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cascowriteswords · 2 years

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Cryptidally Yours

Part Three

[Part One] [Part Two]

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

Clarke fumbles around with her camera while trying to keep up with Lexa. It’s a simple camcorder that fits in the palm of her hand and is secured with a strap, which is a good thing because Lexa walks at approximately 15 miles per hour and somehow avoids all of the branches and rocks Clarke keeps tripping over and getting snagged on every three seconds.

“Can you slow down?” she calls out in a huff when Lexa is so far ahead she’s on the verge of being out of earshot. “Not all of us are a billion feet tall and 2/3rds legs.”

She watches Lexa stop in her tracks. She can imagine the scowl on her face - because really, is she ever in a good mood? - while she probably counts to three in her head or something controlled and reasonable like that. Then she turns around, face wiped clean of emotion as always. Like Clarke can’t see the irritation roiling in her green eyes, anyways, or hear it in the clip of her voice.

“If you can’t manage the terrain here then you shouldn’t have come. We need to cover ground.”

It’s no secret that Lexa doesn’t like her. Or at the very least, doesn’t respect her. She’s not an idiot, and she remembers reading Lexa’s poorly opinion of her on a Reddit thread some time ago. It evidently hasn’t changed.

“I can manage the terrain just fine,” Clarke snaps at her. She’s been trying to keep things civil and calm between them, but it’s hot and her arms and legs itch from the tall grass and brush and Lexa’s dismissive arrogance is really grating on her nerves. “I’ve been on trips like this before,” she continues. “Did you notice how chummy I was with the pilot? That’s because I know him. Because he’s flown me 4 times now where commercial flights don’t go.” She’s bolstered by the brief flash of surprise that ripples across Lexa’s face before she can reign herself back in. “Yeah. Just because I don’t do things your way doesn’t mean I’m a bumbling idiot, Lex. So please, stop sprinting through the forest just to try to make a point.”

“I’m not sprinting,” Lexa snaps back at her. The muscles of her jaw flex, but when she speaks again a few seconds later her tone is more measured. “I’m trying to make it so that we can both accomplish what we want to without losing any time. We need to move quickly in order to do so.”

Her explanation makes sense to Clarke - to a certain extent. “Or you could just let me do my own thing. You’re the one insisting we stick together,” she points out. “But you’re not very good at giving up control, are you?”

Another tick ripples along a chiseled jawline. “We’ve been over this, Clarke. I need to know where you set up your equipment so I can adjust my own activities accordingly.”

The skeptical, condescending way Lexa says equipment irks Clarke, but there’s no point in getting hung up on that right now. “Yeah, sure, you keep saying that. But this is kind of ridiculous, don’t you think? I mean, you’re looking for clues out here right? How many do you think we’ve just stormed by without noticing because you’re in such a rush?”

“I’ve seen 4 rabbit trails, 3 trees with signs of bears having marked them, and there are two alternative water sources, both to the east. We’ve walked by 3 different types of native autumnal fruit bushes and I remember the approximate coordinates of a spot I want to return to later where I noticed trampled grass and a questionable pile of fallen branches,” Lexa informs her matter of factly.

“....okay, that’s actually impressive,” Clarke admits. “But still, why are you so dead set on keeping our search areas separate when we could just work together? Freakishly observant as you may be this is still ridiculous. You’re going to run yourself into the ground.”

“Our philosophies are diametrically opposed. It wouldn’t work.”

“You think that. But how do you know that?” Clarke pauses for a second, wanting to give Lexa time to process. “Our ways are different, obviously I won’t argue that. But neither of us, nor our collective group of people with our same philosophies and beliefs, have ever actually found Bigfoot. We have a chance here to try something different by working together.”

Lexa is quiet for a few seconds, long enough for Clarke to think she’s actually considering the idea. And maybe she is - but then she purses her lips and gives a quick, sharp shake of her head. “No,” she finally answers. “It wouldn’t work. And I’m more than capable of ensuring we can both get done what we came here to get done without interfering with one another. But I appreciate your concern.”

Lexa turns around and resumes walking, conversation over. Clarke rolls her eyes and sighs, taking a moment to get some water from her canteen before she trudges after Lexa once more, at a reasonable, maintainable pace. Lexa can be as stubborn and indignant as she wants, but the one thing she’s not going to get Clarke to do is speed-walk through the damn Alaskan bush.

…

“Here,” Clarke tosses a trail cam to Lexa, who catches it reflexively, hands flying up from her sides. She glances down at the camera she’s now holding and then up at Clarke with the equivalent of a giant question mark on her face, brows furrowed. “Oh come on, Lex, we live in the 21st century. Stop acting like you’ve never touched a camera before.” Clarke tosses over the accompanying rope strap which Lexa catches as well, a full pout on her lips now. Clarke thinks it’s kind of cute, honestly, and that Lexa has a model-worthy mouth she would love to draw one day, but she’s pretty sure that’s not the vibe Lexa’s going for.

In spite of the attitude, Lexa heads to a tree about 20 feet away from the one Clarke is currently rigging up. It’s their third stop for Clarke to set up cameras, and even though Lexa hasn’t helped with the previous ones and hadn’t even appeared to be watching, it’s clear she’s been paying attention because she requires no instruction to set up the cam exactly how Clarke would have instructed her to.

Despite all of Lexa’s insistence that they can’t possibly work together, they make a good team as they set up the rest of Clarke’s cameras. While they’re on the move Clarke watches Lexa carefully and asks her about certain things, like how she knows the berries she picks from certain bushes aren’t poisonous (“I just know, Clarke”) and whether or not that flattened area of grass is indicative of some sort of wildlife passing through (it turns out strong wind can flatten large areas of tall grass).

By the time the sun is starting to set and they’re making their way back to camp, it’s almost as if they’re getting along. They’re walking side by side instead of 50 feet apart from each other, and Lexa doesn’t even complain or make a snarky comment when Clarke runs out of water - she just wordlessly hands over her canteen. It’s peaceful, really, and absolutely beautiful. With the sun no longer glaring down overhead there’s a welcomed chill in the air, and with zero light pollution, some of the brighter stars are already visible overhead at dusk.

Clarke may not be an expert survivalist and she may have spent most of her younger years indoors on her computer versus outdoors learning about and becoming one with nature. But this, right here and right now? It makes her feel small and insignificant in the best of ways. This is what makes her feel alive.

It makes her feel sentimental enough to bump her shoulder lightly into Lexa’s as they walk, getting her attention. “You know, I know we’ve gotten off to a rough start, but I just wanted to say that -”

A hand roughly clamps down over Clarke’s mouth. She sputters, fighting against the hold Lexa suddenly has on her, halting them in their tracks. Her hands fly up to Lexa’s forearm and fingers, clawing for purchase, but Lexa remains unaffected.

“Clarke, stop,” Lexa hisses in her ear. Something about her tone makes Clarke listen instantly - she freezes. “Don’t. Move.” Lexa’s voice is low, barely louder than her breath. She relaxes her grip, removing the hand on Clarke’s mouth. Clarke feels like she’s been doused with ice water, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up and her pulse beating loudly in her ears. At her side, she watches Lexa unsheath a small knife from her waistband, and oh crap, that can’t be good. Clarke desperately wants to ask what Lexa sees, what is it, but something tells her it’s more important to stay quiet right now. So she does.

Quiet enough that she can hear the snap of a twig to their right. A slow rustling through brush and fallen leaves. And then - steps. Heavy ones, branches cracking haphazardly in their wake. Lexa lets her knife fly - Clarke has no idea how she can even see anything because she certainly can’t.

“Run.”

Lexa takes off like a bullet, fingers circling around Clarke’s wrist at the last second to yank her forward with her. She lets go once she’s sure Clarke is following and together they crash into the trees surrounding them, abandoning the grassy area they’d been trekking through all day in favor of breaking line of sight with whatever exactly it is that’s chasing after them.

Bigfoot?

A bear?

Some homicidal psychopath preying on young women in the bush of Alaska?

Clarke doesn’t care to find out.

Neither does Lexa, apparently.

Lexa is fast, Clarke already knew this after following behind her all day, and now she’s running faster than she ever knew she could to keep up. She doesn’t dare look over her shoulder but by the crashing noise from close behind them, whatever they’re running from is fast, too.

Faster than they are. They’re losing ground. If only Clarke could reach into her bag without tripping and falling flat on her face…

But she can’t. There’s minimal light and every 10 seconds she needs to leap over a fallen tree or swerve around a standing one, and she can barely keep track of Lexa as it is without pausing to rummage through the contents of her bag. So she keeps running, lungs burning and calves on fire, hoping that Lexa has some sort of plan because she can’t keep this up forever, and then -

Lexa falls. Her foot hooks into a tree root and she hits the ground with a dull thud and a grunt of pain. Clarke skids to a stop at her side, reaching out a hand to hurriedly help haul her back up to her feet, but Lexa rolls to her side cradling her ankle in her hands. “No, I can’t - go, Clarke. Leave me.” Her voice is colored with pain; it’s clear she’s not going anywhere right now. Clarke has a split second to make a decision - their pursuer is closing in, the noises growing closer alarmingly quickly. She’s about to find out what has been chasing them whether she wants to or not.

