gathering the pre cum dribbling from the tip and smearing it as he rubs over his length in slow strokes.

“gonna make you cum on my cock so you know this pussy was made for me,” he mutters, hissing at the friction he finally grants himself. “we’ll see if you remember miya by the end of this.”

sakusa certainly isn’t a virgin by any means, but he thinks he might as well be with how fast he thinks he’ll cum as he sinks into your wet cunt, slipping past your folds inch by inch slowly as he groans against your ear. you whine, nails digging into his shoulder as you buck your hips up so he’s buried to the hilt.

you pant raggedly, foreheads pressed against each other’s as he clenches his jaw while he lets you adjust. your hand cups his face, rubbing soft circles into his cheek.

“never took you as the jealous kind, you know,” you giggle breathlessly. you move your hips to signal it’s okay, and he snaps his hips and thrusts into you slowly, steady pace that makes you both groan lowly at the pleasure.

“yeah, well,” he chokes on a moan, sweat clinging to his forehead as his curls press flat against his skin, “there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“then how about you let me find out.” he doesn’t answer, just pulls you into another kiss, lips molding against yours perfectly as he rocks his hips and fucks you slow, deep, steadily building your orgasm.

his hand moves between your bodies so his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles as he slams into you. skin meets skin, slapping against each other, and your hands wander under his shirt and over his muscles as you explore his body.

you’ve always wondered how he’d feel under your palms, how soft and smooth his porcelain skin must be, how his muscles must be well built and defined, but you weren’t counting on him to be so receptive to your touch. your hands rub over his chest and abs, thumbs finding his nipples and rubbing circles over them, and he groans into your mouth, hips stuttering just a little at the new sensation.

“fuck, wish miya could see how good you take me. wish they all could,” he grunts, hips slamming into you, his swollen tip kissing your sweet spot over and over as you mewl, “so tight,” he rasps, “feel so good. ”

“kiyoomi,” you moan, canting your hips up and meeting his thrusts so he sinks as deep as he can into your wet heat.

“kiyo,” he corrects with a growl, slamming down harsher to get his point across. you whine, hands tangling in his hair and tugging at his curls as your walls flutter around him tightly. he’s rutting into you sloppily by now, losing the steady rhythm as he approaches his high.

“k-kiyo, gonna cum, kiyo,” you say breathlessly.

and his cock can’t help but twitch at the sound of his name off your tongue like that. “never wanna—fuck—never wanna hear you say kiyoomi again,” he pants, “‘s always gonna be kiyo. bet miya wishes you’d call him tsumu, doesn’t he? too bad your pussy’s only ever taking my cock,” he says with a smirk, peppering wet kisses up your jaw as your nails dig into his skin.

“o-only yours,” you agree, voice shaky as you reach the precipice of your high, “only you can fuck me, kiyo.”

“‘s right,” he grabs your hips and squeezes tightly as his balls tighten, ready to release, “cum for me—fuck, so tight.”

one more thrust and you’re falling off the edge and headfirst into your orgasm, feeling it ripple through your whole body as you arch your back and cum with a silent scream. your walls clamp down on him tightly as you flutter around his swollen cock, and he grits his teeth and grunts as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“f-fuck, kiyo,” you sob, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his thumb rubs over your clit to aid you through your peak.

he feels his own orgasm approach, and with a quick motion, he pulls out of your abused cunt and fists his length tightly, stroking himself desperately until he releases all over your tummy, painting your skin with thick spurts of cum as he throws his head back and groans deeply, moaning your name as his orgasm rips through him. he milks himself of every drop, makes sure your skin is covered with every rope he shoots from his tip.

you both take a moment to catch your breaths, and as it finally sinks in that you’ve just fucked your roommate, the man you’ve been convincing yourself you’re not in love with, he reaches to grab his phone.

you blink as you hear the sound of the camera clicking, glancing up as he holds his phone for you to see a picture of your cum coated belly.

“well,” he grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he flops onto the bed beside you, “i’ll just send that to miya so he can set that as your contact photo, then.”

a little bonus scene ;)

everyone say it with me now: JEALOUS OMI JEALOUS OMI JEALOUS OMI

#✧ — kiyoomi week !!#thirstee!#teepods.writings #fics.#sakusa x reader #sakusa x you #sakusa smut #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu smut #hq x reader #hq x you #hq smut

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outercrasis · 3 years

Text

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them.

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. “Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?”

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.”

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself.

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts.

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar.

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep.

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing.

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like.

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift.

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu.

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

taglist: @honestly-shite @booksarekindaneat @wonderless-screwup @pinkninja200 @captain-jebi @ajeff855 @leias-rebelion

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 💕

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #college!din #college!mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian au #pedro pascal x reader #mandocrasis fic #sessions

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caroldantops · 3 years

Note

hey! im quite new here and i have seen a lot of talk about readers interactions and i was wondering what is the best way to support my favorite writers (like you) because i think i have been doing this wrong and i really want to support writers who do this<3 ps. sorry if that was confusing, english isnt my first language

not confusing at all babes! you're 100% clear.

also can i just say, i very much appreciate you asking this. i would much rather more people speak up and be like "hey, we dont know the best way to support our favorite writers so how can we?" other than just. Not Knowing and Not Doing Anything.

so, im going to speak from my own personal experience but also what ive seen many of my mutuals/writers i follow talk about. this might get a little long but i wanna answer as thoroughly as i can because people should know!

im putting it under a read more because it got hella long, but please i encourage everyone who reads fics but don't interact to read and consider these things.

fellow writers i encourage you to reblog and add any other commentary you think is helpful!

before anything else (this is absolutely not directed at you, anon, you're perfect), i just want to get this out of the way. never come to a writer's blog and get angry with them for complaining about lack of engagement. like jesus christ. writers are putting hours of work on tumblr for you for free. the least we ask is for comments and reblogs. that's it. if you go and act shitty towards writers who ask for more engagement, yet still follow and wait for the next fic, like what are you even doing bro. just stop.

anyway. now let's get to the actual question!

basically all writers on tumblr will agree, reblogs are vital. and i feel like that gets said a lot but maybe people dont actually understand how impactful it is so lemme give an example.

so let's say hypothetically i have 100 followers. that is 100 potential people who see a fic that i post (i say potential because timezones exist so you might not see it as it's posted)

and let's say one of my followers (Person A) reblogs it, and they have 50 followers. that's 50 more people that can read the fic.

and let's say Person B followers Person A and they also reblog it to their 50 followers.

with only two people reblogging a fic, that's already doubling the number of people who have read the fic.

now imagine Person C followers Person A and reblogs the fic, and Person C has like, 1,000 followers. that's so much more exposure for the writer.

and that's only from two followers of the writer. so imagine if all 100 that read the fic reblogged it? the numbers skyrocket at an exponential rate.

plus, more people reading means that the writer could get more people follow them. so they get a more consistent audience.

likes, on the other hand, do not guarantee this exposure. i would say that most people don't have their likes public on tumblr. and also, even if they do, i know that I'm not about to scroll through people's likes rather than scrolling thru their blogs. likes up the notes, and that's about it. of course i understand liking a fic so you can come back to it later, i do that all the time. but if I've liked a fic, i always reblog it once I've read it.

now, say you're reading hardcore smut that you might not want on your main blog for whatever reason, so that's why you don't reblog a fic. look, i get it. sometimes irl people follow your blog, or sometimes you just don't want people to know what you're getting up to. but that's why i made a sideblog specifically for fics.

this entire blog BEGAN as a way for me to reblog fics i liked. and then it grew and grew and grew into all this. not saying that you have to start writing if you do that of course, but i guarantee, i'd rather see a small sideblog blog with like 3 followers reblog my fic than a blog just like the fic and leave. because that's still 3 more people who will see my fic and possibly read it and reblog it. 3 is better than none.

comments. reblogs are important, but comments are really what keep writers writing. they inspire us with new ideas, help figure out what it is that people enjoy from us, help us improve our writing, and most importantly, they make us feel good. and like writing and posting is worth it.

now, i know that sometimes it can feel awkward reblogging with a comment directly on the post. i even usually don't do that unless it's with a friend. but here are some alternatives/tips!

send an ask or DM! if you're really intimidated, sending an anonymous message is by far the easiest way to bypass that awkwardness.

write in the tags!! i cannot express this enough. comment in the tags. ramble about the fic. just put three tags worth of screaming. literally ANY comments in the tags are my favorite thing. i promise you that writers will scroll thru like basically every tag.

also, if they post it on both tumblr and ao3, don't feel weird about giving a little comment on both! i do that all the time. you can even be like 'hey i read this on tumblr first but wanted to say again how much i enjoyed it' and that is like, heart burstingly nice to hear.

also, if you're having trouble coming up with something to say, my like top commenting tip as both a writer and a reader is point out something specific that you like about the fic. when i comment on a fic (this is moreso when i comment on ao3 bc my comments are always longer there) i try to point out a particular line i like. literally if you just copy and paste it and go 'wow i really really like this line especially' that is the number one way to a writer's heart. seriously. it's the simplest thing, but it makes SUCH an impact.

however, if your comments are only asking for more fics, then that's not a comment, that's a request (which not all writers take).

saying something like 'hey i loved this fic a lot! if you have more in store for this in the future, i'd be really excited to read it!' is a million times better than 'will you do a part 2'. i know they don't sound that different, but i promise you that the tone makes a big difference.

(i honestly have more thoughts about good ways to get over commenting fear/know what exactly to comment that doesn't feel generic, so if people would like me to make another post about it i'd do it.)

and last but not least, if the writer has a way to donate, like a ko-fi, that always is so appreciated. of course, take care of yourself first, but if you have a few bucks and wanna show some support to your faves, that's a great way to help :)

oh! also, if the writer ever reblogs those little ask game things, just send them something! engagement outside of writing is also so much appreciated.

i think that's about everything i can think of! i hope this is helpful and that my explanations weren't confusing (if i need to clarify anything let me know). and again, thank you so much for asking! even doing that shows that you're a reader who cares, and that means the world ❤

#misc #writing advice #not really writing advice but like kinda in a way yknow #i didnt really mean for this to be so long #but i felt like the explanation of why reblogs are so important is important for people to understand #bc i think its easy to believe that 'oh i have a really small blog so it wont do anything'#but no! even one more person reading is better than none!#reader advice

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imkylotrash · 3 years

Note

Hi could you write one with fairy!student!reader x Silva, at the beginning of their relationship and it's Saul's birthday and reader doesn't know, what to give him and finally decides to give him something that she made with her magic, something connected to her magic that will allow them to find each other?

This is so cute and wholesome 💛

"What would you get someone for their birthday who literally had everything?” you ask Stella. She’s currently painting her nails and listening to music but you’ve dared enter the tiger’s den in search of answers.

“Are we talking about anyone specific because my birthday is eight months away,” she smirks knowing full well that you can’t tell her who it is you’re talking about. She found out about your relationship about a week ago and had sworn to keep it a secret though constantly making comments about it. However, it did mean that you had someone to discuss these things with.

“Just a hypothetical question,” you say innocently. She’s been stalking just about every single guy at school trying to find out if they’re the one you’re dating and you’re not about to tell her that she’s looking in all the wrong places.

“I suppose I’d get creative. Get them something from my heart rather than materialistic.” Once she’s finished with her hands, she starts working on her toes always wanting to look perfect. You can’t fathom how she has the energy to always look so put-together. It’s a miracle if you have time to wash your hair in the morning.

“But creative how?” you whine wanting her to tell you exactly what to do. You’re at a loss and desperate seeing as Saul’s birthday is in two days. You have no clue what to give the man who quite literally already has everything he wants.

“Hon, you’re in a school full of magic. You have magic. Figure something out.” She has a very good point. You a fairy and full of magic but you have no idea how to combine that to make a gift for Saul. Once you realise that Stella won’t be of any more help, you decide fresh air is the best option. Hopefully, it can help clear your head and maybe have some sort of epiphany.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” You spin around to find Saul standing there.

“I’ve got a free period. It seems that’s all we have so close to graduation.” You feel your cheeks burn still not used to knowing that tonight you’ll be sleeping wrapped in his arms but right now you can’t do anything.

“Those teachers are too good to you,” he smiles and you just can’t help yourself.

“I know one teacher in particular.” No one’s close enough to hear you but even if they were, it would’ve been worth it to see the shock on Saul’s face. Clearly, he’s not used to this either.

“Now you have to skedaddle. I’m in the midst of an epiphany.” You shoo him away as he laughs and that’s when it hits you; the perfect gift idea. You spend the next 48 hours figuring out how to do the magic correctly and testing it with yourself. It’s worth it when you finally can say it works to your satisfaction. And just in time too. You were supposed to meet with Saul 10 minutes ago. You grab everything and hurry to your meeting spot.

“Sorry, I’m late. I was finishing up your gift and completely lost track of time,” you ramble quickly climbing the tree. It’s an old look-out post that’s hidden in between the trees. No one uses it anymore now that the barrier is up meaning it makes for a perfect hiding place. From here you can see the sky clearly and all of the grounds but the branches keep you hidden.

“It’s fine. There’s no rush,” he laughs having already set everything up with a few candle lights and a blanket to sit on. A stack of extra blankets is in the corner in case it gets cold.

“Happy birthday,” you smile wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. It’s the first kiss of the day making it feel that much better. You can’t resist the urge to gently bite his bottom lips earning you a soft moan. Everything seems heightened when you spend the day pining after him and then finally getting to touch him now.

“Best birthday already,” he whispers when you pull apart. You decide you’re too excited to see his reaction to wait. You want to give him his present now.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it. So, close your eyes and hold out your hands for me.” He does as he’s told with a smile that quite literally takes your breath away. How does he get hotter every time you see him? Carefully, you place the stone in his hand waiting for him to open his eyes.

“A stone,” he says surprised which you don’t blame him for. It’s the kind of gift that requires a little bit of an explanation.

“It has my magic in it. I’ll always be able to feel it even if it’s hundreds of miles from me. So, when you go on the road I’ll be able to come with you in a sense,” you elaborate seeing the joy in his eyes.

“That’s amazing,” he whispers holding up the stone to expect it. There are certain perks to being a mind fairy.

“That’s not all. You can talk to me through the stone. Just hold it in your hand and think of me. It’ll transfer your thoughts to me,” you proudly explain. It took a long time to figure out how exactly to transfer part of your magic but you’re so glad you made the effort, seeing Saul’s face now.

“I love it, thank you.” He holds the stone tightly in his hand and you give him a minute feeling his emotions overwhelm him. This thing between the two of you have been a whirlwind from the get-go and the emotions feel much more intense than anything you’ve experienced before. You thought it was just because you hadn’t been in many relationships before Saul, but you knew he felt the same way.

“Now we can always find each other. No matter what,” you smile. He kisses you again but this time it’s soft and gentle. You stay in the watchtower all night cuddled up looking at the stars. At no point does Saul let go of the stone. You don’t say anything but it makes you happy that he liked it. You’d worried it might be too much but it turned out to be just right.

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

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @artsyle @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quarterback-5 @estelmei @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody

#saul silva x reader #saul silva blurb #saul silva imagine #saul silva #winx saul silva #fate the winx saga #winx saga #fate the winx club #fate winx club #winx club #fate winx #fate #fate netflix

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xxwritemeastoryxx · 3 years

Text

Welcomed Distraction

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Damon Salvatore x Reader

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: Mentions of plotting murder but nothing else?

Author’s note: Welcome to fluff week! And here is how we're gonna start the week off. With a very Anti-Valentines day fic. What other way is there to start this holiday? XD I swear this is the only anti vday fic I have for this week. It is kinda Vday centered, so it's not like ya'll are missing out. Plus I needed this scenario. And I could only picture Damon for this so, here you go!

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things

Flires covered the halls with posters for the dance this weekend. The Bitter Ball was meant for all of those that were heartbroken could get together and express how much they hated Valentine's Day. Of course those that celebrated were going to be out on their dates, spending their time with their loved ones.

Y/N wouldn’t be going out on a fancy date. Nor would she be spending her time at the Bitter Ball. It wasn’t like she had recently experienced heartbreak that would make her want to attend the dance. She was just single.

She had tried proving several times that there was nothing wrong with it. But of course her friends had tried setting her up with someone days before, but it didn’t end up working out. And Y/N actually preferred that. Why spend the money to show off how much you love someone on one specific day.

This way she could stay home for the night. It meant she could stay in her pajamas and binge watch whatever was on Netflix that caught her interest. There was no need to get dressed up for anyone and that was how she wanted it. All that was needed was an assortment of junk food and a drink of her choice.

And it was as Y/N was getting ready to plop into her bed and begin watching a serial killer documentary when there was a knock at her door. For a brief moment, she thought of just ignoring it and climbing into bed. But the other part of her believed that if it was anyone had to come find her, it must have been important and left her room to go answer the door.

Her eyebrow raised as she took in Damon Salvatore standing on the opposite side. She could see he had obviously been dressed for the Bitter Ball. The all black outfit had given that away seeing as it was a requirement for it.

“You know, when I was told everyone was heading to the Bitter Ball, I was surprised not to see you there.” Damon said as he leaned against the doorframe.

“I’m not bitter.” Y/N said as she took a step back to allow him to enter her home. “I’m single. There’s a difference.”

“I doubt everyone that’s there isn’t exactly bitter.” He said as he walked in.

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “Caroline is bitter.” She noted. “You on the other hand, I can't exactly figure out why you’d want to go to the anti-valentines day ball.”

It was his turn to chuckle. “A bitter heart tends to lead to nights of very entertaining activities.” A smirk pulled at his lips, causing her to roll her eyes. “I mostly went because I thought my partner in crime would be there to be miserable with me. But she wasn’t there and when I found her, she’s ready to veg out without so much as giving me an invite.”

