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enhypens-hoe · 1 day

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YOU’RE PATHETIC ⛪️

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡𐙚 summary: Jay and you go to the same church school. He and his friends make fun of you for actually following the rules. You think he hates you, but little do you know about his obsession.

pairing ᯓ★ park jongseong x fem!reader

★ starring: newjeans' DANIELLE

cw ᯓ★ nsfw, cursing, corruption kink, hard dom jay, sub reader, unprotected sex, talk about religion, masturbation (jay), mention of porn magazine's, jay and reader go to a church school, jay’s 20 and readers 19 turning 20, breath play???, face fucking, p in v sex, jay degrades reader in one scene, reader is clueless, jay & reader are inexperienced, reader mentions pee (doesn't know she's abt to cum), lmk if there's more

p.s. ᯓ★ in no way am I trying to mock anyone's religion. I mean no harm this is all fiction and in creative fun. If you are not comfortable with this topic, please do not read and look for something else. also, this story is supposed to take place in the 80's keep in mind that's why there is no texting.

taglist ᯓ★ @anonant @luvnicho @nannetsz @star4rin @lovelysparklyfart @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @jakehooni @26796i @woozixo @kim2005bomi @minseongsworld @sunkislove

series ᯓ★ 80’s love

There he was for the third time this week, fist pumping his cock with the swollen red tip sticking out. Moaning your name like it was some sort of ritual because he couldn’t stop thinking about you and your pigtails. Oh, how much he wants to tug on them and push you to your limit while fucking you hard. He really shouldn’t be doing this and if his parents found out he’d be in so much trouble but that doesn’t stop Jay. It didn’t stop him when he was 14 so why would he stop now at the age of 20.

“Yea- oh f-fuckk” he grunts as white ropes spill out of him onto his hand. His breathing is unstable as he closes his eyes imagining how you’d clean him up so well. You’re so vulnerable and pure, that’s what Jay loves most about you. Constantly following your parent’s rules like a good Christian girl, but Jay always wondered if he would be able to change that. Minutes pass by and you’re the only thing flooding his mind.

He flinches as the front door opens letting him know his mom is back from the store. Jay groans wiping his hand with a napkin and yanking on the nearest pair of sweats before rushing to wash his hands. Wiping his wet hands on his sweats as he runs downstairs taking the bags from his mom’s hands. He begins to set the heavy bags on the kitchen counter taking out the groceries.

“Thank you. Oh, guess what that girl.. the one with the pigtails. We saw her and her family at church on Monday. I saw her at the store today and she helped me carry my bags to my car. She’s cute and seems like a good girl… hmm?” Jays head rises suddenly not interested in what his mom bought.

“Oh, ___?” his mom snaps pointing at him meaning he guessed right. “She’s annoying and such a crybaby. I’m not even worried about girls right now mom.” He hates how nervous he gets talking about you. The more he tries to conceal his feelings the more they pour out. His mom just laughs putting some groceries in the fridge. “Hey! Be nice.”

Her laughter dies down as she remembers something. She looks up at him her look suddenly showing some disappointment. “I thought I told you not to skip church school yesterday. -” I know I’ll go tomorrow, Mom. “Park Jongseong I’m serious. You’re a Christian man you need to continue on the right path. You’re a good kid you always have been.” Jay just looks away and nods not wanting to argue with his mom. His mom is trying to study his expression wondering whether to drop the conversation or not.

She sighs before speaking again. “Well, go upstairs and shower then come help me cook and set the table.” his mom softly tells him rubbing his shoulder. Jay listens dragging his feet across the floor and up the stairs.

Your white sneakers hit the floor as you walk in the halls, skirt slightly swaying. Books pressed up against your chest like someone will steal them. Danielle throws her arm around your shoulder, and you flinch looking up before smiling. You guys walk to your locker telling her updates on your new pet bunny.

Jay watches you from across the hallway while his friends complain that he’s not paying attention. “Don’t worry guys he’s just trying to get his dick hard before he gets home.” Jake laughs bending over and holding his stomach.

Glaring at Sunghoon for laughing too, Jay hits the back of Jake’s head shutting him up. “Jake don’t be mad you can’t get any bitches because you and your 2-inch dick are literal pussy repellents.” Sunghoon's mouth drops, looking back and forth at the two guys. Jake rolls his eyes poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue thinking of a comeback.

“Yeah, there’s no coming back from that… sorry man.” Sunghoon pats Jake’s back pressing his lips into a thin line. Jake shakes his head mumbling something about getting Jay back one day. The bell rings reminding everyone to start making their way to the chapel.

All the students along with Jay and his friends are entering the chapel taking their seats. Jay looks around, his eyes meeting the back of your head as you sit on the other side of the chapel next to your friends. You sit with good posture and your hands on your lap as you look forward, attention already on the teachers upfront.

The prayer begins catching everyone's attention except Jay's. He doesn't take his eyes off of you because you're all he sees. During the prayer he would continuously steal glances at you. An hour passes and he's still hypnotized by your presence. Feeling someone tap his shoulder he looks to his left and is met with Sunghoon letting him know to get up. Jay didn't even realize the prayer ended.

You're in front of him and his friends as students walk out of the chapel. Jay softly tugs on your ponytail and asks "Oh is sweet little ___ dropping the good girl act? With a skirt that short seems like you're begging to be looked at as a slut." Sunghoon and Jake just chuckle at Jay's comment.

You turn around looking at him angrily "Y-You… You shouldn’t say words like that. It’s not… something a g-good Christian would do. Actually, unlike you Park Jongseong I have a future I'm looking forward too. While you're too busy ogling at women I am focusing on my studies." you huff telling him in a matter-of-a-fact tone, but you still sound so small. Like a puppy who’s been kicked. Tears fill your eyes as you rush to the bathroom. Your friends give Jay a dirty look and run to the bathroom to comfort you.

Damn that’s the first time she’s said anything back.. he thinks to himself. He follows you when his friends are distracted and knows your friends left the bathroom. As he gets closer to the bathroom, he can hear your sobs. Jay walks in clearly not caring that it's a restroom for women only and bangs on the stall that your locked in.

You flinch staying in the same position. "Why do you hate me so much?" You ask Jay with your trembling voice, and he feels his heart break a little. "What nonsense are you talking about. Can you-... Can you just come out of the stall." Jay responds keeping his cold act up.

There's silence for a couple minutes until he hears you shuffle to your feet and unlock the door. Your eyes are slightly red as you look up at him and hands tugging down your skirt. Jay sits in silence wanting to clam up because he knows you're watching him. "'I don't hate you ___" he admits staring at the ground.

Your eyes stay on him with your eyebrows scrunched together and he continues. "I hate that I can't stop thinking about you. I hate that no matter how much I distract myself you're always in my mind. I hate how I try to get your attention and you never care. You only try to please your teachers and parents because you want to be a good girl so bad."

Your eyes widen at his confession mouth opening but you shut it right away not knowing what to say. He grabs your ponytail, and you whimper. "Now what? Hmm? … What do you have to say to that?" He stares at you, and you feel like he's looking into your soul. You look everywhere but his face because you feel too intimidated.

"I- well... thank you? um I appreciate-" you stop talking when you hear Jay scoff, and you look back up to see him biting his lip. 'seriously' Jay whispers under his breath. Sucking in a deep breath he let's go of your hair.

"Can I show you something?" Jay finally speaks up and you nod eagerly. He grabs your hand putting it on his crotch and you gasp softly. You squeeze your legs together, unsure of why you did that. "Is... is that your... you know. Thing?" you ask him, he laughs and nods.

You know you should take your hand away, but you can't. Your thighs are still pressed together as Jay yanks your hand off of him. He starts undoing his belt as he tells you "I can just walk out of here if you want. We can act like nothing happened but the way you're squeezing your legs tells me you probably don't want that huh?"

You just reach out to his pants slightly tugging at them trying to signal for him to pull them down. "What happened to you huh? What about your parents? You didn't learn this in church" Jay questions you with a fake pout on his face as he pull his pants and boxers down.

My Parents? How would they feel if they saw me like this...? you think to yourself but that doesn't stop you from slowly going on your knees like Jay tells you to.

You stare at his cock wide eyed and guilt filling your body because your mouth waters. "I- um I really shouldn't be doing this. My parents will be so upset." you admit twiddling your thumbs. So, when Jay stares at you with the same unimpressed look and shoves your head closer to him...

You open your mouth, tongue slowly poking out like you're scared of his cock. What are you even supposed to do? You lick his tip, and he groans lightly making your eyes light up. You feel so dirty, but you don't want to stop anymore. Your lips wrap around the tip sucking it like a lollipop and looking up at him.

"Come on baby. Stop playing around and take it." Jay harshly comments pushing your head further down. Your eyes squeeze shut as you gag around his length. He controls your pace holding your ponytail continuously dragging your head up and down his cock. Never in a lifetime would you have thought that you'd be doing this but something about him just makes you want to do whatever he wants.

As his moans grow louder you sit there letting him use you how he pleases. Tears fall down your face snot coming out of your nose as you gag even more while Jay groans. You can't breathe and start tapping his thighs, but Jay just seems to get more aroused.

Something fills up the back of your throat. Your eyebrows scrunch together, and you try to pull back, but he keeps your head steady, nose on his pelvis. You look up at him with teary innocent eyes and he's moaning. His hips buck once more before he lets you pull your head away and once you do; he’s looking down at you.

You're panting loudly and the white liquid spilling out the corners of your mouth. “Swallow it and stick your tongue out.” Jay tells you. His eyes are piercing through you, so you swallow sticking your tongue out showing him. He groans rubbing your cheeks.

Jay picks you up from the ground, hands on your face before kissing you. You're unsure of what to do I mean you don't know how to kiss but it doesn't bother Jay. "Are you okay? Was I too rough? Did I hurt you?" Jay asks concern in his eyes it's like a totally different person from before. This is foreign to you, Jay's usually rude.

A smile grows on your face as you nod at him feeling the blush creep up on your face. "I- I really liked that." You look at the floor and he smiles at you grabbing your hand. Your smile drops when you hear the bell signaling that you're supposed to be in class.

You rush picking your books up and before you can leave Jay grabs your arm and pecks your lips. You push him off getting embarrassed and he smacks your ass as you walk out.

The speed of your heartbeat starts to increase as you wipe your eyes and mouth. Did you really just do that? You tug your ponytail to make it tighter as you run to your class. what were you thinking?! you can't do that again; you'll confess to Father Eri- wait no... no you can't confess...

It's been a month. You've been ignoring jay since the incident that happened in the bathroom. When he makes smart comments, you just walk away pretending you don't hear him. You made a deal with yourself to never tell anyone about what happened and that it will never happen again.

Currently you're sitting in your bunny's play pen cooing at her and playing with her. Small beads of sweat slide down your back after rearranging your room so Lola can have space for her little playpen. As you tie your hair up into a messy bun your mom calls you from the kitchen, so you pick up Lola and head downstairs.

"There you are hun! I need you to go in the garden and pick some fruit please. The Park's are coming over in about 30 minutes." Your mom says as she sets 6 plates of breakfast. She lightly hums a song from church playing on the radio.

Your eyes widen at her words and suddenly you're more conscious of the fact that Jay will be in your house. "The Park's? Mom but I have no time to get dressed and why are they coming over? Since when were we friends with th-" Your mom's soft sigh cuts you off as she wipes her hands on her apron before taking a couple steps closer to you.

"Don't be rude ___. They are very sweet people I bumped into Mrs. Park at the grocery store, and we arranged something. I have your clothes picked out they are in the bathroom. Quickly pick the fruits and get ready." your mom tells you kindly but sternly, so you grab a basket from the closet. You turn looking at the clock before walking outside with Lola.

While you put the last pieces of fruit in the basket Lola hops around you trying to eat some strawberries. You look down at her smiling picking her up and quickly rinsing a strawberry giving her one.

You walk inside setting the basket on the kitchen counter. 20 minutes... you rush upstairs kissing Lola's head and putting in her cage making sure the door is secure. You open your closet grabbing your towel and make your way to the bathroom.

The warm water hits your body, and you think back to that day in the bathroom. You feel like it's hot down there. You squeeze your legs together wanting to cry because you don't understand the feeling that's been going on for the past month. "___!! Hurry they are going to be here in 10 minutes!!" your mom yells from outside the bathroom.

You rush out the shower quickly changing into a white sundress your mom set out for you. You settled on putting your hair in pigtails using your favorite bow hair ties and quickly putting on some makeup. As you make your way downstairs there's a knock on the door. You open the door and you're met with Mrs. Park smiling sweetly next to Mr. Park and Jay.

Your mom comes greeting them as you hug Mrs. Park and bow. Your mom asks you to set the table as she goes outside to show Mrs. Park the new flowers she planted. Your dad talks to Mr. Park and Jay in the living room as you get some juice out to put on the table. "Honey come here for a second." your dad calls.

Trying not to physically sigh as you turn around walking towards him. Your hands are shaking you can feel Jay staring at you. "Jay got a pet bunny just like you hun!" he informs you and you look up at him suddenly interested. "R-really? What color is it?" you ask him.

"He's black and has a white spot on his eye." Jay answers smiling slightly when he sees you gasp. You didn't know Jay would be the type to own a bunny. "___ I didn't know you had a bunny. How old is the bunny?" Mr. Park talks to you as you nod your head.

"Yeah! She's 8 months and her name is Lola. I got her a month ago!" Mr. Park smiles at you asking for tips on how to care for a bunny since Jay isn't much of an expert. "Why don't you go upstairs with Jay so he can see Lola?" your dad proposes the idea and suddenly your mouth is dry. Jay tells him he'd love to see Lola.

"Dad" you mumble, and he looks at you laughing. Your dad tells Jay and his father. "Sorry ___ can be shy. Come on it'll be quick." You sigh walking upstairs as Jay follows you. Your dad never lets you bring anyone in your room so why would he let Jay. The walk up the stairs is silent as your dad's continue to talk.

Once you get in your room you close the door walking towards Lola's cage, but Jay just stares at you. "Were you ignoring me?" Jay questions you and you can't seem to make eye contact with him. He grabs your hand gently and you look up at him. You can't tell how Jay is feeling, you thought he'd be fuming but he looks almost sad. "W-what we did... it was wrong I know. It should have never happened... but I can't stop thinking about it."

You stare at his lips biting your nails, you quickly peck his lips. Jay looks shocked as his hands immediately find your waist. He pulls you in for another kiss moaning into your mouth. Starting to feel bold you place your hands on Jay's thigh and begin to whine. Pulling away from the kiss he mutters "You've been feeling needy for me? I have been needing you... so much."

Jay is not satisfied with the nod of your head. "Say it. Tell me that you need me." Foreheads pressed together as you look up at him studying his features. You whisper, "I need you... please."

He kisses you one more time before pulling down his pants and boxers. Jay gently reaches under your dress pulling down your underwear. The tiny bear patterns make him smile as he walks closer to your bed tossing your underwear on the floor. What he hasn't noticed is you staring at his cock you forgot how big he is.

"You're gonna put that down here?" You pull your hand down to your bare core shock all over your face and Jay just chuckles pecking your lips. "Jay I- I... that's not gonna go down there. 'S too big."

He turns you around and softly pushes you down to your knees. Guiding your upper body on your bed and kicking your legs open. He gets behind you spreading you apart. You put your arms behind you, hands trying to cover your lower body.

Jay grabs them and puts them on your lower back holding your wrists with one hand. The other trails down to your slit feeling how wet you are as you gasp. "Fuck... are you gonna be good for me and take it... hmm?" Jay asks and you whimper subconsciously rubbing your core on his hand.

Jay rubs his tip on your slit and slowly pushes it in. Tears prick your eyes, and you gasp loudly, one of your restricted hands try to grab Jay's wrist. He groans pushing more in as you tighten around him, pushing some of him out. "I'm sorry baby, you need to relax, okay? If you relax, I promise, I'll make you feel good." Jay coos at you.

He reaches down rubbing your clit and you softly begin to moan. He's able to push his entire length in. His head drops and he's trying to hold in his orgasm. Your warm walls make him never want to leave. He continues to rub your clit and starts to move giving you no time to adjust. He notices your face all scrunched up and tears streaming down. You feel so full it makes you feel like you can't breathe.

The burning sensation begins to feel like pleasure. You feel an overwhelming amount of pleasure. "Jay you- I... ahhh so good!" Jay removes his hand from your clit shoving two fingers in your mouth. "Fuck this cunt is so tight ugh" His thrusts are sloppy and inconsistent. To be honest Jay has no clue what he's doing, sure he and his friends talk about porn magazines they secretly found and kept, but he's never had sex.

His pace speeds up and his thrust are harder. The room feels hot and you're both sweating while the sound of skin slapping fills your room. Jay removes his hand from your wrists grabbing one of your pigtails and tugging on it. "Wait jay I think 'mm going to pee! Stop I have to pee!!" you yell at him hands grabbing your bedsheets for dear life, but he doesn't stop instead he goes faster.

You clench around him cumming all over him. Jay starts to see a ring of white appear at the base of his cock. You're in a daze everything is muffled as tears continue to fall down your face.

"Who knew you could be so dirty huh?" Jay whispers in your ear tugging even harder on your hair. Your sobs are muffled by his two fingers. His hips stutter as he cums and he falls on your back.

You two stay still trying to catch your breath. Jay gives you small kisses all over the side of your face. He plays with the hair ties that holds your pigtails. he notices that both hair ties have little bows on them cute.

"Can you... wear pigtails again? I... I like how they look on you." Jay nervously asks and you turn your head back to look at him. A dusty pink creeping up on your cheeks as you nod.

The door slams open "What are you gu-" shit.

@enhypens-hoe 2024 - do not steal, copy, or translate.

divider creds ᯓ★ @/xxbimbobunnyxx

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makyurini · 3 days

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She Washes All of My Wounds For Me | Touya Todoroki

cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (AFAB anatomy, femme pet names), so so SO much hurt/comfort, a lot of angels/heavenly/sinners/god-like imagery, touya is so desperate to be loved and in so much denial about it, one (1) little teeny weeny mention of Sir kink as a joke, one (1) verbal argument, touya breaks a piece of furniture during said argument but does NOT hurt reader, touya is too stubborn for his own good, drunk touya however is less stubborn, drunk apologies in the rain because i am not immune to cliches, oral and fingering (f! receiving), reader does have a Bush, praise and praise and praise and praise, super duper soft smut with obsessive undertones because of who i am as a person, touya also VERY vocal in bed, happy ending (in more ways than one)

wc: 15,240

a/n: you all thought i forgot about my re-uploads? (i did but shhh) here is one of the most personal fanfics i’ve ever written and probably my favorite (so far). enjoy! <3

The first time you call Dabi by his name, he swears he sees a halo floating above your head, glitter cascading down the face he’s spent months memorizing and the body he would consider his home if he deemed himself worthy.

He never knew a thing that has brought him so much pain, so much agony, something he thought was forever cursed to be a shameful thing to hide behind skeletons in dusty closets could sound so sweet, so tender, so gentle.

But he supposes every world that falls out of the mouth of an angel is bound to sound heavenly.

His limbs are tangled with yours, his head is pressed against your shoulder in hopes that maybe you can share the burden that lies on his, his heart has been cut out of his chest and locked in yours for safe keeping, and yet he can’t believe you still manage to find ways to rock him down to his very core. You’re a saint, something so ethereal and otherworldly he never thought his temporal hands would have a chance to touch you, and yet you still choose a sinner over your throne in the clouds.

It’s a miracle, really, his tainted soul hasn’t scared you off yet. Maybe you’re just as stubborn as he is. Maybe you see him as a charity case. Maybe, just maybe, you do love him and all of his broken pieces no matter how much they bite at your skin and dye them the color of mortals. And the fact that you can say his name with so much purity—as if it really is just another typical Friday evening spent together after a week of trying to bring hero society down and not you changing everything he knows about that goddamn name—just shows how much he doesn’t deserve you.

“What did you call me?” he asks, his face never daring to leave the crook of your neck in fear of you seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, but he can’t hide it from his voice. He knows how he sounds—knows he sounds like a child lost in a world that is far too vast for him to comprehend. Blood rushes in his ears, his hands shake as they grip your hips, blunt fingernails digging into your flesh in a vain attempt to starve off the longing that is filling his bones. It’s consuming him—chewing through calcium and turning it to mere dust between greedy enamel that only knows how to feed on what little affection he receives.

Your fingers lace themselves in his hair, a signal to let him know he’s safe, he’s okay, there’s no reason to sharpen his tongue and forge his armor around you. His heart is starved of love and you’re more than happy to flood it with so much dedication he fears it may burst out of his chest—worthless bones unable to contain all of the emotions he’s tried so hard to keep locked away. “I called you by your name. Is that okay?”

“I don’t know.”

And it isn’t because he doesn’t want you to know his name. He’s already announced it to the world. Of course, you’re going to know it. It certainly isn’t because he hates the way your lips so easily form the two syllables. It isn’t because he no longer wants to associate himself with the name.

He’s simply afraid of his greedy soul becoming attached to the way you somehow manage to make something that used to cause his skin to crawl now bring his heart a peace he’s never known before he saw your face.

“Can I call you it again?”

And you sound so uncertain, so scared you’ve prodded at bruises you didn’t even know existed, terrified of reopening a wound you’ve tried to stitch up before it bled all over your hands, that he can’t help but pull his face away from its safe space and rest his sapphire eyes on yours. Though they shake, he still runs his fingers along your lower lip and tugs so he can look at your teeth and all of the words sitting in them. You look as nervous as he feels. He’ll never tell you that, however, will never let you know how much power a simple word has over him—how much power you have over him. He’s a murderer with an agenda who has allowed rebellion and anger to corrupt his burning body. He can’t let something as fickle as love distract him from his end goal.

But sometimes, he thinks, it might be okay to allow himself to be loved, especially when you make it seem so simple.

“Just don’t get used to it, sweetcheeks,” he muses, a mask of ease sliding over his face, and pulls your body closer to his. “That version of me died long ago.”

“Maybe we can resurrect him,” you whisper into his hair, and it’s then when he realizes he lost control long ago when it comes to you.