Leaving Lexa doesn’t even cross her mind - that’s not who she is, even if Lexa has been something of a royal pain in her ass ever since she set foot on that plane days ago. Her fingers tremble as she flings her backpack from her shoulders and undoes the zip, left hand plunging in and wrapping around cool metal.

She doesn’t think. She lets muscle memory take over as she wields the gun, aiming in the general direction of the footfalls that crash towards them, and fires. Once, twice, three times. The noise slows, then stops. Clarke’s finger is still poised on the trigger, fully aware that she only has one round left as her heart pounds. She’s in something of a terrified daze - the early stages of shock, she would realize if not for the adrenaline coursing through her - thinking that this might really be it.

She flinches when she hears movement again, nearly firing another bullet, but Lexa’s hand snakes up from the ground and wraps around her forearm, steadying her. Holding their breaths, they hear the footfalls again, but this time heading away from them. Retreating slowly. Clarke doesn’t relax until whatever the heck that was gets far enough away that they can no longer hear them. She doesn’t even really relax then, letting out a shaky breath as she finally looks over at Lexa, who has pulled herself into a sitting position and propped herself against a tree. They stare at each other for several seconds, chests rising and falling as they catch their breaths.

“You had a gun this entire time and you didn’t even mention it?”

Clarke stares at her in disbelief. The comment is so unexpected that it almost short circuits her brain. “Most people would say thank you, you know.”

Lexa presses her lips together - Clarke can read her well enough at this point to know that she wants to argue, to point out why she should have disclosed that information earlier, but to her credit she doesn’t do any of that. “Thank you, Clarke.”

Clarke nods. She rolls her shoulders and glances around them, still feeling jumpy and as if they’re being watched. Her skin crawls. “We’re lost, aren’t we?” she surmises after a moment. She’s halfway hopeful that Lexa had managed to keep track of which direction they’d been running for their lives in, but that hope is dashed when Lexa nods once, confirming.

“Until the sun comes up, yes.”

“Great,” Clarke sighs. “I need to look at your ankle. If it’s broken the quicker we can -”

“It’s not broken,” Lexa cuts her off. “A bad sprain, maybe. But I can walk. We’ll stay here until sunrise regardless, or we’ll just get ourselves more lost.”

Clarke stays quiet. If Lexa were anyone else she would argue, insist on tending to her injury, but Lexa isn’t anyone else. She’s Lexa.

“Might as well get comfortable. It’s going to be a long night.”

…

#clexa #new clexa #clexa fic #cryptidally yours #clexa bigfoot au

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

Viral

Pairing: Tom Holland x reader

Requested by @hstyleswritten : you and Tom make tik toks on set that test your friendship

Masterlist

“Hi tik tok.” You waved to your camera. “I’m not sure who’s gonna see this but I wanted to announce that I’ll be playing Black Cat in the MCU going forward. I just saw that the news broke online and-“

“-and she’s my girlfriend.” Tom jumped on your couch and wrapped his arms around you. “Did she tell you she’s my girlfriend? I finally got one.”

“All right, relax.” You chuckled as you playfully pushed Tom off of you. “I’m his girlfriend in the movies. Tom and I are just friends.”

“Why’d you have to kill my vibe?” He teased as he hugged you again. “Who is this video for anyway?”

“It’s for tik tok.” You told him.

“Oh. Hi tic tac!” He waved to your camera, making you burst out laughing.

“No it’s not…you know what? It doesn’t even matter. Bye tik tok.” You waved goodbye.

“Bye tic tac! Are they sponsoring you?” Tom asked as you posted the video.

“Uh uh.” You said sarcastically. “Tic Tac is sponsoring me. I get free breath mints for life.”

“Really?” Tom gasped. “You’re so lucky.”

“I’m joking.” You laughed. I don’t think they sponsor anyone. Wait, look. I already got a few thousand followers.”

Tom looked at your phone and patted your back to show he was impressed.

“Wow.” He smiled. “Look at you.”

“Please.” You rolled your eyes. “They’re following for you.”

“Darling, don’t be ridiculous.” Tom tutted as he pinched your cheeks. “They’re following to see this pretty face.”

“No.” You giggled as you pulled out of his grasp. “It’s for you.”

“We should make more of these.” Tom suggested.

“Oh, trust me.” You told him. “I plan to.”

“Hi Tik Tok. I’m on set right now. I can’t show you anything or I will be smited but look who I’m with.” You grinned as you rested your head on Toms shoulder and panned the camera to him.

“Hi.” Tom smiled at you. “What’s this for?”

“Tik tok.” You told him. “Say hi.”

“Hi tik tok.” Tom waved. “What is tik tok anyway?”

“It’s a dating app.” You told him casually as you posed.

“What?” He stammered, his jealously getting the better of him.

“I’m kidding.” You chuckled, making him sigh in relief. “It’s kinda like vine. Remember vine?”

“Is that that thing you showed me with the “road work ahead” guy?” Tom wondered, always confused with changing technology.

“Yeah, that’s it.” You laughed again at his choice of references.

“Uh, I sure hope it does.” Tom quoted in the style of the vine. “Was that good?”

“That was perfect.” You complimented, smiling at how he looked to you for approval. “I’m so posting this.”

Tom leaned on his hand and watched you fondly as you uploaded the video.

“How many followers do you have, love?” He asked as he gazed at you.

“13 million.” You showed him your phone and shook it proudly.

“Wow.” His eyes widened. “Already?”

“What can I say? They all want to see this pretty face.” You teased as you pinched his cheeks, just as he did to you.

“Unhand me, woman.” He laughed. “That’s seriously impressive. I can’t believe my best friend is the face of tic tacs.”

You rolled your eyes at his joke as he laughed at himself before checking the comments on your latest video.

“Okay I’ve been getting a bunch of comments to do more tik toks with Tom so I’m gonna pull some pranks on him.” You said as you set up your phone. “He should be coming to my trailer any minute.”

Soon enough, Tom opened your trailer door and set a package of baby carrots and some hummus on your counter.

“Hey.” You said stiffly, keeping your eyes on your phone.

“Hi beautiful.” Tom smiled at you. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing.” You mumbled. “Just sitting here.”

“Are you okay? You seem upset.” Tom noticed. You flicked your eyes to the camera and smirked a little before going in for the kill.

“You could have been nicer to be today.” You said quietly, still keeping your eyes down.

Toms eyes widened before filling with sadness as he took a seat next to you in the couch.

“I’m sorry, princess. What did I do that made you feel like that?” He apologized as he rubbed your back.

“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.” You said coldly as you turned away from him.

“Is this because I said my butt looked bigger in my suit than yours looked in your suit?” Tom asked, making you break.

“You didn’t say that.” You laughed as you turned around.

“But I’ve been thinking it all day.” He grimaced, resulting in you hitting him with a pillow.

“You think I didn’t see you camera?” He laughed as he pointed to your phone. “You’re making a clip clop.”

“It’s a Tik Tok.” You corrected as you hit him with another pillow. “And I hate you.”

“Guys. Send help.” Tom said as he grabbed your phone. “My best friend is trying to kill me.”

Tom let out a scream as you chased him but the video ending and perfectly cut off his scream. You burst out laughing when you watched it back and added some hashtags before posting it.

“How many followers are you at now?” He asked once you caught up to him and tackled him onto the bed.

“23 million.” You told him as you shook your phone in his face.

“Wow. All thanks to me.” He pretended to flip some hair behind his shoulder.

“Shut up.” You shoved him playfully. “I’m so gonna get you back for this.”

Your plan to get Tom back went into motion the following week when the two of you were hanging out in his trailer.

You set the camera up and gave it a thumbs up before putting your feet back in his lap. You watched him scrolling on his phone for a moment before letting out a loud sigh.

“Are you all right?” Tom immediately noticed your sigh.

“I’m fine.” You said flatly.

“You don’t sound fine.” Tom insisted as he rubbed his thumb against your ankle.

“I am.” You shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“If somethings bothering you, it matters to me.” Tom said gently.

“Whatever.” You grumbled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Tom pouted for a moment when he realized he wouldn’t be getting through to you before an idea came to him. He sudden yanked you by the ankles onto his lap and began to tickle your sides.

“Are you fine now?” He teased as you burst into laughter. “Does this feel fine?”

“You can stop now.” You said between fits of laughter. “I’m okay. It was for a tik tok.”

“You’re making another tik tok?” He asked as he found the camera.

“Yup.” You smiled proudly as you reached for the camera. “Bye guys!”

Knowing Tom was in the eating area, you went to see him with another idea for a video. You discreetly set up your phone next to Tom before going through with your plan.

“Hi Tommy.” You greeted him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You placed a kiss on his cheek before sitting down.

“Hi. Aw.” He chuckled fondly and rubbed your back as you sat down. “What was that for?”

“I just wanted to kiss you.” You shrugged.