Her eyebrow raised. “I never took you for wanting to stay in and just eat junk food while watching serial killer documentaries.”

“Not with just anyone.” He said with a shrug. “But with you, I’d do it.”

Y/N eyed him a moment. For as long as she had known the man standing in front of her, she had never just been content to just sit there and watch documentaries. After a few seconds she nodded her head. “100 says you’ll get bored and start complaining about some of the cases.”

Damon laughed and shook his head. “That’s a bet I’ll take and even win.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” She said with a shake of her head as she began making her way back towards her room with him in tow.

As they both had settled into Y/N’s bed, Damon had every intention of winning the bet. If it meant he could spend some time with Y/N, he was going to do so. At least that was until they got some details wrong about a case that he had personally had a part in and that seemed to irk him.

A smirk had pulled at Y/N’s lips as she watched him from the corner of her eye. She could see the way his face either scrunched up in disbelief at the facts that had been pouring out of the narrator. Or even the way he sat up straighter and crossed his arms over his chest. It was in complete contrast to how laidback and comfortable Y/N had been.

“Just admit it, you’re ready to complain.” Y/N said as she never took her eyes off the tv.

Damon shook his head. “Never. Just really getting into this amazing documentary with all the wrong facts.”

Y/N laughed and stuck out her hand towards him. “That was a complaint. And I’ll take my money now.”

“That was not a complaint.” He said shaking his head as he looked over at her. “That was merely an observation.”

“An observation, my ass.” She chuckled. “That was a complaint on how they have the wrong information.”

“One would say that’s an observation that they gave credit to a serial killer, when in fact it was a Vampire.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“What other observations do you have to voice?” She asked with a raised brow knowing she was about to win the bet.

“For one, they managed to say this guy had over 50 victims when, let’s be honest is more like 10 and was given credit for some that were not in fact his.” Damon continued on with every ‘observation’ he noticed during the first hour of what they’ve seen.

It was as Y/N rolled over on her stomach and propped her head on her fist, and a small smirk pulled at her lips that Damon realized he had gone into a full blown tangent on just how wrong the documentary had been. He had stopped mid sentence and took in her position and shook his head.

“Fine, you win.” He said with a roll of his eyes.

She began laughing away at his reaction and her laughter grew at seeing the slightest pout form on his lips. Damon was the one that usually won bets against a lot of people. But when it came to Y/N, she somehow won them. Even when her odds were against her.

The group used to say that was her supernatural ability. To be able to make bets go in her favor. But Y/N was as ordinary as they came. She wasn’t a relative of anyone special, she wasn’t descended from any kind of witch coven or royalty. She was as human as they came and she preferred that.

The moment the laughter died down, Damon watched her for a moment. “Want to talk about it?” He asked, keeping his attention on her.

His words hadn’t caught her off guard. She had been expecting them from the moment he had shown up at her door. But even then, her face fell and she looked away from him as she thought about it.

She may not have been bitter, but Y/N had gone through a bad heartbreak almost a year ago. One that left her broken in a way she’d never believed she would ever feel. That had been before she met the Salvatores and found out about the world she now lived in. While her friends had known about it, they always tried to get her back on the horse. But she never had been ready to do it.

“I don’t think I am.” She said with a shake of her head. “One day I’ll be able to talk about it without reliving it.” Even as she spoke of it now, she felt an emotion bubbling within her. “That time is just not right now.”

Damon laid back on the bed so that he was leveled with her. “You know I could always make him some serial killer’s next victim.”

Y/N chuckled and shook her head. “I think that would complete your previous offers of compelling, eating him and ripping his heart out.”

He smirked. “Just say the word, point me in the right direction and it’s done. No questions asked.”

“I’m surprised someone hasn’t done it already.” Knowing her friends, she was expecting it. Especially with the way everyone went behind each other’s backs from time to time to make sure they were safe.

“Oh, we’ve been tempted.” He said with a nod. “Okay, mostly me, but that’s because I'm impulsive and usually don’t care what other people say.”

“What stopped you this time?” She asked, curious. As Damon had said, he did things without thinking. And the fact that he had thought about doing so from time to time and not actually doing it had surprised Y/N.

“Because, believe it or not, while I’m impulsive and do things behind the backs of the people I care about, I don’t think I’d be able to handle your reaction afterwards.” He nodded his head. “I can handle everyone else being angry with me, or even hating me for a period of time, but I don’t think I could handle it coming from you.”

Y/n nodded her head as she took in his words. “I don’t think I could hate you, Damon. You could go out there and kill him tonight without me knowing and I still wouldn’t hate you for it. I’d probably thank you in the morning once I found out.”

“Well,” He said with a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone be okay with murder.”

She chuckled as she pointed towards the still playing documentary. “It would be interesting to see what details they’d get wrong when you’re the culprit.”

While she may have been only slightly joking, the whole conversation had distracted her from the hurt that she had been secretly hiding from the others. Planning out a revenge with a vampire was the last thing she had been expecting to do tonight. But the way it happened showed she was getting better.

Because creating a hypothetical murder scene with a vampire is just the next step of the healing process.

Always and Forever Tags:

@taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @mschellehitt @xanderling @fandom-princess-forevermore @buckysarm4 @hi-my-name-is-riley @helenasingers @mrs-jackson-kenner @hellotvshowtrash @dpaccione @dumble-daddy @theactressstaringinyourbaddream @maldita-world @nikmikaelsonswife @mikaelson-emma @elijahs-wife @moon-child-writer @xoxo-nikki-xoxo @njeancastro316

#the originals #the vampire diaries #damon salvatore #damon salvatore fanfiction #damon Salvatore x reader #reader insert #fluff week #Damon Salvatore fics #Damon Salvatore one shot #is this even fluff?#Y'all I'm gonna admit that im having trouble writing this week #Dom does fluff #we'll see how the day goes

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vocalyunho · 4 years

Text

Strawberry Kisses

pairing — Yunho x reader (fem, referred to as ‘she’)

genre — fluff, smut

word count — 3k

warnings + tags — third person narrative mode, this fic portraits a hypothetical reader, all characteristics & traits are used incidentally, Yunho’s hella whipped and soft for reader + Yunho with butterfly hair clips, finger sucking, inexperienced reader, handjob, fingering, clit play.

synopsis — Yunho will never forget the first time he heard her needy voice, the one that proved everything she wanted without having to say a word.

Yunho thought she was a work of art, one he couldn’t take his eyes off of. Regardless of how many times he had told her, she could never control the pink blush that creeped up her cheeks every single time. He wanted her to accept it, he wanted her to know he meant it, but she never did. She belittled herself and Yunho hated it.

Every little flaw and every (in)significant trait of hers was precious to Yunho. They were the reasons why he fell for her in the first place. Later, though, he found more of them and now he can even make a list, preferably on papyrus, -for dramatic reasons- like those you see on cartoons. He already knew she’d make fun of him for even thinking that, but he knew exactly what he’d put on that list, one by one...

Her lips were always plump and cherry colored, though if he kissed her, she tasted like strawberry and Yunho could never get enough of it. The way she’d nibble on her bottom lip after they kissed, like they shouldn’t have, made his head spin uncontrollably. Even the wrinkle of her nose whenever she laughed had his heartbeat increasing in a matter of seconds. But what he admired most was the hope and the million little galaxies that danced in her eyes every time she looked at him. Yunho could easily get lost in them and he had noticed that he had, a couple of times before. The galaxies only disappeared the times she was upset. Then, the disappointment or anger were all he saw in her in the form of a soft gaze. Her cheeks would turn red and her eyebrows would either furrow or raise, each time forming little wrinkles on her forehead that Yunho wanted to caress. Her lips would pout and, maybe, tremble if she couldn’t control her emotions, but these were, always, only temporary.

When she talked, her hands would fly everywhere, gesturing, showing, bringing the conversation into life as if what she talked about was the most majestic thing someone would hear. Yunho cherished her for that because she made him love the little things. She talked about them like they were the most important thing ever and the way her eyes widened and her body tensed, proved it.

When she walked, sometimes it seemed like she did it hesitantly, not really wanting to go anywhere, as if someone had forced her to go. Other times, she jumped around while walking, little legs moving fast, backpack bouncing up and down on her back and phone struggling to stay in the little pocket of her pants. However, Yunho always managed to keep up with her and her pace.

As for her fashion, it wasn’t stable. Though, she did have a fair amount of mom jeans she wore on a daily basis if the occasions let her. Yunho didn’t know they were called ‘mom jeans’. In, fact, he didn’t know jeans had names. When she first told him about ‘mom jeans’, ‘boyfriend jeans’, ‘bootcut jeans’, he felt like his entire life was a lie. So many different types and he had no idea! After he got a hold of her taste in fashion, he started noticing other small details about it on her. She liked tucking her shirt inside her pants, she loved colored cardigans and oversized sweaters and he couldn’t help but notice the way she rolled up the bottom of her jeans. Her ankles and socks were on full display most of the time, and even if she had told him this was just a fashion statement, he knew this was her way of letting the world know of her bisexuality.

Necklaces were her favorite accessories. She had hundreds of them and Yunho didn’t complain because he found them hot. He always had a thing for necks and especially hers, so seeing her decorating it with pretty necklaces did something to him and his newly discovered kink. The rings were her second favourite accessory, Yunho had found out. Just like her neck, her fingers were always decorated too and, sometimes, she’d even lend some of her dearest rings to Yunho. Not the one her grandma had gifted her, though. This one was always on her index finger and no matter what, it never left its spot.

Her voice was soft and when she talked it was like honey was dripping from her lips right into Yunho’s ears. He’d figured out it was the timbre that made it so special, not the tone neither the words she used. When she talked about her day, Yunho would zone out sometimes not because of boredom but because he gave more attention to the vibrations of her voice and its rhythm, unintentionally. He loved listening how it changed depending on how she felt, one moment she was happy and it echoed like a melody, the next minute she was disappointed and it came out in whines through pouted lips, but he never found it annoying. However, she had a terrible singing voice and even if she knew it, she liked singing her heart out in karaoke’s or during showers, making Yunho make fun of her afterwards, which always led to giggles from them both and occasional make-out sessions on the couch of her small living room.

You can tell, he loved the variety of emotions she showed only through her voice, but his favorite one was her desperate voice, the one that proved need and the one only he had ever heard. He’ll never forget the first time he heard it. It was a night they had decided to stay in and watch movies instead of going out in the coldness of winter. They were cuddling, after having watched Harry Potter and the philosopher’s stone. The ending titles were lowly playing in the background as they talked about the books and how she loved them but Yunho hated, because he found them boring. She was a pouting mess from the disappointment that her boyfriend didn’t like the books she’s been reading since she was young but Yunho couldn’t stop staring at her lips, not giving a damn about the books and the movies.

“how can you prefer the prepared world of the movies, instead of the one you can create by yourself while reading the books?”

Her eyes glistened and the pouting revealed a dimple on her chin, Yunho had never seen before.

“the prepared world entertains me more”

He shrugged with heavy eyes, and moved his hand up to take her chin between his fingers. His thumb brushed the dimple, pressing on the small dent before resting on it. She didn’t respond to his previous answer, instead she remained silent and after a while Yunho travelled his thumb up to her lips which stayed closed. Her eyes were on his, totally leaving their previous conversation in the past, and as he pressed his thumb on her glossed lip she let it fall open slowly.

Yunho didn’t think much of it and after playfully pulling her bottom lip with his thumb, he pushed the digit inside her mouth. She whimpered and her eyes fluttered but before Yunho could pull it out, afraid that he shouldn’t have done something like this, she wrapped her lips around it. Her tongue brushed hesitantly the underside of it, her nostrils expanding to exhale through her nose in an attempt not to let his finger leave her mouth and Yunho only stayed there, watching her closely. His lips opened agape loosely, the feeling was new both to Yunho and her but they loved it.

He felt himself starting to lose control of his body. His bulge had already started creating a tent on his grey sweatpants and he could do nothing to stop it. She moved her head backwards to take his thumb out of her mouth only to lick the tip and press it in again. Yunho groaned at the sight, momentarily picturing his cock replacing the finger between her lips and as she kept bobbing her head, ever so slowly, soft moans vibrated his thumb.

She was sitting on his lap with her back against the couch and Yunho’s back against the sofa arm, their bodies creating a cross and, at a sudden moment, he felt her pressing her legs together. Everything was so new. His free hand rested on her exposed thigh, but no one’s eyes left each other’s. She was in her underwear, with only a yellow t-shirt -that was his- covering most of her body. It wasn’t weird, she’s usually dressed like this when they stay in. His fingers trailed the flabby skin on the inner side of her thigh until he stopped it right under her panties and when he squeezed it, she flinched with a louder moan getting trapped inside her closed mouth.

“fuck”

She left his thumb with a pop and the pouty lips were back, tempting him to sin.

“I…don’t know what that was, I’m sorry”, he had told her but he knew exactly what that was, both of them knew.

“Yunho, I need you”

Her voice was small, similar to the one she used when she whispered into his ear during class, but not similar to the context. Her eyes became puppy-like and as he was about to think this was the cutest state he’s ever seen her in, her hand moved to rest on top of the small tent on his crotch. Yunho’s breath hitched, her palm was on top of him, slowly closing her fist and taking him in her hand as she did. He needed her so bad, too.

She noticed the sudden difference in his body language “is this okay?” she asked hesitantly, ready to stop her action, if needed.

“y-yes please keep doing t-that”

She wasn’t very experienced, neither was he, but it was like her hand was moving magically on him. She mentally decided that his sweats were too much of an obstacle, so her hand went slowly under it and under his underwear too before grabbing him with her entire palm. A worried lip got trapped between her teeth because she had no idea of what to do next, but the friction she offered, felt like heaven to Yunho.

In a moment, he giggled and she looked at him worriedly, a pink blush already creeping up her cheeks. Yunho pecked her lips and gave a caress on her thigh to reassure that he loved all of it but he never told her what he giggled for. He never told her that he found it too cute that her hand was too small to wrap around his length completely. She seemed to forget fast about it though as he groaned close to her lips and, at that, she gave him a squeeze that made him jolt. His pre cum had already spread through her movements, giving her the chance to go faster and she did. Only a tad bit, though, because she wanted him to feel it all. Her thumb stopped on his slit after a few strokes and Yunho moaned loudly, feeling his body getting weaker. His head fell back as she massaged it and the rough texture of her digit against the little opening had curses slipping out his mouth in whispers. The moment she pressed particularly hard on the tip, he brought his head back up so fast that his hair fell on his face.

Now it was her turn to giggle, her confidence boosting, and before he could push the loose strands back, her free hand grabbed one of the butterfly clips on her hair and placed it on Yunho’s. With a small clicking sound, it stayed there, the bright blue color of its wings contrasting the pink of his hair. It felt surreal. One of her hands did something so innocent while the other sinned.

Yunho felt his heart skipping a beat. It was going too fast, anyways, but seeing her being thoughtful even in this case, sent the butterfly from his hair right into his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to pin her down and make her see stars right that instant, but instead she was the one who was leading him to that.

Yunho grunted loudly. She changed her movements into quicker and shorter ones, pumping only the middle part of him and making the lewd sounds echo louder. Her short nails got barely dragged over the sensitive skin of his cock and Yunho hissed, letting his face take an unreadable expression.

“do you-do you like that?”

“baby girl y-yes, keep doing that”

Shock waves were sending electricity throughout his body, his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down with force and the slight sweat that glistened on the side of his neck proved he was close.

A weird feeling travelled all the way from where her hand was pumping him to his ears, turning them the same hue of red, his tip had. He felt like his entire body was burning, a burn that had his mind spinning and his legs trembling. He knew exactly what that was and how close to release she had brought him, but he didn’t want it to end like that.

He tried his best not to give into it and with a move slower than her strokes, he rested his hand on top of hers and her gaze met his “I’m sorry baby b-but...” he inhaled sharply “...I’d much rather come inside you than on your hhand”. Her eyes widened and her little shenanigans stopped but Yunho got the chance to calm his breath and move the hand that was on her thigh, upwards, closer to where she needed him the most.

“Yunho-”, she gasped. Her legs closed, trapping Yunho’s hand in between them and her own hand that was on his member found his wrist. He pressed a finger against her panties, making her tighten her hold and bite her lip. Yunho had noticed from moments ago the little circle stain of wetness that had formed on her underwear. He knew he was the reason behind it but he also wanted to be the reason behind her relief. Just some inches above the stain, he found the magic bud and pressed on it, receiving a low moan from her. Her head fell against the couch and her hand, even though on his wrist that was between her legs, didn’t stop him. Yunho circled the bundle of nerves, feeling it swollen against his thumb as her moans became more frequent, and progressively more loud “does that feel good?”

She didn’t dare to open her eyes or bring her head up “y-yes”

He chuckled but his concentration was on how her expressions changed in a matter of seconds. Just before, she was giggling, leading him to his climax, yet now she had given into him and his touch and Yunho couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this is how she’ll look when he’s inside her. He was still hard, but tried his best not to touch himself. His middle finger pushed the fabric of her panties to the side slowly, and before giving her a warning he pushed the digit in.

“ohmygod Yunho-”, she cried out and her legs fell open. Yunho brought her head up by the nape until their faces were inches away from each other’s, their brows were furrowed, their noses were already touching and Yunho could feel her heavy breath against his lips. Only when he kissed her, did he realize how dry her lips were. It was the first time they felt like this, like all the moisture had left them, though the strawberry taste was still planted on them.

“I’m gonna c-cum”, her eyelashes fluttered close and her voice was barely a whisper.

“will you do it for me?”

“y-yes”, he twitched.