And before he can snap back that he killed it himself, you gently kiss the tips of his fingers with a touch so tender, his lungs forget how to function properly.

Still, he manages to mutter, “Some things are better left dead. No use in trying to bring something back to life that wants to stay dead.”

“But what if it never had a chance to live?”

“Then it makes grieving a lot easier. Less memories. Less things to be sad about.”

“Or it makes it more of a tragedy.” And it’s so gentle as how you say it, full of such sorrow for a man you never got to meet. The grief in your eyes pulls at his heartstrings until they’re completely unraveled, put on display for your pure eyes to dissect and analyze, and for once in his life, he isn’t afraid.

Still, only fools allow themselves to be distracted by emotions, and Dabi is anything but a fool. Using his body weight against yours, he easily flips your bodies over so you’re now straddling him, his rough hands ghosting over your soft skin and all of the imperfections he loves so much. His fingers easily find the places that turn you into a whimpering mess above him, and he regains the control he thought he lost long ago.

“C’mon, babe, I had a rough week. Let’s not talk about it, yeah? Let me just make you feel good. Doesn’t that sound so nice? Crying from my cock instead of a stupid name?” Before you can protest, he slips his thumb past your lips and presses it against your tongue, effectively rendering you speechless as you reflexively begin sucking on the digit. “Now that’s a good girl. Let’s not worry about something stupid, okay? Now, what’s my name?”

“Sir,” you moan out around his hand, drool coating his palm in a lewd way that causes all of his blood to rush to his dick.

“That’s the only name I care about.”

The second time you call Dabi by his name, he remembers why it brings him so much pain.

It was such an odd thing to get angry about. After everything he’s done, the stunts he’s pulled, the countless times he’s burned his body trying to set others ablaze, you choose to get mad over the fact that he had to go radio silent for two weeks to keep you out of the attention of those who want to take him down. It’s nothing new, nothing you haven’t been through before. Hell, he’s had to disappear for a month before, and you welcomed him back with open arms.

So why? Why get angry now? Why do your eyes hold such hostility when looking at him? It’s something he’s grown accustomed to from strangers, from heroes who claim to fight for the greater good, from family members who forget the past, from colleagues who don’t agree with his extreme ideals. But from you? Such a thing could bring a man to his knees and grovel for forgiveness.

But not Dabi. Never Dabi. Dabi doesn’t bow to anyone—not even angels with pretty wings and glowing halos.

“What’s the big fucking deal?” he scoffs and plants himself in one of your kitchen chairs, an apple in his hand and a neutral expression on his face to hide the pain burning at his guts. “So what, I had to lay low for a little while? In case that pretty little head of yours forgot: I’m a goddamn villain and you, good samaritan, are not.”

“The big fucking deal, Touya,” you reply through clenched teeth, hands balls in fists and shaking at your sides, “is you just exposed the number one hero in Japan and then disappear for two weeks. I thought you died. I thought they locked you up and threw away the fucking key.”

The sapphires in his skull alight with a fire you haven’t seen in a while, and he grumbles dangerously low, “Don’t think you can just sling that name around to get a reaction out of me, doll, because you ain’t gonna like what’ll happen.” before taking a bite out of his apple.

Closing the space between your bodies, you smack the cursed fruit out of his hand, demanding his attention be solely on you, your chest pressed against his, noses nearly touching as you bare your fangs down at him in hopes he’ll back down. He doesn’t, of course. Instead, he stands right up, towering over you, chair clattering to the floor from the sheer speed of him getting on his feet, his own fangs on display and covered in blood.

“Oh? What’s gonna happen?” you challenge. “Are you gonna disappear? Make me think you’re dying in a goddamn gutter? Or maybe you’ll reveal your identity on live TV for all of Japan to see, expose your family for the abuse and trauma they put you through, also out the number two hero as a fucking murderer, and then randomly not answer any of my calls or texts for two weeks and leave me here to wonder what the absolute fuck is going on? Oh wait, you already did that.”

When Dabi speaks, it’s a voice he barely even recognizes, a voice he’s only heard in the back of his head and never dared to speak aloud—unhinged, angry, scared. A voice he never, ever thought would be directed towards you. But you’re so stubborn, so hellbent on babying a man who has been on his own since he was a child. Though, he supposes he has no one to blame but himself. He is, after all, a goddamn villain, and you, good samaritan, are not.

“What the fuck else am I supposed to do?” The voice shakes with a fear he’s never wanted to show: a fear of losing you—the only thing he’s ever considered worth keeping. “Do you want Endeavor, my father, to come knocking at your door looking for me? Or maybe you want Hawks sending one of his stupid goddamn feathers in here to eavesdrop on you? Want the entire fucking hero commission here tearing your place apart? Do you want to go to prison because...because—” Because I love you.

It hangs in the air between your heaving bodies—a secret he thought he had kept close to his heart, but, looking into your tear-filled eyes, knows that his heart has always been on his sleeve around you. There’s no hiding anything from you because you’ve spent hours, days, weeks, months listening to all of the whispers trapped inside fragile bones and stringing together memories locked away inside of an unstable mind. You knew him before he even knew himself.

His eyes flit around your face in search of any signs of fleeting, any telltales of abandoning him now that you’ve seen all of his ugliness. Because love is such an ugly thing. Love makes people burn their bodies from the inside out just so someone will finally gaze at their flames. Love makes people spend years with the wrong person in hopes that one day they’ll receive the affections they’ve been craving all along. Love makes people foolish, irrational, idiotic. And Dabi has always considered himself smarter than the average man.

The anger in your eyes has dissipated down to pain, and he isn’t sure which one he preferred more. Your hand comes up to cup his cheeks, and he allows it for a breath’s moment before smacking it away as if it were offensive somehow, the limb falling limply by your side before balling into a fist. Anger returns, and it’s then he decides he’d rather have the anger than the hurt. It’s easier to cause a heart rate to spike than it is to stitch a wound.

“Because why, Dabi? Why the hell would I go to prison?” you dare to ask.

“Because we fuck around and they’d be able to trace you back to me.”

The words fall from his lips faster than he can catch them, splattering against your skin with an acid strong enough to strip you down to the bone, put on display and scared of scarring as it eats away at your body. It’s too late for regrets when he sees your eyes cloud over with an agony he can’t even begin to decipher. It wasn’t supposed to hurt you. It was supposed to piss you off, to rebuild the walls he allowed you to carefully deconstruct. He was supposed to make you hate him, to make you forget what the definition of love is and associate his face with villainous tasks not for the faint of heart.

He wasn’t supposed to hurt you.

“So that’s all this is?” you whisper, lowering your head and tucking your fangs back into your gums for safe-keeping. Your voice is strikingly low, quiet even, but that doesn’t stop each word from lacerating at Dabi’s barely-beating heart. “I’m just some fuck to you? Like the days I’ve spent rubbing your back because you drank too much the night before didn’t mean shit? Or the nights we’ve spent telling each other secrets and talking about a future without corrupted heroes was all just fun and games for you? None of it meant anything? I didn’t mean anything? Is that what you’re saying, Dabi?”

Venom sits in his enamel, eroding his tongue and any semblance of self-control he had.

It burns, it burns, it burns.

He thought he’d be used to burning by now—burning forests, burning bodies, burning himself. To be alive is to set yourself on fire, and Dabi bares the scars of his livelihood. It’s all he knows, all he was taught by a man who was determined to have the brightest flame the world has ever seen.

It burns, it burns, it burns.

Touya died in a self-inflicted fire set ablaze by a child who only wanted his father’s love and attention. Is Dabi going to die by yet another fire set ablaze by a man who doesn’t know how to allow himself to be loved?

It burns, it burns, it burns.

It burns to see you so hurt. It burns to know he’s the reason behind it. It burns to look in your cold eyes and see his own angry reflection in them. It burns to see your fists shake and wonder if you’re imagining driving them into his cheeks. It burns to know that he’s losing another home because even now, after all of these years, he still isn’t good enough.

The table sitting next to him splinters into a thousand little pieces as he drives his fist through the wood, all of his frustration and anger towards himself channeled into his bony knuckles. You don’t even flinch at the action, and that only seems to anger him even more. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that shit! You volunteered, in case you forgot, sweetcheeks. I didn’t come knocking at your door asking you to take care of me. You invited me in. You offered me a place to stay. You gave me food to eat, hot water to bathe in, a bed to sleep in. And what the fuck was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, no thank you, hot stranger, I’ll just stay homeless and sleep with rats in a cardboard box’?”

“You didn’t have to pretend to love me,” you shout back, eyes flitting around like a wild animal, fists trembling at your side, chest heaving as if you just ran a mile. “You didn’t have to rip yourself open and put on this whole ‘poor me, poor Dabi’ act if that’s how you really feel. You could’ve just been some typical useless roommate who pops in every now and then. You didn’t have to pretend. You...you didn’t have to lie to me.”

“Wait, I—”

“Oh, no, no it’s fine, Dabi. It’s fine. I’m the one who got caught up in their feelings. It was my mistake. I put way more thought into this than you did. It’s fine, really.”

But it isn’t fine. None of this is fine. The crystals forming in your eyes aren’t fine. The wounds splitting open on your chest aren’t fine. Your shaking hands and tight knuckles aren’t fine. His bleeding heart isn’t fine. His bulging throat clogged with every word he wished he could say isn’t fine. His fists filled with splitters and emotions aren’t fine.

Nothing is fine.

But you’re so determined to protect the treasure in your chest you thought was safe in the hands of a thief (what a foolish, naive thing to think, really), that you’re willing to believe any lie. As long as it’s sweeter than the bitter truth, it’ll go down easier. Deep down, you know the reality behind all of the smoke and mirrors, know it before Dabi runs over to your side with his puppy-dog eyes and dulled flames, have known it since the first time the criminal fell asleep in your arms: he trusts you. And that, for Dabi, means more than something as fleeting as love. Granted, lingering somewhere in that scarred heart of his, you know he loves you. He wouldn’t keep coming around if he didn’t. He wouldn’t steal for you, sneak away from his group for you, try (and fail miserably) to cook for you, include you in his plans, allow you to call him by his name… But loving something as explosive as Dabi means you’re bound to get burned at some point, and you have a funny feeling you’re going to need some salve tonight.

“I...I didn’t mean it like that,” Dabi rushes to reassure you, his hands trying their hardest to find the wounds he caused even though he doesn’t know the first thing about healing. “I just… I’m not the best when it comes to this emotional bullshit, y'know?”

Flinching away from his touch, you whisper, “I think you should go.”

“C’mon, doll—”

“I mean it, Dabi.” Your voice is firmer now, steadier, and you wrap your arms protectively around your body.

“You’re kidding, right?” he incredulously replies. “I didn’t mean it. You’ve gotta believe me, doll. It was just something stupid that slipped out, and you’re gonna kick me to the curb for it? Just toss me aside after everything we’ve been through? After everything I’ve told you? I let you call me my fucking name, and you’re cutting me out over a dumbass mistake?”

And right behind his sapphire eyes, tucked away in the corners of his skull, he can see the white hot flames again, burning away at the tips of his fingers, dancing across his tongue and leaving blisters, new scars decorating his heart and flooding his lungs. He’s choking and sputtering, and though he knows he has the power to stop them, he can’t help but lose himself in the familiar sensation. It feels good to be on fire again. It’s home, it’s all he knows, it’s all he can truly feel—just fire, fire, fire.

Dabi, if nothing, is a man meant to burn. He was born with a flame his body can barely contain, and he’s determined to allow the world to burn with him.

And though he knows how close he was to finding a new home in your bones, and he knows how close he was to having his sins forgiven and the bloods on his hands washed off, he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve any of the smiles flashed at him, any of the seconds spent in your arms, any of the kisses exchanged between hungry mouths, any of the secrets placed on his lips for safe-keeping, any of the butterflies fluttering in his guts.

He was made for destruction, and he’ll die for it as well.

And though he doesn’t want to hurt you, he knows it’s inevitable. Fire doesn’t discriminate against who it burns. He’s living, breathing evidence of that.

When your eyes meet, he can already see the scars forming over them, can see his handprint seared onto the cornea and a new cautionary tale for you: never trust the man with blue eyes to match his blue flames.

“It’s time to go, Dabi,” you state, jaw tight and twitching with anger.

He sneers down at you, “Don’t you mean Touya?”

“He died a long time ago, remember?”

You might as well slapped him in the face, spat in his eye, curse his name and everything he stands for. It hurts more than his own flames ever will—the ice in your scarred eyes, the gates closing around your soul, your fingers curling in on themselves, your lips sewing themselves shut. You’re closing yourself off to him, and he has no idea what to do now that you’ve changed all of the locks and threw away the keys. He’s over, done with, nothing more than the same traumatized child willing to burn himself alive just to have someone look at him for more than a second.

He’s Touya Todoroki: young, naive, driven, boisterous, eager to see the world and be a part of it, ready to prove himself worthy of being born.

He’s Dabi: self-destructive, sadistic, crude, violent, determined to tear the world apart, ready to prove how hypocritical heroes truly are.

He’s neither: scared, lost, unsure if he ever really was any of that, not quite the boy who wants his father’s love but not quite the man who wants to destroy him, unsteady on his feet as he tries to find his place in this ever-shifting world.

He’s both: driven, self-destructive, naive, eager to see the world, determined to tear it apart, ready to prove himself worthy of being born and show how hypocritical heroes truly are.

He doesn’t know who he is anymore, who he wants to be.

All he knows is you’ve given up on him, and that hurts more than any flame that has touched his skin before.

He leaves without another word, no more venom flung at you to add to the scars he’s left, no more furniture broken with shaking fists and scabbed knuckles, no more fiery eyes and sharp tongues. Just a man who has lost the only home he ever truly had.

The third time you call Dabi his name, he learns that love, as dangerous as it is, can heal even the deepest of wounds, and he’s ready to rid himself of the scars that have haunted his skin for as long as he dares to remember.

He isn’t sure how he’s wound up in front of your apartment, rain pouring down on him because his life was never a cliche until he met you, alcohol sitting heavy in his stomach and grounding his feet, new burns spreading across his abdomen and tainting what little skin he has left. He doesn’t want you to see them. He doesn’t want your fingers to trace the spaces his flames have violated and stained with their hatred. He doesn’t want your eyes to flash with pity as they scan him. He doesn’t want your lips to turn down into a frown when you open your door and see his soaked body, crooked grin on his face because everything about him is a little crooked, old staples missing and new ones in new places, his chest cracked open and put on display for you.

He isn’t sure what he’s hoping to get out of this surprise visitation. A part of him hopes to see you angry, because if you’re angry you care, and he isn’t sure how fit he is for a world where you no longer care about him. A part of him hopes to see you apathetic, because that would confirm the belief he isn’t worth anything anymore, and that would make destroying himself a little easier. Another, smaller part of him, hopes to see you happy, to see relief wash your features and erase the fight you two had about love and other fickle things. It might be impossible at this point, but he’s never been one for easy goals.

All Dabi truly knows, however, is he wants to see you. It’s really as simple as that, and though he isn’t a simple man and doesn’t like simple things, the desire to see you is that—simple. It’s been haunting him since he stumbled out of your apartment blinded with anger and fear. How long has it been since he’s stood here? A week? Two weeks? A month? Time becomes such a messy thing when it’s spent trying to find the next surefire way to burn your bones.

Despite the clothes clinging to his skin, he feels naked, stripped of all of his armor and put on display for you to use and dispose however you please. Dabi isn’t the type to come crawling back to places he isn’t wanted. He’d much rather fake his own death and fly under the radar for years until he’s long forgotten about. But Dabi has also never been the type to look at the stars and try to find someone’s name written in them. He’s never been the type to try to find a face in a sea of people bustling about their days without having to worry about how they’re going to make the world know about them. He’s never tried to find meaning in the clouds or why some planets revolve around stars together while others just crash into each other.

But then he met you and suddenly, he cared. He cared about why some birds hid from the rain while others embraced it. He cared about why stars liked to hide and where they disappeared to. He cared about why some wounds healed and served as a cautionary tale and why others stuck around and served as a personality trait. He cared about Touya Todoroki—the boy whose only dream was to be what his father wanted and to be loved by those who were in his life. And that, he thinks, is the scariest thing he’s ever done. To hate is easy, it’s simple, and though he’s not a simple man and doesn’t like simple things, he loved it. He loved being able to burn those who hurt him and have his world be as simple as: if it isn’t beneficial, turn it to ashes. Black and white and blue. That’s all it was.

Then he saw you look at him as if he had personally strung the stars in the sky for you and suddenly, the universe seemed a lot bigger than sick mothers and neglectful fathers.

He still doesn’t quite understand it and, truth be told, he doesn’t think he ever wants to understand it. For once in his life, he’s okay with leaving this mystery unsolved. He’s okay with having more questions than answers. He’s okay with having an unfinished puzzle and not turning over furniture looking for the right piece to complete the picture.

As long as he has you, he’s okay with finding out who Touya could have been before he burned him to ashes.

The light from your apartment floods his sensitive eyes when you swing the door open, and he almost misses the confusion that flashes across your face before you settle for a guarded expression.

“What are you doing here?” It, like most things, is a simple question, but it still hurts nonetheless, especially when paired with your arms crossing over your body and your tone pointedly flat.

And, like most things, the answer is simple: “I wanted to see you, baby.”

You quirk an eyebrow up, but the rest of you remain emotionless, detached. “Baby? That’s a new one.”

He grins. “I’ve been trying out a lot of new things lately.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Oh, you know, calling you baby. Sleeping by myself. Not killing everyone who pisses me off. Admitting when I fuck up.”

What little amusement you allow to seep through is promptly sealed shut behind a frown, and you wrap your arms tighter around your torso in an effort to protect yourself from his charm. “You can’t just show up here and apologize and think that fixes everything. You really hurt me, Dabi.”

“But you haven’t heard the other new things I’ve been trying.”

You huff, knowing once Dabi has his sights on something it’s near impossible to distract him. He’s headstrong, determined, and that’s one of the many reasons you fell in love with him (and got burned for it). “Fine, I’ll listen. But we aren’t doing it out here in the rain. I’m cold and tired and want to finish my tea.”

For the first time in weeks, you allow him in your home, and it pains him how much hasn’t changed. While his entire world was falling apart, the same shoes have stayed by your front door, the same throw blanket has been strewn across the back of your couch, the same kettle sits on your stovetop, the same jackets hang on your coat rack, and you’ve even managed to find the same table to replace the one he smashed. Your life has remained the same without him, and that is something worth shedding a tear over if he could.

He tries to sit on your couch, but you quickly stop him. “You’re soaking wet,” you reason, and motion for him to go to the bathroom. “I think I have some of your old clothes around here somewhere. Wait there and I’ll bring them to you.”

Thankfully, your compassion has remained the same as well. As he stands in your small bathroom built for one person, rain and the last of his ego dripping off of him, he’s reminded of the first time your paths crossed, when he passed out in an alleyway due to overuse of his quirk and woke up in a bed that smelled like tea leaves, old books, and love. He remembers wandering into the kitchen and finding you humming to yourself, a robe wrapped tightly around your body, two mugs of tea on your table, comfort radiating off of your skin and flooding the tiny space. He remembers how high you had jumped when you realized he had woken up, how quickly you rushed to make sure he knew where the bathroom was and how to properly work your shower so he may bathe, how you had a plate full of food ready for him when he returned to your kitchen a clean man.

He remembers asking you why let a strange, scary-looking man who was unconscious in a shady alley sleep in your home, and you simply replied over your mug, “because you look like someone who doesn’t receive help often.” It was so simple then, and he wasn’t used to simplicity. So ke kept coming around, trying to unravel the mystery of why such a sweet person would help such a tainted one, kept asking questions and prodding at your brain in hopes that maybe he’d find out you’re just as sick as he is. That was never the case, of course. It was and always has been as simple as you being a good person and him being someone in need of a home.

He’s drunk and nostalgic, which is not a good combination for men with shattered souls and too many scars to keep track of and generous people with giving hearts and healing words. And although a part of him feels as if he’s taking advantage of the kindness you have shown him, he can’t bring himself to feel guilty. Maybe it’s the selfish animal in his heart that refuses to release its sharp teeth. Maybe it’s how even after all of these months spent together, you manage to find a way to surprise him. Maybe, just maybe, he’s finally ready to accept the love you’ve been offering him. Whatever it is that’s fueling this selfish desire to lock you away in his chest, nestled right between his lungs, safe from the others with sharp teeth and even sharper tongues, he’s allowing it to roam free and take whatever it wants.

He strips himself of his clothing just in time for you to knock at the door, your gentle voice ringing through the wood. “I found some clothes.”

“Well, bring ‘em in,” he replies.

“Are you naked?”

He rolls his eyes, though you can’t see him. “C’mon, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“But—”

“Just open the door, baby.”

His voice is soft as he says it—so soft, in fact, you aren’t sure if you heard him correctly. But you did, and you’re more than aware of the fact that you’re about to see him soaked down to the bone and as naked as the moon in the sky. Hesitantly, you open the door just enough to accommodate your arm, and right when you slide your handful of clothes through the crack, Dabi’s fingers brush against yours. Electricity runs down your skin—hot, familiar, exhilarating. It steals the breath from your lungs, makes you feel as if the wooden floor beneath your feet is shifting, reminds you of how good it felt to have his rough skin pressed against yours. It’s far too tempting to rip the door open and drink in the sight of the man who holds your heart in his scarred palm, and if you still weren’t so hurt over his words, you might have. You almost think Dabi is going to do it, but, much to your surprise, he doesn’t.

“Do you mind closing the door? The draft is a little cold.” He isn’t being ornery about it. There’s no sneer to his voice. He’s almost...kind about it. Tender. Something you never thought you would associate with the man who just weeks ago plotted to murder his younger brother in order to seek revenge against his father.