“Aw.” He repeated as his cheeks heated up. “Thank you.”

Just as you hoped, Tom leaned in to kiss your cheek. You smiled warmly at him before wiping the kiss off with your sleeve.

“Did you just wipe it off?” Toms smile fell when he saw what you did.

“Hm?” You hummed as you leaned on your hand.

“You wiped my kiss off.” He repeated, visibly offended now.

“Sorry. It was a little wet.” You shrugged.

“So are my eyes in two minutes if you don’t let me give you another one.” Tom pouted.

“All right.” You agreed. “Try not to soak me this time.”

Tom kissed your cheek again and you gave it a minute before wiping it off.

“Oh My God.” He gasped and got up. “I’ve never been this insulted in my life.”

“Wait.” You laughed as you grabbed his hand. “Come back. It was for a tik tok.”

“Again?” He smiled in relief as he sat back down. “How do I keep falling for these?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad you do.” You chuckled. “You’re getting me a lot of followers.”

“I’m telling you and tik tok right now.” Tom pointed at the camera. “I’m never falling for one again.”

“Yeah right.” You snorted. “He so is.”

And he so did.

“Hey.” You said causally as you walked in to Toms hotel room and found his sitting on the bed.

“Hi.” He said back as you knelt down in from of him. “Oh? What are we doing?”

“Just sit back.” You smiled at him, his eyes widening as you spread his legs apart. He leaned over to see what you were doing right as you picked up a pen you had planted under his bed earlier.

“Thanks.” You held up the pen. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this.”

“Wait, what?” Tom sputtered as you got up from the floor. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” You asked innocently as you clicked the pen a few times.

“You were just getting a pen?” He gulped as he crossed his legs.

“What did you think I was doing?” You played dumb as you looked at him through your lashes.

“Nothing.” Tom said skeptically as he took a pillow from the bed and placed it over his lap.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” You tilted your head to the side.

“It doesn’t matter.” Tom muttered as he held the pillow down.

“Uh huh.” You nodded. “Is there a reason you’re crossing your legs?”

“No. For an unrelated reason, I have to use the bathroom.” He got up quickly, keeping the pillow where it was as he ran to the bathroom. You grabbed your phone and saved the video to your drafts, smirking to yourself as you watched it back. You posted it just as a very sheepish Tom came out of the bathroom.

“Good evening.” He said stiffly as he held his hands behind his back.

“Hey.” You chuckled. “Feeling better?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “I do.”

“Good.” You smirked. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re sneaky.” He pointed at you accusingly. “You’re a sneaky little snake and I don’t appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrugged simply.

“Oh, don’t you?” Tom mimicked you.

“Tom, come on. This isn’t fair.” You sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop being so hard on me.”

“I hate you.” Tom said decidedly as you giggled shamelessly. “I seriously hate you.”

“Aw. But I love you.” You pouted as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, right.” He scoffed. “Was that for that stupid app?”

“Yep.” You popped the p. “Thanks for 30 million followers, by the way.”

“30 million?” He asked. “You’re gonna have to do something huge to get to 50 million.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” You told him. “I have just the thing.”

“Okay, Toms in the bathroom but he’s coming back any second. This has been the most requested one by far, so I’m gonna do it.” You smiled nervously. “This is the “kissing my best friend” challenge.”

Your hands shook as you set your phone up on the nightstand just as Tom came out of the bathroom.

“Come here.” You pulled Tom by the hand until he was next to you on the bed. “I wanna show you this song.”

Your thighs and shoulders were brushing as Electric Love played, a small smile resting on Toms lips as he listened to it.

“This is a nice song.” Tom said softly as he turned to you. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I really like it.” You mumbled as you pulled his face to yours and kissed him. Toms eyes widened in surprise before fluttering shut. He kissed you back eagerly, placing his hands over yours to keep you close. He pulled away after a moment and rested his forehead against yours, sighing happily as the music stopped.

“Did you actually want to kiss me or was that for a video?” He asked suddenly.

“Both.” You giggled before kissing him again. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now. Tik tok just gave me a perfect opportunity.”

“So that was real?” He asked hopefully. “That wasn’t one of your pranks?”

“No.” You shook your head, your noses brushing against each other. “It was not a prank.”

“Thank god.” He sighed in relief and covered your face in kisses. “I was planning on kissing you, by the way. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Uh huh.” You humored him as you uploaded the video. “Sure you were.”

“I was.” He insisted. “I had a whole speech planned.”

“Really?” You looked at him. “Tell me your speech?”

“Something along the lines of you’re beautiful, you’re magical, and I want to be your boyfriend more than anything.” He shrugged casually. “No biggie.”

“Aw. Too bad you were too chicken to say it.” You teased.

“Shut up.” Tom laughed. “I was gonna get there.”

“Look.” You showed him your phone. “I posted that less than five minutes ago and it already went viral.”

“What did I tell you?” Tom sighed happily.

“You told me what?” You looked at him curiously. He chuckled a little and pinched your cheeks.

“It’s all because of that pretty face.”

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

Photo

Words: 9,067 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: The prison Warnings: mentions of anxiety, language Summary: Y/N falls ill on a run and Daryl worries about what's wrong.

Your name: submit What is this?

You leaned back against the chain link fence as Daryl pulled out the bolt cutters and cut the chain around the gate. “Okay. Umm… canned pears,” you said, glancing over at the archer. He peered up at you through his curtain of wavy brown hair.

“Pears? Nah. Peaches.”

You straightened up as he heaved the gate open. “I prefer pears.”

“Canned pears are disgusting,” he said, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Fine! If we find some, more for me!” you said. He slung his crossbow back over his shoulder in a well-practiced habit and started to lead the way toward the building. You followed just slightly behind him, fingering the hilt of your knife.

When you reached the small loading dock, Daryl gave you a serious glance and set down his duffel bag. He pulled the bolt cutters out again. You nodded and he banged them harshly on the closed overhead door. You both strained your hearing after the metal rattling ceased. Nothing. It was silent. You grinned at him.

“Well, that’s good news,” you said, relaxing slightly.

“There could still be some in there stuck somewhere. Don’t let your guard down,” he said, clipping the lock off the mechanism keeping the door shut.

“You know I don’t let my guard down,” you countered.

“Mmm,” he hummed, focused on the task at hand. He replaced the bolt cutters in the duffel and checked the magazine of his pistol before sliding it back into the holster at his side.

“French-cut green beans,” you said suddenly.

His blue eyes shot back up to your face. “Green beans?” he repeated. “And what the hell does ‘French-cut’ mean?”

You laughed. “They’re, like, thin sliced lengthwise. Julienne cut.”

Daryl just kept staring at you like you were nuts. “Juli-what? Green beans,” he said again. You grinned. “I love canned green beans! Maybe even more than fresh ones… although I don’t think that’s true anymore since you can’t find fresh anything these days…”

He let out a scoff of a laugh and shook his head, turning back to his crossbow and fitting a bolt into the flight groove. “Yer nuts, ya know that?”

“You like it,” you said, lifting your boot and poking the toe into his butt. It elicited the exact response you wanted, which was a look he meant to be stern, but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes gave away his mutual amusement.

“Sometimes,” he said, straightening up.

“Well, what are you hoping we find in there? Besides canned peaches.”

He shrugged. “I dunno.” He reached for the door latch, getting ready to heave it open.

Your hand shot out and landed on his arm, stopping him. “Nuh uh! That’s not a good answer!”

He sighed, taking in your insistent and expectant expression. “How ‘bout a giant jar of garlic dill pickles?”

You nodded, pleased with his answer. “Much better. Okay. Ready,” you said, unsheathing your knife. Daryl took in the playful light that lingered in your eyes as you readied yourself for whatever you were about to find inside.

He heaved the overhead door open and the two of you stepped into the dim shipment receiving area, shoulder to shoulder. You both clicked on your flashlights and swept them over the room. Daryl led the way to a door in the far wall. “Bet this goes to the storage area,” he said quietly. You nodded, a little anxious, shifting your weight from one hip to the other.

Daryl knocked loudly on the door and again you both strained your hearing, listening for the tell-tale moaning and clawing of the dead. It was intensely quiet. You and Daryl exchanged a look and he reached for the door handle. You gave him a nod and he pushed into the next room.

You were hoping to find the stock of emergency supplies that had been put together shortly before the outbreak became all-consuming. They were to be sent as hurricane relief. But instead of the hoped-for stockpile, you found a mostly empty stockroom instead.

“Shit.” You stepped farther inside and kicked at a piece of discarded shrink wrap on the floor. “I guess someone else heard the same tip we did,” you said, shining your light over the empty shelves.

“Mmm. Or got real damn lucky,” Daryl said, his crossbow still raised. His light illuminating a nearby doorway into the main store area. “C’mon. Let’s just check out here.”

You followed behind him with your flashlight up and you hadn’t moved too far into the room before a wall of horrendous odor hit you. “Oh my God,” you said, pressing a hand over your nose and mouth.