Her hips started moving against his fingers, the friction becoming more intense and the wetness increasing. Yunho was sure that if he detached his hand from her heat, he’d see a string of her soft silk connecting them, but he didn’t stop. He needed to see her falling off the edge for him, because of him. She convulsed and he felt it, but Yunho added his index finger in her warm hole too. Moans filled his open mouth and high pitched cries he couldn’t get enough of, as he pumped them slowly. The whole place was spinning for her, Yunho being the center of her attention, and the only colours she could tell apart were the ones of his hair and the butterfly clip’s. Her upper body was trembling too, now, and Yunho wrapped his free hand around her waist to keep her steady, but she cried out louder “pplease don’t stop-”

“come for me honeybun”

They hadn’t realized how their foreheads never left each other’s, nor how the entire couch was shaking. The pumping of his fingers quickened and so did the circles on her clit. Her eyebrows were furrowing and unfurrowing on their own and the squelchy sound of her wetness getting fucked into her, echoed in the almost silent living room.

Electricity travelled throughout her, when her high reached her and her body stopped functioning almost completely except for the sudden flickering of her muscles. Her jaw went completely slack and her notes were as high pitched as before, only now the waves of her voice were trembling too. The hold on Yunho’s wrist tightened sensibly and as she came, he pulled his fingers out of her seeing the thick, white liquid glisten on them.

Her moans were weak but full of need and her chest was rising and falling fast, until her body stopped jerking and she moved her hand from Yunho’s wrist to his palm to intertwine their fingers. Her release got spread between their hands but she didn’t mind it and bit on her lip in an attempt to stop her sounds, before resting her forehead against his again “Yunho-”

“take me, right here...pplease”

#ateez smut #ateez fluff #yunho smut #yunho fluff #jeong yunho smut #ateez yunho smut #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #kpop fics #bias tag: ♔

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harrypotter-imaginess · 3 years

Text

A/N: I just want to say, for my OG readers that have been reading this since I first posted the headcanon list last year, I love and appreciate y’all so much!! If you want, since this is a long term project, I can add you to the tag list if you like :)

Also Letter commission’s are open until 3/10, so if your interested, price and info are here.

Based on this Headcanon list (x) : Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! <This is Part 4!>

You sigh, eyes glancing back at your watch.

Maybe it’s off?

You wouldn’t put it past Fred to screw up the time on your watch just so you would show up an hour early to your class, wondering if it was always this dark at eight in the morning.

But if Fred did mess with your watch, how does that explain everyone else? You turn to your right and look at a group of third and fourth years scattered around the room. Surely he couldn’t have changed the time in everyone’s watch.

Though at this point you know better than to assume anything is impossible for Fred Weasley, especially if he’s able to get George on board with his pranks.

You sigh, eyes sweeping over the room again. The chatting has long died down, now it looks like all those late nights in the common room playing exploding snap are finally beginning catching up.

Especially when the class was missing the particularly loud and somewhat entertaining antics of the one and only, Gilderoy Lockhart. It wasn’t that it was particularly fun to watch his nonsensical lessons or anything- but at least it was something to watch. And as long as you were barley competent, you could get by just fine on the “pop quizzes” he had. Though they were really more like magazine quizzes about how well you knew him.

Plus he was pretty good looking, though you would rather die than admit that to Fred or George.

Speaking of your favorite pair of doppelgängers-

You turn to look at your side, the two chair next to you on the long bench are vacant. Well, it’s not like it’s totally unusual for them to skip class. You can count on one hand how many times they’ve been excited to come to defense against the dark arts this year. But-

But... they usually invite you when they do decide to play hooky.

Maybe they didn’t invite you because you’re always persuading them to come to class instead. ‘You don’t want a howler from your Mum now do you?’ You would say, pushing them towards the class.

Maybe they just don’t think you’re fun to be around anymore. No, no, they’re your friends- you can’t start thinking like that, there must be a good reason why-

“Hey (Y/N/N)” George squeezes past you, plopping into the chair next to you with a soft rattle.

His hair’s sticking every which way, his robe is crooked, and his tie isn’t even tied, just hanging limply along his neck.

“You don’t even have your bag George” you hiss, did he finally get into a fist fight with Draco Malfoy? You’ve told them both not to think too hard about how he called you-

“Wait where’s Fred?” You look to the door, expecting to see a messy head of fire red hair walk through the door, sporting bruises and maybe a grin like his black eye is a gold medal.

But instead, there’s a familiar head of golden hair standing in the doorway. It’s Gilderoy Lockhart. There’s no doubt about it, the image of him is perfect. Of course it’s your professor.

Of course it is.

But there’s something about the way he carries himself? Like he’s still getting used to having legs so short. The way his smile seems a little more...mischievous than usual, that twinkle of absolute delight in those strangely familiar eyes.

“Oh no” you mumble, but George grins from beside you.

“I’m not going to be needing my bag, and neither are you” George whispers in your ear, and you turn to look at him.

They didn’t.

“Good afternoon class, sorry I’m late! I was admiring myself in one of my thirty mirrors and the time just...got away from me.” ‘Professor Lockhart’ says flashing his class the most condescending smile you have ever seen.

“That’s not a lie you know, we did find him admiring himself in the mirror” George whispers, your face is in your hands but you don’t need to look at him to know he’s got a pleased grin on his face.

“It’s why it was so easy to knock him out and shove him into the teachers lounge- he never even saw it coming”

Well at least they didn’t shove him into a broom closet.

“Now class, I would like you to write a list of things you love about me-“ there’s a collective groan and the rustle of parchment but neither you and George don’t move a muscle.

“Four feet at least!” Fred, in his Lockhart-skin-suit bellows, which earns another collective groan from the rest of the class.

“So what, did you draw the short stick, why aren’t you up there?” You ask jerking your head towards Fred, it looks like the more fun part of the prank honestly. It also seems like the sweetest m form of revenge after old Gildy gave you three detention last week for showing up late to class, but you won’t mention that.

George only shrugs.

Honestly ninety percent of this situation was Fred’s poor impulse control. One second they were running late to class, and George was worrying about getting detention because if he has to scrub all those awards for Filch again he won’t be able to hold a quil - and the next thing he knows he’s carrying Lockhart by his feet into the teachers lounge.

“He’s the showman, I’m just the side kick.” George shrugs, it’s been that way since they were kids. Fred would come up with an idea and George would follow his lead.

Not that he’s upset about it. It’s always interesting, he’s hasn’t been bored in years. Still, he can’t help but wonder if they didn’t share the same face, would he and Fred be as close as they are now?

Or would he be just as easily replaced, most likely by Lee Jordan. Well Ron might make a more susceptible accomplice, would anyone do-

“And where would our fearless leader be without his trustworthy sidekicks?” You say, a hint of a smile twitching at the corner of your lips. Your voice drawing George out of his thoughts.

“Probably in detention” You muse, that or jail, because technically they assaulted their professor, and that’s got to be a serious offense.

George laughs next to you, well you’ve got a point. If it wasn’t for you and him, you three would have been expelled long ago. He’s about to lean over and whisper something in your ear when some interrupts him mid motion.

“Weasley and (L/N), less flirting and more quil movement, yes?” He really sounds like Fred right there, a hint of an accent peaking through. Not that anyone other than you and George seem to notice. They’re all too busy contemplating how embarrassing it must be to get called out for not paying attention by Gilderoy Lockhart of all people.

You manage to not roll your eyes, sifting through your bag until you pull out some parchment.

“Geez four feet? That’s kind of excessive” you mumble while George is holding back laughter so violent he’s actually shaking.

“You know he’s just teasin’ right? It’s not like Lockhart’s actually going to grade these-“ and then a horrible realization dawns on him.

Half of the reason they thought this plan would work is because someone as pompous as Gilderoy Lockhart would never admit that two teenage boys hit him over the head with one of his books, and shoved him on a sofa (after tying his shoe laces together).

No, good old Gildy would go along like nothing had even happened, perhaps he’d even believe that nothing had really happened. Not enough sleep and too much caffeine do result in memory loss. And who can sleep with ‘the heir of Slytherin’ on the loose?

Ordering-sorry, assigning them to write four feet worth of parchment about what they admire about their professor sounds exactly like something he would do.

“Fucking Fred.” George hisses, why did he bloody have to pick four feet? Wouldn’t just one foot have sufficed? But no, the great Fred could never- ‘it adds enthusiasm, it’s all about the drama’ he would say.

Well where’s your god damn drama now that your best friend and brother are about to fail this god forksaken class, all because you couldn’t say one foot instead of f*cking four, George wants to scream.

You sigh, cutting your parchment in half, handing one half to George. You’ve only got four feet on you, you didn’t think you would need any more than that, so the both of you are just going to have to turn in two feet each.

“Sure would be a shame if Fred came back to the dorm and found, oh I don’t know, fifty spiders in his bed” you muse as you pull out two quills, and a bottle of ink. You’ve only got the one bottle, you’ll have to share.

But George isn’t paying any mind to the ink and parchment situation, instead he’s grinning at your suggestion. He always knew you had a wicked streak.

“Yeah it would be a real shame if say, two people were to go down to Hagrid’s hut, collect some drool from Fang, and smear it all over Fred’s robes” You peer at George from the corner of your eye, trying to hide your smile behind your hand.

“Oh well now wouldn’t that just be awful, hypothetically of course” You say, looking down to your parchment

“Truly a tragedy” He responds with a grin.

#harry potter imagine #harry potter #fred and goerge weasley #Fred and George Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #Fred Weasley x reader #george weasley headcanon #george and fred weasley #george weasley x reader

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maddiewritesstucky · 3 years

Text

IT’S SOMEONE’S BIRTHDAY!! 😆💕🎉

How do I possibly sum up how loved you are, how special you are, how deeply appreciated and important you are @howdoyousleep3?!

I thought long and hard about what I could give you, what I could do for you from such a great distance, and I could think of no greater show of love than to take the very two things I said I would never do, and use them both to create something extra special smutty for you 💜

😘 So K, angel, light of my life...I give to you the most esoteric thing I will ever write, my first (and likely only) reader insert, definitely my only RPF, I give you...

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: female reader x douchebag CEvans character we coined ‘Jersey Boy’

Tags: Public sex, fingering, mild degradation / humiliation, dirty talk, hypothetical girl-on-girl, gratuitous use of the word ‘fuck’, not a condom in sight

Based on a dangerously horny WhatsApp conversation that will live rent free in the spank bank for the rest of eternity. Beta credits to @buckyandthejets - thank you for holding my hand on this one 😂

***

“Your eyes better be open,” he rumbles, tequila-slick lips hard up against your ear.

You’d laugh if you had the breath to do it, if you weren’t strung bow-taut trying to stay off the bouncer’s radar. He’s kicked the two of you out before, more times than you’d admit to, and he’ll do it again if you give him reason enough.

You’re not going to give him a reason, tonight.

You’re gonna sit there, tucked away in your favorite corner booth with your mouth shut and your eyes on the stage; perched in your boyfriend’s lap with your back against his chest and his hand stuffed between your thighs, and you’re not gonna make a fucking scene about the fact that he’s knuckle deep in your pussy.

“She’s good, tonight,” he sighs, all false nonchalance like he doesn’t know how that particular set of curves up on the pole always makes your blood run a little hotter.

‘Roxi’ she goes by on stage, but you can call me whatever the hell you want, when she’s in your lap with her tits in your face.

“She’s always good.”

You stare, transfixed, at the sensuous shift of her body; that sinful rhythm that rolls through her limbs and makes every movement seem like something you should have no right to see.

He hums a noncommittal sound behind you, stroking languid at that spot inside that’d get you in trouble if he went any harder with it. That’s why you know he won’t - he’s not about to risk getting kicked out when it’s so much sweeter to send you spiraling like this, subtle and silent.

“You should learn to dance for me,” his breath falls warm over your shoulder, his lips nestled into the crook of your neck, “put on a show, get me all worked up…”

“You don’t need any fuckin’ help getting worked up.”

The sharp flick he deals to the peaked bud of your nipple makes your breath hitch, even through the barrier of your shirt.

His hand is working slow and lazy between your thighs, but you know his body is winding tighter for this, too. It’s there in the vague shudder at the top of his inhales, the twitch of his cock inside his jeans.

“Bet she could teach you some moves,” he hums, squeezing at your hip and your waist; tracing the curve of your rib cage.

She could teach me a lot of things, you think, swallowing hard for the endless stretch of her legs and the curve of her ass.

You lift your eyes to her face and she’s looking right at you, her gaze flickering familiarity before it drops to the hand buried under your skirt. She smirks so goddamn knowing, and it’s your saving grace that the lighting is already washing your skin in shades of red.

“Aw, look at that,” that voice at your back coos, “is the pretty stripper smilin’ at you?”

“Shut up.”

It comes out breathy and insipid, and you feel more than hear the soft, mocking laugh that rumbles through his chest.

He tucks his chin over your shoulder, presses his smirk right against your cheek as his hand snakes up under your shirt.

“What’s the matter, baby? Don’t you wanna be her friend? I bet you girls would get on real well…”

Your skin flushes hot under his lips, under the maddeningly chaste kisses he’s leaving there like he’s not fingerfucking you in public.

“That’d be nice, huh? The two of you, gettin’ close...maybe she’d let you touch that body you can’t stop staring at.”

“Jesus...”

He’s kneading slow and hard at your tits, drawing mindless circles around your nipples and flexing his thighs beneath you, just enough to keep you a little off balance.

You can almost taste blood for how deep your teeth are sunk into your bottom lip.

“You think about it, don’t you?” he whispers, “You wonder what it’d be like, getting your hands on those curves, maybe getting your lips on hers...That what you want, baby? You wanna give her a little kiss?”

...Fuck, but you hate how he does this.

You do wanna kiss her.

You wanna get on your knees and swap spit with her around the dick currently pressed up against your ass, but you’re not about to tell him that.

“Maybe...”

“‘Maybe’?” He slips his fingers out of you just to push them back in slower, shallow this time because he’s an asshole. “‘Maybe’ don’t drip like this, sweetheart.”

“Fuck,” you press back against his chest; tip your head back against his shoulder as you suck a shuddering breath in.

“Yeah, I know this ain’t for me,” he draws his fingertips up through the warm, wet center of you; sweeping figure-8 strokes that kiss your clit and dip shallow inside you. “Maybe I should call her over here, tell her she went and got my girl’s pussy all wet...maybe she’d help you out with it.”

You almost crack, then; barely catching the hoarse cry that’s shocked out of you as he smacks those soaked, taunting fingers down in a tight swat against your pussy.

Your whole body lights up for it, your cheeks flooding hot and your pulse throbbing to rival the bass from the speakers.

“Jesus, you can’t just—”

“I can’t what?” His other hand slips up to curl around the front of your throat, gripping you tight under the line of your jaw. “What can’t I do with this pussy, huh?”

God, your body’s screaming.

There’s nothing he couldn’t do, nothing you wouldn’t want, and you both know it. Fuck, does he know it...

You cuss under your breath, splitting your thighs wider over the spread of his lap, and he huffs a laugh that catches in your hair.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Fuck you.”

You roll your hips forward against that broad palm cupped between your legs and the grip on your neck tightens; his face tucking in close against yours as he growls right up against your cheekbone.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so hard beneath you, nudging his hips up to rub the denim-clad line of his cock against your ass; toying with your clit and pulsing his fingers inside you.

The cigarette he had before you came out tonight is still clinging to him, making the amber notes in his cologne sing sweeter, and every time you squirm you can feel the chain around his neck rubbing cool against the back of your shoulder.

“You gonna fuck me?”

You already know the answer, just like you know you might not even make it home before he’s getting it in you. You might not make it to his car, and you’re nowhere near as ashamed as you should be that it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked you in the alley behind the club.

...It might be the first time for something else though, you realize, as he squeezes your hip and tells you to lift up.

“Here?” you hiss, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Your eyes frantically sweep the room, your entire body flooding hot as he pulls his hand from between your legs and slips it under you to get at his zipper.

“What, you wanna wait ‘til we get home?” he scoffs like the notion is ridiculous. “You want some fuckin’ rose petals, some jazz playin’? Should we do it missionary?!”

“God, you’re an asshole.”

You try to put some venom in it, but it’s lost to the fact that you’re pulling your panties to the side; trapping a gasp behind your teeth as the blunt head of him nudges up against you.

“And you’re about to get fucked in a strip club,” he hums, “so what does that make you?”

Another place, another time, and you might bite back. You might get up and walk away entirely, just to hear him hit you with that ‘aww come on, baby, don’t be like that!’

But right now you’re here, and his hands are on your hips and his cock is pushing into you bare, and you know exactly what this makes you.

Your fingers dig an iron grip into his thighs as you sink down on the length of him, grinding against the heavy stretch of him inside you. It takes your breath away every goddamn time, makes you spread your legs wider like it’ll make a lick of difference to the way he fills you up; immense and overwhelming and so fucking good.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, circling your hips as you settle your whole weight down onto him, “oh my god.”

“Hey, you take this quiet,” he chides, his arm wrapping tight around your waist. “You start makin’ a scene, I’m gonna pull out.”

Fuck, if he pulls out you’re gonna put him in his grave.

There’s no move you can make here that doesn’t send you reeling, no shift of your body or swivel of your hips that doesn’t wind you further up the spiral; not with the way he takes up every last inch of space inside you and then some.

His voice is a constant rumbling bass in your ear, and it doesn’t fucking help, those coos of that’s it, baby, and find the spot, and make it feel good.

It doesn’t help when he starts rocking up into you in tiny pulses, when he uses his grip on your hips to angle you just perfect so his cock strokes you right fucking there.

It definitely doesn’t help when his fingertips find their way back between your thighs to drum a soft staccato against your clit.

“Gonna come?” He curls his body closer around you as you start to shake; as your breath leaves you on a reedy exhale.