You nearly slam in the door in your haste to close it and stutter out, “S-Sorry!” before scrambling to your couch. Whoever this Dabi is, you aren’t sure. The last time you saw him, he was angry, hurt, ready to burn everything he has ever known in a vain attempt to feel something other than the pain throbbing in his chest. He was a wounded animal lashing out at anything that dared to try to get close to him. He was a jaded man who never thought himself worthy of kindness. He was impulsive, impatient, self-destructive, and, above all else, vengeful. Whoever has come knocking at your door is not the man who walked out of it. This man, whoever he may be, is humble, quiet, hesitant, and retrospective.

He’s also drunk and has been out wandering in the rain.

Dabi joins you on the couch before your mind can start spinning in circles, his white hair still sticking to his face and droplets cascading down his face, sapphire orbs shining with something you can’t quite put your finger on but still shakes you down to your core. He isn’t irate. He isn’t breaking furniture or complaining about Shigaraki’s next foolish move or ranting about how Endeavor has foiled his latest plan or about how he doesn’t trust Hawks and all of his easy smiles and charming laughter. He’s calm, his hands resting on his knees and eyes resting on your face, searching for something—a sign you’re ready to listen. And despite the wounds you’re still tending to and the bandages on your skin from all of the venomous words he flung at you, your heart and mind are open and willing to take whatever he wants to give you.

It’s an odd feeling to know you’re still okay with this man and all of his thick walls and bloodied hands even after he’s shown you the part of him he keeps buried underneath sneers and a mask of disinterest. Before his temper was turn towards you, you never believed him capable of murder, of violence, of all of those plans he stays up late stringing together and comes home battered and bruised from trying to execute. Before you saw how easily his hands can destroy, he was simply Dabi: the man you found face down and drowning in his own trauma. Now there’s burn marks on your furniture and soul in the shape of his palms, and though you aren’t too sure where to take the next step, you’re still wanting to take it regardless.

Topaz flits from your lips and back up to your eyes, the crystals dripping from his snow hair causing him to look ethereal. A hesitant Dabi is a rare sight, but a beautiful one nonetheless. “Do you want—”

“You must be cold,” you blurt out, shocking the both of you.

He cocks an eyebrow and the smirk you’re all too familiar with returns to his cracked lips. You’re nervous, fluttery, nerves causing you to act more erratic and unsure of yourself. It’s cute, he thinks, cute how you go from so stubborn and closed off to a school girl trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach from crawling up her throat. It’s also a relief to see you get jumpy around him like you used to before he kissed you until your minds turned to mush and your fingers tangled with his hair and he pinned you down to your mattress, bodies tangled so tightly together he wasn’t sure where he began and where you ended. You still care. “Yeah, rain is pretty cold.”

You nod a little too eagerly. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“You go do that, doll.”

“And I can get you a blanket.”

“If you want.”

“And I can make you some food.”

“Sure. I could eat.”

“And I’ll… I’ll be back!”

“Don’t be gone too long.”

He watches you leave with a grin full of amusement and affection, and that does nothing to help ease the anxiety rolling around in your gut. You feel clumsy, skittish, for all of the wrong reasons. You want to kiss him. You want to shake the water out of his shaggy hair and pull on the ends of it while his lips attack your neck. You want to wrap your legs around his waist and feel his thighs flex underneath you as he tries to pull you as close as possible. You want to hear all of those breathless moans that tumble from his lips whenever you nibble on his collarbone. You want to lose yourself in him. Forget the anger, the hurt, the nights spent shivering because you didn’t have him next to you, the mornings spent drinking tea alone and making enough food for one person. He’s back, and you’re almost certain he was forgiven before the moon disappeared from the sky the night he left.

You can feel his eyes burning a hole in your back as you prep your kettle to boil some water, watching the way your hands shake as you turn the burner on and how you nearly drop the lid to it, and you know for a fact he has that same smirk on his lips. Why are you so damn nervous around him now? He’s buried himself in you too many times to count, has whispered the most obscene things in your ear, has seen you at your most raw and unfiltered, and now you’ve turned into a neurotic mess? Why is your stomach doing somersaults and why is your heart slamming itself in your ribcage and why does your throat feel too large for your neck?

Because this Dabi isn’t the Dabi who left. You know in the deepest parts of your guts, past the pain and the hesitance, whoever is sitting on your couch is not the man who broke your table. And even if there’s alcohol swimming in his veins and an ego in need of nursing, there’s something alarmingly self-aware twinkling in his sapphires, something that lets you know he knows. He knows he hurt you. He knows he wasn’t in the right. He knows he bit the only hand that was willing and wanting to feed him. He knows your knuckles still bare his teeth marks. He knows it’s going to take more than a simple fuck to make everything okay again. Because, for the first time, it isn’t going to be simple with you. It isn’t going to be as simple as him needing a bandage and you pulling out a first aid kit. It isn’t going to be as simple as him being angry at the world and you helping him get lost in the stars. And he’s okay with it. He’s okay reopening any wounds that didn’t heal quite right. He’s okay with spilling every single word sitting in his guts. He’s okay complicating himself if that means making things easy for you. Because, like almost everything else that has to do with you, you’re simply worth it.

He speaks up while you’re digging through your closet trying to find a blanket suitable for him, his voice laced with an odd mixture of hesitance and bemusement. “While you’re being all fidgety and shit, can I tell you the other new things I’ve been trying?”

“If you want.” You echo his previous words, careful to keep the anxiety out of your voice, as you prepare to make a meal for him.

Though you can’t see him, he smiles—a real smile for once. No sarcasm or scorn buried underneath taut muscle. A genuine smile with genuine happiness and genuine love. As scary as it is, it’s something he could get used to if he doesn’t keep himself on a leash, but he thinks he might be okay with that. “I looked at myself in the mirror the day after I left.”

That stops all of your tense movements in their tracks. Mirrors have been Dabi’s worst fear since the day you met him, because they contain his worst enemy. He’s avoided them, broken them, used the shards to puncture his heart and lacerate his lungs. He’s covered them, screamed at them, tried to erase them from his memory. To look at himself in the mirror is to face himself head-on, and that’s something you never thought you’d see. “How was that?”

He chuckles, deep and sorrowful, a sound that comes from the bittersweet emotions he’s destroyed his feet trying to run from. “I fucking hated it. I’m a real scary looking bastard, eh?”

“No.” The word tumbles out of your mouth with a resoluteness Dabi never thought himself worthy of. Your eyes are full of conviction once they meet with his, your jaw set in the way that lets him know there isn’t anything that will change your mind.

It’s adorable how deeply you think he deserves love even after he’s shown you how much it can hurt, and he can’t help but chuckle at how quickly your demeanor can change when it comes to matters like self-hate and forgiveness. “Did you lose your eyesight while I was gone? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I ain’t the prettiest face around here.”

You chew on your lip, careful that the words that leave your mouth help soothe the wounds on his mind. “I don’t care about your scars or your staples. I don’t care about the blood and gore. None of that matters.”

“Oh? Then what does? Because last I checked, society only likes pretty people with pretty quirks and pretty lives. Society doesn’t give a flying fuck about ugly bastards like me with ugly quirks and ugly lives.”

Dabi doesn’t expect you to answer, but you’ve always found ways to surprise him. The food on the kitchen counter is long forgotten about as you close the space between you two, your body just mere inches away from his. It’s the closest you’ve been since that night, and he has to fight the urge to pull you down on his lap. He doesn’t need to, apparently, because you’re practically sitting on it as your fingers trace over his brow bone with a touch so gentle, he could weep right then and there.

“What matters,” you whisper, “is how much your eyes shine when you laugh.” And then, your finger is tracing the corners of his mouth, ghosting over his lips. “What matters is how soft your lips are when they’re pressed on me.” And then, down the hollow of his throat down to his collarbone. “What matters is how you always smell like stale cigarettes and campfires.” And then, down his chest and right on the beginning of his abdomen. “What matters is how safe I feel when you’re holding me.” And finally, your palm rests right above his left peck, right over his hammering heart. “What matters is your passion, your drive, your determination. I don’t give a damn what society thinks about you. I think you’re beautiful, Touya.”

He knows it’s technically impossible but he swears he feels fireworks in his chest—bombastic, ribcage-breaking, heart-shattering, soul-cracking passion tearing his muscles apart until all that’s left is a body full of love. He loves you, and you think he’s beautiful, and he’s almost certain that, in this moment, everything is right in the world. “Can this beautiful man kiss you?” he breathes out, his eyes pleading with you to allow him to show you just how you’ve managed to piece him back together.

“Only if I can kiss him back,” you shyly reply.

If Dabi ever doubted the existence of angels, he knows now how terribly wrong he was, how utterly pessimistic and downright ignorant it was to doubt ethereal lives when he has one right here in his arms, sweet lips pressed against his, legs wrapped around his waist, arms pulling him closer and closer until your chests are touching and there’s not an inch of space between you two. Flashes of gold and thrones and feathers cross his mind as he breathes you in—all of the things he used to deny but now longs for. He wants to rule heaven with you, wants to make new worlds where other angels can’t follow and look down at him in disapproval, where he can’t hear their conspiratorial whispers of the saint who fell in love with the sinner, where he’s free to love you and worship you and allow his temporal hands roam your celestial body.

Dabi is a man who was born of corruption and gluttony and has fallen head over heels in love with purity and selflessness, and though he doubts he will ever think of himself worthy of such things, it won’t stop him from indulging. He is, after all, a bit greedy himself.

When his tongue brushes against yours and the taste of beer explodes in your mouth, you’re uncomfortably aware of the fact that only one of you is sober. You pull away, much to yours and his disappointment, but rest your forehead on his so you’re never too far from him. If you could, you would sew yourself to his skin, bury yourself in his bones and make a home out of his veins, play a prayer of love and devotion on loop so he knows that no matter how much heaven may shun sinners and all of their scars, you’re capable of a little rebellion every now and then.

But for now, while intoxication is a factor in a matter that should be dealt with a clear mind, you’ll settle for holding his hand.

“Dabi, you’re—”

“Drunk,” he finishes for you, a sort of sad smile on his face. “If it makes you feel better, I’m way more sober now.”

It’s a joke to help calm the guilt rolling around in your guts, you know it, and you brush your fingers against the corner of his mouth, wondering how long it’s been since he’s smiled and how often he might now. “Will you regret any of this in the morning?”

It stabs him right in the heart to hear such a question full of hesitance and apprehension asked so quietly, if he weren’t so dead set on catching every word that falls from your lips he might not have heard you. He feels the way your shoulders shake, can tell you’re just barely holding back tears, and he presses his hand to the back of your head to guide your face to the crook of his neck where you’re free to cry and hiccup however much you need. “I could never regret anything when it comes to you, baby. Why the tears?”

“I just…” A shaky sigh falls from your lips, your tears mixing with the droplets still clinging to his hair. “I thought I lost you before and now you’re back and I know technically you’re drunk but I know how sincere you are and it’s all just so—”

His fingers begin to massage circles into your shoulder blades, and he presses his lips to the side of your head, nose full of your scent and trying its best to burn it into his memory. “Babe.”

“Y-Yeah?” you hiccup.

“Fuckin’ breathe. It’s okay. It’s all okay. You didn’t lose me. I’m right here, baby, right fuckin’ here, and I’m not going anywhere. Not again. I fucked up, okay? I fucked up real bad and I know I did. I promise you, I’m not really drunk at all. I mean, I had a good buzz going on when I first showed up, but being here with you, talking with you, sobered me up real quick.”

And he sounds so genuine, so full of love and honesty, you can’t help but tangle your fingers in his hair, pull him so close you can feel his heartbeat against yours, bury your face right next to his jugular and commit mortality to memory. You cry until your eyes are almost swollen shut. You cry until your heart feels too large for your chest. You cry until your breath is a stuttering mess.

You cry for Dabi and all of the pain he’s carried around with him and no place to put it. You cry for Touya and all of the homes he’s lost and all of the times he was never enough. You cry for yourself and how deeply you love a man who only believes himself worthy of destruction. You cry for lost potential and empty promises of better tomorrows. You cry for broken furniture and shattered hearts because no one ever warned you love wasn’t easy. You cry and cry and cry until your voice is hoarse and the only thing you can taste is the salt cascading down your face.

And Dabi holds you through it all. His hands run up and down your back, gently rocking both of your bodies to a tune only he knows, his lips pressed against your head in hopes you can feel the adoration seeping out of his body. He allows you to unleash all of the emotions he’s stirred up in you. He catches every tear that falls from your eyes, thankful he’s unable to shed his own.

Once the world has stopped shifting and you’re able to steady yourself, he carries you to your bed without another word, a tender kiss against your forehead before he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” you ask, barely managing to whisper.

He smiles down gently at you. “You left some food out. I was gonna put it away then crawl in bed.”

“Don’t care. Come to bed now.”

“Your wish is my command.”

With your face tucked away in his chest, your arms wrapped around his torso, and your legs tangled with his, Dabi falls into a peaceful sleep for the very first time since he learned that family will always be your first disappointment.

The fourth time you call Dabi by his name, he finally allows himself to drown in the emotions he’s spent his entire life learning to swim away from.

The sinner wakes up with angel feathers around his body, the spot where your body laid empty and cold but scent still clinging onto the sheets. He quickly finds himself in a familiar routine of glaring at the nosy sun peeking through curtains and violating his eyes, cursing his nocturnal nature and how much easier it is to be himself in front of the moon and stars. After contemplating if going back to sleep is worth it (it isn’t), he drags his body out of bed and into a warm shower. The smell of your shampoo is somewhere to be found in the leftover steam of your own shower, and he smiles to himself when he remembers where he’s at: home. And it isn’t a home where dishes are broken and voices crack and plead. It isn’t a home where fear sits in the living room and stress waits for him in the kitchen. It isn’t a home where he’s expected to be an adult with obligations without ever knowing what it’s like to be a child full of wonder.

It’s a home where angels sing in the kitchen as they cook breakfast while he tries to wash his sins away in the bathroom and that, he thinks, is the closest to perfection he will ever get.

He walks into the kitchen with a towel around his waist and his scars on full display—new ones angry and red, old ones melancholy and purple—and, for once, he isn’t afraid. He doesn't try to hide them under baggy clothes and jeering words. He allows your eyes to run over them and wince at the fresh ones and squint at the old ones, because he knows you aren’t disgusted by them, you don’t pity him, you accept them as they are—reminders of times where he strayed too close to the fire.

“Morning, baby,” he says around a yawn as he sits at your table.

You smile softly at him and how easy he finds it to be around you. “You’re really laying the ‘baby’ stuff on thick, huh?”

“I mean, you only let me call you a cockslut when you’re being one, and I don’t see you on your knees right now so…”

Flustered, you quickly turn back around to tend to the salmon and eggs you’ve been cooking, probably adding far too much salt but trying to not pay attention to how much your hands are shaking. This causes Dabi to laugh—gentle, deep, melodic in a sense, carefree and raspy. “Oh, so you think you’re Mr. Funny Man, hm?” you challenge, though you don’t dare face him.

“I think I’m downright hilarious, baby.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

“Whatever you say, baby.”

You swat a tea towel at him, which he quickly dodges with a grin, and you roll your eyes. “You aren’t giving up any time soon, are you?”

“Do I ever? Baby.”

“Point taken.”

Breakfast is eaten in comfortable silence—Dabi radiating a happiness you never thought possible, you soaking it all in with a sense of relief. He takes his time as he eats, as if he’s savoring every flavor crawling around his tongue, contemplative as his teeth shred his food to tiny pieces. You admire the sight of his furrowed brow and bright eyes as you sip on your tea, unsure of what to say and worried what you do want to say will scare him away. So rather than choke on the words sitting in the back of your throat, you take this opportunity to inspect his body. After all, it isn’t every day Dabi is comfortably shirtless, especially in the sun’s rays where all of his flaws are visible for anyone and everyone to see.

You spot the newer burns sitting close to his hips, not quite as wrathful as the older ones resting on his chest, but still containing a torment you don’t think you’ll ever understand firsthand (and you doubt he’d want you to). When he first began showing up at your doorstep and all you knew about him was he looked different than anyone else you knew, you used to tell yourself stories about his scars—how he got them, how painful they were, which ones are newer than the others, which ones were self-inflicted and which ones were done by a resentful hand, how they all come together for form a man who’s become a sort of expert when dealing with macabre things.

If it bothers him to have your attention so focused on things he tries so hard to hide, he’s never said anything about it. When he first noticed how fixated you were on his scars, he cupped your chin and tilted your head up, forcing you to look at his sapphires full of curiosity and hesitance.

“Little distracted there, doll,” he observed.

“Do they hurt?”

He blinked, unsure of what to make of your harmless tone. “Not really. If I get new ones, they hurt like a motherfucker, but I get used to it after a few days.”

“Are they hard to take care of?”

“No. I’ve been taking care of them for a while now so it’s not a big deal.”

Your fingers gently traced the staples on his collarbone, careful to not pluck at any, not a hint of disgust to be found on your angelic face. “Can you teach me how?”

He jolted back and immediately guarded himself behind walls high enough to reach the heavens. Suspicion clouded his eyes, laced through his tone and made his muscles more rigid. “Why?”

“So I can help you take care of them,” you replied, as if everything were really that simple, and Dabi swore he saw a flash of angel wings fluttering on your back.

Back in the present, Dabi watches your eyes fill with nostalgia, a small smile on your face as your fingers trace the rim of your mug. He thinks he can stare at you all day if you would allow him to. He thinks he could spend the rest of forever memorizing all of the expressions you make as you try to dissect mortality and why seraphic beings are so fascinated with it. He knows that eventually, sacrifices will have to be made and one of you will lose themself serving a god who doesn’t like those in love with vengeance while the other one tries to pluck their own eyes out so they may be blind to how much suffering they’ve caused. But, for now, he’s happy being the fool in love who flew too close to the sun.

“Little distracted there, baby,” he chuckles, gathering up your dishes and placing them in the sink. “Am I just that handsome?”

“You never did teach me how to help take care of them,” you reply with a somber tone.

The mug he’s holding nearly slips out of his hand when your words reach his ears. So you really were thinking about morality and all of its ugliness. He tries his hardest to keep his voice light, to not show how much he envies angels and how easy ignorance is for them. “They aren’t yours to take care of.”

“No, but I’d like to help.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Because I love you. There is it again, that goddamn sentence that always manages to stick itself to the roof of your mouth. You’re choking on it, trying to allow oxygen to flow through lungs that are turning inside out because you can’t seem to find the courage to say you love a sinner in a world that shuns blood and fire. Acid fills your throat as your lips try to form the words burning at your gums. I love you, I love you, I love you. Why is it so hard to say? Why is love such a scary thing even though it presents itself as a cure for everything wrong in the world? Why does your kitchen seem smaller than before? Why are there black spots dancing in front of your eyes? Why is Dabi so afraid of anything he can’t burn and why are you afraid of giving him a reason to leave?

“Because…?” he prompts you, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

You try to flash an easy smile at him, though you fear it may look strangled. “Because I don’t want you to bleed everywhere if you miss a spot.”

That certainly isn’t the answer he was expecting given the way a chuckle stutters out of his throat, but he finds himself laughing until he’s nearly bent at the waist and struggling to catch his breath. It’s a beautiful sound, one full of long-lost joy and too many cigarettes smoked under a full moon, one that cups your heart and kisses it tenderly. “Well, I don’t want to ruin any more furniture,” he hums. “Better teach ya’ the secrets to my staples and how to make this mug oh-so pretty.”

After dishes have been washed and food has been stored away, you usher Dabi back to the bathroom and pull out the first aid kit you’ve learned to keep handy. He guides you with a firm hand and soft voice, tells you how to properly disinfect the burns and where to place the staples so they hold everything together, teaches you how to keep your fingers from shaking and how to not wince whenever metal punctures flesh. Keeping someone from falling apart shouldn’t feel so intimate, but with every staple placed into taut skin a jolt of something warm, something precious, something so fragile you’re afraid if you acknowledge it it’ll fall apart, spreads across your chest and causes sunlight to pour out of your hands.

With every brush of your fingers, the sinner is slowly learning to admire sunrises and how they highlight all of the things he tries to hide in the night. It’s not an easy task, and he struggles to fight the urge to find solace in galaxies littered across the sky, but if it means he can admire your face under the rays then he’ll bear through it all. You’re so close to him—the closest you’ve been in weeks. He can see every eyelash, every pore, every bit of stardust swimming under your skin and all of the oceans running through your veins. His body might contain destruction, but yours contains creation—the secrets to all of the universes and how to create life out of pure love. And maybe it’s a bit of an oxymoron to have such opposing things crash together, but Dabi is not a simple man and he doesn’t like simple things.

“Can I tell you the other new things I’ve been trying?” he asks timidly.

You look up in a pair of frightened sapphires and nod slowly, shyly. “Yes.”

Long, slender fingers stop your hand from placing another staple into him, and rough lips kiss all of the suns in your palms. His voice shakes when he speaks, nearly as much as his soul does, but he still forces the words out. “I’ve been trying out this...thing. It’s pretty fuckin’ scary. To be honest, I never thought I’d try it. And to be even more honest, I thought it was too late for me to try it. I thought it came with an expiration date, y’know? Like those credit card offers you get in the mail that say some bullshit like, ‘This offer is only good for the next two weeks! Sign up now!’ But recently, I learned that now is the perfect time to try it.”

“And what is it?”

The air is filled with anticipation, with words that have sat in throats for far too long, with feelings that have been locked away in chests, with pasts that have refused to die, with futures that may never live, with closets overfilling with skeletons. It’s suffocating, terrifying, absolutely world-shattering. But with your gift of creation, Dabi can destroy as much as he wants without worrying about leaving any new nasty scars on planets. He’s free to be himself, to unleash as much fire as he wants, and you’ll be right behind him, sweeping up ashes and leaving life in their wake.

“Love.”

Once the word drips from his tongue and lands right on your chest, the world stops turning. Stars can no longer be found and the moon buried itself in a black hole and oceans stop their waves. Angels have stopped fussing about forgiveness and gods are no longer worried about who deserves to be smited next. The entire universe and beyond has ceased to expand because all that matters in this moment is how Dabi’s heart is no longer caged and you’re no longer afraid to play with fire.

Tears fill your eyes before you can stop them, and Dabi brushes his thumb across your eyelashes. “You love me.” It isn’t a question, and it certainly doesn’t need an answer, but he offers you one anyway.