Daryl’s light landed on the decomposing scattered bodies of walkers. “Somebody cleared the place out,” he said, crouching down to look at the inflicted wounds. “They’re all shot.”

“Oh, fuck,” you murmured, gagging at the smell. You doubled over and heaved a few breaths, struggling to stop the bile that was suddenly churning in your stomach.

Daryl glanced back at you over his shoulder, climbing to his feet when he saw how pale you looked. There were beads of sweat across your forehead. “Ya alright?” he asked, rushing over to you, overwhelmed with concern. He gently rubbed your back.

You were afraid if you spoke you were going to vomit so you waved a hand at him and did your best to steel yourself. When you felt like you could talk, you tried to straighten up. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Really. It’s just the smell—Ugh, it hit me hard. I think I just need some air…”

Daryl was staring at you with a deeply furrowed brow. “Ya sure?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” You felt another wave of nausea and shut your eyes against it. “I’ll be outside… Just finish looking around in here and I’ll—I’ll meet you out back,” you said. Daryl sweetly grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. You met his blue eyes and saw they were darkened with concern. “I’m okay.”

The archer watched you retreat out into the fresh air, puzzled over the situation. He’d never seen you react to the smell of rotting bodies or gore that way. Hell, he’d seen you open up a walker’s stomach to check for meal contents. He’d seen you put down countless numbers of dead ones with an unhesitating knife to the skull. Just then he heard the unmistakable sound of you retching outside.

“Y/N?” He rushed outside to see you doubled over on the pavement a short distance from the door.

You straightened up at the sound of his bootsteps, your knees feeling a little shaky.

“You’re sick,” he said, a shadow growing on his face. “We gotta go. Get ya home.”

You looked miserable. “It’s just a stomach thing. It’s not a big deal,” you said, pulling out your water and rinsing out your mouth.

“Maybe it’s somethin’ ya ate. What’d ya have this mornin’?” he asked with anxiety.

You shook your head. “Can’t be that.”

“Food poisonin’? Why not?”

“Because I didn’t have anything,” you said, shoving your canteen back in your bag. “Did you finish up in there?” you asked.

He shook his head. “Nah, but don’t matter. I’m sure whoever put down all those walkers cleaned it out. Ain’t nothin’ gonna be in there anyway. C’mon. Let’s just get ya home,” he said, taking your pack from you and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Daryl, we came all this way. Don’t you want to—”

“Nah. What I want is to get ya home. You’re sick. C’mon,” he insisted. His face was clouded with worry as you wiped a shaky hand over your brow, surprised at the clamminess of your own skin.

You nodded. “Okay. Alright.”

You were still a little nauseous the whole drive back to the prison. You had the window down so the fresh air was on your face which helped some, but the churning in your stomach never really stopped. Daryl kept glancing over at you the whole time he was driving, checking the color of your face, watching carefully for any sign that you were worsening.

He reached over and rested his hand on your knee. You caught his blue eyes and smiled weakly. “Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing. Probably just the stagnant air in there or something,” you said, trying to reassure him.

He wasn’t convinced, but he nodded.

He felt better as soon as he had you back behind the safe walls of the prison. His hand rested lightly on your lower back as you both headed up toward the main building. Daryl spotted Hershel and Carol in the yard and stopped short. “Hey—I’m gonna grab Hershel to come take a look at ya. Go on and lay down,” he said, inclining his chin toward the building.

“I’m fine,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time. “You’re really making too much of this,” you said.

“Maybe. But better safe than sorry,” he said.

You gave him a weak smile and nodded, conceding to his sweet concern. “See you in a few?”

He nodded, grabbing your hand and giving it a squeeze before he jogged off toward Hershel.

It wasn’t long before he arrived at the space the two of you had claimed, Hershel and Carol in tow. You were laying on the mattress with his poncho draped over you. You looked tired, but Daryl was relieved to see that some of the color looked like it had come back into your face.

Hershel pulled up a chair as you sat up. “Feeling a bit under the weather? Let’s see if you’ve got a fever. After having kids, every parent turns into a human thermometer,” he said. He pressed a hand to your forehead. “No fever. Any other symptoms? Headache? Weakness? Feeling dizzy?”

You shook your head. “No. A bit tired. And just had some nausea.”

“She was pale and clammy before,” Daryl drawled, watching with worry. “She looks better now.”

Hershel nodded. “I see.”

“Really, I think it was just the smell of those rotting walkers. The air in there was heavy with decomp. It was like I could frickin’ taste it. Ugh, it was horrible,” you said. Your stomach turned again a little as you thought about it and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Hershel nodded. “Well, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Hershel said.

Daryl shifted. “Ya sure?” the archer pressed him.

“I’m sure. Why don’t you go on and help Rick with that new water line? We’ll just get her some water and something to eat. Make sure she rests. But I don’t think there’s anything troubling.”

Daryl considered you for a moment and you gave him a smile. He seemed to feel reassured and he nodded. “Alright.” He crossed the space to you quickly and leaned down to place a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said, giving you one more parting glance. You smiled at him again and watched the wings on the back of his vest disappear down the stairs.

“So, I’m okay?” you asked, adjusting Daryl’s poncho over your lap. You watched Hershel and Carol exchange a look. You stomach twisted. “What? What is it?”

“It was the smell of the walkers that set off the nausea?” Carol asked.

“Yeah…” You stared at the two of them, perplexed. “What, you’re surprised that a bunch of rotting corpses in a closed-up store with no ventilation made me puke?”

“Well… a little, to be honest,” Hershel said gently.

You gave him a questioning look and then stared at Carol.

“We’re not saying that isn’t understandable. It’s just that you have never reacted that way before. And we’ve all seen you deal with rotting corpses before plenty of times,” Carol said. “You’ve never gotten sick.”

“I don’t get what you’re driving at. So, maybe I have a little stomach virus or something?” you said. “Is something wrong with me?”

“No. No, honey,” Carol said, grabbing your hand. She took a breath, her eyes searching your face. “Y/N, could you be… pregnant?”

You froze, a sudden, struck expression on your face. The doctor and Carol watched your eyes go a little round and wide, flitting back and forth as your mind whirred, like you were searching for the answer in the air over their shoulders. “Oh my God.”

Hershel and Carol watched your reaction carefully. You were as still as a stone statue.

“Oh my God,” you said again. “I didn’t even—” You shook your head slightly. “I didn’t realize, but—” You pressed a hand to your mouth. “Between never having enough to eat and the constant stress, I didn’t even notice that I—I mean, it’s not like we’ve been trying.”

“So, I’ll take that as a maybe,” Hershel said nodding. There was a spark in his eye as he peered at you kindly. “We’ll see about getting you a test.”

You looked back at Carol, your mouth dropping open and your eyes a little frantic. “Carol, what do I—? Daryl… He—" If it was true, you had no idea how the archer would react. Hell, at that moment you didn’t even know how you would react.

She gave you a concerned smile and squeezed your hand between her palms. “Let’s just take this a step at a time,” she said gently. “Okay?”

You gulped and nodded, suddenly reeling with anxiety. “Okay. Okay…”

Hershel climbed to his feet. “You rest. Carol and I will figure out getting a test for you. Probably just ask Glenn to make a run.” He read the anxiety on your face. “Either way this goes, it’s your decision what happens next,” he said gently. “Daryl is a good man. Try not to worry,” he said.

You nodded. “I know. I know… Okay.”

Carol followed Hershel out and you laid down on the mattress, pulling Daryl’s poncho up over you and curling your fingers into it, pressing your face close to the fabric and breathing in his smell. You laid awake for a while with your mind spinning, wondering how he would react to the news. It was always easy to picture your future with Daryl, even during what was seemingly the end of the world, but you’d never thought about the details beyond the two of you being together. And with the history of his parents, what he had gone through, you didn’t know what he would want as far as a family… That had never mattered to you before, but now that you were staring the possibility in the face you were suddenly wrecked with nerves.

Sometime later, the archer arrived to check on you, approaching the space you shared in the lofted area of the cell block quietly, expecting you to be sleeping. But he was surprised to see that, although you were in bed, your eyes were open and you rolled over at the sound of his quiet steps.

He was sweaty and coated in dust and mud that was in various stages of drying. He set his bow down beside the bed. “Ya ain’t sleepin’?” he drawled.

You shook your head.

“Why not?”

You shrugged. “Just couldn’t.”

His brow furrowed. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Fine. Just a little tired.” You smiled at his dirty and somewhat disheveled appearance. “Come here,” you said softly.

He glanced down at his mud-coated clothes and arms, and looked back up at you like you were nuts for that request. “M’filthy,” he said.

“I don’t care,” you replied. “Come here.” You moved over to make room for him to lay down beside you.

Daryl gave you a look, his blue eyes soft, and bent down to at least pull off his boots. He laid down facing you and his heart leapt as you moved into him closely, your arm draping over his waist. You moved your leg until it was tangled between his. He happily breathed in the scent of your hair.

“Ya okay? Really?” he asked, his deep voice a little heavy with gravel—the result of his concern.