You can only nod, screwing your eyes shut and sinking into that building surge of heat. You are gonna come, right here in this room full of people. And he’s never gonna fucking let you forget it.

“Open,” he commands, low and rough.

You’re about to open your eyes, but then his fingers are pressing at your lips, and you’re swallowing a soft groan as he stuffs them into your mouth.

“Not a fuckin’ sound, you hear me?”

You barely have time to nod before he’s jacking his hips up into you faster, rubbing tight circles around your clit to send you careening over the edge.

You can’t moan, so you suck. Your eyes water, and your thighs twitch, and you shake apart right there in his lap, in front of god and everyone.

Silently.

Like the good girl you are.

“Jesus,” he buries his face in the crook of your neck, gasping a weak strangled sound as your body clenches around him.

His muscles are drawing taut, his thighs and his stomach tensing. He’s breathing shaky and shallow, and you want him to break; want him to lose it so you can call him a slut later and goad him into giving it to you all over again.

So you let yourself go boneless in his lap. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and you make damn sure he hears it when you choke out “do it, Daddy,” around the gag of his fingers.

And he does. He comes inside you with his teeth sunk into the flesh of your shoulder and his hand white-knuckling a grip on your thigh.

It’s objectively disgusting, the half-hour drive home you’re gonna be facing with his come dripping out of you. But you’d put good money on him pulling you into the backseat and licking you clean before you even start the car, so you can’t bring yourself to give a shit.

“Christ,” he shakes his head softly, slipping his fingers from your mouth and wiping them on your skirt. “Can’t fuckin’ take you anywhere.”

“You could take me home.”

There’s too many clothes on you, too many eyes and ears around you for the way your skin’s buzzing; the way you’ve barely scratched the surface of that rippling need inside you.

He hums at your back, pulling out of you slow and tugging your ruined panties back into place. “Just you? Or you wanna invite your friend?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and you know he’s fucking with you when he cocks his head toward the stage. But you chance a look up there and she winks right at you, and it’s not the worst idea he’s ever had.

“Two girls at once, huh?” You arch a brow at him, incredulous. “You think you got the stamina for that?”

He holds your stare as he downs the rest of his drink, sweeps his tongue out over his slick bottom lip.

“Well her shift ends in ten minutes,” he rumbles, “...why don’t we find out?”

***

And there you have it, the beginning and end of my het-writing career. Goodnight and good luck everyone, and the happiest of birthdays to you my beautiful soul sister 😘

#i love her a normal amount #my soul sister #if this doesn’t show my affection #I don’t know what will

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buckyskorpion · 4 years

Text

11 hours - part five

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: alright things escalated VERY QUICKLY but shit had to go down sometime. i hope you enjoy! and sorry for the delay, i really been goin thru it recently. this part is 7k to make up for it lmao i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask.

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist | my ko-fi

masterlist

It’s a big day. You had held Bucky’s hand as you stood in the doorway to his apartment, playing with his rings so you didn’t have to meet his eyes. You were nervous, not because you didn’t trust Bucky but because with every secret spilled you felt like a layer of your skin was being peeled away. But you’d held his hand and told him to pick you up tonight from your office. You handed him your business card, a physical embodiment of trust you hadn’t given to anyone else. It wasn’t your apartment address, sure, but it was something and Bucky held the card with the biggest, boyish grin on his face that melted your heart.

The real reason you’re so nervous is because if whoever followed you from Bucky’s apartment is following Bucky, then they’ll follow him right to your office door. You’d had a long talk to yourself in the bathroom mirror the other night, however, and decided you weren’t going to let a hypothetical stalker ruin yet another relationship for you. Not that stalkers are common in your life, but using any excuse to distance yourself and cut people out is most definitely your regular MO. Not this time.

That being said, stalkers aren’t common in your life so you are, understandably, fixated by it. You are sure it has something to do with Bucky because you don’t believe in coincidences and the guy literally followed you from Bucky’s apartment. The big question is, was the stalker after Bucky or were they after you? Since you have next to nothing to go on, you aren’t exactly on your way to answering that one yet. But you’ll get there, eventually, and you’ve got some ideas.

In the meantime, you wait for Bucky and attempt to tidy your organised mess. He’s meant to show up at seven on his bike, but seven is going on eight and he’s yet to show. You try not to picture the worst or convince yourself you’re being stood up, even though that’s what it feels like. The one time you give out personal details and he doesn’t show. That would be your luck. You kick a filing drawer closed a bit too harshly, the metal clanging loud in your deafeningly silent office. Whatever. It’s not like anyone is left in the building to judge you because Bucky is over an hour late and every other office in the place is long empty.

You water your desperately dry indoor plants, even the one on top of your bookshelf - a testament to how hard you’re trying to distract yourself from the imminent heartbreak. You stand on tiptoes on your swivel chair to reach the crispy fern, something your dad would yell at you for if he could see you, but he can’t so you just pray the wheels don’t slip out from under you. It’s a very precarious precision for you to be in when someone bangs your office door open and stumbles inside, that’s for sure. You nearly break your entire body falling from the chair, but catch yourself on the bookcase before any real damage can be done.

The invader slams the door shut behind them, making you flinch once again as you spin around to face your would-be attacker. Only it's not someone breaking and entering - it’s Bucky, panting heavily and bleeding from his temple while he turns slowly on his heel and assesses every corner of your tiny office for threats.

“Bucky?” you call out, hesitant to approach and startle him incase it’s not your office that he’s seeing. His dog tags hang out the neck of his t-shirt when they’re usually always carefully tucked under the fabric, and you notice now he’s not just bleeding from his head but somewhere under that shirt as well. He looks over at your voice and it takes a second for him to focus properly on you, shoulders visibly slumping, closing the space in three quick strides.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, pulling you bodily into a crushing hug. You wrap your arms around his waist, carefully holding him in case he’s got even more injuries you can’t see, but he squeezes you so tight you find it hard to breathe. He has one arm around your shoulders, that hand tangled in your hair and he presses your head into his shoulder. You feel him nose into the hair at the crown of your head, breathe in deep, let it out in shudders.

“You’re hurt,” you say into his t-shirt, and he shakes his head while still pressing his face into your scalp.

“M’fine, s’just blood,” he mumbles, barely coherent, so you let it go for the moment. You let him hold you and you hug him back, splaying your palms flat against his back and pressing him impossibly closer to you.

Eventually, you peel yourself from him in order to give him a once over. He smiles down at you like he’s amused, but you hardly find the situation funny when Bucky’s blood is literally all over you, now. You take his hand and make him sit on your swivel chair, spinning uselessly in the middle of the room from where it slid out from under you and rolled away. There’s a first aid kit in a box near the window, because you can never be too careful, and you take to soaking gauze in alcohol solution instead of speaking. You don’t trust what would come out of your mouth right now, anyway.

Luckily, Bucky fills the silence for you. He bites his lip as he looks over at you, taking in the tense set of your shoulders and jerky movements as you dig around for bandages. Then he says, “I got caught up, I really am sorry.”

You nod, but you still don’t speak. Instead you grab your supplies and move over to Bucky, avoiding his eyes as you assess the one wound you can see. Bucky has a thin cut from the corner of his eye to his hairline, shallow but bleeding profusely due to the thin skin there. You suck in a deep breath and start dabbing the soaked gauze on the wound, outside to inside, watching as the white turns coppery red with every swipe. Your stomach twists at the sight, and to your horror, you find you could almost cry.

“Doll,” Bucky says, eyebrows creasing up as if he’s just as upset as you feel. He hooks one big hand around your thigh, tugging until you let him manhandle you onto his lap. “I mean it, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“I don’t care that you were late,” you snap, clenching your jaw until you can get your flash of frustration under control. You drop your hand from his face, curling up further onto Bucky’s lap despite yourself as his arms come round to hug you to his chest. His bloodstained, most likely injured chest. You take a deep breath and ask, “What happened?”

“You wanna know?” Bucky asks. When you finally meet his eyes he doesn’t seem to be shutting down, shutting you out like you expect when it comes to talking about Bucky’s biker lifestyle. He just looks sad, and you let yourself soften just a bit to run your fingers down his jaw.

Bucky’s eyes flutter closed when you touch him, and you say, “I already told you - I just wanna know. No secrets.”

“No secrets,” Bucky affirms, smiling as he opens his eyes again. The corners are tight, though, as he starts to explain. “One of the things we do - the gang, y’know - is run protection details. Me and Sam were on it, supposed to be a simple job, but we got shitty intel and ended up having to fight our way out of a crappy spot. We got out, finished the job, but it definitely didn’t go to plan. ”

“Protection for what?” you ask. This is the most open Bucky has ever been when talking about his gang, so you’re not going to pass up this opportunity for a bit more information.

“For who,” Bucky corrects, smiling at you like he knows what you’re doing. He starts stroking up and down your shoulder blades as he talks, soothing the both of you it seems. “Rich businessmen, low-level politicians, mob affiliates - anyone who’s got a target on their back and need to get from point A to point B. They’re easy jobs for us ex-army guys and they pay well.”

“Better pay than fixing cars, I bet,” you say. Your attempt at levity works and Bucky grins. The way it makes his face turn young and open is so at odds with the trickle of blood down his cheek.

“Gotta be able to pay for your drinks somehow,” he says, and you slap his shoulder. He mock-winces and says, “Hey! I’m bleeding, ya gotta be nice to me.”

“Don’t gotta do shit,” you mumble, reminding you to press the gauze you’re still holding back on the wound on his temple to stem some of the bleeding. He hisses for real this time, the sting of the alcohol probably burning a bit, especially so close to his eye. You press a kiss to his cheek and in apology and Bucky hums, tightening his grip around your body to hold you close again.

“M’sorry I ruined our night,” he says, “I wish I could promise it won’t happen again, but I can’t.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, and he meets your eyes, slightly confused. You smile and say, “Not when you’re hurt. I know what I signed up for, I just want you to be ok.”

“What if, one day, I’m not ok?” Bucky asks, serious now, and you take your time before you answer him. His cut is clean of dried blood, and it’s stopped oozing any more. You doubt it’ll get infected so you should bandage it up but you can’t make yourself move from Bucky’s lap. Not just yet.

“I’ll fix you up,” you say. “That’s what we’re doing, right? Taking care of each other.”

Bucky blinks, once, as if allowing your words to download in his brain like a data file. Then he kisses you. He slides a hand up to cradle your head and presses soft, slow kisses to your lips like he’s got all the time in the world. He came storming in like a hurricane but now you’re in the eye, calm and quiet settling over you both as you cup his jaw and kiss into him all the tenderness you're too afraid to say. You mend his bleeding head and adrenaline-addled heart while he soothes your fear. Taking care of each other, and it feels nice to let someone else do that for once.

You know what Bucky is leaving out. The I hurt people admission, the fact he might have killed someone tonight, that the blood on his shirt isn’t just his. You really thought you’d care more - about the not knowing, about the truth of it, about everything. But he’s breathing and alive underneath you, trailing kisses and stubble burn from your mouth to your cheek to your temple, and all of those superfluous details become white noise. You’re surprised to find the simple fact that Bucky is alright is enough to supersede all the gaps you would usually itch to fill.

Bucky spins you both, tucking your legs up closer so you don’t overbalance as he looks around your office in a dizzying circle. A spike of nerves makes you feel sick for a second but Bucky smiles as he looks around, like he’s pleased with this part of your life he’s been able to see, and it makes you feel less afraid.

“This is where the magic happens, huh?” he asks, and you laugh at his teasing. “It’s very normal.”

“What did you expect? Like ‘Sherlock Holmes’ or something?” you ask. Bucky shrugs, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Maybe,” he says, then squints at you like he’s considering something. “So, no violin?”

“No violin, and no Mrs Hudson. I make my own tea,” you say, grinning up at Bucky even though he’s being stupid.

“Yeah, right,” Bucky snorts, “Pour your own wine, you mean.”

“Are you calling me a drunk?” you gasp, reeling back from Bucky and almost sending yourself off his lap and onto the floor. Bucky grips you tighter, laughing at the offence written all over your face, and then extracts an arm to point meaningfully at the half empty bottle of red by the side of your desk.

“The evidence speaks for itself,” he says. You fold your arms in a huff, if only to have him kiss the top of your head in a silent apology.

“You stick to the gang stuff, I’ll stick to the investigating,” you huff, and Bucky kisses you again until you wipe the frown from your face.

“Alright, smart girl,” he says. He stands, holding you up like it’s nothing and you can’t deny how hot that is, even if he is being condescending to you right now. He sets you down on your feet and smooths out your jacket, the warmth of his hands seeping through the leather as they pass over your shoulders and down your arms. He links his fingers into one of your hands, smiling down at you, and says, “Can we rain check dinner? I think I need a shower.”

Bucky stands unnaturally close to you as you lock up your office and head out, scanning the street while you lock the back door and set the alarm system for the building. He takes your hand wordlessly and leads you to his bike, parked haphazardly on the sidewalk and just begging for a ticket. He hands you a helmet but is looking over your shoulder, not at you, and both of those things are worrying - you’ve never known Bucky to wear a helmet, let alone offer you one. You didn’t know he owned one. You feel fidgety, your skin crawling like you’re being watched, and Bucky must feel it too because he’s a bit rough in manhandling you onto the bike as quickly as possible.

“Bucky,” you say, and he twists around to give you a clinical once over - much like you’d done to him when he’d come to you bloody and breathless. You feel sick to your stomach, guilt and fear twisting in your gut, as you ask, “Do you think someone followed you here?”

Bucky’s face is impassive, but you’d like to think you know him well enough to read the tick by the corner of his eyes as a silent, muttered, shit. He licks his lips and says, “I can’t know the answer to that for sure.”

“But there’s a chance,” you say, and your heart is hammering so loud you barely hear your own voice. If someone finds your office then they find you, and the carefully constructed bubble of anonymity you’ve created is shattered in the space of a second. But you knew that, that’s what Bucky asked you on his couch - will you stay? Knowing Bucky is the antithesis of your comfort zone, will you stay anyway?

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” Bucky says definitively. You scan his eyes for trace of a lie but there is none. Bucky’s jaw is set, and he reaches up to grip your chin and hold your gaze on his, making sure you hear him. “Just like you said - we take care of each other. I’ll always take care of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, one you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and Bucky kisses the trill of fear away. You feel like you’ve dived off a cliff face, Bucky holding your hand all the way down the precipice of trust you’d promised yourself you’d never cross. But Bucky promises he’ll take care of you and god, it’s stupid but you want him to. You want his to be the arms you land in at the end of this free-fall. Even if, given who Bucky is, that’s the most dangerous place to be.

“Speaking of no secrets,” you say, more of mumble into his mouth than anything. Bucky pulls away, adorably puppy-like look of confusion on his face, and your stomach twists with guilt. “Remember the night of the party? At Sam’s bar?”

Bucky nods. He’s twisted uncomfortably on the seat of his bike and the helmet you’ve yet to put on is digging in o your stomach where you’re holding it. This isn’t the best place to be having this conversation but Bucky’s promise has made you brave, and if you don’t go against your own word now you never will. Not once have you ever spilled details of a case before you’d cracked it. This isn’t a case, you have to remind yourself. This is your life.

“That morning, when I left,” you say, omitting the fact it’s the first time you ever used his front door and will most certainly be the last, “someone followed me from your building. I shook them off, but they were waiting for me to leave and I don’t know if they were casing your apartment or if they were there for me, or what. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you, I just-“

“You just what?” Bucky doesn’t sound angry. Worse, he sounds cold. Shut down, clinical, and the way his face has pinched off makes your heart break.

“I didn’t know if I could trust you,” you say, looking down at your lap to avoid the way he’s looking at you like a stranger. Saying it out loud makes it sound so much worse, but it’s the truth and Bucky deserves that at least. “To be honest, I’m still not sure. But I want to. If I’m going to trust anyone, I want it to be you.”

It’s several moments before you’re brave enough to meet Bucky’s eyes again. He is coming back to you slowly, the shutters pulling up from his eyes as confusion seeps out. He scans your face and says, “Usually I would tell you that’s a really stupid idea, but I think you already know that.”

“Stupid ideas are kind of my thing,” you say, and that makes Bucky smile. Relief is bone deep, hits so hard you could slump from the bike in a pile of goo. He’s not mad. In fact, he leans forward in what must be a truly uncomfortable twist to press his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, breathes in deep. You follow suit, so ridiculously relieved you still get to do this while simultaneously trying to control the adrenaline rush from handing over what feels like you’re entire life to someone else.

All your life it feels like it’s always been you versus the world. Your dad raised you that way, to rely on no one but yourself so you can never be let down, not even him. It feels wrong on a cellular level to trust Bucky like you are so blindly doing. Every instinct screams at you to run, to figure this out on your own, that Bucky would normally be one of your main suspects in a regular case. But here you are, showing Bucky all your cards, hoping against hope that you won’t live to regret it.

“No more secrets,” Bucky says, and you nod. You feel his eyelashes tangle with yours as you move, pressed so close like this, and you open your eyes to stare at the veiny lids covering his. “Next time someone follows you, you tell me.”

“Yes sir,” you say, grinning at the warning pinch he gives to your hip.

“Let’s go to the shop,” Bucky says, pulling away from you and turning back to gun his bike to life. “The guys can help us figure this stalker shit out.”

“The guys?” you ask, and your chest does something painfully restrictive at the thought of letting more people in. “As in, everyone? Like, your gang?”

Bucky laughs, like the way you say ‘gang’ is so goddamn amusing, and throws you one last look over his shoulder. You tug the helmet on as he revs the bike, suddenly regretting every other time you’ve gotten on this thing without one, as Bucky says, “Yeah, doll, my gang. That’s kinda the whole point - we help each other out.”