“I love you, and I’m so sorry it’s taken me so long to realize.”

If the sinner didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought he heard the angels begin to sing. But trivial things like sins and purity, heaven and hell, angels and demons, don’t matter because none of them could ever feel as freeing as loving you. He’s no longer bound by the past and all of its bloodshed, and he thinks it’s okay to forget it sometimes. His fingers shake as they brush tears away you didn’t even know you have shed, careful to not taint your divine skin with his infernal hands, a shy sort of smile on your lips as you pull his body closer to yours. He protests that you’ll get blood on your clothes, and you shush him by telling him you’ve always been fascinated with mortals anyway, and neither of you are sure who initiated it but your lips are slotting together and you remember why heaven never felt like home.

Before you could get lost in how good it feels to not have to worry about serving a vengeful god, Dabi picks you up and carries you to your bedroom, chest flush against yours and hearts beating in sync. He’s gentle as he lays you on your bed, careful to not disturb your wings and all of the feathers falling from your back. His fingers graze your thighs, and for a moment he fears he may be cast down to the deepest pits of hell before he’s able to worship you the way you deserve. But then, you pull his face down to yours and kiss him as if he hasn’t spent his entire life in search of his next big sin and, suddenly, hell is worth being dragged through as long as it means he gets to hold your hand.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. “I love you, I love you, I fucking love you, angel.”

Shaky fingers trace his jawline as if he were going to crumble to desk any second. “I love you, too. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re okay. Everything is okay.”

He didn’t even realize he had blood droplets welling in his eyes until you gently wiped them away, fingertips glistening with newly formed rubies and trembling as you try to get rid of any evidence of sadness. Rather than trying to voice all of the emotions crawling up his throat, he kisses the wet pads of your digits, a silent thank you for teaching him that even the most corrupt of souls can be saved. Cracked lips trace over soft skin, and though it serves as a reminder of the different worlds you serve, the villain can’t help but lose himself in all of the pretty little noises falling from your mouth. It’s hypnotizing how you can make something as simple as a few breathy moans sound like the same harps in the clouds he’s spent his entire life trying to run away from. He’s barely taken your shirt and pants off and you’re already heaving underneath him—the visual reassurance he needed to know that you’ve been waiting for this moment just as eagerly as he had. And right as he lowers his head towards your thighs to provide the relief you’ve both needed, you stop him short, trembling hand finding purchase in his snowy locks.

“Angel…?” Sapphires full of questions scan your face, but he waits for you to speak, waits for your explanation, waits for you. He’s spent his entire life waiting for someone—something—like you, what’s a few more seconds?

You look hesitant—eyes darting around the room, incisors digging into your lower lip, heart thumping in the hollow in your throat—and, if Dabi didn’t know any better, scared. “I...uh...I’m unprepared.”

He blinks up at you. “I’m not following. What do you mean ‘unprepared’? No condoms? I’m fairly certain I’ve fried all of my swimmers so there’s a very small chance you’ll get knocked up, and I promise you no one has touched me in years so there’s no risk of any infections. There’s always Plan B too if I still have a few stubborn lil’ guys desperate to create a crotch goblin and—”

“No,” you cut him off, the heels of your hands digging into your eyes. “I haven’t...y’know...taken care of things down south in a while…”

A laugh bubbles up his throat once he realizes what your implications are. You haven’t shaved. He’s covered in nightmarish scars and staples, lanky body trying to destroy itself every second he’s alive, and you’re worried about some body hair? It almost pains him to think that you’re so self-conscious of something so miniscule, so human, so mundane it doesn’t even deserve a second thought. Who turned you away for keeping one of your temporal traits? Who shunned you for wanting to be mortal?

“Angel,” he breathes between chuckles, his knuckles brushing against your cheek and pulling your hands away from your face. “Have you looked at me at all? Like, really looked at me?”

You meekly nod.

“Then you’ll know that I’m the last person to give a fuck about some hair. Hell, I can’t even grow my own body hair because it’s all burned to shit. Your body hair is a part of you, therefore, I love it. I don’t care if you grow it, shave it, wax it, whatever. That’s your choice. So don’t be so ashamed of it, yeah? If you can look past my fuckin’ terrifying scars, I can look past a few hairs, okay?”

Rough fingers trace a soft cheek, and you find yourself nodding again, spreading your legs and allowing him access to the place he craves to be most. You’re completely and utterly intoxicating looking down at him through unshed crystals, fingers playing with the strands of his hairs while he tries to memorize how you look in this exact moment because he’s sure this is the closest to heaven he’ll ever get. He’s tender as he traces your soaking slit with his calloused digit, careful to not rush you nor taint you with the impermanence of humanity. A bit of stardust falls out of your mouth when you moan out his name, and he’s disappointed in himself for not bringing a mason jar so he may keep all of your celestial beauty on a shelf as a reminder that not everything is as ugly as he is. Still, he considers himself the luckiest mortal to ever grace this earth to see you wriggling underneath him, see how your mouth goes slack when his finger brushes against your swollen clit, hear how soft your pleas for more are, to know that even the holiest of angels are capable of a little sin.

“What’s that, baby?” he coos down at you, fingers never leaving the apex of your thighs.

The mewl you let out is cut short by a whimper as he drags his fingers down your fluttering hole, gathering up all of your juices and licking them clean, sapphires never leaving your face. It’s the most erotic thing you’ve been blessed enough to see, so fucking sexy and world-shattering as he brings his hand down to grind his palm against your throbbing heat. Lowering his body over yours, he nips at the sensitive shell of your ear, licking and sucking on the afflicted skin until you’re bucking your hips against his hand.

“S’matter, sweetheart?” he asks with feigned sympathy. “Can’t handle a little teasing?”

But, oh god, if only you knew how he’s barely hanging on. This last shred of control he’s somehow maintained is about to burst at the seams, tear his world to shreds until all he knows is you and all of your feathers and glittering halo. He’s a mere mortal who somehow found a way to break into heaven, and he’s about to lose himself amongst all of the clouds if he lets go. He can’t, not yet, not when he’s still unsure if you love him as much as he needs you, not when he’s afraid of you regretting having an affair with ephemeral beings. You deserve better than him, he’s sure of it, but you’re looking up at him with eyes full of stars and wonder and he can’t stop himself from breaking down his own walls he’s spent a lifetime building up.

Trembling hands grab at his neck, his hair, anything they can grasp to pull him closer, closer, closer. You want him, you need him, all of him, every last scar, every little staple, every tear he had shed before crying became impossible, every blood-curdling scream that has left his throat, every word that has dripped from his tongue, every insecurity that haunts his heart, everything. You need Dabi, you need Touya Todoroki, you need the man you found facedown in an alleyway, you need the man who shattered your soul and furniture, you need the man who came back and pieced them both back together. You need him, and he’s never been more sure of it than in this moment.

“I don’t think you’ll ever realize how beautiful you are,” he whispers, breath hot against your cool skin.

But before you can reply, his tongue is running along your folds and his hands are intensely gripping your hips and, oh my god, you swear you see stars on your ceiling. He drags his tongue across your pussy like a starved man, moaning and panting in sync with every noise that falls from your chest, determined to make you cum, desperate to earn every ounce of praise you’ve ever given him. Sapphires clouded with lust and love gaze up at you as a hot mouth toys with your desire, and you’re certain this is what it’s like to be worshiped in the best way possible. You brush your thumb against his cheek, a signal that he’s so good, the best possible devotee and all of his acts of worship won’t go in vain.

“F-F-Fuck,” you mewl, and earn a groan from him in return, the verberations hitting your pussy and causing supernovas to explode behind your eyes. “Oh, please, just like that! You’re so good, Dabi, so fucking good!”

His index finger replaces his tongue, languid strokes against your sopping heat as he tries to catch his breath. “Goddammit, you’re perfect.” His voice is somewhere between a moan and a whine, syllables catching in his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he attempts to swallow down all of the words flooding his esophagus. “You’re so fucking perfect for me and I’m so in love with you it hurts.” He’s in awe, completely and utterly in shock that such an innocent creature—one with stars in their skin and oceans in their veins and all of the secrets to love and life trapped between their flower-filled lungs—can look at him with such…adoration. Passion, trust, tenderness, bliss—they’re all there, swimming in your irises, dancing across your face, beating in your chest.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

And it isn’t out of pity. He isn’t some sick stray dog you found and nursed back to health and fell in love with along the way. You love him as if you had no other choice to, as if your heart would explode without him, as if the world would stop turning if he left. And, god, does he love you. He loves you like Icarus loved the sun—dangerously, self-destructive and self-aware, knowing he’ll never be worthy but still determined to be close with you at least once during this lifetime.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, fingers finding your cunt and mouth attaching itself to your clit again.

He’s a starved animal, deprived of love and selfishly taking as much as he can now that he’s in a home full of it. But there’s not a damn thing selfish about the way he loves you, about the way he circles his tongue around your clit, about the way hs dips his slender fingers into your throbbing heat and grazes your gummy walls, about how his other hand is touching as much of your soft skin as he can—your breasts, your nipples, your hips, the swell of your ass, your legs, just everything, everything, everything, so he knows what dedication feels like.

Bony hips rut against your mattress in a desperate search for some form of relief, but he can’t stop himself from devouring every little piece of you until your halo falls off and you’re free from the clutches of a cruel god. You were never truly happy amongst the clouds, were you? Always forced to be something you weren’t, forced to shun anyone who was less than perfect, forced to convert anyone who didn’t believe.

But now, in this moment, with the very same face you were taught to fear is buried between your legs, when you’re stripped down to the bone and all of your galaxies are setting the room alight, when your soul is naked and free to be handled by even the most scarred of hands… You’ve never felt more free.

Your fingers pull on his wintry locks in an attempt to bring him closer to you, closer to heaven and all of its promises of healing. “I—” Dabi cuts your whines off by flattening his tongue against your clit, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves and pumping his fingers faster. “F-Fuck…! I’m so close! Wan’ cum, please, wan’ cum so badly!”

You’re barely hanging on. Flashes of gold dance in front of your eyes and you’re almost certain it’s a part of your halo falling, but who needs angels when the sinner right between your legs is the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen? He’s quivering—so overwhelmed with the trust you’ve given a man with bloodied hands to not taint your precious body that he can’t help but try to give you every ounce of reassurance that yes, he is trustworthy! He’s worthy! Even with scarlet stains on ivory skin and graveyards full of regrets, he’s been deemed worthy of one of heaven’s most pure angels.

The fifth time you call Dabi by his name, he’s ready to completely throw away his previous life in favor of everything holy and pure.

Your thighs are shaking around his head, hands tangling themselves in his hair and pulling for dear life, and he knows you’re so, so close to that final push that will permanently brand you a fellow sinner.

“Tell me how much you need it, angel,” he all but pleads against your pussy, the pace of his fingers becoming faster and sloppy, desperate, haphazard circles being drawn into your clit and hungry teeth nipping at your flesh. “Tell me how much you need me. Oh my fucking god, baby, please tell me how much you need it. I need to hear it. I need it, I need you.”

“Touya, I need you,” you cry out. It’s a demand—give me all of you and let me love every piece. It’s a plea—love me as much as I love you and don’t ever leave my side. It’s a promise—I’ll wash every wound for you if it means I get to be close to you. It’s everything Dabi could have ever wished for and more—an angel finally allowing themself to be free of their divine restraints in order to love the very same thing that might kill them. “Oh, fuck, I need you. I need you, I need you, I need you.”

You love him, you love him, you love him.

His ears are filled with your prayers and his mouth is full of your ambrosia and his chest is full of all of the suns you’ve saved for him, and, for a moment, he thinks he’d be okay if he died right now. Your whimpers are intoxicating, the very same harm that tempts every sinner with a tainted soul. The pleasure that has been rumbling and knotting deep within your gut finally snaps with a few licks to your clit and his knuckles brushing against your slick walls, and you’re sure that you’ve officially lost your heavenly status. It’s worth it. It’s all worth seeing Dabi looking up at you with his hypnotizing topazes and smile that would make God himself weep.

Unsteady hands grab at his sharp face, heavenly fingers swiping away the rubies that have begun to cascade down his cheeks and splash on the bed sheets, a wobbly smile on cracked lips.

“You’re crying,” you observe, tender as you try to pull him close to you. “Are you okay?”

But rather than answer you, Dabi takes both of your wrists in one of his hands and delicately pins them over your head, his other hand tracing your body with feather-light touches. He’s measured with his ministrations, hesitant, careful to keep all of the flaws trapped in his bones away from you and all of the galaxies in yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” The rubies are still falling from his topazes and all you can think of is how terribly wrong he is because he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Not the clouds in the sky, not the other angels fleeting around carelessly, not the supernovas you see every night, not the sunrises you see every morning. Nothing could measure up to how painfully beautiful it is watching Dabi finally accepting the love you’ve been trying to offer him for what feels like a lifetime.

“You’re gorgeous,” you manage to reply, voice and heart wobbly. “You’re handsome and beautiful and—”

Rough lips slotting against yours cuts you off, calloused fingers cupping your face, and when he finally releases his hold on you, you wrap your arms around his neck. He’s shaking like a lost child, salty tears and copper mixing with your hungry kisses and clashing against greedy tongues. Your chests heave together as sobs wrack both of your bodies, so desperate to finally be together after heaven was so determined to keep you separated. Fumbling hands rip the towel that clung to his hips off, and he sinks himself into you, his hips stuttering with every centimeter he pushes through.

The sixth time you call Dabi by his name, he understands why generations of men have gone to war to feel a fraction of what he’s drowning in—earth-shattering, skin-searing, sanity-robbing fulfillment.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, stars exploding under your skin, you dig your fingernails into his back as he snaps his hips against yours. He’s lost in you and all of your healing touches, all of the prayers echoing in your chest, all of the feathers falling down your back and glitter falling down your face. He’s completely and utterly in love with the saint underneath him, and he silently vows to protect you until his dying breath.

“A-Angel,” he groans, his pace sloppy as he tries to chase the high only you can provide him. “Oh, f-fuck, you feel so fucking good. You’re so good to me. So goddamn perfect. I love you so fucking much. Please, don’t leave me.”

Somehow, some way, you manage to find your voice and sob, “I love you, Touya, love you more than anything! ‘M not going anywhere, I promise.”

The seventh time you call Dabi by his name, he allows the past to die and begins to set up a home for the future.

His hips stutter when the sound of his name falls on his ears, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck to bring your chest flush against his. “Say it again,” he pleads. “Say my name again. Just like that, baby, say it again.”

“Touya!”

The eighth time you call Dabi by his name, he swears he sees a flash of golden gates.

He kisses the hollow of your throat, watching the way your pulse skyrockets at his touch. “Again.”

“Touya!”

The ninth time you call Dabi by his name, he starts to feel galaxies form under his own skin, and it’s then he knows his sins have been forgiven.

He’s drunk on purity and innocence and forgiveness—all of the things he’s been denied his entire life but has found waiting for him in your ribcage. “Again.”

“Touya!”

And though he knows he’s just a greedy man who was lucky enough to catch the attention of God's greatest servant, he thinks he might be able to sit in heaven with you. He hopes, for just a moment, he might be able to see all of the golden gates and hear all of the harps that have haunted his dreams. His soul is still tainted with broken promises and broken families, but laying right underneath him, with the secret to healing and the key to salvation in their palm, is the very definition of love and everything right in the world.

And hovering right above you, with all of his passion and determination, with all of his flaws put on display for anyone to scrutinize, is a reminder of how beautiful and brave it is to be human in a world that only praises heavens. His cock brushes against your cervix, his lips kiss every inch of skin they can touch, his hands are buried in his hair, his voice is rough with desire and need, and nothing in heaven could ever be as breath-taking as Touya Todoroki.

“Oh my fucking god,” he moans against your skin. “I love you, angel. I need you.”

Lost in love and all of its intricacies, you whine and buck your hips up in sync with his, grinding your clit against his pelvis and sobbing at the galaxies you both are creating. Your own heaven to get lost in, where gods can’t spy and angels can’t judge. Where forgiveness is commonplace and greed is acceptable. Where family is who you choose it to be and love isn’t a tool for manipulation. Where everything is simple and pure and right.

And although Dabi is not a simple man and does not like simple things, Touya is learning that simplicity holds its own beauty worthy of loving.

The tenth time you call Dabi by his name, he’s ready to allow himself to be loved without any attachments, any suspicions, any ill will—the past, along with Dabi, have finally laid to rest.

“I love you, Touya,” you cry out, and he’s sure that it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard. “I love you so much!”

You’re close to coming undone—he can feel how much your pussy is clamping down on him and how your voice becomes more and more distorted by hiccups and sobs. He just needs a little more, just a little more to add the finishing touches to your heaven and build a throne out of gold. Just a little more, just so he can relish in how sweet forgiveness tastes and how good it feels to no longer bear the burden of corruption.

“I love you too,” he whispers into your hair. “I love you more than anything in this world.”

His thrusts are becoming sloppier and sloppier with each passing minute, and he knows he’s only a few pumps away from spilling over. Cupping your face with his hands, he uses his thumb to brush away the tears streaming down your cheek and slots his lips against yours in a moment of heated passion.

“Cum, angel, cum for me,” he pleads, angling his cock brushes against scared places in you. “Cum for me, cum with me, just cum, baby, cum.”

Who would’ve known the creation of a new heaven could feel so sinful? Clutching his body to yours as much as you can, you cry out his name followed by a string of curses as your pussy milks him for every last drop he has. His bliss follows right after yours, and he bites down on your shoulder to keep himself from groaning too loudly so as to not drown out your melodic cries. Visions of gold and white and purity flash before his eyes as cock throbs inside of you.

His body goes limp on top of yours, breath shaky and bloody stars falling from his eyes. He thinks he can feel your fingers running through his hair, but he’s so high on simplicity and absolution he can’t seem to feel anything except your heart beating against his. Tender lips press against his sweaty temple, and he buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles after a beat of silence. “For everything. I should’ve realized sooner. I…I should’ve been stronger.”

Delicately, you bring his face out of its hiding space to press your forehead against yours, examining the regret and hesitance dancing inside sapphire. “All that matters,” you whisper “is that you did realize. I’ll be your strength if you’re feeling weak. I’ll be your shoulder to cry on. There’s nothing to worry about. All is forgiven.”

And for the very first time in his life, Touya no longer feels like a sinner forced to bear the wrongdoings of a greedy man. He no longer feels like the product of selfishness and vanity gone awry. He no longer feels like a family secret buried in the backyard never to be spoken of or acknowledged.

Touya Todoroki feels like a man with his entire life ahead of him, an angel by his side and a heaven to come home to, and that, he thinks, is more than anyone with a past such as his can hope for.

#❀.mine #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x reader #touya x reader #todoroki x reader #touya todoroki smut #touya todoroki x you #toya todoroki x reader #toya todoroki x you #toya todoroki smut #dabi smut

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getousatoruu · 2 days

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JJK CHAPTER 261 AND MY THOUGHTS:

Soooooo this chapter was not for everyone lmao but if you ask me personally I am enjoying the direction in which the story is finally moving..261 has so many themes that just hit so hard bro, but I would be breaking them down into just 3 parts (because I would yap for another 3k words otherwise):

1. Breaking the cycle (remains unbroken):

Let’s start with the first person who tried to break the cycle: Toji. Toji, a man blessed with no cursed energy, born in a clan that probably abused him for that fact, tried to break the cycle of curse energy = strength mentality by killing Gojo even when he didn’t have to, he did not have to kill Gojo at all his mission was over, money was paid, he could have left he could have run but no he fights because he wants to prove to the world, to himself, and to the zenin clan that hated his very existence that “look a monkey like me with no cursed energy can take down the pinnacle of jujutsu look”…and we all know how it ends and the cycle continues with the zenin clan still being obsessed with the 10 shadows and Maki (and Mai) being treated like shit.

The second person who tried to break the cycle was: Geto. Geto realized after a failed mission, how little value a sorcerer’s life has in the eyes of a non-sorcerer even when those sorcerers dedicate their entire lives to saving them. He envisioned a world without curses where his fellow companions wouldn’t have to sacrifice their lives to save lives of people that don’t give two fucks about them. He realised how fucked up the jujutsu society really is, how fucked up the higher ups are and how they have no qualms about sending young sorcerers to their deaths. He also starts struggling with the ugliness of humanity and non-sorcerers and their ignorance. And so he tried to change that, he tried to make the world a better place for his friends and fellow sorcerers but he lost his ideals, his mortality and his humanity following the path he chose and in the end lost to a person who was soooo similar to him, who just wanted to save his friends too and prove to himself he deserved to live. And so the cycle continues with the higher ups using and abusing the young sorcerers, and the ones in power not giving a shit about what happens as long as they are comfortable (putting a kill order on Yuuji, making binding vow with Yuuta to kill Yuuji, suspending Hakari and Kirara, killing Yaga, etc).

The third person who tries to break the cycle is: Gojo. Gojo who saw his best friend leave him behind, not just physically but in terms of ideology, who saw his best friend become a monster in order to create a world where his friends and companions can live to their fullest and laugh from the bottom of their hearts, follow an idea so insane that even he couldn’t make sense of, he couldn’t catch up to him, couldn’t catch up to his ideas…so what does he do, he becomes a teacher. He guides young minds and fosters strong people that can overturn the way jjk society works and creates a group of people so strong that they can never be left behind, that will never feel what he felt. But all this crumbs when he comes back after his sealing, Gojo knows he still doesn’t possess the power to change the society the way he wants and if he is gone there is a vacuum in the jjk society that the higher ups can easily use to exploit…and so he kills them, kills them so that the Shibuya incident aftermath (read: Yuuji almost dying, Yaga being dead, Gojo getting framed as a traitor) can not be created again looping back to Geto’s departure and the way he killed an entire village (and for me personally it even loops back to when Gojo expressed his desire to kill the cult members clapping for Riko’s death).