You pulled back from him just enough so you could look into his handsome face. “Mhm. I’m fine. Really.”

He nodded and seemed to relax some, draping his arm over you, mirroring your position. You nuzzled into him again and for the first time since Hershel and Carol had left you alone, your mind quieted.

You felt him place a kiss in your hair and you smiled reflexively.

“I need to clean up. I’m gettin’ our bed all muddy,” he said. You felt the rumble of the bass in his voice.

“Can I come?” you asked softly. “I’ve felt gross since the run.”

He glanced down at you and nodded. “If I ever say no to that, ya can assume I’ve lost my damn mind.” He gave you a fond look and smoothed your hair gently. “Ya sure ya just don’t wanna sleep?”

“Mhm. I’m sure. Besides, I won’t be able to sleep unless you’re right here anyway.”

Daryl smiled, feeling a swell of affection for you and the way you always made him feel wanted and needed. “Alright. C’mon then.”

So, the two of you made your way to the showers and slipped into a private stall. Daryl pulled you into him under the stream of water and kissed your bare shoulders and up your neck, his arms smoothing over the curves of your sides and landing on the angles of your hips. You scrubbed away the mud from his skin and he smoothed the soapy lather over yours, loving the way his fingers glided over the shape of you. When you were both clean, Daryl shut off the water and wrapped you into him with his big towel causing you to laugh. “Gotcha,” he drawled.

“You do.” Your hand landed flush on his strong chest, your fingers splayed out, and you looked up at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled slightly in a smile. Daryl’s heart jumped every time you looked at him like that. He leaned forward and left a kiss on your nose, watching as your eyelashes fluttered closed.

You looked up at him again as he grabbed your towel for you and you both dried off before pulling on some clean clothes. Daryl watched you running a comb through your hair and studied the graceful movements of your hands. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing your eyes to him immediately. “Ya know I love ya, right?” He still looked a little bashful every time he said it. You didn’t mind.

Your face lit with a gentle smile and you closed the space to him in an instant, clasping his face in both of your hands. “I know. And you know, I love you, right?” you said.

Daryl’s lips found yours and you sank into each other for a moment. “I know,” he said when you broke apart. “C’mon. Ya need somethin’ to eat and then sleep.” He laced his fingers with yours and pulled you toward the cell block.

After a quiet supper with the rest of the group, the two of you wandered outside into the evening air to enjoy the stars for a few moments before heading up to bed. Daryl sat down on the soft grass and tilted his head at you, beckoning for you to come sit up against him. You sank down in front of him and leaned back. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your shoulder.

One thing Daryl always loved about you was that you didn’t need to fill every silence. Just being close to one another filled each of you up in ways that idle chatter never could. But when he did want to talk, you listened intensely, really listened to him in ways he wasn’t used to. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said softly, pausing to anxiously chew his bottom lip for a moment, “if the outbreak hadn’t happened, you and I probably never would have even looked at each other.”

“Hmm. How do you mean?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking about how best to explain what he meant. “I was too busy runnin’ around bein’ a piece of shit with Merle. And you—we were in different worlds, ya know. We probably never woulda even had the chance of brushin’ elbows. But if we did,” he shrugged, “I don’t think ya woulda looked at me twice.” He ran his hand down your bare arm, relishing the feeling of your soft skin. “Hell, I didn’t think ya would look at me twice even now…”

You turned and looked over at him, a sad but thoughtful expression on your face. “It’s hard to know, and maybe you’re right, that we would have never met… but if we did, I think I would have seen you just the same way. It’s impossible not to see you, Daryl.” You clasped his face and stroked your thumb along his strong jaw.

His eyes were flickering between yours and he felt that familiar bloom of warmth starting in the center of his chest, right between his lungs, and growing outward. He nudged his nose up at you, in awe of you always, and you acquiesced happily and kissed him. “Let’s get some rest,” he drawled when you finally broke apart. “C’mon.”

Daryl stood and pulled you up, keeping your hand captured in his, his thumb smoothing over the back of your hand as you made your way up to bed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When you woke up the next morning you could tell it was much later than you usually slept in. And the fact that Daryl wasn’t beside you and that you hadn’t woken up when he stirred was also unusual. You were a light sleeper, and the two of you generally woke and got up around the same time. This sent your anxiety whirling again.

You got up and threw on some clothes, heading down to the lower level of the cell block and finding Carol and Beth sitting at one of the tables with Judith.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Carol said with a smile.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed. “Yeah, geez. What time is it? I don’t even know when I last slept in this late.”

She nodded and gave you a pointed look.

Beth only smiled up at you. “You must have needed it then,” she said kindly.

“I guess so…” You glanced around but the cell block was empty. “Where’s Daryl?”

“He’s on the fence with Rick. Little herd piled up overnight,” Carol explained.

“Mmm,” hummed in acknowledgment.

“Maggie and Glenn ran into town for some supplies,” Carol said, shooting you another meaningful look.

You nodded. “Great. Okay.” You anxiously bit the inside of your cheek.

“You want some breakfast? There’s some oatmeal we made,” Beth offered.

You shook your head. “No, I’m alright. I’m gonna go see how things are going on the fence I think.”

“Y/N, you should eat something,” Carol said.

You waved her off, already headed toward the door. “I’m fine! I’ll eat something in a bit!” Truthfully you had no appetite at all. This waiting, the not knowing, was agonizing.

You stepped out into the bright sunshine and set out toward the two figures on the perimeter fence. There was a group of walkers still clawing at the chain link, but it looked like Rick and Daryl had it under control. You grasped the interior chain link and hollered at Daryl and Rick over the mawing and growling sounds. “Best way to start the day?”

They both spun and you grinned at them. They were sweaty and splattered with walker blood, each clutching a metal rod in their hands, the end covered with a bit of gore. You felt a spin of nausea and avoided looking at the crimson dripping from their weapons.

“Morning exercise,” Rick said with a smile. He turned back and continued the task.

“Yer up,” Daryl said with a smile. He came over, wiped his hand on the red rag he always had in his back pocket, and then rested his fingers over yours, which were poking through the fence on his side.

“You should have woken me up! I can’t believe I slept in this late,” you said.

“Nah. Ya needed it,” he drawled. “Ya were out cold. Didn’t even move when I got up. Besides, we’ve got this handled. Ain’t no reason ya need to be out here.”

You nodded. “I see that.”

“Should be a done in a bit,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder at the growing pile of dead ones on the other side of the fence. Looking back at you, Daryl thought you looked a little pale. “Ya feelin’ alright?” he asked, his brow furrowing a little.

You nodded. “Mhm. Fine. I’m gonna just go see if Hershel needs help in the garden,” you replied. “See ya in a few?”

The archer nodded and watch you start to turn away. “Hey—just take it easy, alright?”

You laughed. “I think harvesting cucumbers is about as easy as it gets!” You gave him one more wide smile and headed for the vegetable garden. “Hey, Carl,” you said, as you came through the gate and passed him. “What are we harvesting today?”

Hershel glanced up at you and gave you a small smile. “Cucumbers. Peppers. Those tomatoes could use some weeding if you’re up for it,” he said. He surveyed you carefully and, like Daryl, did think you looked a little pale. But you seemed otherwise bright and alert as you set about your task.

But you hadn’t been working in the garden long when you started to feel a bit dizzy. A cold sweat broke out at your hairline and on the back of your neck and you knelt heavily in the soil a little suddenly.

Hershel noticed immediately. “Y/N?” He got up and moved over to you. He watched you wipe a shaky hand across your forehead. “You alright?”

You heaved in a deep breath and forced it out slowly. “Just feel sick all of a sudden. I’m okay. I’m fine,” you said, straightening back up. But as soon as you tried to stand your knees felt weak.

Hershel grabbed your arm to steady you. “Whoa. Easy now. Alright.” He turned to Carl. “Carl, go run and get Daryl.”

“No. No, I’m fine… Don’t bother Daryl with this. It’s nothing. I’m alright. I’ll just head back inside and rest,” you argued.

“You sure? It’s no bother to Daryl to come look after you,” Hershel said, giving you a pointed look.

“I’m fine. Really. I guess I do need some rest. It’s nothing,” you argued.

Hershel reluctantly released his gentle hold on your arm and you made your way back inside. Carol stood up when you came in and you read concern on her face at the sight of you. You let out a wry laugh.

“Wow, do I really look that bad?” you said, wiping at the sweat on your brow again with the back of your hand. Beth glanced over and she too looked worried after studying you. “I’m okay. Just gonna go lay down. I must just be a little sick... Caught some virus or something.” You climbed the stairs and collapsed back into bed, again grabbing Daryl’s poncho and cuddling up to it.

You dozed in and out for a while but woke when you heard hurried steps on the stairs. Looking up you saw Daryl in front of you, his blue eyes narrowed and obvious worry on his countenance. You leaned up on one elbow as Hershel came into view behind him.

Daryl sank down on the edge of the bed next to you and pushed your hair out of your face, smoothing it gently. “Ya are sick,” he said.

“I think she might be a little anemic,” Hershel said. “She needs iron. Red meat would be best.”