You hadn’t really thought of it like that before. Truthfully, your mind had been filled with shady drug deals and bloody fights, turf wars and tattoos and angry men on bikes. Bucky’s friends and the nights you’ve spent with them seem like a different world, the joy and love entirely removed from the illegal life Bucky leads outside of your reach, but you have to remind yourself - they’re one and the same. Your Bucky cannot be removed from the biker you’ve been kept seperate from.

Clinging to Bucky’s waist, you say, “Sounds very after school special for a gang, tough guy.”

You can practically see Bucky grinning just by looking at the back of his head as takes off, the streets of Brooklyn peeling away as heads for White Wolf Mechanics. Your anxiety and fear sheds off as well, floating away in strips down the tarmac like an outer layer of skin. You feel vulnerable, all new and exposed as you hold Bucky close so you don’t fall. That’s what makes it feel bearable - Bucky’s back against your cheek, the hand he places over yours against his stomach when you pull up at a red light. His promise, echoing under the rumble of the bike beneath you. I’ll always take care of you.

~~~

The shop looks closed from the outside, but you can hear a low bass-line from the street and people laughing somewhere inside. Bucky brings you round the back, the roller doors out front closed this time, and into the back rooms you’d yet to see since that first visit a few weeks ago. To your left you see what must be Bucky’s office, but the room he tugs you to looks more like a bachelor pad living room than a mechanics break room.

Sam and Steve lay sprawled on leather couches, beers open on the coffee table made of old crates stacked together. The Killers pumps through a very, very nice sound system which Natasha is quietly singing along to where she lays on top of the pool table, legs kicking off the edge to the beat. Her beer rests on her stomach, rising and falling with every breath, and she doesn’t even raise her head as she waves at the two of you entering. Sam lifts the icepack from his eye to look at you, grinning wide, and kicks Steve in the shin to get his attention.

“Barnes is back,” he says, rolling his eyes as Steve blearily blinks awake from what was clearly an unplanned nap. Steve focuses on you and Bucky, eyebrows drawn down in confusion, and Sam adds, “and he’s brought his girl.”

“Shouldn’t you be at dinner or something?” Steve asks, then seems to remember himself and smiles all big and perfect at you. “It’s great to see you again, by the way.”

“Quit brown-nosing, it’s embarrassing,” Sam says, and throws his icepack at Steve’s head. He swats it away, squawking at the wetness it leaves behind on his hand and cheek, which makes Sam grin.

“I need a beer for this,” Bucky mutters so only you can hear, which makes you smile. You lead the way to the minibar in the corner, right by the bookshelf full of video games and the cardboard cut-out of Guy Fieri (you don’t want to ask). Bucky follows, grabbing your hand and tugging you back into his chest as you walk - even without the watchful eyes of the other gang affiliates which usually follow you at his parties, Bucky seems hell bent on making sure everyone knows who you’re here with. Even his closest friends.

You can’t say you entirely mind.

“So, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Natasha asks. She’s sat up now, twisting on the pool table to face you both as Bucky grabs you some beers. Sam and Steve still continue to argue about nonsense on the couches and are ignored by the three of you for the moment. However, they stop bickering as soon as Bucky speaks again.

“Someone’s been watching my building,” he says. The silence is thick, and you feel almost guilty for ruining their fun night with your stalker woes. Bucky hands you a beer and looks at you pointedly, eyebrows raised. You take a sip before you follow his not-so-subtle direction to start talking.

“I was followed home the morning after Sam’s party at the bar,” you say. You have the full attention of Bucky’s closest friends, and you can’t help but feel a little intimidated. You take a deep breath and decide to look at the situation like you were debriefing a client on a case - remove yourself from the equation. “There was a man smoking against the building next to Bucky’s. He followed me about four blocks before I lost him. He was over six foot, caucasian, brown hair and stubble.”

“Sounds like every white guy,” Sam says. “You could be describing Bucky, for all we know.”

“Yes,” you say, frowning. “If I was putting a tail on someone, I would make them very nondescript. Makes sense, right?”

“And you’re sure he was following you?” Natasha asks. You glance at her, but she doesn’t look like she’s condescending you or anything. Surprisingly, she looks like she believes you far more than the other two men in the room. Maybe your trial by fire proved to her you know what you’re talking about, so you nod.

“Definitely. Either he knew I was there and was waiting for me to leave, or he was watching Bucky’s apartment and would have followed anyone who came out of it. Without more information I can’t be sure if he was there for me or Bucky.”

“You’ve never seem him before?” Steve asks. You shake your head, and he says, “Could you describe him a bit more detailed? I might be able to draw him.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “Or, we can just wait until he shows up at Bucky’s again and follow him.”

Bucky does not like that idea at all. He practically growls, grabbing your elbow and turning you to face him as he glares at you. Roughly, he says, “Are you fucking insane?”

“What?” Mildly annoyed, you tug your arm from Bucky’s grip and say, “If this was a case, that’s what I would do.”

“This isn’t a case. This guy is going to be a hell of a lot more dangerous than some rich businessman cheating on his wife,” Bucky says, voice raised to an almost shout in one of the quickest escalations you’ve ever seen.

A switch flips in your brain, and you see red.

“Thank you for the condescending analysis, Bucky,” you snap. You ignore Sam’s muttered ‘oh shit!’ for your own health and sanity. “But you have no idea the kind of people I’ve dealt with in my life. I can manage a fairly mediocre stalker.”

“A fairly mediocre stalker who works for someone who won’t hesitate to use your hamstrings as handcuffs,” Bucky hisses. He steps towards you, chest brushing yours as he breaths deep and ragged, and oh- there’s the Bucky you’d been missing. The guy who’s still wearing clothes stained with blood, most of it not his, angry in an incandescent kind of way which reminds you he could hurt you in many more ways than just a broken heart. He leans down to say into your face, “This isn’t something you fuck around with, alright? There’s a reason why I’ve kept this world from you.”

“I thought we said no secrets?” you say, raising your eyebrows. You will yourself to hold your ground, even if you are shaking like a leaf and your words come out soft in the face of his anger. Like you’d poked a pin in his chest, Bucky deflates. He backs off of you, face crumbling from anger to guilt as quickly as he built himself up there.

“I won’t let you get hurt because of me,” he says, shaking his head. The switch in your brain flips back, all indignation and pride fading away. He’s still trying to take care of you, just like he promised. Already it’s abundantly clear you’re not going to make that easy for him, and you wonder how long it will take until he gets sick of trying.

“This isn’t going to work if you don’t trust me,” you say, gesturing between you. “I let you into my world, now it’s your turn. I know it’s dangerous - I could have left, remember? But I’m here. So let me be here.”

“If someone touches you-“

“I’ll get over it,” you say. Bucky stares at you like you’re crazy, and maybe you are, but it’s true. “You said you were going to take care of me - how’re you gonna do that from all the way over there?”

You don’t mean the other side of the room, the valley of the pool table and the metaphorical arms-length which which he’s keeping between you. There’s only so much Bucky can hide from you before you either dive right in or walk away. This is the turning point.

“Fine,” he says. He looks physically pained as he scrubs a hand over his cropped hair, but at least he’s not angry anymore. “I still think thats a fucking stupid idea.”

“Like I said,” you say, offering him a smile he shakily returns, “stupid ideas are kind of my thing.”

“Uh, can I say something?” Sam asks, breaking the illusion that it was only the two of you in the room for that particular argument. You both turn to look at him, and he almost backs down with the weight of both your gaze. He carries on, however, saying, “I’m glad you guys have had this breakthrough in your relationship, but that doesn’t really help us in figuring out who this guy is. Or who he works for. Or why he followed you. Or how he knows where Bucky lives in the first place.”

“We could go around and ask,” Steve says, shrugging at Natasha’s eyeroll. “What? Baseball bats really jog people’s memories.”

“Why don’t we ask the private investigator for some expert advice,” Natasha says, giving you a look that seems to say men, right? You’re still trying to get your head around the image of Steve threatening someone with a baseball bat when you’ve seen him with his own puke on his jumper singing Sweet Caroline into a toilet bowl.

“Well,” you begin, darting Bucky a look but he seems to be listening and not getting ready to yell at you again, “since apparently following the guy is off the table for now, I would start with me and Bucky. Enemies, bad blood, someone with an axe to grind. Pull at some threads and see what happens.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” Sam says, “Bucky’s got more enemies than friends.”

“So do we all, punk,” Bucky grumbles, glaring at Sam. “We’re in a gang.”

“This ain’t about me.” Sam holds his hands up in mock innocence, grinning big like he gets unrivalled joy from making Bucky’s face do the twitchy, dark thing it’s doing right now. The impact is somewhat lessened by the swollen, black eye Sam’s sporting from the mission gone wrong today, you assume, but it doesn’t curb his enthusiasm.

“I can put together a list of the most recent run-in’s you’ve had by tomorrow,” Natasha says to Bucky, ignoring the bickering with practiced ease. “Until then, we should put some protection on your building.”

“You guys have bodyguards?” you ask before your brain can tell you that’s a dumb fucking question. All three of them laugh, Bucky hooking an arm around your shoulder to ruffle your hair as he tugs you into his side. Point taken, you think as you pout under Bucky’s arm.

“I’ll stay in the spare room,” Steve says, swinging himself off the couch to his full, ginormous height. That image of him with the baseball bat starts to take a bit more shape in your mind, and you don’t doubt for a second he could offer some extra protection where the stalker is concerned. To you, he asks, “You don’t mind if I third wheel?”

“It’s not my apartment,” you say, attempting to hide your blush under the weight of Bucky’s arm. You are unsuccessful, if Sam’s smirk is anything to go by.

“We’ll survive one night, punk,” Bucky says, giving you a squeeze. “Or just buy some earplugs.”

“Gross!” Sam cries, flailing an arm around. “Too much information!”

You have a feeling akin to whiplash at how well these people are taking a stalker and potential threat on their lives. Joking around, Steve fake-moaning just to make Sam scream, Natasha laughing until tears form in her eyes at the antics of two grown men chasing each other around the couches like school children. Glancing up at Bucky and the warm look he’s giving them all, you suppose it must be lot less scary to face something like that with friends. Family, you think, as Sam crash-tackles Steve into the couch and smothers his face with a pillow.

“You’ll be alright?” Natasha’s soft voice manages to scare you, jolting under Bucky’s hold as you turn from watching Steve and Sam to find her right by Bucky’s other side. She’s looking up at him, lips pressed into a firm line, and you remember the last time you were here - James is the only family I have. Maybe some are taking this development a bit easier than others.

“Always am,” Bucky says, using his free arm to punch her lightly on the shoulder. She gets him back, much harder, and you feel Bucky wince away from her and into your side. “Serious, Natashenka. I’ll be fine.”

“Good,” she says. Smirking, she adds, “I’ll kill you if you aren’t.”

You look back to Steve and Sam before they can notice you eavesdropping, a hot, honey-thick feeling melting through your skin. You want to know what that feels like in a way which burns; to have people who have your back like that, and your dad doesn’t count because he literally has to. You understood Bucky’s gang even less than you originally thought - he’s not just a biker, a criminal, a hit man or an ex-army vet turned enforcer, whatever the case may be. He’s a guy doing what he has to do to protect the people he loves, because he’s surrounded by them. You’ve never had to protect anyone but yourself.

You tuck yourself closer into Bucky’s side, letting the warmth and smell of him consume you. That’s gonna change, you think. This feeling in your chest is telling you that change is already happening.

~~~

Steve does not have to get ear plugs to survive the night, and you make both him and Bucky coffee before you head off. Shower, new clothes, work - all that normal people stuff you have to do. Steve, golden in the morning sun with the brightest smile on his face, and Bucky’s moody scowl at the early hour and dark rings under his eyes, wave you goodbye. You kiss Bucky’s pout before you go, letting him grab your ass for a second before you slip away.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, and Steve snorts like there’s some joke you’re missing.

“I’ll go out the laundry window,” you say, as if this is a new development and not your usual routine. “Nobody’s gonna follow me, promise.”

“Hmph,” is all Bucky says and then you’re really gone, racing down the stairs and out the window like you always do.

Sorry Bucky, you silently think towards his apartment as instead of making to cut through the gym parking lot, you wrap back around his building and scan the street from behind the bins. Sure enough, opposite Bucky’s building with a baseball cap on and another cigarette, stands the same dude who followed you the first time. You really weren’t lying - stupid ideas are kind of your thing.

You make sure you’re hidden by a group of pedestrians as you slip out the side alley of Bucky’s apartment building and walk away from your stalker. He doesn’t notice, and you manage to walk a block and cross the road without him any the wiser. Your roles have switched as you hang out at the news-agency a few doors down from where he’s waiting, pretending to flick through a magazine. It’s easy to take a few picture of him over the top of the page with your phone, grainy but useable for when you show Bucky later.

You can deal with Bucky being angry at you, because you know how to do your job and this is the most efficient way to get intel. It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Eventually, you watch your stalker watch Bucky and Steve leave his building. It’s 9AM and they head to their respective bikes, revving off down the street in the general direction of Steve’s tattoo shop. Your man hunches his shoulders and pulls out his phone, taps into it for a bit, before he walks off in the opposite direction to Bucky and Steve. Not following them, then. Your stomach twists as you fall into pace a few people behind him. Just following you.

He gets on the subway, which makes it very difficult for you to remain unnoticed but you manage to sit at the internal doors in the next carriage and watch him through those. He gets on his phone again, talking to someone with evident frustration if his clenched jaw and balled fist is anything to go by. He gets off in Manhattan, walks a few blocks, before ducking into a darkly lit bar called the Lerna. You decide it’s probably best not to follow him there, but you snap a few photos on your phone of the bar before doubling back out to Brooklyn.

You call Bucky as you go, a bit jittery at the incoming argument you know you’ve created, but you can’t help but feel it will be worth it. Now you have something to actually go off - a face, a name, some concrete facts. Much better than stabbing around in the dark. A few rings go by before Bucky picks up, saying, “Miss me already?”

“Get over yourself, tough guy,” you say, but you’re smiling. Maybe you do miss him already, just a bit. You were so focused on getting your information you didn’t get to fully savour Bucky this morning, all tanned muscles and tattoos, all yours. You force yourself to ruin the moment by saying, “I’ve got some information for you.”

“Me too,” he says, which surprises you. “Nat’s gotten together some potential candidates for your stalker. Have you got time to come to Steve’s tattoo place?”

“Sure,” you say, beginning to pick at your nails as the nerves set in.

There’s a beat of silence before Bucky must realise what you’d said before, and he doesn’t sound nearly as light and playful anymore “You said you had information? On what?”

“I’ll just show you when I get there,” you rush out, closing your eyes at the way Bucky sucks in a breath like he already knows what you’ve done. “Don’t be mad.”

“Oh, I’m not mad,” he says, as if through gritted teeth. “I’m fucking livid. Please tell me you didn’t follow that guy this morning.”

“Ok, I won’t tell you,” you say. “See you in twenty.”

“You’re dead meat,” he says before you hang up.

It could’ve gone worse, you muse as you round the corner to the subway station. Sure, Bucky threatened you with lethal violence and sounded even angrier than he’d gotten at the shop yesterday, but you can still imagine him smiling at his phone as you hung up the same way you’re smiling at yours now.

You text him the photos with a quick, Don’t say I never do anything for you xx

A minute after the photos deliver, Bucky is calling you again. You frown down at his caller ID, confused - you were on your way, why is he calling you back already? But before you answer that question, someone grabs your arm and tugs you away from the subway steps and into an alley instead. His grip is bruising, unbreakable, even as you scream and kick before he shoves a gun into your neck and you fall deathly silent.

“Scream and you’re dead,” the man says, hot on your ear. You can’t shudder away, his vice grip too tight and the cold steel on your jugular paralysing. You twist a bit to look behind you despite yourself, your stomach bottoming out at the familiar face which grins back at you. Baseball cap, brown hair, stubble - just like any other white guy. He sneers at you and says, “Not so clever now, huh?”

All you can hear, as your stalker marches you down the alley and into a waiting SUV with a gun to your back, is Bucky’s voice yelling this isn’t something you fuck around with. You’d let him say ‘I told you’ so a thousand times if it meant you got out of this alive. Hopefully, the phone tucked into your back pocket will be enough to save you. You hope Bucky is listening, the call you just managed to answer still catching the grunted conversation your kidnappers are having. You’ve never needed someone before, but god, do you hope Bucky’s got you now.

Part 6

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x reader fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fic #biker!bucky #biker au #avengers fic #marvel fic #reader insert #pov fic #bucky barnes #natasha romanoff #steve rogers #sam wilson #11 hours #bucky barnes x reader fic #biker!bucky fic

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arvandus · 4 years

Text

Touch (Pt 6)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please! Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you. Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way. That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Special thank you to @salvator-heartbreaker who has helped me hash out this chapter and some future plot details; this would not be as amazing as it is without her help!

Chapter warning: Buckle up, y’all. This chapter is LONG. Like, 12k words long (separating it into multiple chapters was NOT an option). Prepare yourself for a roller coaster of feels. Also, please PLEASE be aware of the warning tags.

Recommended Chapter Songs: Overdose by grandson/The Drug In Me Is Reimagined by Falling in Reverse

Part 1 Part 5

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 6 - The Long Night

After Dabi left, you cleaned up the various items around the room. You placed the pills back into your bag from where they were in your pocket. A moment later, you decided against that location and put the bottle under your pillow within your pillowcase. You changed your mind again, taking the pill bottle into the bathroom to stuff it with cotton. It would keep the pills from rattling. You returned the bottle to its hiding place under your pillow. If Dabi came back looking for more, you wanted to have them within reach and not where he’d immediately look for them. You placed the damp washcloth in your hamper and drank some water before lying in bed with your phone in your hand.