2. Exploitation of the strongest:

Nanami, Higuruma, Junpei all of them are few examples that show themes of exploitation in jjk but there is this cycle of exploitation of the strongest that literally just…it’s too delicious okay:

Geto and Kenjaku - Every single Kenjaku victim deserves their own exploitation post but Geto was probably one of his best hosts since firstly, Geto was a special grade sorcerer and in Kenjaku’s own words “Special Grade rank signifies the ability to single-handedly overthrow nations, that obviously true for Gojo Satoru but Suguru Geto can also wield a Grotesque army through his cursed manipulation (ch. 203)”, and secondly his curse technique can literally allow him to claim any unclaimed curse which is just bonkers. But not only that, oh no no no the ultimate trump card that Kenjaku uses Geto for was to exploit Gojo emotionally. He made a six eyes user doubt his own technique and the funny part is: he was right. Gojo’s six eyes told him that it was Geto Suguru but his soul, HIS SOUL knew otherwise. And that emotional trump card was bigger than what any other host could provide.

Megumi and Sukuna- From the very start of his show, we have seen Sukuna obsess about Megumi and his curse technique. He has even admitted that Megumi, as he grows stronger, can literally defeat him and kill him. For more than 200 chapters we have seen Sukuna devise a plan to make Megumi as his vessel, so that he can get the 10 shadows/Mahoraga. He even exploits Megumi’s curse technique after the body possession to kill off Megumi’s sister and totally submerge his soul into the abyss.

Gojo and Yuuta- The chapter was so good that we looped back to the themes of exploiting the strongest but only this time not one, BUT TWO STRONGEST SORCERERS getting exploited at the same time. On one hand we have Gojo Satoru, who has always been seen as a weapon since the day he was born, been used as a tool by the higher ups, been used and seen as nothing but strength incarnate till the day he took his last breath and getting his body used as a tool again even after his death. He even got emotionally exploited by Kenjaku and his mind games during Shibuya. On the other hand we have Okkotsu Yuta, a kid who didn’t even know he comes from a great dynasty of Jujutsu sorcerers until he accidentally cursed his friend, who meets a guy that saved his life and helped him get back onto his feet almost a year ago…sees the loneliness and isolation that man subjects himself to and wants to help him in return too, he wants him to share the burden and not suffer alone but the man is dead now and there is no one to fill the space he left, no one that can be used as a weapon anymore, no one that can be the monster the sorcerers need to win this fight, so he steps up, he becomes the monster for the story, because he can not let it all go to waste now. Ah the tragedy of not seeing yourself as a human but just a means.

3. Love is the greatest curse of them all:

Yuuta’s story started with him cursing his friend, Rika, because he could not accept her death. He loved Rika, he could not let her go because he loved. He fought Geto Suguru, even tried to sacrifice himself in the end so that his friends could live because he loved and cherished his friends. Love, love, love…In this chapter we see him worry about Gojo because isn’t Gojo doing everything all by his own, even going as far as to stain his hands in blood so that when he is not needed (dead) the rest of the cast does not have to suffer, and so he fills in the shoes of his sensei, a man he respected and loved a lot, he sacrifices himself, his humanity and becomes almost a curse for his sensei because in the end, love is the greatest curse of them all.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk 261 #jjk spoilers #jjk leaks #satoru gojo #okkotsu yuuta

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nuumbie · 13 hours

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KARMA’S A DOG.

Prompt: You’re a prized worker at the IPC Marketing Department. You spend your days waiting for that flash of black.

Trigger Warning: Reader is mentally ill and a little shit head. Curse Words. General Violent Terms and Reader Gets Ragdolled. Boothill is NOT into you!!! He actually hates you! Guilt! Etc, etc… it’s just all hurt no comfort.

Author’s Note: Written to celebrate his trailer. Save a horse. Ride a cowboy. Contains spoilers regarding his character story.

He’s resting peacefully. This should still count as sleep. You pose the question in your head if you replace the pieces of something, how far until the thing is something else entirely. But he’s still alive. You find relish in that.

He still has his head. Maybe, that’s all he has. You wonder how the surgery must have gone. Of course you’ve met people who’ve changed themselves so drastically with robotics that you couldn’t recognize them after the surgeries. It’s a rebirth in ways. When you change so dramatically that you’re a different person by the end. His body’s 90% metal. 10% flesh. So, wouldn’t it be the cybernetics that win?

Despite everything. You don’t think so. Perhaps, that’s all that he needs. I think therefore I am. There’s no doubt he’s alive. Not to you, anyway. He’s brimming with human life. He’s more alive than you. Not in the same way where the question poses in your mind with other beings, or creatures, Boothill is obstinately simple.

You like that. He’s simple. The Hunt is straight forward. A single path. A single road. You like that you don’t have to read his intentions. You know what he wants and why.

Boothill. Galaxy Ranger. IPC Hunter. The Man who just tried to sneak into your office and put a bullet through your head like he has with many of your employees, those who’ve worked directly under you no less. You know. Most criminals don’t get this far. Not far at all past Pier Point. Oswaldo will have a riot.

If he knew he would. You’re not going to tell him.

Boothill is special.

The cowboy opens his eyes. Your personal grim reaper.

“I see you’re awake.” You smile in a loving way. If you can even manage that. People who can control their expressions make it seem so easy. Laying across his chest. You’ve opened up his core to play with his inner circuits. He must not like that, though considering there’s a burning hatred in his eyes which threatens to scorch you. You glance up towards his face and sigh and ignoring the lingering, simmering, resentment. His body is heating up beneath your touch. So, maybe it resonates with his feelings, you wonder if his body steams. “We need to stop meeting like this. You’re going to make me think you’re obsessed with me.”

It’s the opposite way around. You know that. But the very idea that it isn’t causes him to lunge at you. The cowboy turns into nothing more than a blur, all the wires connected to the body collecting samples that took at least a good thirty minutes pulled from him. Some ripped from the walls, and in instants he’s on you.

“You dang—“ his hands make its way to your shoulders, you’re flipped without hesitation. his hands grasping you down, he lays on top of you. breath heavy. robots don’t breathe, though, so you try to think of another word as he catches himself and tries to make it so he’s the one on top. “— you again!?”

“I’ve been meaning to get my hands on you… you oughta’… you ANGEL!” He screeches. Music to your ears as he shakes you more like you’re more ragdoll than person. “AEONS, it’s so freaking annoying! You absolute delight! How did I lose to…”

“Thank you so much for the compliment.” You smile back. Probably the only one getting anything out of this arrangement. Pinned against the floor hand pressed tightly against your waist so you can’t struggle. He should’ve pressed it against your mouth. But it isn’t like you’re going to scream. You’re certain. Lots of women would love to be in this position you’re currently in. But it’s you. And this is far from some sweet, pure, little romantic story. You’re not delusional. Though, you act like you are purely because it annoys him. It’s good for him to build up his rage, his contentment, good. “I was just looking over your upgrades since the last time you invaded Pier Point. As for asking how I beat you~…”

“The electronic upgrade was not the best idea.” You smile. “If we can control your language, your body isn’t hard especially for a renowned genius like me. Have to talk to your doctor about that. You’re lucky I’m the one that found you. Where’s my thanks?”

“Aeons, of COURSE you Market-Phonies have something to annoy the DANGNATION out of me.” he grinds his teeth, looking around for his pistol. making a point about how dead he wants you. you can feel his grip loosen and tighten. he’s likely processing which one would get you to be quieter. “Where’d you put it? My gun. I’ve decided. I’m killing you now. Puttin’ ya out of your misery, sweet-face! You think this is rough? Think of a 9mm lead in your skull will be?”

“Cabinet.” You put on your best smile. “For me?”

“Of course for you. Love you.” You didn’t take away his ability to say hate. So, he must have said something like screw. Or maybe it’s a replacement for something else? You just know it’s bad. “You knew this was coming. I’m not going to miss my shot again. You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You did know it was coming. You wished he would get the one person above you first so you could witness your boss with his brains blown out, the outcries that an Emanator of Qlipoth killed. You could have gotten wine with Diamond and laughed about it and died happy knowing the world was washed clean forever of Oswaldo Schneider.

But you can’t be so lucky. You’ll have to wish him luck. If he actually manages to kill you that is — you’re not making it hard.

He grabs you by the neck so you can’t struggle away to call help. The iron hands encased over your neck like a shackle isn’t a bad feeling. You almost quote as such so he might grab you a little tighter. Sadly, it seems his finger is directly over your windpipe— making talking an impossibility. He really doesn’t want you to run. Not like you would. Dragging you as he goes towards the cabinet. He presses you against the wall one-handed.

Using his other hand to peruse through your belongings. Even if you struggled. You doubt you could make a dent against the material. You’ve always been more of a pen instead of a sword guy.

It seems he’s smarter than you thought. Since, he checks the bullets in the gun. Rather show-offishly, too. He clicks the trigger against your head and nothing comes out. He counts them out, too. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

You already knew that none of the shots would ring. But here’s a certain heart-pounding feeling even if you know it’s empty. He clutches the gun even tighter.

Obviously, you’ve cleaned them out. He glares at you. Of course you’re the one at fault. Of course you were smart enough to know the first thing he’d do when he woke up was try to kill you. Of course you wanted to see the look on his face when he got his gun back when he realized it was empty. “Don’t you have spares? You eat them, don’t you? Just shit them out.” You smile. It’s hard to talk.

The floor hits you. Hard. Or maybe you hit the floor? Either way. It hurts. Your head spins. But, you collect yourself. Maybe. Dizzy people often can’t tell they’re dizzy. “You going to kill me right? You don’t need a gun to do that. To make it painful. To get your little revenge.” You’re sputtering. Aeons. It be embarrassing if you didn’t say that. If you’re slurring. Though who are you to ask for a clean death?

“I don’t get you.” Boothil’s boot presses against your chest— “make up your mind, you wanna die or not? You’re seriously flip-flopping.”

You smile back at him from the floor. “I’d rather my employees not go down with me when you’ve got to escape. Jeremy just got a promotion. You won’t die here, will you space cowboy? So, you’ll have to make your way out.”

“Might as well limit the casualties.”

“You took everything from me.” Robots don’t stumble over their words. Robots don’t hold grudges. People do. People live for others. “What right do you have? You have way more blood on your hands than I do.”

“You’re not wrong.” you repeat, quietly. “It’s karma. It’s justice. I’m so happy you exist.”

“I could never ever dream of it. I could never.” You smile. “So I’m glad that you did. Thank you.”

He looks down at you.

He steps back. You already know. Too self-aware for your own good.

Maybe you should have shut up. You already know you’ve messed it all up. The way he looks at you.

“Everyone here’s so fluffed up.” he grimaces. rubbing his shoe against the floor. “Anyone the IPC touches get’s gosh-dang ruined.”

You know why he did. You ruined his life. You did. So, it was only fair he did the same in return—

Reaching out— before you realize it. “Hey, wait.”

“You’re not dragging me down with you! I want you to pay I’m not letting you off easy. When we meet again. I’ll have changed this place forever. And you’ll be forced to live with yourself.”

He doesn’t even look at you.

He lets you go and he runs out the door. You hear the sounds of loud screams. Shooting guns. It turns into a blur after a few seconds. They’re going to fail to apprehend him. You hope.

On the messy floor. Your lab a wreak. You’re sure. They’ll come here. They’ll question you.

You’ll lie. Jade can tell. But she won’t tell on you.

“Fuck you, too.”

You put your hands over your eyes and you just ignore everything until someone comes and gets you.

You’ll meet him again. You can wait. It’s all you ever do.

#boothill #boothill x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #🗑️ trash writes #x reader

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padawansuggest · 2 days

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Real take: I like Star Wars. I like the prequels because they have more fleshed out world building than the originals. I like the originals because it has a compelling storyline and character building. I like the cartoons because they do things that live action cannot. I like the children’s show Young Jedi Adventures and I think it’s both cute, extremely full of world building, and it’s designed to bring back the cartoon storyline of learning a lesson every episode that young children can relate to. I like the Mandalorian because it took a species with exactly two known people from it, and added a third, but made them a baby, and they were cute, and it shows the morals of Mandalorian adoption and love for children. I love Ahsoka because it took a favorite cartoon series and not only brought it to life, but also it’s funny and very full of world building for both the New Republic Rebellion scene, as well as more Dathomirian nightsister lore. I love a lot of other Star Wars off-shoots because they gave good storylines, they try to bridge plotholes, and a lot of amazing characters and new places to play with. I adore, fucking love, would give my life for Star Wars Visions; the lore and new concepts alone have captivated me and I can and HAVE made posts about things Visions did that no other SW series has touched and I’m so obsessed with the force and it’s aspects as well as just species and such you have no idea I would sell any of you for SW Visions. In fact, I would sell any of you for Young Jedi Adventures too. The worldbuilding alone for those two series is enough to have me vibrating with excitement with every episode. Sometimes I rewatch episodes of them just for random juicy facts that I can use for fics.

But you know why I don’t tell people I like Star Wars in real life? People always lookin at something they hate, and the most incel take on it is that it’s got too many women now. But irl non-fandom people who just want to ‘enjoy the ambiance of the original trilogy’ and me do not get along because they actually hate Star Wars. They genuinely hate Star Wars.

I can give you 50 plot lines in various sections of canon and legends that boiled my blood (tho not that one time Anakin at 12 literally boiled a man’s blood inside his body, that was hilarious his eyes turned black like a demons I’m so obsessed with him), but I’m not gonna talk about those.

Aren’t you exhausted? Wouldn’t it be nicer to gush about how amazing a certain costume design was? How the implications of a certain species makes you so excited you could burst? Wouldn’t you like to talk about how that one character just doesn’t get enough love and it wasn’t because they were fridged it was just because they didn’t get enough love from the fans for being black or female or disabled or something?

I am going to tell you this now, and you’re gonna hate me for it but I’m right: if you didn’t like Mortis because you think the force Doesn’t Work Like That? You don’t like Star Wars.

I’m tired of interacting with comments on commercials because it’s full of idiots crying about more women, a black character, the fact that ‘oh that wouldn’t happen’ as if the High Republic era didn’t literally have some sort of fucked up midichlorian vampire roaming the outer rim killing anyone force sensitive. Obviously they def would have acolytes set before the prequels shove it up your ass.

Anyways. Stop talking about what you hate. Yes, I get it. We are tired of rote pumped stories, but that doesn’t change the fact that there will ALWAYS be someone who hates the story you love, and loves the story you hate. You cannot please everyone, and I for one have found just about all off-shoot SW series individualized and compelling in some way or another.

You know what I did when I starting hating about 90% of all new Marvel movies? I stopped watching them. If I want back in the fandom I have older ones I can watch or simply only interact with fics.

Because Marvel, as much as they Need To Calm Their Shit, isn’t about me, and it isn’t for me anymore.

But I think a lot of you hate so much Star Wars content that you truly need to stop interacting with the series. It’s not for you anymore. And just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean it’s not real SW. Not sorry, but this ain’t your scene anymore and you need to find a new one.

#star wars #clone wars #the acolyte #the mandalorian #star wars prequels #I hate the sequels with all my heart but I won’t say shit about it now because I know that’s not mine to criticize #and yet. I still love them for being there for those that love them #you do you booboo #if you can’t find ANYTHING to do in this fandom that would take a lifetime to finish #other than criticizing the newest content we get because it’s not what you envisioned #then I’m sorry you don’t like the fandom you just want more of the original

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liightsout · 1 day

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guilty as sin? - daniel ricciardo x reader

(part two)

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

✯ pairing: daniel ricciardo x reader ✯

✯ word count: 5.5k ✯

✯ content warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, abusive/unhealthy relationship, thoughts of cheating, sexual themes, toxic parental relationship ✯

✯ now playing: guilty as sin? - taylor swift ✯

✯ masterlist ✯

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“I’m seeing visions, am I bad, or mad or wise?”

For weeks after that night in Monaco you couldn’t shake Daniel Ricciardo from your mind, no matter how hard you had tried. You felt as though your every thought had been occupied by him. The way his skin felt against yours. The way his voice sounded when he said your name. The way his eyes lit up when he heard you laugh. You were obsessed.

You felt exactly as you had all those years ago; yearning for a man you could not have.

You had hoped that Evan’s attitude towards you might improve after his run in with Danny. It hadn’t, if anything, it had made him worse. He had interrogated you the entire car ride back to the hotel from the villa. It hadn’t taken him long at all to work out who Danny was. You imagined one of his friends must have told him after he’d gone storming back into the villa.

He didn’t believe that you knew a famous Formula 1 driver. He had gotten shitty with you when you pointed out that you had told him that you knew some of the drivers through your friend Rosie. He rolled his eyes at that. He had always hated Rosie. She was too brash, too loud for his liking. You had thought that it was just that they were too different. It was easy to see now that he just preferred women to be quiet.

You found yourself comparing everything he did to how you imagined Danny would if he were in the same situation.

How would Danny have reacted if the tables were turned, if he was the one to find you conversing with a handsome stranger instead of waiting patiently for him to come find you.

You quickly concluded that you would never have been in that situation with Danny. He never would have left you alone in a house of people you barely knew to go and drink with his friends.

You weren’t sure if comparing Evan to Danny was a wise decision, but you found it impossible to stop.

“I keep these longings locked in lowercase inside a vault”

You kept these thoughts to yourself, not that you had anyone to share them with anymore. Evan had quickly extradited you from all your friends early on in your relationship. Perhaps that was why you found such solace in your daydreams.

Although, even if you did have someone to confide in, what would you say? How would you explain that you were longing for a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. That a man you had met a handful of times was occupying your every waking thought.

It was best that those thoughts stay hidden away.

“Someone told me, ‘there’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk”

For what felt like the hundredth weekend in a row, Evan had gone away with his friends, leaving you home alone. Usually you didn’t mind all that much. The time away from Evan had felt like respite recently. But tonight you had felt the urge for something more. You didn’t want to be sitting at home alone on a Saturday night, drinking wine and watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy.

You wanted a taste of your old life back.

It felt scandalous leaving your apartment late at night to go to a bar. A hilarious thought when you considered the fact that you were an adult in your twenties and that realistically you could do whatever you wanted. The fact that Evan would be beyond annoyed at you if he ever found out where you were made the whole thing even more enticing.

You found yourself in a dingy dive bar in the city, one that you used to frequent before you had started dating Evan. As you looked around at the sticky floor and walls covered in vintage tour posters you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face. Evan would hate it here.

You should have known all your old friends would be there. It was a warm summer's evening, the perfect weather for a drink in the beer garden out the back of the bar. It had been a tradition amongst your group for years.

Rosie was the first one to see you. You had thought that she would ignore you. Not because she was unkind, you just couldn’t imagine that she would have any reason to want to talk with you. You had all but disappeared from her life two years ago. Swept up in a whirlwind romance that felt more important than your friends.

How wrong you were; about both the relationship, and Rosie.

The minute you felt her arms wrap around you in a welcoming embrace, you felt a wave of emotions rush over you.

Danny had said she had missed you, you just hadn’t believed him.

The pair of you spent the next few hours catching up. She told you all about her new job and the fancy new apartment she was renting. She showed you pictures of her brother and his new wife. They were expecting their first child and she was ecstatic about finally becoming the cool aunt, a stereotype that you knew would fit her perfectly.

You had missed so much of her life. She had done so much in the few years you’d not spoken. You felt embarrassed by how little you had to share with her. Your life revolved around Evan and work. It wasn’t the life you had imagined for yourself, not in the slightest.

You didn’t need to tell Rosie how bad things were with Evan, she just knew. Girls were like that, you had found. They possess an inherent intuition to be able to read their friends and know exactly what’s wrong without a single word needing to pass their lips. No matter how much time has passed.

It was Rosie who brought up Danny first. He had told her all about what had happened in Monaco. You weren’t sure what else he had told her, but after nearly a bottle of white wine you couldn’t stop the words from tumbling from your lips. They had been pent up for years now, itching to break free.

You told her everything. Starting with that night two years ago; you told her how badly you had wanted for more to happen, but didn’t want to cross any lines.

You told her how you had waited for him to reach out to you, but that phone call had never come. The years you had spent thinking he was “the one who got away”.

Ending with that night in Monaco when you had collided into each other. A cruel twist of fate sent to mock you for ever thinking Evan was the right man for you.

“I just feel so bad for feeling this way about Danny… I know Evan’s not the greatest, but he doesn’t deserve this, surely?” you said to the girl sitting in front of you.

The guilt was eating you alive. You’d always considered yourself an honest person. Fantasising about a man that wasn’t your boyfriend felt wrong. But if it was wrong, why did it feel so right?

“I need you to listen to me right now,” Rosie said as she grabbed your hand that was resting on the table. You looked up and met her eyes.

“Evan, is an asshole. He has kept you locked away in that penthouse for too long now, and you have lost sight of who you are and what you want. I’m not saying that Danny is the love of your life, but if he is your way out of this prison cell you’re locked in, fucking go for it!”

You were at a loss for words. Rosie was a good friend of Danny’s. She would know if these feelings you had were one sided. Surely she wouldn’t encourage you if she thought you’d end up heart broken chasing an impossible dream.

“Babe, all I’m saying is, don’t beat yourself up for imagining a better life for yourself. There’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk.”

“These fatal fantasies, giving way to laboured breath, taking all of me. We’ve already done it in my head”

You could feel his hands against your skin. His fingertips were setting your body alight wherever they touched. You wanted more, needed more.

A fire was starting within you that you hadn’t felt in years.

His rough facial hair scratched against the delicate skin of your neck as he left soft kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. The softness of the kisses was a stark comparison to the sinful thoughts swirling round in your brain.

“Good girl” he whispered to you as he pushed your thighs further apart. The praise sounded like liquid gold pouring from his lips. The teasing glint in his eye matched the smirk on his lips. It was a look you’d not seen on him before.

You knew you’d do anything he asked if it meant you got to see him like this again.

The fantasy was pulled from you before your mind could wonder any further.

The sound of your morning alarm woke you from the most beautiful dreamland you’d ever experienced.

You’d never had a dream like that before. Should you feel ashamed of yourself? Normal people didn’t fantasise about men that weren’t their boyfriends in their dreams.

You did not feel ashamed, not in the slightest.