Daryl glanced over at him and nodded. “Alright. I can do that,” he said, grateful for a task that would be helpful to you when he was feeling helpless. He looked back at you. “I want ya to stay in bed today. Rest,” he said softly, his eyes flitting between yours. “Ya gonna be alright if I go out and hunt?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

He gulped. “Alright. Promise you’ll stay in bed?”

You looked up at the sweet worry on his face. “I promise. Promise you’ll be safe out there?” You hated the idea of him going out and hunting alone.

“I promise. I’ll come back to ya.” He smoothed your hair again and then leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. You closed your eyes briefly at the sensation.

He shouldered his crossbow and look at Hershel. “Thanks, doc,” he said. You watched the wings on the back of his vest disappear down the stairs.

You glanced up at Hershel who set a glass of water down next to the bed for you. “You really think I’m anemic?”

He nodded. “I do. Fits all your symptoms. All of them except you getting sick yesterday.”

“Oh… okay.”

Hershel gave you a kind look. “Glenn and Maggie should be back any minute now. I’ll come and check on you in a bit.”

You dozed on and off for a while until you heard some activity down the stairs and you sat up in bed. Quiet, steady footsteps on the stairs approached and Maggie came into view with a small bag for you. “Got what you needed,” she said.

You sat up, your stomach churning nervously, and accepted the bag from her. “Thanks,” you said. She hovered for a moment.

“Do you know what you’re hopin’ for?” she asked.

You shook your head and glanced up at her. “Not really…”

She nodded. “Well, either way it goes, we’re all here for you. And I know Daryl is too, no matter what.”

You gave her a small smile and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.” You stared back down at the bag in your hand. “Well, better get it over with I suppose,” you said, standing up and heading for the bathroom.

A short while later you were back in the space you and Daryl shared, the pregnancy test sitting on the chair next to the bed. You couldn’t stop switching between sitting and anxiously bouncing your leg and pacing along the side of the bed wringing your hands. You were obsessively checking the time and it felt like it had decided to move like cold molasses. You were a bundle of nerves, but finally it was time to check the results. You forced a nervous breath in and out and picked up the test.

Positive. It was positive.

You felt like your knees were about to give out and you sat down on the bed hard, staring at that little plus sign.

Your heart was racing, and even though you were terrified, and so nervous wondering what Daryl’s reaction would be that you thought you might pass out, you broke into a teary smile as you stared at the results.

You replaced the test on the chair beside the bed and flopped backwards onto the mattress, staring up at the gray concrete of the ceiling and watching the shifting light and shadows. Whether it was simply from the relief of knowing or a result of the stress leading up to it combined with the toll on your body, you fell asleep not long after, cuddled up to Daryl’s poncho.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was almost sunset when Daryl came back from his hunt, hauling a small deer over his shoulder. He had told himself he wasn’t coming back until he had some meat for you and everyone else (but mostly for you…) and he had succeeded. Usually hunting or tracking quieted his mind, but the whole time he was outside the prison fences he had been worrying about you. Before the outbreak, it wasn’t a big deal to get the flu or some random virus. But now, without access to modern medical care, something simple could turn into a big fucking problem real quick. You’d never had a problem with anemia before, if that’s what this was, and he didn’t really understand why you suddenly would. But he also knew that you were the type of person who would choose to go without a decent meal so Beth or Carl could have a second helping. He made a mental note to ask Maggie and Glenn about whether they saw any place on their run today that might have meds or supplements. Better to search out what they could before you needed it desperately.

The sun was low and sinking fast beyond the tree line as Daryl nodded to Carol as she closed the gate behind him.

“That’s a good find!” she said enthusiastically, looking at the deer slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah. How’s Y/N?”

“Hershel’s been checking on her. She’s been sleeping all afternoon,” Carol said.

Daryl nodded. “Good. I was afraid she’d be up tryin’ to help on the frickin’ fence or somethin’. Stubborn,” he drawled. He started up toward the prison and left the deer outside to be butchered. He wanted to see you before he did anything else.

It was quiet in the cell block. Most of the group was winding down for the evening, sprawled out with a book or busying themselves with some quiet activity. Rick gave Daryl a nod as he came in and continued bouncing and shushing Judith.

Climbing the stairs to your shared space, Daryl could tell you must still be asleep. Normally you’d have been calling out to him already with some greeting, or you’d be waiting at the top of the stairs with a one of those smiles that killed him every time.

He smiled as you came into view on the bed. You were partially curled up on your side, cuddled up to his poncho tightly, your fingers curled into the fabric and your cheek pressed to it. He pulled off his vest and tossed it on the chair beside the bed, debating about whether or not to wake you up and ask how you were, when he heard something clatter to the floor.

He bent and felt around under the chair and his hand closed on it. Straightening up, he finally looked at what was in his hand. Even Daryl knew what that little plus sign meant. He glanced back over at your sleeping figure.

This was—was this—suddenly, everything made sense.

The archer rushed down the stairs and toward the exit. Rick looked up and frowned at his urgency. “Daryl?” But the archer didn’t even stop to look at him.

Outside, he grabbed his crossbow from where he had laid it down by the deer, shouldered it, and let himself into the alley between the fences, running toward the vehicles waiting on the outside.

Carol saw him and her stomach immediately twisted. “Daryl?” She rushed toward the fence, but by the time she got there he was already slamming the driver door of the SUV and peeling out, the tires scattering gravel behind the car. Carol gripped the chain link fence so hard her knuckles were white and stared at the taillights disappearing into the dark beyond the lazily drifting cloud of dust. Her stomach dropped.

She ran the whole way back up to the prison and met Rick on his way out. “What’s going on?” Carol asked desperately.

“I was just coming to ask Daryl that same question,” Rick said, his eyes searching the yard and perimeter fence for his broad-shouldered frame. “He just went hurrying out of the cellblock.”

“I saw! He just took the SUV and peeled out of here,” Carol said, her eyes wide and worried. “It’s dark! Where could he possibly be going right now that couldn’t wait?”

A shadow darkened Rick’s expression. He shook his head and shrugged, meeting Carol’s eyes again, at a complete loss. “Better ask Y/N.”

Carol suddenly realized—like a flash of lightning. She nodded to Rick. “Let me go talk to her.”

Carol climbed the stairs to you and Daryl’s space in the cellblock. You were fast asleep on the bed and she gently touched your shoulder to wake you. You stirred and glanced over at her through sleepy eyes. You must have read something on her face because you shot up in bed immediately. “What? What is it? Is Daryl okay? Is he back?” You could tell by the lack of slanted light coming through the high windows that it must be dark.

Carol didn’t know how to tell you this. “He’s fine. He came back with a deer. And then—all of a sudden he just barreled out of here again. He took the SUV.”

You suddenly realized that Carol was sitting on the chair where the pregnancy test had been. Your heart plummeted into your stomach. “Wait—where—where’s the test? It was—it was right there where you’re sitting,” you said.

Carol shook her head. “I didn’t see it. There was nothing here when I came up. Just Daryl’s vest over the back here—”

Carol took in your wide-eyed expression. You jumped up off the bed and starting searching around the floor, reaching under the mattress. “It was right there. I set it there.” You stood up, frozen, one hand clutched to your head. Shit. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Daryl came back, and you were asleep, and he must have seen the test and— “He—He came back and I was asleep and he saw it,” you murmured. “He must have seen it and… he just ran off?” There were tears stinging in your eyes now.

Carol stood up and gently grasped your shoulders. “Try not to jump to any conclusions.”

“Carol, it was positive.” You just stared at her, your eyes still wide. “It was positive! What else am I supposed to think? He came back and he saw a positive pregnancy test and he just—he just left?” Your voice was desperate.

The only thing Carol could think of doing was to grab you tightly and hug you. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay! Don’t panic!”

Part of you knew Daryl would never just leave, but another part of you knew this was completely uncharted territory. You honestly didn’t know how he would react to the news… You couldn’t stop cursing yourself for leaving the stupid test out like that and letting yourself fall asleep. Anyone could have walked up and seen it, and of course it had to be Daryl. You snatched his poncho off the bed and started toward the stairs.

“What are you doing?” Carol demanded.

“I’m gonna go wait,” you said. “I’ll be in the east guard tower…And Carol—Please don’t say anything about this to anyone… Just—not yet. Not now.” You breezed past Rick on your way out, ignoring him calling your name.

Carol met him at the bottom of the stairs. “What’d she say?” Rick drawled.

Carol shrugged. “She was sleeping. Maybe—maybe Daryl is worried about her being sick and decided to go look for supplies,” she offered weakly.

Rick let out a disbelieving sigh. “At night? By himself?”

All Carol could do was shrug.

“How is Y/N? And where’d she just rush off to?”

Carol nodded. “She’s alright. Worrying about Daryl now obviously. She wanted some fresh air and to watch for him so she headed up to the guard tower.”

The worry creases on Rick’s forehead didn’t ease. “What the hell is he thinking going off by himself at night?”