You were only on your phone for a few minutes before you felt sleep start to drag at your eyelids, so you turned off your light and put your phone on your nightstand. Sleep was elusive, however. You stared at the ceiling pensively. Something nagged at your mind, but in your groggy, tired state, you couldn’t figure out what it was. You felt each minute tick by with painstaking slowness, frequently checking the time on your phone while your thoughts ran a mile a minute. It mulled over what had transpired, what was said and done, and how you felt… It was like flipping through an entire novel in a matter of seconds and then trying to describe a specific, obscure scene hidden within its pages.

By your fifth minute, you gave up and sat up in your bed. Your hands went under your pillow, feeling the familiar bottle in your fingers.

Realization hit. You quickly turned on your lamp. You pulled the bottle out of your pillowcase and spilled the contents out onto your comforter. You counted the amount and your breath stopped.

No.

You counted again.

FUCK.

You always made it a point to know exactly how many pills you had of anything you carried, but especially so for these pills.

You quickly put the remaining medication back into the bottle, counting them as they fell in with a tap. Then, you got up out of your bed and hid the pills inside an unused pair of shoes which you then put into a black duffle bag in the top of your closet. You only hoped Dabi didn’t come looking for them. At this rate, if he was willing to steal from you, then he’d be willing to rifle through your things.

Betrayal, cold and hard, soaked into your bones. You tried to reason with yourself, to talk yourself through what you knew about addiction, what you had learned in med school. But taking what was learned in a textbook, with no emotional attachment, and applying it into this situation did little to assuage the feelings roiling within you. This wasn’t hypothetical. This was real.

Even worse than the betrayal was the cold hard fact: Dabi could kill himself. And all because you left him alone for less than a minute. Did he already take them? How long ago did he leave your room? Your brain didn’t have time to do the math as you dashed across the hallway to his door.

You didn’t bother to knock – not this time. Thankfully, Dabi must have been so out of it that he forgot to lock it. You barreled in like a fiery chariot knocking down Hell’s gate, slamming the door behind you loudly enough to wake the dead. You didn’t care. In that moment, nothing else mattered but getting those pills back.

Dabi sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up at you groggily when the door slammed. His movements were noticeably slower, his pallor a sickly grey and shining with sweat.

“You took my pills.” You seethed. “Give them back.”

“What?” Dabi slurred.

“My pills, Dabi! Three of them are missing! Give them to me!”

He looked down at his hands as if confused by what they were. “I don’t have them.” He replied.

“Bull-fucking-shit!” you shot back. “I swear to God, Dabi, I will search this room until I find them.”

He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I already took them. And stop fucking shouting.”

“You what???” You gasped. “What the fuck, Dabi?? Why would you do that??”

He stood up now, angry at your presence, at your justified rage that he knew he was responsible for but didn’t want to face. He was barely keeping himself together as it was. His insides felt like a writhing, fiery snake. His head felt filled with cotton. And underneath it all, the pain hummed low like a purring beast. He couldn’t decide if the pills he took were actually working or not. The relief he thought they’d give him evaded him like a shadow.

“I told you I needed more.” Dabi replied.

“Dabi, you can O.D. on this!” you shot back.

“I’m not gonna O.D.” Dabi scoffed as he swayed on his feet. He fought the sickness rolling over him in waves, great crests threatening to drown him like a raging sea. He didn’t need this right now. Not with you here. Fuck. When did he get so fucking weak?

Your body instantly became poised to catch him if he fell. He needed to throw up what he took. That was the only option. Your mind frantically tried to assess if he was weak enough for you to overpower him, to try to put your fingers down his throat to trigger his gag reflex.

“Your drugs are weak as shit compared to what I was taking before. I can handle it.” He continued. “I know what I’m doing.” His eyes were unfocused as they tried to stare down at you.

Suddenly, the wave crested, higher than he could tread. Immediately his mouth began to water in sickly preparation, his gag reflex kicking in while his gut clenched. He stumbled to the bathroom, shoving you aside in the process, just in time to empty the contents of his stomach. It was clear, made of only the water he drank and the partially dissolved pills that he had stolen.

A wave of relief washed over you while Dabi emptied what remained of the drugs into the toilet. A part of you was still angry, wanting to give him an ‘I told you so,’ but you held back, instead keeping an eye on him from the bathroom doorway to make sure he was okay.

Once he was done, he leaned back against the bathroom wall, a pained grimace on his face, the metal rings pulling along his cheeks. His breaths were ragged and heavy. “Fuck.” He muttered. He should have eaten the stupid crackers. What a fucking waste.

Once you were sure he was okay for the moment, you paced back into the bedroom to try to calm your nerves. He threw up what he took. That was good. Of course, that also meant there was no telling how long your meds would stay in his system now, and once they started to wear off, he’d continue to suffer through withdrawal since you couldn’t give him more right away. This was just the beginning for him.

A knock on the door resounded into the room, interrupting your thoughts.

“Don’t answer it.” Dabi rasped from his spot next to the toilet.

You stared at him for a moment and waited while discomfort settled over you like an itchy blanket. You understood his need for privacy, but you also needed help… at least to have someone bring some water and food. It was going to be a long night and at this rate, Dabi was going to become severely dehydrated

Another knock came through, more persistent this time.

“Dabi,” called Toga’s voice. “Are you okay in there???”

Twice’s muffled voice followed. “He probably wants to be left alone. Fuck this guy.”

“I’m not gonna just leave him, Twice. You heard him in there.” Toga replied in annoyance.

Dabi groaned in frustration, his head in his shaking hands in denial. Why did it have to be Toga of all people? She was annoyingly persistent, poking her nose where it didn’t belong and not taking hints when her prying wasn’t welcome. The last thing he wanted was her and Twice standing outside his door while he hurled into the stinking toilet. They’d probably barge in without permission. You seeing him like this was bad enough – but at least he could excuse your involvement as the team’s medic, even if the vulnerability ate away at him. But letting them see him like this? He’d rather light everything on fire.

“Make them go away.” He whispered hoarsely.

You leapt at the opportunity, rushing to the door. You opened it to see Twice in his usual gear and Toga in a pink pajama set, her hair pulled back into twin buns. Her hand was outstretched as if ready to grasp an invisible doorknob.

“Hey guys.” You said through a fake bubbly smile. “It’s okay, I’m in here with him.”

“What the hell is going on??” Twice demanded.

“We heard a door slam, and yelling, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone throwing up.” Toga said crossing her arms.

They heard yelling – did they hear what you had shouted at Dabi? About him taking your drugs? You mentally scolded yourself for being so loud earlier. There had to be some way you could play it off.

You felt your skin get hot with embarrassment. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m helping him out.”

“What’s wrong?” Toga asked nosily. “Is Dabi hungover? He sounds like he’s hungover.”

“Stomach flu.” You improvised. You hoped they believed it. If they did, it’d give Dabi a reason to be left alone by the other league members for a few days while you helped him out.

Neither of them showed any doubt with your explanation. Toga made a disgusted face while Twice sighed. “Well, that’s a fucking relief. But keep the damn noise down!”

You smirked at his dual reactions. “Sorry, Twice.”

“Do you need anything?” Toga asked. “Water? Food?”

“Drugs?” Twice chimed in.

You froze like a deer in headlights for a moment before you realized he probably meant the kind that wasn’t illegal.

“Water and food would be appreciated. Something easy on the stomach, like crackers. And bananas if we have any left. I already have the other supplies I need.” You commented. Then, you remembered - Shit. Your supply bag was still in your room….

“Sure thing, big sis!” Toga replied through a cheery smile, her fangs prominent. “Come on, Twice. You can help me carry stuff.” Twice followed after her and you closed the door with a breath of relief before the sound of Dabi retching again made you go check on him.

His fingers grasped the toilet seat while his body shook, his knuckles as white as the porcelain they held onto. Spit dangled from his parted lips, his nose running, his eyes squeezed shut as he fought his body’s reactions to his poor choices.

After a minute, he leaned back and carelessly wiped his face with his bare arm, the fluids glistening on his skin in the light of the bathroom.

His face was pulled into a grimace, eyes squeezed shut against the brightness, his body slumped against the wall. “You should have taken Twice up on his offer.” He said with a forced grin through wet lips.

“Not funny, Dabi.” You scolded. “Drugs are the last thing you need. Besides, you know that’s not what he meant.”

“Well I certainly don’t think water and some fucking bananas are going to fix this.” He replied sourly.

“Better than your solution of taking six of my pills.” You shot back. “A lot of good that did you, huh?”

He opened his eyes to give you a cold glare, his mouth opening to protest. But his words were cut short by another round of vomiting, nothing coming up but thin strings of yellow bile from his empty stomach while his gut spasmed and clenched. You furrowed your brow. His nausea was getting worse, his vomiting more frequent. You wanted to use your quirk to alleviate his pain, but you couldn’t. Not for this. If his body couldn’t register the pain signals his gut was sending to his brain, then there was a chance the vomiting would stop. Throwing up was what he needed to make sure the stolen pills were out of his system.

Even aside from the vomiting, there was the issue of using your quirk too much, too soon. You could no longer fall back on your pills to manage your own pain if you pushed yourself too far. Your lower back itched uncomfortably, as if the very thought woke up the scarred nerves there, old memories threatening to follow in their wake. You pushed them aside forcefully by focusing on the man in front of you.

If you over-exerted yourself too soon, you wouldn’t be able to help him later when things got worse. Once these pills wore off, which you weren’t sure when that would happen, you wouldn’t be able to give him new ones right away. You were already short three pills after his little stint, and even if you did give him pills, his body might still reject them if it wasn’t ready for them. That would only make things exponentially worse. It was better to skip a dosage now and get back on track with the remaining medication you had. You’d pair what you’d allotted for him with your own quirk as an added relief; you only hoped the combination would be adequate until his pills became available for pickup.

Once he was done dry heaving, you handed him a hand towel from the hanging bar next to you. You had no idea if it was clean – he probably used it to dry his hands after washing them - but it didn’t really matter. It was better than using his arm again. He took it in silence, his eyes avoiding yours in what you could only describe as shame. Your heart clenched. You knew he didn’t mean for this to happen. No one ever does. You wanted to reassure him, to let him know it was all going to be okay, but words escaped you. How could you even begin to tell him something like that while he’s retching into a toilet in the wee hours of the night?

Before you could think of something to say, there was a familiar knock on the door. You forced yourself to step away and answer it. Sure enough, Toga and Twice were there, their arms full of offerings.

“Here you go.” Toga said, her arms filled with six water bottles. Twice also presented an array of items in his arms – a box of saltine crackers, some canned soup with a pull-top lid, and a couple of bananas.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking the items and placing them on Dabi’s desk. You were grateful neither of them tried to enter while you unloaded their arms; perhaps they really did believe Dabi had the flu and were too scared of catching it.

“You can go back to bed if you want. We’ll be fine.” you suggested.

“Let us know if you need anything else!” Toga offered with a toothy grin. You smiled your gratitude and closed the door as they turned to leave.

Once you heard their footsteps fade down the hall followed by the closing of bedroom doors, you returned to the bathroom with a water bottle in hand. You knew food wasn’t going to be an option for a while, but at least this might help. Even if he threw it back up, it was better than bile. But before you could even hand the bottle to him, he convulsed, hugging the toilet again, gagging and coughing. You knelt next to him patiently, ready to offer the water in your hand or the towel now forgotten on floor… whatever he needed.

He spit the drool dangling from his mouth and continued to hover over the toilet bowl with a groan. Everything hurt. His abs, his throat, his sinuses… his head was still muddled from a variety of factors – dehydration, lack of sleep, the drugs. He hated himself, reduced to a useless fucking puddle like the loser he was, and all while you were here watching him. You, who even though he let you down - even though he stole from you - continued to stay and care for him. He didn’t want that for you, and he didn’t want the guilt of your presence continuously reminding him of how he failed you while his body fell apart on him.

“Get out of here.” He said gruffly. “You don’t need to be here for this.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You replied. You knew he was pushing you away and you understood why, but that didn’t matter to you. Sure, you were mad at what he had done, but you also understood he couldn’t help it. His obvious shame was apology enough for now, and his well-being was more important to you than his pride.

“Leave.” He growled.

“I can’t.” You could feel tears start to sting at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to leave him. Not like this.

More dry retching overtook him, and guilt began to creep on you like a thorny vine, choking your words from your throat. He couldn’t fight you on this even if he wanted to; was it really fair to stay when he asked you to go? He made his decision clear – he wanted to be alone. Where were you supposed to draw the line between forcing your care on him for his safety versus respecting his need for privacy?

You stared at him as you warred within yourself. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, and on the upside, he did throw up some of those pills. But what about later, when the pills wear off and the hunger returns? Could you trust that he would come to you, looking for what he knew you had? Or would he go elsewhere, and risk his safety on something potentially worse? You wanted to respect his wishes, but your body wouldn’t move.

Dabi’s world was spinning; round and round he went, as if the toilet had been flushed and he and his rejected pills were being washed away like the trash that he knew he was. He was breathing heavily now, painful groans falling from his lips. “Get the fuck out, Y/N.”

The sound of your name on his lips for the first time smacked you, your breath catching painfully behind the lump in your throat. You struggled to suppress the tears threatening to unleash themselves down your face. He said your name. He had never said it before. You had imagined that the first time he’d say your name would be a sign of trust and intimacy. This wasn’t that at all. Instead, it was a weapon, a foul word that stung you like a whip.

He didn’t want you here. Maybe your presence really was just making it worse for him. He’d focus more on not wanting you around and fighting your hep than he would actually trying to fight his withdrawal. You had to leave and hope that he would be able to come out of this on his own.

Without a word, you loosened the cap on the water bottle and set it on the floor next to him as a final offering before getting up off the cold tile to leave. You left the bathroom, while the sounds of his continued retching filled your ears. Each cough and gag from his battered throat deepened your guilt, reminding you how your irresponsibility had contributed to him getting into this mess. Yes, he stole from you. It still angered you. But at the same time, you were the one who had all your mental faculties and still left drugs within his reach when he came to you for help.

You placed two water bottles and the crackers on the nightstand for him. Then, you took the half-full trash bag out of his trash can and made sure it was near his bed, just in case he needed to throw up again later.

With one more glance at him through the bathroom doorway while he sat doubled over the toilet, you made your way to the door.

Please be safe, please be safe… you silently pleaded.

Just as you put your hand on the doorknob, you heard a thud.

“Dabi? Are you okay?” you called.

Only silence greeted you. A cold panic set in and you rushed into the bathroom to find Dabi unconscious on the floor, face down in a puddle of water. The water bottle you had left had tipped over, the cold liquid spreading across the bathroom tile and soaking into Dabi’s clothes. You pushed your panic aside as you immediately switched into emergency mode. You knelt by his side and rolled him over onto his back, cupping his face in your hand. His skin felt hot to the touch.

“Dabi??” You called. No response. You checked for a pulse and felt it fluttering beneath your fingers. “DABI??” you shouted as you lightly smacked his cheek. He didn’t respond. His color was lifelessly pale, but his chest rose and fell in slow breaths. He was breathing. You checked his pupils – dilated. He definitely still had your drugs in his system. How much, you weren’t sure. Once again, you were grateful that he had managed to throw up what he could.

His skin was burning. Was it already hotter than a moment ago? Was it a fever from the withdrawal? Or was it his quirk acting up, going haywire without him being able to consciously be in control of himself? The idea of his cremation randomly unleashing itself in the small bathroom made your throat dry up with dread.

You had to cool him down somehow. Dabi’s bathroom had a walk-in shower just a foot away, and you gave a silent thankful prayer to the universe. A bathtub would have made this entire fiasco exponentially more difficult.

First, you had to remove his clothes. They were trapping in his body heat at the moment, compounding his fever.

It wasn’t easy. Dabi was lean, but he certainly didn’t lack muscle, and what he lacked for in bulk, he made up for in height. It was awkward in the small space as you pulled his sweatpants off of him, exposing scarred legs with metal staples curving along his thighs. You left his boxers on. You couldn’t bring yourself to take them off of him while he was unconscious. His head lolled to the side while his eyes, now half-lidded, stared with an empty, unconscious gaze. His shirt was next, wet with sweat, water, and specks of bile. The fresh bandage that you had recently applied fell off as soon as the cotton fabric wasn’t there to hold it in place. The wound was healing, but it was still pink and raw. The slightest amount of pressure would reopen the sensitive tissue, undoing your hard work.

You needed your med kit.

Once he was undressed, you rolled him to his side. You didn’t want him to aspirate if he ended up vomiting again. Then, you ran the shower to let the water warm slightly. It needed to be lukewarm – cool enough to bring down his fever, but not so cold that it would shock his system and make him shiver. Shivering helped to increase body temperature, and that was the last thing he needed.

Once the water was running, you took one last look at the man laying unconscious on his side before making a mad dash out of his room and into yours to grab your medical bag by your bed. There was no time to double check the supplies in it; you only hoped you had what you needed. You grabbed a couple of clean towels from your own bathroom before running back into his room, thankfully unnoticed in the empty hall. It took less than a minute.

You bandaged his wound back up quickly, while he was on his side. It wasn’t the neatest work, but it would do for now. Already, his body temperature was noticeably higher than when you had left him. There was no time to check it with your thermometer - it was a race against the clock, now.

You rolled Dabi back onto his back to try and rouse him once again, picking him up slightly so he lay in your lap, while you called his name and cupped his cheek. His eyes fluttered open slightly, his head shifting at the sound of your voice, before his eyes closed again. You cursed under your breath and laid him back down the way you had him before while you checked the water temperature. It was warm enough, or so you hoped, since his own temperature kept rising. You turned off the water briefly to retrieve the unconscious man.