You could never feel ashamed for feeling any kind of way about Danny.

“If it’s make believe, why does it feel like a vow we’ll both uphold somehow?”

It had been a regular occurrence that you would find yourself dreaming of Danny; both when you were awake and now when you were asleep.

He was your escape.

You dreamt of your life together. You imagined weekends at the ranch in Australia. You’d tend to the animals together. Then he would venture off to ride quad bikes around the land, messing about with his closest friends and family.

You’d sit by the pool, soaking up the beautiful Australian sun, happy to watch him thriving in the company of his loved ones.

You both had dreams of a big family, marriage and kids would be a no brainer. If how he was with his niece and nephew was anything to go by, you just knew he would be the most incredible father.

He would treat you the way you deserved to be treated; looked after and cared for. No apology gifts would be necessary, only regular bouquets of flowers he would buy for you “just because”.

He’d hold your hand when you were nervous and ground you when you were anxious. You would laugh more than you had in your entire life, and every day would be a happy one.

You didn’t know if Danny felt the same way about you. The realistic part of your brain told you that he didn’t. But you couldn’t help but feel that fate had brought the two of you together time and time again.

Maybe he was the one who got away. But what if maybe, just maybe, he was the one.

“What if he’s written mine on my upper thigh only in my mind?”

Evan was mad. More than mad, he was pissed.

You had told him a few weeks ago that you had rekindled your friendship with Rosie. You had made up a story about how you had bumped into each other at the supermarket, not wanting to explain how you’d taken yourself out alone to a bar on a Saturday night.

He had believed your story, but couldn’t believe why you would want to be friends with a girl like Rosie. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him that Rosie couldn’t comprehend why on earth you’d want to be with a guy like him.

Rosie had called you earlier in the day and invited you to her house for a BBQ, she hosted them often during the summer and it was definitely something you had missed. She hadn’t explicitly said that Evan wasn’t invited. She didn’t need to, you knew she didn’t want him in her house. It didn’t matter, you didn’t want him there either.

“But babe, I wanted to spend the night with you, I made plans for us, I booked a table at your favourite restaurant and everything,” Evan pleaded with you. You almost felt bad. Maybe this was his attempt at making more of an effort with you. Maybe seeing you with Danny had made him a little more appreciative of what he had. Maybe.

“I’m sorry, Rosie invited me earlier and I said yes. I didn’t know you’d made plans or I wouldn’t have agreed to go. I can’t cancel now, it would be rude,” you said as you grabbed your bag from the hook by the front door.

“I’ll be back tonight, it won’t be super late, Rosie has a flight in the morning so she wants everyone out by 10PM” you said as a parting farewell.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was pissed off. The scoff followed by the swear words muttered under his breath were enough of a tell tale sign.

“Whatever, I’m going out with the guys so I won’t be able to pick you up,” he said as he stormed out of sight.

You flinched as you heard the bedroom door slam shut. You knew he was trying to make you feel bad for going out. He wanted you to put down your bag and go running after him. He wanted you on your hands and knees apologising for upsetting him and promising you’d do anything to make it up to him.

It was an easy decision. Without so much of a second thought, you were out the door and on your way to Rosie’s.

The second you had arrived at her house you knew you’d made the right choice. You were welcomed with open arms by all your old friends. It was like you hadn’t been missing from their lives for the better part of two years. You fell back into the motions easier than you had expected. The several glasses of wine had helped.

The night had been fairly overwhelming in that respect. As much as you had missed the company of friends, it had been a while since you had been social around this many people for this amount of time.

It was later in the evening and everyone had decided to move inside to get away from the cool chill in the air. You had opted to stay outside for a little longer than everyone else, needing a moment alone to decompress.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” you heard whispered into your ear. His voice sent shivers down your spine. His deep, alluring drawl was as sweet as honey.

As you slowly turned, your eyes were met with the very same ones that had been haunting your dreams for weeks.

“I’m just glad I didn’t spill my wine all over myself this time,” you said, earning a laugh from him in response.

Daniel Ricciardo’s laugh was one you would recognise anywhere and you never wanted to forget exactly how it sounded.

“I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble with Eric,” the Aussie said with a chuckle. Despite the laugh you could tell his concern was sincere by the way his hand reached out for yours, just as he had done that night in Monaco.

Your hands didn’t touch this time. Before he got too close, he pulled away. You wished that he hadn’t. You longed for his skin against yours, even if it was the most innocent of touches.

“It’s Evan, and he was fine. He gets that way when he’s had a drink. Nothing I can’t handle. He’s all bark and no bite,” you replied with a smile.

You didn’t want him to worry. Evan wasn’t abusive, not physically at least. You could handle his mean words and shitty comments. It hurt when it first started, but by now you were used to it. It was easy to block out once you realised there was a part of you that didn’t care what he thought of you.

Danny didn’t reply to that, just looked at you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. His face was a mixture of annoyed and confused.

He was the joker of the group, the one everyone looked to for a laugh. Yet here he was, lost for words and looking like he was about to get in his car, drive to the other side of London and punch your boyfriend in the face.

It was kind of hot.

The pair of you stayed outside for about an hour after that, catching up even more than you had done a few weeks prior. You hadn’t had a chance to speak to Danny about his career last time, but you were keen to catch up with him about everything that had happened over the last few years.

When you’d seen him all those years ago he had just left Renault for Mclaren. You remembered that he was nervous of the change and scared about what it would mean for his career. You didn’t know him well at the time, but you told him you were proud of him for making such a bold change and regardless of what happened.

Two years later he was no longer with Mclaren. You weren’t a huge F1 fan but you’d kept track of Danny’s career. You had seen all the drama unfold and were disgusted at the way Mclaren had treated him. He deserved better. You were glad he was back in the Red Bull family. He seemed happier, more at peace with himself.

You were forced inside to join the rest of the group by Rosie. She had stomped into the garden declaring the pair of you must join in the drinking games that were going on inside. Danny had reminded her that he wasn’t drinking as he had to be up in the morning for an early flight. The same flight that she was getting on, he had added with a smirk as he watched her down another shot of tequila.

You didn’t hesitate when Danny offered you a lift home. He had asked you how you had planned on getting home as the pair of you had walked out of Rosie’s house and onto the dark street. He’d been outraged when you told him you were planning on walking to the station down the road and getting the tube back home.

“Is Evan not picking you up? Or made sure you at least got a taxi home?” he had asked you. He had that look on his face again. You hated that he was annoyed, but you couldn’t help but feel so incredibly lucky that he cared enough to even be annoyed about your neglectful boyfriend.

You hated feeling embarrassed about your relationship. You were surprised that it had been the hardest part about reconnecting with your old friends.

It was easy to handle the disappointment you felt about Evan’s behaviour when you were the only one who knew about it. Having your friends look at you with sad looks on their faces and offer you reassuring smiles when you told them something else Evan had done wrong was hard to take. You knew they all thought you were a fool for staying with him as long as you had, they were just too kind to say it.

“He wasn’t too happy about me coming here tonight, plus he’s gone out with his friends I think… it’s not the end of the world, he’ll be over it by tomorrow,” you said, forcing a smile to your face. You weren’t sure why you were making excuses for him. Old habits die hard.

“Get in the car, I’m taking you home,” Danny said with a stern look on his face. You weren’t going to argue with him. You would much prefer a lift home as opposed to getting public transport, it was safer and way less hassle.

Plus you really weren’t going to turn down the opportunity to spend a little extra time in the presence of the man who made your heart beat a little faster.

The first couple minutes of the car journey was filled with absolute silence. You focused hard to try and maintain your breathing. The air in the car was stuffy waiting for the air conditioning to fully kick in. Your palms felt sweaty, dripping with anticipation. You weren’t sure why being around Danny had that effect on you. You were on edge, waiting for something to happen.

The rational side of your brain reminded you that it never would. Danny wouldn’t make a move on you, not while you were still with Evan. You wouldn’t want to put him in that position either, it wouldn’t be fair.

The rest of the ride was filled with you directing Danny to your address. Each road that took you closer to home, the closer you felt to exploding. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell Danny exactly how you felt; to tell him all the thoughts you had bubbling up inside of you that you desperately needed to share with him. You wanted to know if he felt the same. If he thought these things about you too.

As you gave the final direction you knew the opportunity was drifting further and further away from you. Danny pulled up alongside your apartment building and cut the engine to the car.

He angled his body so that he was now facing you. Your brain willed you to turn and look at him, but your bones felt heavy, like they were made of lead.

You hadn’t noticed him moving beside you, too wrapped up in your own thoughts. Danny’s hand gripping your thigh sent you hurtling down from the anxiety spiral you found yourself in.

You turned your head slowly, your eyes meeting his for the first time since you had gotten into the passenger seat of his car.

Danny didn’t move his hand like you had thought he might. If anything it felt as though his grip had tightened as your eyes locked with his. A mental connection between you made the physical one stronger.

“The second you break up with that fuck head, call me.”

Danny’s voice was deep and full of something that you’d never heard before. Not from him, not from anyone. Was it lust, anger, want, need?

His eyes were dark and wild. The usual bright expression was wiped from his face and replaced with one that was much more intense.

No one had ever looked at you the way he had; like you were the finest trophy he had ever been denied.

It felt as though his grip on your thigh had remained. Even as you exited the car and made the ascent up the steps towards your apartment, you could still feel his vice like grip on your skin.

You went about your usual routine once you had gotten yourself inside the apartment.

You lay in bed that night and waited for the sounds of your boyfriend arriving home, it never came.

The feeling of Danny’s hand on your thigh remained, like a phantom touch. You could feel the rough pads of his fingers against you. It felt as though he had traced the word mine into the delicate flesh and it would remain there for the rest of your life.

“One slip and falling back into a hedge maze, oh what a way to die”

Your nights were filled with anxious dreaming. The words Danny had spoken to you in the car echoed round in your mind. He had confirmed it. He wanted you too.

There was an amount of you that considered whether you had imagined what he had said. Had you simply gone mad and hallucinated the whole interaction?

You hadn’t. You knew that even in your wildest imagination you could never have invented the way his touch made you feel.

“I keep recalling things we never did, messy top lip kiss, how I long for our tryst”

You’d been distant from Evan for the past few days. You’d thought he wouldn’t notice, he never had before. But this time he had. Somewhere between the run in with Danny and the rekindling of your friendship with Rosie, he had become suspicious.

“Are you cheating on me?” Evan’s voice rang out around the apartment. He hadn’t shouted it at you, but compared to the deafening silence that had been suffocating the pair of you, it felt like he had. Maybe it was the gravity of the words that had made them seem louder.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from your stomach and past your lips. You regretted it as soon as it happened.

“I don’t know what part of this is funny?” he said with a viscous look on his face. You’d never seen him so enraged. His face was twisted with anger, his skin flushed.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing because it’s funny… it’s just, how on earth could you possibly think that I’m cheating on you? I don’t have a life Evan. I don’t have anyone to cheat on you with. My life revolves around you and when you deem me worthy of your attention. I should be asking you if you’re cheating on me, no?” you said with a shaky breath.

You couldn’t recall the rest of the conversation. Harsh comments and vile accusations had been thrown at you like daggers. You didn’t have the energy to fight back. No matter what you said he wouldn’t believe you. The argument had ended with him slamming the bedroom door and telling you to sleep on the sofa.

As you lay there you couldn’t help but be angry.

You were Angry at Evan for treating you the way he did. If he thought so little of you, thought you were so beneath him, why didn’t he just end it?

You were angry at yourself for staying with him. You clearly weren’t happy. You hadn’t been for months. Your relationship had been on a downward spiral for some time and you had done nothing about it.

You were angry that, despite Evan’s allegation against you being factually incorrect, it did have a base of truth to it. No, you had not cheated on him. But you had been fantasising about a man that wasn’t him. You had been longing for someone that wasn’t him.

You were angry at the whole mess you found yourself in.

Evan believed you had been cheating on him. If that was true, he was a hypocrite. You knew he had cheated on you multiple times. Lipstick stains on shirt collars and late night texts from numbers not saved in his contacts told you as much.

You were angry that you had shown him a courtesy that he had not shown you. It would have been so easy for you and Danny to have crossed a line and ventured into the realms of ‘more than friends’, but you never had.

Your mind wandered to your escape, the place you found yourself more often than not these days.

A messy top lip kiss. Wandering hands. Nails dragging against skin. Stifled sighs.

A tryst that you longed for.

“My bed sheets are ablaze, I’ve screamed his name. Building up like waves, crashing over my grave”

A firm hand gripped your shoulder as you were shaken away from your slumber. Your eyes squinted open as they adjusted to the light that was now pouring through the windows.

You had slept on the sofa last night, after the fight with Evan.

Evan. He was looking at you with a face of thunder. You thought that he would have calmed down by now. You were clearly wrong.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Danny? Daniel fucking Ricciardo? That’s who you’re cheating on me with?” he spat at you.

“Well done babe, I didn’t think you had it in you, a Formula 1 driver,” Evan said, every word dripped with venom as he mockingly clapped his hands.

You didn’t have a chance to ask him what he was talking about before he continued.

“You know, all my friends told me you were a gold digger when we got together, but I chose not to believe them. You didn’t strike me as someone chasing after money and fame, yet here you are, sleeping around with whatever man has the biggest paycheck. The jokes on you, he’s washed and I’ll always be richer than him” he shouted as he walked away from you. He picked his keys up from the kitchen island with such force you were sure they had left a scratch against the marble.

“Evan, I don’t understand-” he cut you off before you could even finish your sentence.

“Here’s a tip, if you’re going to have dirty fucking dreams about your secret love affair, try not to moan his name while your boyfriend is in the room next to you.”

You couldn’t argue back. He wasn’t wrong.

“What if I roll the stone away? They’re gonna crucify me anyway. What if the way you hold me, is actually what’s holy? If long suffering propriety is what they want from me, they don’t know how you’ve haunted me so stunningly”

A phone call with your mother was not what you needed right now. Evan hadn’t come back since he’d confronted you that morning.

You’d spent the rest of the day anxiously pacing around the house. You’d cleaned every surface, tidied every shelf. You were about to hoover for the second time when your phone rang. You’d expected it to be Evan and had not checked the caller ID. You were caught off guard by the shrill tone of your mother’s voice on the other end of the line.

You had a tense relationship with your parents. Your mother had never approved of much you had done in your life. The only choice you’d made that she had ever praised you for was your relationship with Evan. You knew she’d have more than a few things to say about the situation you found yourself in currently.

“Darling, I got the strangest call today from Evan’s mother. She told me that you’ve been cheating on Evan. Tell me that’s not true dear.”

Typical. Evan had gone crying to his mum, who had decided it was appropriate to air your dirty laundry with yours.

“No mum, of course not. It’s a misunderstanding. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain myself,” you replied, unsure of how much you should disclose to her.

“Just apologise. You cannot afford to lose him. He’s the best thing that’s happened to you. Don’t throw it all away now,” your mother said, the same tone in her voice as she did when you were a teenager. You had never argued with her back then, but you had done a lot of things recently you hadn’t done before.

“It’s over mum. When Evan gets back I’m going to tell him that we’re done. I can’t be with him anymore. We don’t have a healthy relationship, it’s not fair on either of us. I don’t expect you to understand, but I hope you can respect what I’m saying.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand. Why on earth would toss away a two year relationship with the a perfect man, all for a washed up athlete from Australia. Think of what people will say? Your name will be tarnished! I can’t even begin to think what your father is going to say about all of this, you’ll send him to an early grave!” her voice was like nails against a chalkboard. Each sentence rose an octave.

You’d never hung up on your mother before, but you’d done a lot of things recently you hadn’t done before.

“I choose you and me, religiously”

It didn’t take as long as you thought it would to pack up your belongings. You truly had been living like a guest in Evan’s life. You wondered if he ever really wanted you there in the first place.

The gravity of the choice you were making weighed heavy on your shoulders.

You knew you were throwing a lot away.

A two year relationship with a wealthy man, who had a stable income and whose family name carried a lot of weight in certain circles.

Your parents had already expressed that they would be disappointed in you for leaving him, your relationship with them would be even rockier than it was before.

You had nowhere to live, no place to call your home and lay your head at night.

Despite all that, you knew you’d pick Danny every time.

You picked up your phone and scrolled through your contacts until you landed on his name. You didn’t think much about what you were going to say to him, just pressed the dial button and listened to it ring.

You took a sharp inhale of breath as you heard his voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey pretty girl.”

“Without ever touching his skin, how can I be guilty as sin?”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

✯ authors note: IT'S DONE! i am so sorry this took me so longer than i thought it would. i found out last week i am moving on wednesday and i only just started my new job, so my life has been VERY hectic!

i hope this is ok and you guys enjoy it, it took a lot out of me mentally. some difficult topics are mentioned and i hope i did them justice.

happy race day also!!! i had a good old cry earlier on watching charles win monaco, so so happy for him!

fresh out the slammer is next, not sure when it will be up, i think i'm gonna get some updates done for the blue first.

love you all and thank you again for all your support ✯

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lifeandlies-of-regulusblack · 2 days

Text

Honey, you bring the worst out of me ♥️

JEGULUS. Enemies to enemies in lust with each other. Toxic, mutual obsession. Jegulus who hate each other's guts. None of them are good to each other and they don't try. CW: NSFW. SMUT AT THE END. According to James, Regulus is a death sentence. Poor guy.

Jegulus who spit in each other's mouths.

James and Regulus who tolerate each other for Sirius' sake.

James, who tells Regulus to let his brother go, if he ever truly loved him. Who tells Regulus to stop being selfish and set Sirius free. That when Sirius looked to the future, he was facing James. Not him.

Regulus, who taunts James because he can never be just Sirius' brother. That Sirius' outright refusal to choose between them is because he can't love James enough to fill the hole Regulus will leave in his life. Sirius is stuck right in the middle and it was James, who Sirius felt needed to be reminded — that he wouldn't choose between them.

Jegulus who inevitably end up bloodied and battered by each other's fists. Hands gripping the other close as they peer into each other's eyes. Resentment. Loathing. Themselves. They see perfectly as they look.

James, who hates the way Regulus puts himself above others as he says it's his birthright to do so. He's sick of the surety in Regulus' calm admittance that he only cares about the people he loves, the rest be damned.

Regulus, who loathes Potter's insistence that his every moral thought be followed. He watches as James proudly proclaims that people can simply be beaten and fought into submission until they know right from wrong. Regulus who takes sick, sick pleasure as he casts a deep cutting curse the moment James decides he couldn't stomach Regulus' indifference.

Regulus, who realizes that no one can ever make his blood sing the way James does whenever their fires burn in each other's presence.

—

James, who dreams about pale skin with deep, purple bruises he put on there. He thinks of how he'd love to see more of it. More skin. More bruises.

Regulus who takes satisfaction in seeing the scar his curse leaves on James' brown skin. He thinks, he should've cut deeper.

—

Jegulus who look for each other everywhere. Who wait for each other every time. Who feel the violence singing, calling to each other. And, something else — the urge to maim, to mark, to hurt, to touch.

James who won't let anyone near Regulus because he doesn't deserve that kind of love, while the other merely steals away the people attracted to James' burning. Regulus is a star, he burns brightly too. James can starve. They orbit each other, just as well as they keep people away from each other. They've done well in making sure they don't have anyone else but themselves.

—————•

Regulus, who, upon graduation, decides he wants to study in France, then Germany, then... Then Egypt. Sirius sees him off with a tight hug, afraid to let his brother go so far, for so long. Remus is standing steady just beside Sirius ready to catch him after Regulus leaves, while Peter quietly takes a picture of the two brothers' first, real goodbye.

And James is there. Staring. Hungry. Left unsatisfied. Regulus simply decided there was nothing to stick around for. James was unworthy of much else.

—

Regulus hears the bustling of a foreign city, well awake late into the night, outside his bedroom window. Paris. Regulus really did it. Tomorrow, he'll be gone, off to a small province in the country to look for a woman who they say teaches potions only to five people every four years. Perenelle Flamel is a madwoman, and whatever happens, she'll be teaching six instead of five. He'll make sure.

Regulus looks into the future with hunger. Ambition ringing through him, pushing, pulling.

But also, right now, alone with himself —

(tan skin, mocking smiles, derisive sneers, and hands that could bruise. words he knew to expect, deflect, and return with the same ugliness. his blood running hot at the sight of him, as they respond to each other merely being in the same room. he wants to mark him.)

He's bored.

—

The crack of apparition jolts Regulus awake. It's 2 am and he's in Berlin. He smiles.

"You left."

"Five months ago, yes, I did. You were there. So your savage brain finally caught up, good for you. What? Couldn't take it?"

"You left with unfinished business, you ran like a coward."

Hmm?

"I left because you were a bore."

—

Regulus will not moan. He will not clench around James' length as the other man grunts over him, hitting his prostate again and again. He will not give any sign of his pleasure away. Regulus decides right in the throes of ecstasy, that James will hunger for what he can't have. His toes curl and he fights to remain cold, careless, and spiteful.

"You're shaking, you know? Quivering like the slut you are," James whispers into his ear, the last few words tapering into a rough moan. The man has set a relentless pace, merely pinning Regulus down into his bed, only exerting enough effort to free himself and sink into Regulus' hole. James pauses, choosing to do so with a harsh thrust in, before grinding deeper, making sure he's pressing up into that one spot that has Regulus spasming — legs cramping underneath the man's weight as he twitches. He can't help it, he opens his mouth to let out desperate heaving breaths.

"There we go," James smiles into his shoulder.

Hands grip onto his hips tight enough to bruise, and careless enough to have nails digging into his flesh, and James goes right back to fucking him as hard as he can.

Regulus moans, "No, stop." He fucking hates this, giving James any sort of satisfaction. He fucking hates it. But he's been fighting every single spasm for so long his body's simply seizing up as it gives in to the onslaught of James' hard fucking. His own cock is trapped beneath his body, sensitive to the damp sheets as he's been leaking copiously, precum fucked out of him, and it's a harsh sensation to a warm cock, teetering to orgasm.

He's caught, pinned down, no — held down. And James won't stop.