Carol shook her head. “He probably wasn’t.”

Up in the guard tower, with Daryl’s poncho swaddled tightly around you, you sat out in the open night air and stared at the road that led up to the gate. A few times you even tricked yourself into thinking there were distant headlights approaching, but when you looked again everything was just as still and black as it had been a moment before. You heard the door creak open behind you and Hershel stepped out.

He sighed and looked up at the inky blue-black sky, dotted with innumerable stars. “Ah. It’s nice and cool out here now,” he said, leaning back against the wall of the tower. He bent and set a bowl of some noodles and vegetables beside you. “You better eat something,” he said.

“No appetite right now, funny enough,” you said.

He could see the rigid tension in your shoulders and he sank down next to you with some effort, adjusting his prosthetic leg with a sigh. “I can see you’re getting ahead of yourself,” he said gently. “Trying to guess the answer before you can even ask the question.”

You finally looked over at him, an anxious expression on your face. “Did Carol tell you?”

“No. She didn’t have to. I can guess well enough,” he said, a small smile on his lips. Hershel turned his gaze out over the yard. “You know there was a time, back at the farm, when I wasn’t sure about Daryl. You can imagine this old farmer was a little skeptical of his rough-around-the-edges, hot-headed biker attitude,” he chuckled to himself. “But time and time again, he came through for me and my girls. He watched out for all of you and he kept us safe even when we weren’t his to care about yet. He certainly saw Shane for what he was before anyone else.” Hershel breathed in a deep breath of the cool night air and let it out slowly. “And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he’d do anything for you.”

You could feel tears burning in your eyes again, and you adjusted the poncho around your shoulders.

“Whatever reason he had for tearing out of here like he did, I promise you that he will be back,” Hershel said strongly.

You wiped one tear that leaked onto your cheek and sniffled, trying your hardest to blink away the rest. You nodded. “Yeah. I just—I don’t know how to—how to do any of this,” you said. “And we’ve never even talked about it so I don’t know what he wants. What if—”

Hershel chuckled again. “What ifs can lead you down a dangerous road of thinking. Let’s just wait and see, hmm?”

You gulped and nodded, staring back out into the night. “You don’t have to wait with me,” you said.

“I’m going to sit here until you eat something. Doctor’s orders.” You could hear a smile in his voice and you begrudgingly picked up the bowl he had brought for you and picked at the food. Hershel smiled.

When the bowl was empty, Hershel took it from you and pulled himself to his feet again. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Everything is going to be just fine. You’ll see.”

You felt like you had been waiting up there for days, but it was really only a few hours. You were reeling with worry, but this time when you thought you saw headlights and looked again they were still there.

You jumped up and stared as the SUV came into view and stopped at the gate. Turning on your heel, you started to rush toward the stairwell but you suddenly froze. What the hell were you going to say? What the hell was Daryl going to say? You were gripped with anxiety again as the multitude of what ifs you had been fighting since waking up suddenly traveled through your brain in single file at light speed. You were frozen, staring at the door for… you didn’t even know how long when it suddenly started to open.

You startled and jumped back with a small gasp of surprise. Daryl’s broad shoulders emerged through the widening gap. “Y/N?”

You gulped and stared back at him, anxiously chewing the inside of your cheek.

He stopped just inside the door and took in your wide eyes and obvious distress. His brow furrowed heavily, casting a shadow over his narrowed blue eyes. He gulped and stepped closer to you.

You cleared your throat, hoping your voice wouldn’t come unnaturally high or strangled sounding despite the constriction in your throat. “You’re back,” you said softly. It was the only thing you could force out.

Daryl looked puzzled. “Of course I’m back,” he said, stepping closer. He drew his bottom lip in between his teeth and worried it between his teeth for a moment. You watched as he reached in his back pocket and pulled out the pregnancy test.

Your heart was pounding.

“I, uhh—I found this. Ya were asleep and—” He gulped. “It’s positive, right? Means you’re pregnant.” It really wasn’t a question.

Daryl could see your chest heaving a little with your nervous breaths. You nodded.

Daryl stared down at it for a long moment before he looked back up at you. “What do you wanna do?” he asked.

You stared at him. He looked so calm while you felt like you were spinning. “I don’t—I don’t know—I—” You forced in a breath. “We’ve never talked about what you want. Hell, we’ve never talked about what I want either…”

“I know what I want. I want you. That’s more than I could ever ask for,” he said, stepping closer toward you again. “But this? This is your decision. And whatever you decide is fine by me.”

You were almost overwhelmed with emotion immediately, just hearing him speak those words. Daryl saw it and he couldn’t resist breaking the buffer of space between you any longer. He clasped your face in both hands as the tears finally broke free of your eyes and traveled down your cheeks. “Hey. S’alright,” he murmured to you. He wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you against him tightly. “M’right here.”

You pulled back just enough to look up into his eyes. “You’re really okay with… either way?” you asked him, uncertainty still plain in your eyes.

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “Ya. Promise.” He smoothed his hands over your back.

You leaned your head against his chest for a moment and listened to his strong and steady heart. Daryl gently stroked your hair, enjoying the feeling of you against him and the silky strands of your hair under his fingertips.

You squeezed your eyes shut, part of you still bracing against some worst-case scenario you knew would never come, but that nagging doubt wouldn’t be completely silenced. Your voice was soft, but Daryl still heard it as clear as day. “I think—I want to do this. With you.” You pulled back slightly and looked up, meeting Daryl’s waiting blue eyes. You had barely gotten the words out before he had wrapped you up again and picked you up off your feet, hugging you so tightly he squeezed a little air from your lungs. You let out a surprised laugh as he set you back down, about to speak again, but he clasped your face and kissed you feverishly before you could start. It was like a warm shot of bourbon or that first warm day of sunshine after a long winter. It was urgent and soft at the same time, pleading and needy but affirming, his fingers in your hair.

When he finally pulled back there was a smile crinkling the corner of his blue eyes as they flickered between yours. You were sure you had a slight look of shock on your face still despite the bewildered smile you were now wearing.

“We’re doin’ this?” he asked, not releasing his gentle hold on your face.

You nodded. “We are.” Your heart was pounding. “Oh my God, we are…”

Daryl kissed you again and you sunk into it deeply this time. His hands came to rest on your hips and you stared up at him, still feeling a little like you were spinning. “I didn’t know how you’d—because of your life growing up…” you trailed off.

He nodded. “I know. But I ain’t my dad,” he said forcefully. “You’ve shown me that more than anyone.”

“I woke up and Carol said you just went running off and I—I didn’t know what to think when I realized the test was gone and that you must have seen it,” you admitted.

Daryl’s brow furrowed and he shook his head as he looked at you. “Ya thought I would leave ya?”

“No! No, I didn’t—but then—I just—I guess I got scared… This whole thing is a little overwhelming.”

“Hey. C’mere,” he said, wrapping you up in his arms again and pressing you against him. “I ain’t never leavin’ ya. Never. You’re—you’re my everythin’.”

You breathed him in for a moment before pulling back. “Well, then where did you go?”

One corner of his mouth twitched up and he laced his fingers with yours. “C’mon. I’ll show ya.”

You followed him down the stairs and back into the prison to the cellblock. It seemed that everyone was already asleep except for the two of you, satisfied once Daryl was back that they didn’t need to wait up worrying anymore like you were. When you climbed the stairs into your space, Daryl bent down and pulled a duffel bag out from under the bed. It looked like it was stuffed full. He knelt down beside it and unzipped it.

You stared down at the contents and then met his blue eyes. “This is what you were doing?”

He nudged his nose up at you in a nod, pressing his lips together a little nervously. Now you were the one who grabbed him and kissed him desperately.

The bag was full of things you would need during a pregnancy and for a baby; pre-natal vitamins, bottles, pacifiers, blankets, diapers. Your heart swelled as you looked down at it and then back at Daryl again. You shook your head. “You just—you amaze me,” you said.

He shrugged, still a little bashful when you directly complimented him even after all this time. He reached back under the bed and pulled out a second bag. You gave him a questioning look. “What is that?”

“In case ya decided the other way,” he said. “S’mostly just some random things ya like. Books and…” He shrugged again.

“So—Baby was Plan A?” you asked him as he climbed to his feet.

“You were Plan A. Ya always were and ya always will be.”

You looped your arms around his neck and his hands reflexively landed gently on your lower back. “But—you were hoping—?”

He paused thoughtfully for a moment and then nodded. “If ya woulda asked me a week ago I don’t know what I woulda said. But as soon as I picked up that damn test up and looked at it… And then I looked at ya just layin’ there asleep, all wrapped up with my poncho the way you were… I knew what I was hoping for. But I mean it when I say that anything you decided would be fine. You’re the one who as to do the hard part.”

You arched up onto your toes and kissed him again, sliding your fingers into his hair and feeling calm and happy again for the first time since you had sent out for the test. “How’d I get so lucky finding you?” you asked him quietly. Daryl felt his heart skip a beat and electricity zipped up his back. You always did that to him. Easily. Still.