Finally, you were ready. You tried to grab Dabi from under his armpits, but his skin was almost too hot to touch for an extended period of time. Definitely quirk related. You grabbed a spare towel and tried again, this time protecting your hands and arms against his scalding skin. You wrapped your hands around his chest, your arms under his armpits, and began to drag him to the shower stall. You tried your best to be mindful of his scars and staples, hoping that dragging him across the floor wouldn’t tear anything. For a shower that was so close in proximity, it took a painstakingly long time to get him into it and properly positioned before you could step out and turn the shower back on.

Lukewarm water sputtered out of the showerhead, drenching his body from the chest down. The water steamed upon contact, reacting to the heat rolling off of him like asphalt on a hot summer’s day. Dabi stirred slightly, roused to consciousness by the sensation and the change in temperature. He looked around groggily until his blue eyes settled on you. You waited for him to say something, but no words came as his dazed eyes seemed to lose focus. The only sign that he was still somewhat conscious was the occasional slow blink while he watched you take a wet washcloth and squeeze it over his head to let the cool water soak his hair and dribble down his face and neck. The water trickled down his forehead to his brow, and you tenderly wiped it away with the washcloth to keep it from getting into his eyes. You followed the contours of his face with the cool cloth, along his jawline, across his cheeks.

Dabi closed his eyes for minutes at a time, only opening them briefly as you adjusted the water temperature slightly and again as your ran your fingers through his wet hair, moving the dripping strands from his forehead so you could see his face better. Color slowly began to creep back into his skin, the water no longer steamed. What you were doing was working, and you were grateful – so grateful – that you hadn’t left him yet. The rush of time slowed down. Dabi’s eyes closed again as you quietly hummed to yourself as you cared for him. It helped to calm your nerves and pass the time.

After what felt like ages, you finally checked his temperature, this time with the temporal thermometer you had in your bag. The number that beeped back at you satisfied you enough to turn the water off. You gave Dabi’s shoulder a small shake, and his eyes opened to look at you under heavy lids.

“Come on.” You whispered. “I need you to stand up.”

He licked his chapped lips as he braced himself into a standing position with your help and made the two feet distance to sit on his toilet, his wet boxers dribbling puddles of water onto the floor. You covered him in two towels, one for his head and one for his shoulders, before you stepped out of the bathroom for a moment to get him fresh clothes.

You realized quickly that he’d need to change out of his wet boxers – something you hadn’t considered earlier when you undressed him. You gulped briefly. Could he even do that on his own right now? He still was out of it and needed assistance just to stand.

There was no way around it. You’d have to help him.

You grabbed a pair of fresh boxers, black jersey shorts, and a white tee before returning to the bathroom. He was in the position you left him, the only difference being that he was now leaning against the wall while he sat on the toilet. His eyes were closed at first but they opened slightly when you nudged him gently. He still looked completely out of it.

Even so, you talked to him. “Dabi,” you whispered. “I have to change your boxers so I can put dry clothes on you. I’m going to help you stand up.”

He gave a slow blink but made no attempt to move or speak. As you wrapped your arms around his chest to help him up, he didn’t fight you, leaning his weight into you just enough to rise slightly from his sitting position. You weren’t sure how conscious he really was for this. Was he aware of what was going on, of what you were doing? Or was his body going through the motions, barely registering his environment? You hoped it was the latter.

“I won’t look.” You promised. You looped your fingers into the wet waistband and pulled it down, before letting him sit back down on the toilet. With your eyes respectfully averted, you pulled the wet material off the rest of the way down his legs and off his feet. You quickly dried his legs off before grabbing the clean boxers you had set up on top of his sink, the only dry spot left in the bathroom. Through the use of touch, you were able to put his feet into them and pull them up just above his bent knees. His shorts followed until both items were pulled up as high as they would go in his sitting position.

“One more time.” You said. With him braced against you, you grabbed both waistbands and pulled his clothes on. A moment later, he was sitting back down, properly covered. You proceeded with your administrations now that the hard part was done. You dried his hair with the towel still on his head, and then dried his torso and arms using the towel on his shoulders. By the time you were helping him with his tee shirt, he was starting to show some cognizance, pushing his arms out through the holes himself once you got them into position.

Quickly you flushed the toilet he was sitting on, washing away the contents from earlier, and gathered the soiled clothes and towels from the floor before taking them to the laundry hamper in his room. It was still dark outside, and you wondered what time it was. 3:30am? 4? You had no way of knowing; you had left your phone in your room. With the situation no longer critical, your adrenaline finally started to drop. Exhaustion pulled at you, a heavy blanket threatening to smother you until you surrendered. You were so tired, that even Dabi’s bed looked inviting at this point.

You forced yourself to keep going.

You grabbed one of the water bottles from his nightstand, hoping that you could finally get him to drink something now that the vomiting was over and he was starting to gain awareness again.

When you came back to the bathroom, Dabi looked up at you as you entered, his eyes truly seeing you for the first time.

“You’re still here.” He slurred, his voice raspy.

“You noticed, huh?” you gave a small smirk, an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

He was quiet for a moment and looked down, confusion on his face. “I told you to leave.”

“Yeah, well I was going to, but then you passed out on the bathroom floor.” You replied. “I couldn’t just leave you there.”

He didn’t respond. The fight in him was gone for the moment. He was placid now, almost childlike. You opened the water bottle and handed it to him, but he turned his head away.

“Please, Dabi…” you begged.

He looked back at the item in your hand and stared at it for a moment before finally taking it and taking a small sip. He grimaced painfully.

Of course; after all that vomiting he did earlier, his throat probably hurt like hell.

You pointed at his neck. “May I?” You hoped he understood.

He seemed to. He lowered the water bottle from his lips to allow you access to his throat, and gently you placed your hand over it, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed against your cool touch. Your quirk seeped into him like honey into a cake, coating his throat and washing the burning pain away.

He swallowed again, this time without flinching. His eyes stared at you, still hazy, but with the hint of something lively in them –a flicker of kindling. He took your hand from his neck and moved it down to his abdomen.

“Here.” He spoke.

You understood, but you hesitated. Would you be able to keep your quirk focused on just the nerves of his muscles? Or would it go deeper than that, impacting the nerves in his gut? That could have its own effects – he won’t feel the burning in his gut, but he also won’t feel hunger for a while, and may not feel that urge to vomit again even if his body needed to later.

“Just a little bit.” You replied.

You felt your quirk trickle into him, like water through cracks in concrete. Once your quirk felt the resistance of the deeper layers of muscle and tissue, you pulled your hand away. If you pushed any further, it’d be too much. He might feel some pain still, but it should be mitigated at least.

“Drink more now. Please.” You ordered.

He obliged, drinking the water in large, thirsty gulps for the first time that evening. Once he was done, he wiped his mouth and handed the empty water bottle to you. You set it on his sink next to the faucet, in case it needed to be refilled later on.

“Come on,” you said. You kneeled down and put his arm around your shoulder, helping him stand. “Let’s get you into bed.”

He didn’t respond; instead, he let you lead him out of the bathroom to the edge of his bed where he fell into it. You debated on whether or not you could leave him there and finally retreat to your room for much-needed rest, but you decided against it. The meds that were flowing in his system were going to start wearing off soon. He will be hungering for more, and you won’t be able to give it to him this time. If you left him alone here, he’d either somehow end up back in your room hunting for that hidden bottle, or he’d go out on the street to try to score whatever he could, no matter the consequences.

There was no choice. You had to stay. And when his pain became too much, you’d help out as best you could. Maybe you could mitigate the symptoms enough to last him until tomorrow evening. By then, you could start him back up on your pills.

You hoped you could handle it. You’d already used your quirk three times tonight - twice just now, and once earlier when you treated his burn in your room. Already, the environment seemed a little harsher to you. Light was brighter, noises louder… It wasn’t too terrible just yet, but all of your senses were heightened more than they were before. The damaged nerves on your back, always hidden by your shirt, itched irritably. It was still bearable – for now.

A sense of trepidation filled you. You’d gone so long without over-exerting your quirk… it had taken only one time to experience it, and you vowed to never let it happen again. Then again, you never expected to be single-handedly dealing with drug addiction and withdrawal for a man who takes enough opioids to take down an elephant.

You peaked at him in his bed where he lay curled up on his side. His eyes were closed for the moment, but you weren’t sure if he was asleep or not. Without disturbing him, you managed to steal a spare pillow from his bed. Then, with a heavy, resigned sigh, you laid down in front of his door, his pillow your only comfort. If he tried to leave, he’d have to go through you. The window was unguarded, but you weren’t too worried – you were three stories up. The building was an old hotel, so all fire escapes were located at the end of the hall, and he was in no condition to try to climb down the rusty drainpipes.

Despite the hardness of the floor and the coldness of the air, sleep claimed you within seconds, the scent of Dabi enveloping you.

As you slept, Dabi stirred restlessly in his bedsheets, his mind drifting between a vague wakefulness and dreams.

There was humming. Someone was singing. It soothed him.

He blinked.

You were talking to him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Something cool and wet passed across his forehead. Was this real?

He blinked.

Your face peered up at him, filled with a loving concern as your hand cupped his cheek, your thumb stroking across his stitches softly. Was THIS real?

He blinked.

He stared at himself, his scars gone, his hair a deep red. His blue eyes echoed his other self like an infinite row of mirrors.

He blinked.

He tried to speak, but pills kept falling from his mouth, choking his words. He couldn’t breathe. His other self stood before him, hands cupped and outstretched as the pills filled them and overflowed, scattering over the floor like a child’s marbles.

He blinked.

All he could see was a blue sky, but there were sounds. The sound of children’s laughter, the sound of a ball being kicked. The was a faint smell of dirt in the air. He was happy.

He blinked.

A woman sat near a window, bathed in sunlight with a white bundle cradled in her arms. Something about her was oddly familiar, yet he couldn’t place her. She sang. “My little Shouto. My sweet, little Shouto…” A baby cooed. Her face turned to him, but her features were hazy, hard to see through the dust that danced in the sunbeams. She reached out a long, slender hand. “Come here, Touya. Meet your little brother.”

He blinked.

He saw the woman again, standing at the end of a lake dock in a white dress, her hair billowing like a white flag of surrender. The lake was smooth as glass, a white mist ghosting over its glossy waters. He knew her.

Mother.

He tried to call to her, but his words were silent, falling from voiceless lips like birds with broken wings. She put one foot out over the water and fell silently, disappearing beneath the murky depths without a splash. A cold dread filled him. Frantically, he ran towards the water, but before he could dive in, the water on the lake erupted into orange, writhing flames. The wood beneath his feet crackled and charred, flames licking at his legs, his arms, his face. The dock broke and suddenly he was drowning, boiling water filling his lungs. Unseen hands grasped at his limbs, pulling him down, down, into the darkness, his flesh turning to ash beneath their touch.

Dabi woke with a shout, his eyes wide and filled with a wild fear. He felt restrained, his legs unable to move.

“Hold him down.” Said a familiar, gruff voice. The smell of cigarette smoke choked him. “I told you this would hurt, kid.”

Suddenly, your face came into view, hovering over him with your hands on his shoulders, shaking him. “Dabi. Dabi!” you called. You stared down at him with worry, dark circles under your bloodshot, tired eyes.

You were here.

The waking nightmare lifted and suddenly he was gasping for air like a deep-sea diver, heavy breaths filling his lungs as he broke through the surface into consciousness. “Y/N?” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled to his ears. His eyes looked around frantically, taking in his room. A dark twilight was starting to emerge from the clouded, early morning sky outside, dark blue-grey contrasting with the yellow light seeping from the edges of his closed his bathroom door. The colors framed your face as you spoke to him

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said soothingly. “It was just a dream.”

His bedsheets were tangled around his bare legs like a snake. Dabi kicked them off and sat up in his bed with a wince. “I need some water.” An open water bottle appeared in front of him, which he gratefully took and drank.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

Dabi handed the bottle back to you without looking. “I’m fine.” He said gruffly; more so than he intended. But he wasn’t fine. Everything hurt. His head was pounding. His damaged nerves were starting to scream while his body felt as if it had been forced into a box that was too small, aching in places he never thought it could ache. Underneath it all, humming low like a wild animal growling a warning, sat an uneasiness - a dark, nervous energy - threatening to envelop him and wrap him up tightly in despair. Flashes of dreams – or were they memories? – threatened to drag him back down into the darkest parts of himself.

Dabi grappled for control, but he was losing.

You placed a concerned hand over his and he withdrew from your touch, the affection foreign to him. The heavy weight of shame sat deep in his gut as he took in your weary face. Somewhere, beneath the noisy din of his mind, a thought occurred to him: this was taking its toll on you too.

“Why are you still here?” he asked as he laid back onto his damp pillow, his arm over his eyes.

“Because you need me.” You replied.

He clenched his jaw. “No, I don’t.” The words were feeble and weak in his mouth, not an ounce of truth in them. You both knew it.

“I’m too tired to argue with you.” You stated as you rubbed at the bridge of your nose.

“Then go to bed.” He replied.

You wanted to growl in frustration, your own exhaustion making your fuse especially short. If he could just not fight you every step of the way, that’d be great.

“The last time I almost left, you fainted on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water while your body tried to combust itself. So no, I’m not leaving.”

Your tone allowed no more room for argument, your words forcing Dabi to sulk silently. He sat up from his reclined position, his long, scarred legs swinging over the side of the bed to plant firmly on the ground. His leg began to bounce and jitter, an attempt to relieve the irritated, unfocused energy that swirled inside of him like a cyclone. He felt like hell. He was a desert, his body and mind parched as the drugs in his system began to dry up. Even the slightest bit of movement set his nerves ablaze, pain coursing over his skin like a wildfire. He was tired… so fucking tired.

You reached across him, your proximity allowing him to smell the shampoo in your hair as your arm and shoulder pressed against him. For the briefest of moments, he felt something akin to peace break through his stormy mind like sunlight. It was short-lived though. Your closeness left as quickly as it had come, taking the sunshine with it.

“Hey…” you whispered next to him, a pack of crackers in your hand. You opened the packaging and handed him one. “Try to eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He replied.

“I don’t care. You need to eat.” You replied.

He didn’t have the strength to fight you. Begrudgingly, he took the cracker and nibbled on it. There was no pleasure in it, his jaw going through the motions like a machine as he chewed and swallowed.

You continued to talk to him, your voice soft, as you handed him another cracker. “You’re going into withdrawal again.” You stated.

“I know.”

“It might actually feel worse this time.”

“It does.”

Your face blurred as another wave of fiery pain washed over him, making him double over, the cracker crumbling like ashes in his fist. He gasped and panted against it, his body shaking from the stress.

You placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Let me help you.” You said. “Let me use my quirk.”

For the briefest of moments, Dabi’s pained expression lifted, and you could see the desperation in his eyes. “It won’t be enough.” He replied.

“Let me try.” You begged.

He stared at you. It was either this, or drugs.

He nodded.

You took his hand in yours and began to trace your fingers along his staples, your quirk seeping in. He inhaled a sharp breath. The pain dissipated where your touch landed. It soaked into his aching bones like heavy rainfall on a burning forest. There was a moment of clarity, the sensation so shocking that it distracted him from his suffering. Slowly you let your hands follow up the length of his arm, following his scars and leaving a humming numbness in its wake. Then, you took his other hand to continue the same treatment on the other side.

Dabi stared at his painless hand in vague fascination. It didn’t seem like it belonged to him. His vision blurred, memory replacing reality.

His hands were smaller now, the stitches gone. The skin was bubbled and blistered, and he could hear his own quiet sobs as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, sweetie.” A soft voice called. Pale, white, delicate hands wrapped around his own damaged ones.

He looked up to see his mother smiling at him. It was a sad smile, full of love, but never quite reaching her tired eyes.

“It hurts.” He sobbed.

“I know.” She soothed. “It’s okay.” A cool frost began to ghost over his damaged skin, soothing the burning, throbbing pain.

“Why does my quirk hurt me, mommy?” he heard himself ask.

“It’s my fault, honey.” She whispered, tears stinging her grey eyes.

“It’s not your fault.” Dabi whispered.

Your touch on his collarbone pulled him back to reality on a thin, white thread.

“What was that?” you asked, your fingers pausing in their work.

“What?” he replied, disoriented.

“You said ‘it’s not your fault.’” You replied with a confused look. “What’s not my fault?”

“Nothing.” He responded as he turned his head away from your prying gaze.

You didn’t pursue it. Dabi was grateful. Instead, he felt your cool touch return to his collarbone to trace along the muscles of his neck and shoulders. While your touch helped initially, the cloud of suffering followed close behind from the places you had yet to reach, a parade of aches and throbs blaring their horns against his brain. His body focused on the noise and continued to shiver and shake while he struggled to keep himself focused.

His face was next, so you cupped his cheek in your hand and gently returned his averted gaze to you. His blue eyes locked with yours, and you stared into them for a moment, captivated by their beauty, aching with their suffering. He didn’t deserve this. Any of this. You could only hope that what you were doing was enough, that it could make a difference.

Your fingers rushed and fumbled clumsily across the lower half of his face and beneath his eyes. You couldn’t quite explain why. Perhaps it felt too personal, even after all you two had been through so far. You barely touched his lower lip, the sensation of its roughness sending electric tingles up your fingertips. You desperately wanted to slow down, take your time, and cherish. But you couldn’t. Such exploration was far too intimate to happen here, now, under such heavy circumstances.