A hand roughly grabs on to the back of his neck, pushing his face down as James props himself up to change angles. It's awful it's too much. Regulus opens his mouth, he breathes cotton in, gasping for breath. Muscles tighten into familiar spasms and he can feel his legs cramping against James'.

"I'm gonna cum," he hears him say.

He's trapped. He can't help but feel the way James hammers inside of him, each time sparking delirious pleasure inside. It's too much and James, won't stop. He's relentless. Hungry.

It's the same hunger he baited since he left London for something else. The man fucking into him with wild abandon, Regulus thinks, came after him. All the way to Berlin. Thinking back to the day of his departure, he remembers seeing James' eyes over his brother's shoulder and knew he won.

He's not so sure now.

"Regulus," James moans.

Regulus comes first. And he comes screaming, as he whites out.

He hears smug laughter, and the fading sensation of a quickening pace as James fucks into him with vindictive glee.

—

He's beautiful, isn't he? James thinks as he looks down at the sleeping figure of Regulus Black. He was never really blind to the man's beauty, though knowing intimately how he goes about destroying people, it was just another part of him that he used as a weapon. It wasn't something James ever admired.

It was poisoned beauty and James was immune to the spectacle of it all.

"Passed out from a good fucking, you little slut."

All these years of relentless fighting. All the blood and bruises. The poison and venom. It all came down to this.

Granted, it was the best orgasm of his life. He's fucked men and women, separately, together, sometimes with someone else watching. All good fun. So he knows this was different, just from the way he needed to fuck Regulus — hungered and raged to be inside of him and hold him down, to have him, finally.

Still, now, as he looks at the man, he wants more. His fingers twitch at the desire to grab him awake and fuck him open again.

"I've marked you haven't I? Look at you and your precious little scar. Mangled and ugly, just like yourself. Did you keep it to remember me by? Did you like the way I made you bleed? Forget it. You followed me like a dog. A savage. To Berlin, you fucking idiot. You're mine now."

Hypocrite. Regulus had been leaving clues in all his letters to Sirius, well aware he'd be reading over his shoulder.

James knows that the hate is deep and mutual, having festered due to the person between them and their inability to love Sirius the way the other found acceptable, enough. They fight like wolves over the man they love more than themselves, a brother and a best friend.

And as men, outside of the person who brought them together, they're fundamentally (morally, socially, philosophically) incompatible. James cannot fucking stomach Regulus' inherent selfishness and ease of using cruelty to get what he wants. And he knows, he looks at James and sees someone he can get rid off.

Yet, like this, they inevitably, seek each other out.

You're mine.

What a death sentence.

When they're done with each other, James wonders what'll be left of them to salvage.

#regulus black #james potter #starchaser #jegulus #james x regulus #jegulus smut #regulus smut #marauders era fanfiction #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus headcanon #regulus headcanon #the black brothers #marauders era #sirius black #hp marauders #hp fanfiction #marauders era fic #dead gay wizards #my writing

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yandereend · 12 hours

Text

Yandere pretty boy

inspired by Dorian Gray

TW: typical yandere stuff, pretty boy, Dorian likes being mean

Please keep in mind that English is not my native language thank you 💛

P.1/? let me know if you want more

He was utterly beautiful, the kind that takes your breath away and makes you hate yourself. The kind that you envy and would kill to be like. The kind that everyone loves but nobody likes. The kind of man that is obsessed with himself.

Dorian was perfect he would describe himself as nothing less than that.

His blond hair framed the delicate features of his face and made his hazel eyes shine like the sun. His toned body was described by his admirers as breathtaking. And his deep voice sounded like that of an angel or an prince.

He was the most popular guy in school and had a group of fans in almost every class. When he was a junior seniors asked him out and now that he’s one himself he rejected everyone who ever asked him out. Everybody hoped to be his first.

Since even if he seemed like a player his standards were too high to be one. He saved himself up to find the perfect match for himself that would rival his beauty.

But now that his senior year was halfway finished he wondered if the right person would ever came. His father would always encourage him to keep on looking for the one, like his father did with his mother.

And thats when you came into the picture. You didn’t have high expectations for your new school, you just wanted to find friends and get decent grades. And everything went surprisingly well until you got asked out by the most magnificent man you had ever seen. You knew Dorian since you shared a few classes with him where he did nothing but stare at his phone (and you).

So you quickly went from the new student to the partner of the most popular guy in school. Many wondered what was so different about you when Dorian rejected everyone else. But Dorian knew, in his eyes you were as beautiful as him, and after he got to know you better after a few dates he finally realized what people meant with „what’s on the inside matters“.

You were more beautiful than him, of course not on the outside because let’s be honest nobody is. But your character was better than his, you are nice, empathetic, friendly and every other positive trait he could think of. And he wanted to reward you.

So he talked with his father and decided to take you to your new home.

You didn’t expect much when he invited you to his house, especially not the biggest mansion you have ever seen. But it wasn’t the outside that caught you off guard, it was what was inside.

Before every window was a thick curtain so that no sunlight was visible inside.

On every wall where either pictures of Dorian and a beautiful woman or mirrors. They were big and small, and you felt like they were following your every step. Dorians room was no different being filled with mirrors and a giant portrait above his bed. The picture of Dorian Gray.

You like it, my angel? He asked seeing you staring at his portrait, while hugging you from behind.

It was made on my 18th birthday to capture my beauty forever.

You looked in awe at the sheer beauty infront of you. So you were surprised when Dorian pulled you out of his room and you went to a separate one.

It had no windows and the only thing in it was a portrait of a family. You felt hypnotized by the sight. The woman in the picture even outshined Dorians beauty

Thats my mother.

The toddler which you made out as Dorian had a lot more cuteness to him than Dorian had now with his more often stern expressions. Just the man stood out like a sore thumb with his just average appearance.

You look just like her. He said like in trance.

You were so enamored with the picture that you didn’t realize that the servants threw away all your belongings which you brought with you and locked all the doors.

You were captured by the most beautiful man, with the darkest desires.

💛Thanks a lot for reading, feel free to share. I don’t think I ever had more ideas to write in a story 💛

#yandere #obsessive yandere #yandere community #soft yandere #yandere core #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere bf #yandere fiction #yandere stories #dorian gray #yandere story #yandere vibe

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f1smutwriter · 5 hours

Note

Hi tis me again

I feel awkward with all the request. I'm just obsessed with f1 rn.

Pierre learning to do your acrylic nails so he can spend more time with you during the f1 season.

This guy's love language is acts of service and quality time

Chilling in the hotel in pajamas drinking wine and sushi getting your nails done by pierre gloating about your man on socials like "your bf could never but here's what mine does." Maybe he gets teased about ut by the other drivers but who cares he bagged a bad bitch and he's in love.

Almond shape but otherwise what ever is fine.

| 𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐧 (𝐩𝐠𝟏𝟎)

𝐏𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Pierre the perfect boyfriend anyone could ask for. He adores his girlfriend and treats her like the princess she is. So he learned to do nails just for his princess

Warnings: nothing just some tea and cursing

Notes: Gosh these Pierre fics you request gosh I love them. Like these are my favorite things to write when the guy just does something to spend time with you. This is my first time doing the Instagram thing on tumblr but I do them all the time on Wattpad so if you don’t like it just let me know and I’ll change it for you girl. Hope you love it!

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

“Ma chérie you ready” he called out for me as I come out of the bathroom with a smile. “Hi handsome” I smiled kissing his lips softly as I sit down on the bed so he can paint my toes. “I learned this cool new thing. Best thing ever” he smiled as he rubbed my feet softly making me sigh feeling more relaxed.

“Handsome I don’t know why you do this, you don’t have to” I whispered softly making her chuckle softly. “Mon cœur I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want to” he smiled softly kissing my leg making me shiver softly. “I get to spend more time with you, plus I want to pamper my girl” He smiled making me blush from his words.

“Why do you have to be so perfect all the time” I mumbled before he snorts causing me to laugh with him. “You know what sounds amazing right now” I whispered softly as he looks up at me. “Why are you whispering” he laughed making me kick him softly. “Sushi and wine” I groaned softly craving both of them. “Want me to order us sushi and wine” he asked softly making me nod frantically. He goes over to the phone and orders room service.

“Coming in about 30 minutes” he said softly making me squeal. “thank you baby” I whispered kissing him feeling him grab my waist to kiss me back softly. “Gosh you have no idea how in love I am with you” he whispered kissing my neck softly. “Let’s get back to your nails before I take you right here right now” he said sitting me down on my chair while he paints my nails.

˚｡⋆ ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡

yourusername

Liked by pierregasly, and 1,000,000 others

yourusername: get you man who does all this for you, and his excuse to do all this was. “Amour I need to pamper you”

Tagged: pierregasly

view all comments

charles_leclerc: this needed to stay in the drafts

yourusername: someone is mad I took their man

charles_leclerc: mad your always second place 🤷‍♀️

yourusername: really because last time I checked I’m first place babes 😙

pierregasly: my pretty girl I love you ❤️

yourusername: I love you more handsome

User: Charles hate to break it to you but your second

charles_leclerc: I know :(

alexandrasaintmleux: oh for Charles to do this for me

yourusername: you don’t need Charles babe you have me 😉

charles_leclerc: back up bitch or we fight

yourusername: I’m slashing all your tyres

carlossainz55: NO please don’t we need to win

yourusername: oh well bye bye Ferrari

lilymhe: the fact I’ve been stalking your page

yourusername: babe stalk my page all you want

alexalbon: not only are you stealing my girl but Charles girl to

yourusername: I’m after all the wags my master plan

lilymhe: tbh I’d let her take me

alexalbon: 😣

maxverstappen1: he’s lowkey whipped for you

yourusername: yes he is and guess what I love it

pierregasly: I am she gives good head 💁‍♂️

yourusername: 😧

pierregasly: it had to be said Mon amour I’m sorry

User: I want a guy to treat me like this

User: me to they make me feel so single

˚｡⋆ ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡

“Mon amour you posted me” Pierre asked shaking his head making me giggle. “Yes I had to baby, had to show everyone who my man was” I smiled before he grabbed me putting me on his lap. He started kissing my neck softly, feeling myself let out a small whimper. “I love you so much you have no idea baby” he whispered softly in my ear making me blush. “I love you more handsome” I smile before he kissed my head softly. “I love you the most princess” He whispered going back to kissing my neck.

˚｡⋆ ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡

Pierre just got on the paddock now walking towards his garage to look at the car, but he got stopped by one of his best friends. “Bro painting her nails and all of that your whipped mate” Charles snorted before laughing at him. “Why am I whipped because I love my girl” He smiled at Charles before Charles shakes his head.

“I do it because I don’t spend time with her I’m always away, so it gives us some time together” Pierre explained making Charles let out a small smile. “It’s nice to see you like this man, all in love and everything” Charles commented as Pierre feels his cheeks get red. “Me in love what about you and Alex I see how you guys are with each other” Pierre laughed softly now making Charles blush a bit. “Look at us two blushing fools” Charles snorted making them both laugh out.

“Who would have thought” Pierre laughed softly as they both walk down the paddock.

“Who would have thought” Charles smiled softly

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Notes: I’m sorry this was short but I kinda was running out of things to say. I hope you guys liked it, and please send more requests I beg you.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #pierre gasly x y/n #pierre gasly f1 #pierre gasly fluff #pierre gasly blurb #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfic #pierre gasly #pierre gasly smau #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fluff

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sasukeless · 2 days

Text

it is insane to me how naruto fandom prove with each day they have never interacted with the source material

no because how do you watch some girls in sasuke’s class have a superficial crush that he doesn’t even return and make a whole agenda that he is spoiled and everyone loves him. post massacre sasuke was left to his own devices as much as naruto was, there was no one there to comfort him or take care of him. and the village did not love the uchiha they just were scared of them, sasuke was only valued by his sharingan. also it’s funny ppl always said naruto had to work hard so people would respect him because they believe characters acknowledging sasuke’s skills in part 1 is undeserved even when we know sasuke has been training non stop for years to the point of constant exhaustion (even before the massacre because he wanted to prove himself to his dad). all the appreciation and “respect” if you could call it that to his skills it’s due to all of his own efforts. things were not handed to him as much as ppl want to believe.

this is also why i hate the “talent vs hardwork” debate this fandom is so obsessed. because fans genuinely believe because a character has many powers they just don’t work hard for them when we literally have multiple arcs of sasuke (and naruto, for the matter) training nonstop.

#me logs in: 🤬🤬🤬🤬#logs off

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chuuyanakaharalegalwife · 2 days

Text

Birthday Gift (Dazai x Reader)

In which it's Osamu's birthday

Is it his bday? No, but do I want to write and post this? Fuck yes. So enjoy you virgins

Read my other Dazai's oneshot here, here, here & here :]

Bye now - Mars ♡

“Bella?” Dazai called out as he entered the room. Dazai has had a whirlpool of devasting thoughts when you didn’t pick up his call. This was a first, you were always so willing to hear from him. To talk with him. He couldn’t help but be worried when you didn’t. Afterall, he was now accustomed to your affections. He even shamelessly sought them out. So imagine his surprised when he called his Bella and she didn’t pick up and greet him with that sweet sweet voice that made him rock hard in an instant.

“Kitchen, love” your sweet voice called out to him, like the riches of honey pouring over his raw soul. Without hesitation he found himself rushing to the kitchen, only to internally gasped when he saw the sight in front of him. Heart like a wild beast confined by his very ribs, trying to leap out of his chest.

You, his belladonna, were in pajamas pants with a bralette loosely covered by a Kiss the Chef apron. In front of you on the island counter there was a cake, the icing only of a white layer and when his eyes caught hold of the multiple colors in different bowls, he guessed it was unfinished.

“I guess it won’t be much of a surprise then,” you laughed, “that’s fine though” placing down your piping bag you closed the distance between the two of you and greeted your boyfriend with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I missed you today, Osamu” you kissed his lips, “So much,” you kissed his lips again.

“Mm”

You loved kissing Dazai, you loved showing Dazai affection and receiving affection from Dazai. You felt safe and secure whenever you were with him. His lips were the softest plush heaven you’ve ever felt. To have access to such divinity, to have it be yours made you feel like the goddess you were. Even the thought of Dazai brought you a sense of warmth. Oh, how you loved this man.

Dazai, of course, willingly kissed you back repeatedly. How could he ever be tired of your affections? Of your kisses? Of you? He felt like a man that just had a sip of water after days of going without it. “Why didn’t you pick up earlier? I got worried” he pouted but you saw the genuine concern within the depts of his brown eyes. Beautiful brown eyes. Milky chocolate pool of richness.

Your face beamed as a bright smile overtook it, “Promise you won’t laugh” you kissed the corner of his mouth, arms still secured around his figure, “I didn’t want to get my phone messy” you giggled, “Sorry if I worried you, love, wasn’t my intention.” Eyes crinkled as you smiled.

Dazai let out a breath, chuckling “what am I going to do with you?” his arms found your waist bringing you closer to his body. As a result, you felt your breast pressed up against his chest.

“Hmm well for starters, help me finish this cake” you suggested, “What’s it for?”

“Osamu Dazai,” you said sternly, and a childlike smile crept up on his face, his handsome face that you could stare at forever. “Your birthday, old man”

“Ah, that was today? It must have slipped my mind” he thought out loud. Truth was, he remembered it quite well, he just hated the idea of celebrating his birth into this god forsaken world. Life wasn’t worth celebrating to him, not his at least. He’d celebrate yours everyday of the year if you let him.

You kissed his lips again, “I know you dislike celebrating it, but I thought a cake would be nice, mostly because I wanted cake” and in a singsong voice “Plus I got you a gift,” another kiss, “and… another gift too”

As he eyed you, a smirk found itself onto his lips, leaning down he kissed you biting your bottom lip in the process of pulling away. “Must you always tease Bella?” his hand found it’s path lower onto the curve of your ass; squeezing it. Kneading the soft fat, pushing, and pulling and gripping and jiggling it. Gods, he was obsessed with your sweet ass.

“I don’t know what you mean babe” you reached up to kiss him for the millionth time since he came but he pulled away. Standing at his full height. Cheeky bastard. You tiptoed and placed your hands around his neck, bullying your way into his space to steal yet another kiss. “Don’t deny me of these lips, baby”

Your lips left his and went to his jaw, and then lower to his neck and when you bit down on that sweet spot, he found himself groaning. Hands automatically squeezing your ass harder. “Such a tease” he mumbled in between gasps as you kept sucking and biting his neck. No doubt leaving a trail of purple marks that will later birth hickeys.

“So which present do you want first?” you asked staring at his lust filled eyes. The gods knew what they were doing when they made this special face of your lover.

“The gift…the gift” he smiled and sought out your lips again, swallowing your words of praise.

“What about finishing this cake?”

“I want another cake” Dazai scooped you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, “can wait” he mumbled as his mouth found your neck. Licking, biting and then sucking and the pattern continued from your jaw down to her neck and then your collarbone, and even lower to your breasts.

He walked to the couch and sat down, your bodies close, fitting perfectly, together. “My gift woman”

“Eh? Demands?” you pulled away, your body straddling his thighs, “I’m only letting you off because it’s your birthday and I love you.”

He smiles, “Are you going to keep your birthday boy waiting?” teasing words as his smile stretches into a smirk, “And I love you too, Bella”

Returning his smile with one of your own, you stand up and shimmy down your pajamas pants, revealing your nude bottom half.

Dazai’s eyes beams in excitement, and he licks his lips, “It’s pink for self-indulgent purposes”

He waits for you to explain yourself further, but you don’t. “Take a guess please.”

“Bend over and let me see”

“You’re no fun, at least act surprised”

“Oh Bella, what is it? What is it?” he fakes excitement and smiles as you roll your eyes. Soon enough, he’s pulling you down and holding you down over his lap. Shamelessly ogling your juicy behind. Dazai is not always a patient man, you’ve learned that the hard way. The very hard way.

His hand come down and lands a hard smack on your ass cheek, causing your body to jolt forward and a whine to escape your lips. Rubbing the red flesh and massaging the skin between his fingers, he uses his other hand and spread your ass apart revealing the baby pink jeweled dazzling butt plug stuffing you.

“Happy birthday to me” he whispers and kisses your ass, teeth biting into the plump flesh. A soft whine escaping your lips as your lover bit down on your ass.

#dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #bsd x reader #dazai fluff #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs #marswrites #osamu fluff #osamumybaby

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ivanttakethis · 2 days

Note

top 5 worst ivan mischaracterizations ( aka could you list five worst traits people give him that are just totally wrong) i love to hear people complain but if you don't want to you can ignore this ask have a good day

Anon I am SO glad that you asked!

Ivan is my favorite character in Alien Stage because he’s really complex.

I could talk about him and his characterization/mischaracterization all day and still have more to say after that. Now you’ve given me the perfect opportunity to write a bunch of my thoughts down.

These complaints are in no particular order and are ultimately subjective.

Also, I’m not a Patreon supporter, so I can’t comment on anything that might’ve been confirmed or debunked over there.

Top 5 Worst Ivan Mischaracterizations:

Ivan is an unfeeling and emotionless person

Ivan was trying to kill himself and Till during Round 6

Ivan hates Mizi

Ivan is arrogant

Ivan is violent

This is going to be a long one, so I’m putting everything under the cut. Let’s begin!

1. Ivan is an unfeeling and emotionless person.

I find this mischaracterization to be one of the most frustrating because there is so much evidence to the contrary.

As a child, Ivan is described as someone who struggles to express his emotions and connect with others (imo he’s neurodivergent-coded, but that’s a whole other discussion). But notably we’re not told that he doesn’t experience emotions.

This official art kills me every time I see it because it shows that Ivan knows he’s different from the other children and that it probably makes him stick out and he wants to fit in somehow so he tries to practice/fake it so maybe he won’t be so alone (the imitating behavior is also coded imo).

Beyond all of that, we see plenty of times throughout the series that he feels things, rather intensely even. He’s wistful about the stars and meteor showers and the thought of freedom. He has a curious nature, observing others, wanting to learn more about how they work; how he can emulate them.

And then there’s all of the feelings that well up when it comes to Till. The most obvious is that Ivan loves Till, in his own fucked up way. But there’s more to it.

He wanted attention from Till (maybe the first time he’s ever wanted something in that way). He did everything he could just to get Till to even so much as glance in his direction. All of the fighting, and the bickering, and the instigating was because Ivan craved reciprocation. He grew obsessed.

When Ivan managed to free both himself and Till, he was thrilled!

And when Till let go of Ivan’s hand to return for Mizi, he was very clearly heartbroken.

Ivan felt jealous of Mizi and Sua’s relationship, knowing that he would never have that chance with Till.

Ivan felt lonely because he thought Sua was just like him, only to realize that wasn’t true (because Mizi loved Sua back) and he had no one to relate to.

Also, the entirety of Black Sorrow?? Hello??? He was yearning for more than what he could get. He was resigned to his minuscule place in Till’s life. The song is full of mourning and sadness and grief.

In Round 6, I believe Ivan knew what he was going to do.

He was desperate for anything he could get from Till in his final moments. I think that’s part of why he kissed Till. If his only goal was to deliberately lose, why not skip the kissing and go straight to choking?

Ivan was a dying man overwhelmed with emotion and he desperately wanted Till to look at him, see him, make him feel content for the first (and last) time in his life.

Even if some of these emotions are not necessarily healthy, it shows that Ivan was capable of feeling something.

So… yeah. That’s why I really dislike the emotionless characterization of Ivan. There’s so much depth to his emotions and character, but some people just skim the surface and reduce him down to nothing more than a cold and stoic person.

2. Ivan was trying to kill himself and Till during Round 6.

This one is probably more often a misunderstanding than a mischaracterization of Ivan. I think some people may have seen IvanTill referred to as “toxic” or “obsessive” love when it came to how Ivan felt and behaved around Till and thought Ivan was on some “if I can’t have you, no one can” shit, but that completely ignores the wider context of his character. Ivan was devoted to Till to a fault.

To Ivan, Till was his reason for being. Till was his universe. His god. Till was something to be revered, protected, and worshipped. Ivan couldn’t live without Till. That’s why he sacrificed himself, so he wouldn’t have to continue on in a world without him in it. But he also wanted to protect Till, no matter the cost.

Pretty much everything Ivan did was to protect or care for Till: trying to escape Anakt Garden with him, watching over him after Till was attacked by the aliens in the club, freeing him from his collar over and over and over again, every chance Ivan got.

Nothing about Ivan’s feelings or behaviors toward Till suggests that he would ever harm him, let alone kill him. There’s a reason why when Ivan was “choking” Till it didn’t look like he applied any pressure, there was no struggle for air on Till’s end (even if he had mentally given up, physically there will be some sort of reaction to having your airway compressed), and we don’t see any marks on Till’s neck afterwards.

It didn’t matter what happened to Ivan as a result. Till was the only person who mattered to him.

He would do anything for him. He would quite literally rather die than have anything happen to his god.

Ivan only ever knew how to give all of himself to Till, giving up his life was inevitable.

3. Ivan hates Mizi

I’ve seen this one more so in fan fiction, usually for angsty circumstances, but this just completely sidesteps their canon relationship, which is positive and, dare I say, friendly.

He gave her piggyback rides when they were kids! In the lead up to Alien Stage, we see them chatting and Ivan being pleasant towards her in a sort of “big brother” type way without hiding some sort of darker emotion behind it.

Now, is Ivan envious of the relationship Mizi has with Sua? Yes. Does he hate that he’ll never get to have the connect they have with Till? Yes. But Ivan hasn’t given any indication that he hates Mizi herself. And I think that’s an important element of his characterization.

Yes, he has negative feelings surrounding Mizi, but he never takes them out on her or lets himself feel negative towards her as a person.

Edit: I started writing this section BEFORE we got the official art of Ivan hanging out with Mizi, but holy fuck am I glad I took so long to finish this because now it’s canon that Ivan got along well with Mizi and they were even close as kids despite the fact that Ivan loved Till and Till loved Mizi.

In conclusion, Ivan and Mizi were reasonably close and (imo) would’ve been besties in slightly different circumstances. Ivan is NOT a Mizi hater!!

4. Ivan is arrogant

Yes and no. On the surface, Ivan comes across as mature, confident, and in some cases arrogant, but as we see more from his perspective it quickly becomes clear that the arrogance is just a mask he wears for others.

Deep down, Ivan is very insecure and his self-esteem is almost nonexistent. He views himself as insignificant, twisted, unworthy. He vilifies everything that he feels and does. (“Thank you for being a victim of my shallow emotions” anyone?) Ivan fully convinced himself that Till wouldn’t give a shit about him if he died to keep him alive. That’s not the behavior of an arrogant person. Far from it.

His arrogant mask acts as a shield to keep others from seeing the monster he thinks he is. He’s even kept parts of himself out.

I think that’s also where his tendency to be an asshole comes from. Keeping people away, not wanting or knowing how to drop the arrogant mask, internalizing everything, projecting onto others (like that whole talk with Sua about self sacrifice).

So basically:

Characterizing Ivan as an insecure person who hides behind false confidence/arrogance to keep people from seeing the real (and somewhat fucked up) him? Great. Fantastic. Love to see it.

Characterizing Ivan as an arrogant asshole “just because”? Terrible. Hate it. You burned my crops and killed my cow.

5. Ivan is violent

I don’t know how this one came about, but it rubs me the wrong way so I’ll touch on it here.

We know Ivan instigated physical fights with Till when they were kids because that was the only way to consistently get Till’s attention (not saying I condone that btw). But outside of that, I don’t think Ivan has been violent with anyone else? And would he even be violent with Till like, recently?? I would say no.

Now I do think Ivan would resort to violence to protect Till, but nothing beyond that. I don’t don’t even think he would use violence to protect himself.

He’d probably just revert back to being a “perfect” obedient pet to avoid or diffuse confrontation. That’s what he did as a child; while Till fought back every chance he got. Till’s fighting spirit is probably one of the things Ivan loved about him. Maybe in part because he couldn’t find it in himself.

————————————————————

Anyways, those are my Top 5 worst Ivan mischaracterizations! Thank you for coming to my TEDTalk 🖤💙

#thank you for letting me yap about ivan anon #mwah mwah #sorry i took so long to answer i had a lot to say lol #alien stage #alien stage ivan #alnst #alnst ivan #alien stage round 6 #alnst round 6 #ivantill #alnst ivantill #alien stage ivantill #if you squint #ivanttakethis talks too much #ivanttakethis answers

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justkending · 2 days

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Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 4)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader

Word Count: 3900+

A/N Note: Only a few more chapters to go (I think, but we're both lost on how long this series will be.) Thank you guys for reading and as always, thank you for the love and support!

____________

Chapter 4:

Y/N's POV

It wasn’t him. It was 100% me. I did this to myself. I built a wall so quickly around him because I didn’t want to like the man behind my misery.

My teammates knew enough about my backstory to think they had an idea of my reason for joining SHIELD: helping the little guy because, at one point, you were the little guy—the manipulated guy—the one who no one saved, so you had to save yourself—and now anyone else who can’t do it for themselves.

Yet, there were so many other things I kept for myself, and things files couldn’t tell you. No files existed of them, and I’m glad because I didn’t want the pity.

James Buchanan Barnes was the reason behind my abuse. Not personally, but my abuser was obsessed with his accomplishments under the German and Russian terrorist organizations and wanted to make a female, more skilled, discrete, and sleeker version of the Winter Soldier.

Who fucking didn’t, right? God, every goddamn evil bastard on this godforsaken shit show of a planet wants to remake something that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing and crack more than a few eggs to get to that point. Selfish asshole…

Being constantly compared to him and then beaten for not hitting the unreachable mark of the man I was ‘of no comparison to’ after years of trying to hit that standard, and then being asked to be on a team with him? A lot of emotions hit me like a train when I got that news.

Will I amount to being the trained spy and agent I am for Shield with him by my side? Will he make me look like a completely pointless addition to the team? After five years of already working with the Avengers and then learning who the Winter Solider was? Steve’s best friend and probably the only person he could relate to in their journey? All the way to having to work with him… The change-up was instantaneous, where I would have begged for baby steps.

Then again, when has the world made it easy for me?

So yes. I was an ass and kept him further than arm's length away to stay safe from learning that he was a good guy when I wasn’t ready to like him yet. I had a lot of trauma I never thought I’d have to work through with the infamous man himself, and that irritation and annoyance just continued when he finally matched my energy, and we never strayed from that relationship until… now.

And here he was, genuinely asking what HE did wrong when I was the reason for our enemies’ plot line.

“Bucky, I don’t think I can talk about this right now,” I breathed out slowly, feeling the tears prick in my eyes.

It had been a minute since I cried and felt this vulnerable, and I couldn’t seem to stop it. I think subconsciously, I didn’t want to stop it, but my mind was begging my body to hold out until he was out of the room.

“Y/N, if I did something to you, I didn’t realize-”

“You wouldn’t have known,” I whisper, not trusting my voice to stay steady, but also not wanting to put anymore of the blame on him from here on out.

He wasn’t a bad guy.

He had proved himself time and time again to be a really good guy. Even when he broke and decided he hated me back, he still had his moments when he put it aside and showed chivalry. I admired him for it even when I ignored the admiration.

Makes it hard to fully hate a guy who made sure ladies weren’t opening any doors for themselves. Or a man who remembered Morgan’s birthday and bought her an ice cream cake before stealing Steve’s shield to sled down a hill her dad told her not to. Or a man you treat like absolute shit 99% of the time, and he still checks on you when you have nightmares, and he grabs water and an ice pack and helps you even out your breathing before waiting for you to go back to sleep.

I didn’t ask him for the help, and he never mentioned the handful of times he fell into the routine of soothing me back to sleep. Never brought it up, never made me feel like I owed him, and never hinted at remembering such kindness.

But now?

“You wouldn’t have known why it started this way to begin with. And you likely won’t,” I sigh, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth before turning around; a lot more put together, even if it was just a mask I had learned to put on most of my life.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows at my disposition.

“I don’t expect you to, but maybe we should go to sleep and talk about it later. It’s getting late, and you have to go to your ‘job’ tomorrow,” I say with hand quotes. “We have to keep the ruse going.”

“A few hours of sleep doesn’t affect me,” Bucky shook his head, and I could see him itching to put his hands back on me, but he held back. “Please. I need to know what the hell I did.”

“Again, Bucky,” I say sternly this time, all emotion I’m struggling to keep at bay shoved down. “You are not at fault, and tomorrow I’ll talk to you, but for now, I need to sleep on it.”

He read my face for lies, and I kept it neutral. I wasn’t going to break here. Now was not the time. I needed space to think about how I was going to approach this after so long of avoiding it and being put on the spot wasn’t going to work for me.

“Ok,” he said, softer than I think I ever heard him talk. His eyes were soft and sensitive, and I didn’t know how I felt about it…

He turned and walked out of my room, gently shutting the door behind him and turning off the overhead light he had originally flashed on.

I didn’t instantly head straight to bed. I stared at the doorway in the dark, seeing the faint silhouette of the barrier between us. He was still on the other side, and I could hear his heart rate higher than normal.

This was affecting him more than I thought it would. Why was he so worried about what I thought of him? He didn’t seem bothered by my disinterest in the past. Or at least I didn’t figure he did.

____________________

When I woke up, Bucky was already gone. His truck, normally in the driveway, was missing, and I knew he had taken off for our mission report.

Thankful, I took the time to make my coffee, sit on the front porch, and watch the neighborhood take on its morning routine.

People were on runs with their family dogs, moms were doing their morning walks with strollers, some neighbors were out already tending to their gardens, and everything suburban seemed to be on track.

Towards the end of my cup, I notice Ms. Bauer coming back from her jog she must have taken earlier than the others.

“Oh, hello, neighbor!” she shouted when she spotted me, uniformly checking our house like her head was on a swivel if she heard a pen drop in it.

Still in her jog, she sashayed over to my lawn, and I mumbled, “Here we go,” smiling at her as she followed the sidewalk to our steps.

“How are you doing today, Bethanne?” I grin standing from my patio chair and going down the steps to meet her at the bottom of the flight. “Is there a run club I didn’t know about? You’re the 10th person I’ve seen getting a head start on their steps for the day.”

She laughed and waved a hand at me before taking an earbud out, pausing her music on her watch, and placing her hands on her hips as she looked up at me.

“There is actually a mommy and me walking club on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Depending on the weather, of course, but who knows,” she grinned up at me. “Maybe you can be joining it sooner than you thought.”

“Maybe not as soon as you think,” I laughed, holding my mug tighter with both hands so I wouldn’t strangle her instead and leaning on the banister. “We wanted at least a year in the house by ourselves before we add another set of feet to the chaos,” I scrunch my nose and add, “but I’m excited for the day Beau and I have a mini-version of us running around here.”

“Speaking of Beau,” she grins, looking to the driveway. “Where is he today? He’s usually home with you most of the time, right?”

“Oh, it was time for him to get back to work. He took off for a few weeks to get moved in and spend time with me before we had to get back to the real world,” I answer as planned.

“That’s right. I think I remember you guys talking about that at the first block party,” she nodded, watching me carefully for slip-ups. “Can you believe it’s only been two weeks of you guys here? I feel like you two have been a part of the community for at least a year.”

“You’re sweet,” I gush convincingly and look out to the neighborhood for effect. “You guys have really taken us in as your family, and you don’t know how much I appreciate it. We appreciate it,” I correct and look off in the distance like I’m thinking of my sweet, doting husband when, in reality, I was thinking of the day this mission was over and I could carry on with my normal life. “I don’t think I’ve mentioned this. Beau isn’t one to really talk about it, but his family life wasn’t the best. They’ve practically been strangers since he turned 18.”

“Oh, is that so?” she inched up, feeding on the new (fake) information.

I nod. “When we started dating, my family took him in as his own- well, I only had my dad around for most of my life, but they got along really well. He passed three years ago,” I give a tight-lipped look as I look down at my feet in sadness. “They developed a bond, which wasn’t hard considering who my dad was. He was the best, though we might be biased in thinking that. Taught Beau how to do a lot of things dads are supposed to teach their sons. Well,” I sniffle for added effect. “Anyway, we’re kinda on our own now. No extended family we’re close with, and with my dad’s passing, it’s really just us. So when I say we’re grateful for y’all’s hospitality, I mean it.”

She seemed to buy it, as much as an undercover convict could, and smiled kindly up at me before placing a hand on my arm.

“Of course, sweetheart. We’re just lucky you two are some of the good ones. You’d be surprised who’s come in and hasn’t made the cut. Lawns in disarray, unfriendly attitudes, and you know the list,” she winks and rolls her shoulders back before stretching in her spot. “Speaking of being lovely neighbors, how would you and Beau feel about a dinner at our house? Reggie and I have been talking about having you over for quite some time now, and I think we can finally host.” Before I could ask, she stopped me and explained. “Kitchen renovation. It was and still is a pain in my ass, but it should be doable for a small dinner.”

“That sounds lovely,” I beam as much as I could act. It was the perfect next step, and the bait had been taken, but a part of me wanted to settle things with Bucky in our personal dispute before we put on our masks for the two main perpetrators. “Let me check with him and see what his schedule will look like now. He’s getting some new orders today, and some things are changing in the company. We’ll know more tonight. But we will for sure make it work.”

___________

After Bethanne told me some useless neighborhood gossip, she excused herself, and I went back inside to get ready for the day and consider how I would approach Bucky on our issue.

I knew it was time to be truthful, even if I dreaded it. Bucky had proven time and time again that he wasn’t the enemy, and I needed to deal with my issues. I was tired of wasting energy on hatred and anger, and these last two weeks proved that Bucky wasn’t the one who should have been receiving the blunt force end of my trauma.

I had until four in the evening to come up with an idea of how I wanted to go about it, but I had stress cleaned instead and couldn’t come up with a non-terrifying way to approach this life-changing conversation.

Finally, I found it best we get dinner in the town over (as not to have any peaking eyes or eavesdropping ears as we dive into my life story I hadn’t indulged to near anyone before), and I would talk to Bucky there. However, plans changed when Bucky came home.

From my spot in the kitchen, I heard him shout in his domesticated voice across the street, “No, that sounds perfect! We’d love to!” The door opened just as he finished his sentence, and his voice became clearer.

I moved around the island and slowly walked toward the door to get a view of who he was talking to, and I noticed Bethanne at her mailbox waving to Bucky.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the obvious commitment he put us in, and after he waved back, he shut the door behind him, looking at me, and dropped the act quickly.

“What did you just agree to?” I asked, nodding my head behind him.

He looked me up and down, and I almost forgot I had picked a new, semi-fancier sundress for our “surprise anniversary dinner” (at least the front I was trying to put on for getting out of town without too much suspicion).

(Make whatever color you please or change it in your mind if you want! I'm choosing to pick it as a darker red.)

“You look nice,” he says as his eyes trail back up to my own, and I swear I see him take a gulp.

“What did you agree to?” I asked again, focused more on what he had decided for us regarding Bethanne.

His previous shocked face faded away, and he rolled his eyes slightly before throwing his work bag to the side.

“Bethanne invited us to dinner. I said yes because we need to build a relationship with them,” he replied stoically, as if my question was dumb and pointless.

I just stared at him and let my “personal vendetta” look rest on my face. He studied me and had the decency to shrink ever so slightly.

“What?”

“What happened to discussing things first?” I said in an eerily calm voice.

“I didn’t think accepting dinner at a home we’ve been trying to get inside of for the last two weeks is something we’d have to discuss.” And now he straightens up, throwing his empty arms to the side.

A few seconds later, I yelled, “You dipshit!” in a muffled grunt, keeping my voice down as much as I could handle and balling my fists in anger.

His eyebrows shoot up and he huffs with his chest puffed out as he marches to me. I see the intent in his eyes, and I start walking away towards the opposite room closest, needing a minute not to lose my shit, and if I have to look into his stupid azure eyes like he wants to read everything passing through my mind, I’ll break.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growls, and I shoot him a look over my shoulder as I shift my pace and head down the hallway to the bedrooms. “Y/N, stop being a stubborn ass and-”

“Unless you want a heel thrown at your head, and you’re welcome for being civil about this, I suggest you leave me alone,” I shout behind me, turn sharply to the left, and go to my room.

“I don’t even know what THIS is! You looked at me like you wanted to kill me when I walked in, and I haven’t even talked to you today besides updates about work,” he said just as I slammed the door in his face. “Oh, real mature. Shut the door like an adolescent. Wait, I forgot. You are one…” He mumbles the last part and I hear him lean on the door.

Instantly, I whip the door open, and he doesn’t have time to predict his next move. He falls flat on his back on the wood floors of my room, only padded by a thin oriental rug I made Tony buy me.

He’s winded from the fall and clutches his chest as I bend down next to him and say, “I said. Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.” I stare at him for a second, solidifying my threat. I stand to walk out and only give him a glance as I pass the doorway.

_____________

Bucky’s POV:

I left her the fuck alone.

I may have been royally pissed (that is a blatant ass understatement), but something about the look in Y/N’s eyes told me not to push unless I wanted to wake up with my head no longer attached to my body.

I was too scared to leave her room in fear I’d run into her when she wasn’t ready and risk taking the chances of the guillotine earlier, so I sat on her bed and tried to rack my brain to where I slipped up to cause whatever the hell I walked in to…

I knew almost instantly and realized what a stupid, simple mistake it was. Bethanne asking me to dinner set her off, I knew. But her comment about talking with each other before making decisions told me my mistake.

Something happened I didn’t know of, and I may have just fucked whatever it was up. As for what it is? No goddamn clue. But using context clues and just basic reading of the body language, Y/N had already made a plan, and I threw it out the window, likely.

I heard footsteps before I could think further, and Y/N appeared in the doorway, taking a deep breath. She would have convinced me she was going to be civil if it wasn’t for her history, but I was excited to see which lane she chose.

“One thing before I bite my tongue,” she says in almost a whisper, like she’s trying to keep her frustrations at bay. “You make me want to shave my head like Britney Spears in 2007 75% of the time. This moment was almost a tipping point for that kind of outcome..” She lets out a long breath like she passed the test of keeping it together.

Surprisingly a lot more tame than I was expecting.

“Glad you got that out of your system. Now, please tell me what the hell happened?” I asked, keeping my guard up in case she resorted to her typical insults and fury.

“Oh, now you want to communicate,” she mocks and walks to the bed, harshly sitting next to me but leaving a copious amount of space between us.

I let it slide because I know she’s fighting bigger demons, like the urge to insult me, until I personally dig my own grave and say goodbye to my cruel reality.

“Bethanne was goading us,” she answers, thankfully getting right to the point. “Something about her proposition seemed off, and I wanted to clear some things up with you before we jumped on the offer.”

I nodded my head, seeing that my instantaneous reply wasn’t thought out. That was on me, yes, but she also reacted extremely dramatically, expressing an odd feeling about the interaction instead of hard proof.

“What did she ask, and what was off about it?” I question, trying to stay mission based because something seemed off still.

“It wasn’t what it was but how she was asking. Something in her tone and the way she was looking at our house and me. Like she was trying to take in detail after detail up close. Checking for cracks in the foundation,” she answers and turns to me just slightly. “She also said her kitchen was under renovation, and something felt off about it.”

“The vibes about our neighbor getting a kitchen renovation made you knock the wind out of me when you opened your door?” I said before I could think, but I didn’t budge, my furrowed eyebrows aimed at her.

She matches my glare and turns her body fully to me.

“It seemed like an excuse,” she answers slowly.

“To what? Host a dinner? That’s kind of the opposite effect. Who would want to host a dinner when you have kitchen renovations? It means they trust us if they’re willing to let us see a house that’s not perfect like the front they put on.”

‘That’s what you get from it, but I think they just planted a little seed of their own.”

“What do you even mean?”

“Kitchen Reno? That’s an excuse to say, ‘Oh, Charlotte, I can’t cook the chicken pot pie I was going to make for you two because our new oven hasn’t been delivered and installed yet. You know? Because we have the kitchen under renovation? I completely forgot,’” She acted in a convincing Bethanne impersonation and then quickly turned back to serious.

“You got that from a kitchen reno comment?” I deadpanned after a minute.

“I got that from understanding women masterminds who know how to manipulate a situation. I am that woman, so I think I can read them pretty well,” she says confidently back.

Touché.

“And what if you’re wrong?” Her bitchface grew at my question.

“First off, I’m not. Second off, even if I was wrong, we are supposed to consult each other about accepting invitations into the house of our suspect enemies,” she ran a hand through her hair, which I notice now looks styled differently. Did she curl it or have it blown out? And yes, I know what a blowout is. I have women friends and coworkers.

Yeah… I was in the wrong here, and that’s on me. I wasn’t thinking. I also had a long day snooping around for more information about this whole operation, but it isn’t necessarily an excuse… It’s not like I haven’t worked on a case like this in the past. I mean, minus being fictitiously married to a coworker.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and she gives me a weird look. “What?”

“I wasn’t expecting an apology,” she says, standing slowly and straightening her dress.

“I know when to accept I made a mistake,” I shrug and stand as well.

She studies my face like there's a retort that’s going to follow, but I just stare at her silently, communicating that I’m set on my apology.

“Ok…” she drags out, watching me as she steps toward the door. “Well, I guess we need to get ready for tonight. Considering we have dinner. With our neighbors. And we need to set up bugs if possible.”

“Guess so,” I nod, crossing my arms.

She stops suddenly and looks at me with a look of realization. “You’re in my room.” She steps to the side, leaving room for me to leave, and avoids eye contact.

She’s still acting weird, but I need to change and get my head in the game for tonight, so I walk out with a subtle head nod as I leave.

Marvel Tags:

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My Lovelies Forever:

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Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt Series:

@jackiehollanderr @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @theroyalmanatee @wintrsoldrluvr @alexakeyloveloki @learisa @bxckybxrnes24 @lillianacristina @selella @heletsmelovehim

#bucky barnes x avenger reader insert #bucky barnes x reader insert #bucky barnes mini series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x avenger reader #justkending #marvel #marvel mini series #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes

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