You paused for a moment in your administrations as sweat started to break across your brow. The light from the bathroom felt unusually bright to your eyes and you could feel a headache start to form. A shiver began to take you as your body became increasingly sensitive to the cool temperature of the room, each soft gust of air from the open window feeling like an icy blast. Even your hearing was more sensitive – you could hear Dabi’s heavy breaths as his body struggled; you could hear the early morning sounds of songbirds beginning to sing as the sky gradually lightened outside. The rumble of a car passing by on the street sounded like a freight train. All of your nerves were beginning to tingle, and you became increasingly aware of the texture of the clothing on your skin, the feel of Dabi’s staples beneath your hands. Most of all, the scarred nerves on your back were beginning their own little dance, sending small shoots of tingling pain up your spine.

It was already happening. The feedback from your quirk was starting to cross the threshold into painful overstimulation. It was happening far sooner than you had hoped. But then again, you’d already used your quirk three times within the past eight hours, and your body was already at its limits in other ways. Even quirks could be impacted by physical fatigue, dehydration, hunger… it was like trying to run a marathon on zero sleep and an empty stomach.

Dread settled into your empty gut, making a home there out of wild, thorny weeds. They tangled themselves in your limbs, slowing your movements as your mind began to race. Would you really be able to help him?

Your worried thoughts were interrupted by the sound of multiple ‘dings’ coming from Dabi’s phone that sat neglected on his nightstand, as a series of text messages came through. Each ding vibrated your inner ear at the loudness. A few minutes later, you heard the sound of bedroom doors opening and closing in the hallway. Your hands froze over Dabi’s skin as you waited and listened. Muffled voices vibrated on the other side of the thin walls, your sensitive ears picking up every word.

“Why the hell do Kurogiri and Shigaraki have us getting up so goddamn early?” Twice complained.

Spinner’s voice answered. “He said he’ll explain it to us downstairs. Something about our next mission, I guess. Something to do with the Yakuza.”

A loud yawn came from Toga. “Couldn’t it have waited?? I still need my beauty sleeeeeep….” She whined.

Magne’s voice soon followed. “You’re already beautiful, sweetie.”

“You’re the best, Magne…”

Their voices faded as they entered the old elevator at the end of the hall, it’s off-key ding marking the closing of the doors.

A heavy silence followed. You and Dabi were alone now, the entire floor empty. A confusing combination of relief and anxiety washed over you. The privacy was good, but then again, there was no one around to help if you really needed it.

You returned your gaze to Dabi who sat in silence while his withdrawal continued to wash over him. If your quirk had helped so far, you couldn’t really tell. His breaths were still labored and his vision unfocused as his body shook slightly. He sat there as if waiting. Waiting for you? Or was he still falling in his mind, waiting to crash hard across the sharp jagged rocks of his withdrawal before you could catch him?

He had more scars you needed to tend to… on his legs, his back, his left side just below his ribs, and over his hips, the dark tissue disappearing beneath his shorts. This wasn’t even counting the rest of the pain he felt everywhere else in his body simply from not having any drugs in his system. You were only able to do damage control on the parts that hurt the most. What if it wasn’t enough? It wasn’t a possibility you had considered before.

You swallowed, your mouth and throat dry. You had to try.

“Let’s take off your shirt.” You said. “It’ll make it easier for me to reach your other scars.”

He didn’t respond to you, his gaze unfocused.

Scars… scars….

The word echoed in his mind, and he followed it as it led him down an invisible road to another memory.

“Eww, look at his scars!” a kid said to his friend, his finger pointing.

The friend wrinkled in disgust. “Gross!”

“Dabi?” a voice called. He turned and saw his sister. His brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right. The name didn’t match the movement of her lips…

“Dabi??” your voice cut through, and the memory disappeared.

Dabi looked up at you, confused. “Hm?”

“Your shirt. We have to take it off.”

He silently lifted his shirt over his head, while you watched him with worry. It wasn’t hard for you to figure out what was happening. He was having long moments of non-responsiveness, getting repeatedly lost in his thoughts. You didn’t know much about him, but you could hazard a guess that this guy probably did not have a happy backstory. Villains never did. No doubt the lack of drugs in his system was bringing up that backstory for him right now. The concern, however, was that that was something that was completely outside of your scope. Physical pain was one thing. Mental pain was an entirely different beast. All you could hope for was that your physical treatments could help him enough that he could handle his mental issues by himself.

You took a moment to assess his body and how it was responding to your quirk. His leg no longer bounced, and the shivering was reduced. He showed no hesitation or pain when he removed his shirt. It was definitely doing something.

It gave you hope.

You kept going, your hands washing over wherever the scars presented themselves. Your relief continued to pour into him, but it was impaired now, impacted by your body’s need to limit itself. It was like holding your hand in increasingly hot water – at some point your body was going to recoil to protect you before you burned yourself. You were pushing yourself dangerously far, but you didn’t have a choice. If you stopped now, all of this would be for nothing.

As you struggled to treat every damaged part of him, your heightened senses became worse and worse. And the scar on your back… the one that you always kept covered, the one you never told anyone about because of what it represented… that hurt the most. It burned nearly as fresh as it had when you first got it, a hot searing pain, and panic started to seep into your mind.

You forced yourself to focus on the present, to keep yourself in control. Your hands were on his legs now. You counted the staples as your fingers passed over them.

One, two, three, four, five…

This was the reason you needed your meds. Everything else you could handle on your own. But the scar… the scar always hurt if you pushed too far, and the memories associated with it were never far behind. And this was the farthest you had pushed in a long time

Six, seven, eight, nine…

But you couldn’t take your pills. And you couldn’t cry. Dabi would see it, and there was no telling how he would respond. You silently clenched your jaw and hoped that he didn’t notice the sweat across your skin or the way your hands were shaking now.

Finally, your hands reached his feet, and you couldn’t deny your fingers rushed across the staples that marked the end of your journey. Your touches were done, your quirk spent. Your body was tensed now, each muscle tightened in an attempt to keep yourself together.

You looked back up at him and watched him intently, hopefully, forcing your eyes to focus on him and only him, as you tried to tune out the rest of the environment that was demanding your attention. His body no longer shook. But his eyes were still glazed over and his hands were still wrapped around his core. Was he still in pain? Or was he holding himself for comfort?

Although the battleground of Dabi’s body was more balanced now with your help, the war within himself was far from over. His muscles still ached where your hands had yet to reach, and his head still hurt almost to the point of sickness. But most importantly, while your touch soothed the physical, the mental was left unbarred. The demons of the flesh were replaced by demons of the past, as memory after suppressed memory crashed back into Dabi’s defenseless mind.

“Don’t stop.” He begged in a strained whisper. “I need more.”

Your eyes widened. You didn’t have any more. You gave everything you could and now you were hanging on by a thread.

You no longer had the will or strength to hold in your emotions. Tears slipped down your cheeks, wet roads marking your failure, your failure to subdue his suffering as you had promised.

“I can’t.” you sobbed.

He stared at you foggily, confused by the tears on your cheeks. Were you crying?

“Are you crying??” demanded a deep, angry voice.

Dabi squeezed his eyes shut against the sound, as memory mingled with reality. It sounded real.

Dabi knew he was hallucinating from the withdrawal. Years of dependency had the wires in his brain crisscrossed, and now they were misfiring as it tried to process the trauma he had neglected. Even so, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his father was here. He sensed his towering, overbearing presence, could feel the heat of the fire rolling off of his broad shoulders. He wasn’t ‘Dabi’ in that moment. He was ‘Touya,’ small and weak. He couldn’t suppress the fear that followed, crawling up his skin like a thousand ants. He wanted to run from it, but he couldn’t.

This was hell. He was in hell. He couldn’t make the voices stop, couldn’t make the memories disappear. He was cornered, with no way out.

Dabi craved surrender, to satisfy the addiction and let it wash over him. He wanted it drown his shame and agony, leaving nothing but that comforting, vengeful rage he was so used to. It was the only thing that worked, the only thing he believed in. If he could just get the right drugs, enough drugs, then all of this would go away. It was his only option. Earlier was just a mistake, his broken mind reasoned. He wouldn’t have thrown up those pills if he ate something, after all. This time… this time, he’d be okay. He ate those crackers, didn’t he?

Desperation fueled him, fear and exhaustion consumed him as he locked his eyes on you with intense purpose. “I need those pills. NOW.”

You shook your head vigorously as your words fell from your trembling lips. “I don’t have them.” More tears slipped down your cheeks.

“ARE YOU CRYING??”

A child sobbed.

“Get up. I SAID GET UP.”

Dabi’s blood went cold. He knew this memory. No, no, no…

Dabi leapt out of his bed, nearly knocking you over in the process.

His frantic eyes spotted your medical bag against the wall and before you could even get off the bed, he was dumping its contents all over the floor. Scissors, gauze, over-the-counter pain medicine, and a variety of other items rolled across the hard wood with a clatter. You winced. He threw the bag aside when he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Where did you put it??” Dabi demanded. His world spun, but he managed to find the wall with his hand and used it to brace himself up.

“I can’t tell you that.” You replied as you stood up.

“So now you’re keeping them from me?” he seethed.

Now that he knew the drugs weren’t in the room, you knew he would try to leave. You made yourself stand up, stifling a cry with a bite of your tongue as your shirt rubbed against your back, to position yourself between him and the door. Fear coursed through you. Even though he was weakened from all that he’d gone through, you knew he could easily overpower you.

You put your hands out towards him cautiously. “We either deal with this now and be done with it, or we deal with it all over again later when the pills run out. You’ve already been through so much. Please, Dabi, don’t give up. You can fight this.”

“You’re pathetic. Weak, like your mother.”

He covered his ears, a futile attempt at blocking the voices from within.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t fight this. The pain was too much, the exhaustion too heavy, the emotions too raw. He needed the drugs. His survival depended on it. Without them, he would go insane. Hadn’t he suffered enough? He wanted to scream, to break things, to ignite his cremation and send everything to ash, including himself. But he didn’t. Perhaps it was the cowardice of dying, or the dissatisfaction of unfinished business, or even the simple fact that you were here with him. Instead, he tried to step around you, but you matched him move for move, blocking his exit. He was trapped.

“Get the fuck outta my way.” Dabi growled.

“No.” you said firmly, even as your body shook in fear and pain. Your eyes were trained on his hands. What if he decided to use his quirk? He wouldn’t… would he?

His face contorted in rage. Betrayal, his mind seethed. You cared more about protecting your precious stash than you did about him. How could you be so fucking selfish?

“You just want to keep the pills for yourself.” He spat.

His accusation shocked you. “W-what?”

“Admit it. You’re a fucking addict just like me. THAT’S WHY YOU WON’T LET ME HAVE ANY!”

“I’m not!” you protested. “Dabi, I’m trying to help you!”

“I’m sorry!” Touya begged. “Let me try again. I just wanna be like you! I wanna be a hero, too!”

“You’ll NEVER be like me! You’re a DISGRACE! A failed experiment!”

“No, no, NO!” Dabi shouted as he squeezed his eyes shut, his fists pounding his head. He opened his eyes, a wildness in them that terrified you. He grabbed at you then, his long fingers wrapping around your biceps with shocking force as he prepared to physically move you from his path. You cried out in pain, his touch like knives against your sensitive skin.

“Dabi, stop it, you’re hurting me!” you cried.

Your frantic words cut through his crazed mind. He stared at you, bewildered, taking in the terror in your eyes, the tears on your face. He saw his hands gripping you, your arms bent up in front of you defensively in fear.

In fear of him.

He let you go, stumbling back a step. He stared at his open palms in horror, his chest heaving. He’d grabbed you. Hurt you. It was his worst fear come to life. He really was like him.

His hands morphed before his eyes, the scars and staples vanishing, and suddenly they were bigger, rougher. They were his father’s hands. And as he looked up, he no longer saw you. Now, he saw his mother, her eyes holding the same fear yours did a moment ago, a fear he’d seen countless times as she tried to defend her children. Those eyes were now trained on him, and it felt as if his soul was being ripped to shreds.

“I-I’m sorry.” He stuttered. He needed her forgiveness. Did he even deserve such a thing? He fell to his knees with a choked sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He repeated.

You stared in shock as you watched him fall apart before you, rambling apologies and broken words falling from his lips. You whispered that it was alright, but he couldn’t hear you, too far lost in whatever nightmare he was stuck in. You knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his back, rubbing small circles in the space between his shoulders.

He could feel it… his mother’s touch, cool on his back and warm on his soul. He was falling and no longer knew where he was. He only knew that this touch between his shoulder blades was an anchor to a place he couldn’t reach, a place he longed for but never believed existed for him. It was an exoneration, made of mercy and love, sewing together his broken pieces with a golden thread. He wasn’t worthy of it. He cried.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bore witness to his agony, this unknown monster that haunted him as he sobbed, completely dismantled and unaware of your presence. There was nothing you could do, no way you could help him through this. All you could do was be here for him. You wouldn’t let him go through this alone

You wrapped your arms around his head as you buried your face into his black hair, your own tears running down into his dark strands. His body responded, lean, strong arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed himself against your stomach and suddenly the two of you were entwined, with him halfway in your lap, gripping you like a child would his mother as his body shook and his tears ran hot into your clothes.

With every inch of you on the brink, your body screamed at his iron-like grip around your waist. Even so, you twined your fingers into his thick hair, bracing the palms of your hands against his sweating skull. With one last surge, you drew what you could of your quirk, scraping the dredges of your ability, and pushed, deep into his brain where the pain still sat like a bullet in a wound that couldn’t heal. A choked sob escaped your lips as your body was pushed passed its threshold, your world exploding in color, sound, and pain. Dabi’s own sobs fell silent and his body went limp in your lap, his arms around your waist going slack. He was unconscious.

A deafening silence fell across the room, slowly replaced by the sounds of daily life from outside – the bustle of traffic, someone’s radio blaring, people laughing. It felt out of place in contrast to all that had transpired and clashed harshly with your ears. The sun was completely up now, the grey haze of morning burned away. It seeped past the cracks in the curtains, a beam of light streaking across the floor to kiss the face of the man now passed out in your lap. The brightness of the sunlight made you squint against it, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You watched the tension in his face disappear, furrowed brows and wrinkled forehead smoothing over, his lips parting in a relaxed breath. It was the first time you’d ever seen him look so peaceful.

You watched as your tears fell on his pale cheek to slip down and catch onto a metal ring. Suddenly, you were doubled over him, sobbing violently into his shoulder. The rollercoaster of all that had happened crashed over you in unrelenting waves as your body screamed at the entire loudness of the world around you. As you cried, the broken man beneath you slept. There was no waking him now; his own exhaustion had claimed him once you hit his withdrawal at its source.

After what felt like ages, your sobbing subsided, and your tears dried up. Your body and soul were spent. They screamed for relief, for silence, for sleep. Slowly, you removed Dabi from your lap before finally staring at him, asleep on the floor. There was no way you could get him back into his bed, but you’d do what you could to make him comfortable. Even the slightest bit movement was agony, but you forced yourself forward with painstaking slowness. You managed to get the pillow you had borrowed under his head and draped his blanket over him before you grabbed a water bottle for yourself and downed its contents. You followed it up with a banana, although your stomach roiled slightly, the pain in your lower back bringing forth a wave of nausea that you fought with clenched teeth and deep breaths through the nose.

Every movement was stiff and calculated to try to mitigate your own suffering as you gathered the items Dabi had emptied across the floor earlier. When you finally left his room, it felt like entering another dimension, the hallway oddly quiet and peaceful.

On tired, aching feet you crossed the hallway to your room and entered. As soon as the door closed behind you, you dropped your bag and headed straight for the bathroom. As you passed your closet, you eyed the duffle bag stashed up high in your closet, your mind longingly thinking of its hidden contents. You did your best to ignore it. The idea of having to go through it all again because you couldn’t exercise self-control was enough to keep you from giving into temptation.

Instead, you pulled your over the counter pain relief pills from your medicine cabinet and took four of them; they might not work as well as what you were used to, but it was better than nothing. Your body screamed for sleep, but you knew that sleep would elude you as long as your senses were going haywire and your back burned.

So, you closed your bathroom door to plunge yourself into darkness and turned on your bathtub, adjusting the temperature to an equilibrium that matched with your own body. You undressed yourself, slowly, grateful to no longer feel the itchiness of the cotton on your skin while the soles of your bare feet complained about the cold hardness of your bathroom floor. Once the tub was full and the faucet turned off, you entered the water slowly and submerged yourself until only your mouth and nose were above water.

Immediately, a familiar, comfortable silence fell over you as the water entered your ears and muted your hearing, your closed eyes blocked out any remaining light that the bathroom door couldn’t eliminate, and the water caressed your skin in a gentle, numbing embrace.

This was what you needed – sensory deprivation. Or, at least the best you could do with your current situation. A heated pool was more ideal of course, but clearly not an option right now. You could feel the edges of the tub press on your skin where you couldn’t quite fit or where the water wasn’t quite deep enough to fully support you with its buoyancy. But still, it was far better than anything else you had at your disposal.

If it weren’t for the fear of water getting into your nose and lungs, you would have fallen asleep right there in an instant. Instead, you lingered, your mind filled with memories and thoughts of the gauntlet you had somehow managed to survive. You wondered if Dabi would remember all of it when he finally woke up, or if some of it would get lost or buried.

Will he be okay after you used your quirk on his mind? You hadn’t thought about it when you did it – your instinct took over, fueled by desperation and emotional turmoil at seeing him fall apart in front of you against his will. You’d never used your quirk like that before, and it scared you.

There was nothing you could do but wait. Wait and see what happened.

You left the bathtub once the water started to get cold and dressed yourself in your softest article of clothing before falling into bed. Your blackout curtains did their best to block out the daytime, but nothing could be done for the noise, the old windows made of thin glass. But fatigue pulled heavy, its weight stronger than your quirk’s feedback. Time lost its meaning as sleep finally found you, pulling you into its gentle arms while visions of Dabi filled your dreams. __________________________________________________________________

Part 7

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