“I ask myself that all the damn time,” he drawled. “Now c’mon. Ya need rest.”

You nodded and realized that despite sleeping most of the day, you were exhausted. Anxiety will do that… “I suppose you think this means you’re gonna be able to boss me around now?” you joked, settling into bed.

“Damn right,” he said with a smirk, pushing the duffels of supplies back under the mattress. “Gotta make sure ya take care of yerself and the little one. I’m gonna boss ya around all the damn time.” He kicked off his boots and slipped into bed next to you, immediately moving until his body was pressed against yours and he could wrap an arm over you. You slipped your fingers between his. “Gonna tell Hershel he can boss ya around too,” he joked. “And Carol. And Rick. And Maggie. And—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you laughed.

Daryl smiled to himself and kissed your neck. “We’re doin’ this,” he said softly.

You sighed contentedly and nodded. “We are.” And that night you had no trouble sleeping.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles #daryl dixon one shots

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duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Text

europe - request

pairing: sebastian stan x singer!reader (seb!pov)

summary: singer!reader writes another song, this one is about seb

warnings: suggestive content (*wink wonk*), language, the works ya know

a/n: this took so long bc im not lyrically inclined and there isn’t even that many lyrics in here. i can’t even guys this was a nice break though. i liked the concept, i hope i lived up to your dreams. :)

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are both open loves!

check out my other writing on my full m.list

Sebastian was doing a press interview for his new movie. It was his first on television interview. First time being back in the studio for The Late Late Show with James Corden. First time since you and him had gotten together. He was eager to see what James had in store for him.

He was wearing a bright yellow shirt paired with a red leather jacket. His legs were clad with a different pair that he wanted to wear originally because you couldn’t get quite enough of his thighs. Had he worn the other pair, there would’ve been a prominent wet spot on one leg where you rode him to your own satisfaction. The memory made him bite his lip and adjust his pants to try to quell his oncoming boner.

“Good luck out there tonight, lovey. You’re gonna crush it.” Your voicemail warmed Sebastian’s heart. He missed you a lot, but you were currently on your own press junket. Your new album finally came out and your manager had been running you ragged. Sebastian was so proud of everything you’ve accomplished, and he wasn’t afraid to show it.

“Hi, Mr. Stan. You’re needed on deck in five minutes.” He nodded at the assistant producer who stuck her head in his dressing room. Sebastian ran his hands through his hair one more time before deciding enough was enough.

“Well, this is as good as it's gonna get.” He murmured to himself as he walked out of the dressing room. He rolled his shoulders, snuggling into the leather jacket encasing his back. Sebastian took a swig of a water bottle from the table backstage. He still got nervous when doing interviews, always worried that he’s going to say the wrong thing.

“And now I would like to introduce our next guest. You’ve seen him as Bucky Barnes in the Marvel Cinematic Universe for the last ten years. He’s played the borderline psychotic Jeff Gillooly in I, Tonya, and the corrupt Sheriff Bodecker from The Devil All The Time. It is my pleasure to introduce the one, the only, Sebastian Stan!”

James stood, clapping as Sebastian made his way to the main set area. He raised his right hand, his left remaining on his stomach. As he approached James, Sebastian switched hands, his left coming up as an offer for James to shake. Afterwards, James held his hand out to the chair beside his desk, waiting for Sebastian to sit down.

“Hi, Sebastian! It’s so good to have you back.” James’ accent broke Sebastian’s name up into three distinct syllables, bringing a smile to Seb’s face.

“It’s good to be back, man.” He grinned big, waiting for James to ask the first question. Once they got into it, the interview went smoothly. Sebastian was able to avoid giving out spoilers for his new project, leaving just enough to the imagination. James was in a fit of laughter after Sebastian had told a crazy story from being on set. James wiped tears away from his lower lashline, calming down just enough to catch his breath.

“Okay, so I want to move onto something else.” Sebastian sobered up quickly, unsure of where James was taking the conversation. “We want all the juicy details about your relationship with Y/N.” Sebastian’s brow raised as he pulled a face at James’ question. He laughed to himself for a minute before answering.

“Ya know, we really have you to thank for that.” Sebastian pointed at James, before bringing that same finger to rub his eye.

“Really?” The man’s voice pitched up, brows hitting his hairline.

“Oh yeah. We were only introduced because of your show.” Sebastian leaned back in his chair, remembering that night with you. The two of you had gone out for drinks, talking for hours at the bar and then even longer in his hotel room. He remembered waking up with you wrapped up in his arms. You didn’t have sex that night, but you definitely did the second night.

And oh god, if that second night wasn’t just as amazing as the first. The face you made whenever you climaxed danced it’s way to the forefront of Sebastian’s mind. Not good, definitely not good. He had to readjust himself in his pants again, crossing his legs to cover up his rather large problem.

“Yeah, we started dating that same week. Kept it quiet though.” Sebastian held his palm out in the air, bouncing it up and down.

“Right, right. And do you want to tell everyone how you did end up revealing that you and Y/N were an item?” Sebastian looked down at his lap, smirking to himself. “Or should we just play the clip?”

A clip played for the studio audience. It was Y/N doing her makeup for the Vogue Beauty Secrets Youtube video. Sebastian waltzed in the background of the shot. It then cuts to Sebastian kissing Y/N on the cheek, brandishing the hickey’s that she had sucked onto his cheek the night before. Mhm, I remember that night too.

Sebastian had surprised Y/N by coming to see her. He wasn’t doing anything and he missed you, so why waste a perfectly good opportunity. He spent the night there completely ravishing you until you begged him to stop. That night he proudly wore your thighs as earmuffs, burying his face in you. He really needed to stop reminiscing during an interview.

“How adorable. Was that planned at all? Or did you just do that because you could?” Sebastian shook his head, his right hand scratching at the stubble decorating his jaw.

“Oh, no. It definitely wasn’t planned. I honestly don’t remember if I knew Y/N was filming that morning, so I’m just glad I put on pants before I left the bedroom.” James laughed at Sebastian’s comment.

“Okay, so I’ve gotta ask your opinion on something though.” Sebastian made a hum of acknowledgement, signalling for James to continue. James leaned back, pulling out a cardstock of your new album. “So, this is Y/N’s new album, it just came out about three or four weeks ago?” The crowd clapped for you, and Sebastian cheered along with them.

“What do ya want my opinion on? If it’s the album, then I gotta tell ya, I loved it. Every single song on there is absolutely amazing.” James nodded, a smirk forming on his lips making Sebastian think he made a mistake.

“So you’re aware of the song Europe?” Sebastian smirked, nodding his head because he knew where this was going. “Would you like to tell us what that’s about?” James laughed as Sebastian stammered, looking for the right words. “I mean, let’s just read some of the lyrics.” James looked at the cards in his hands as Sebastian drifted into his thoughts again.

You had brought him into the studio before finalizing Europe. He remembers watching you twist your hands at your waist and continuously cracking your knuckles. Sebastian was curious because you hadn’t ever been like that when showing him a song before. Every question he had about your anxiety revolving around the song was thrown away when he heard it.

Europe was an ode to Sebastian, all of Sebastian. He couldn’t help pulling you down onto his lap by your waist as he listened. You were the only two in the studio, so the two of you were free to do whatever you wanted. The funny thing about that night was that there was a new track recording.

“Oh shit, Seb.” The dam broke afterwards, peels of laughter leaving your lips without explanation. Your right hand raised to your mouth, attempting (and failing) to quiet your giggles.

“Babe, why the ‘oh shit’?” You held up a finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet and listen. He strained his ears, waiting for his own ‘oh shit’ moment. Then, his own voice filtered into his ears, making him crease his brow in confusion. “What is that?”

“That’s the audio from when I first played you Europe.” Small giggles passed your lips again. “I was going to ask you if I could use, like, a sound byte from it for either the beginning or the end of the song.” Sebastian nodded, slightly amazed that you were so creative with your work. “But, I forgot to turn off the recording.” Sebastian’s eyes locked on your expression, waiting for him to connect the dots. He pulled a face and then,

“Oh shit.” His eyes widened, a huff of laughter escaping. “Wait, so it caught all of it?” Your lips rolled inwards, holding back laughs as you nodded your head. Sebastian raised a brow, his eyes flicking over your face. “Use it.” He had a few new hickeys after that night too, but not after decorating your body with a few of his own.

“Sebastian, I would like you to read a few lines from the song, please.” James handed Sebastian a card, a snort leaving Sebastian’s body involuntarily. He glanced at the cards, know the lyrics by heart already. He took a big breath, reading the lines that James chose. He threw him a look with his eyes, head tilting slightly toward the British man.

“Uh, okay, here we go.” Sebastian laughed to himself, blowing out a breath through clenched lips. He lifted the card again, “You know,” dropping his hand back to his lap while raising his other hand. “You know, she’s gonna make fun of me for this right?” James laughed, looking into the camera as if he was on The Office, then to the audience with a duh look on his face.

“Sebastian. We’re going to make fun of you.” The crowd didn’t hesitate to join in James’ amusement. Sebastian dropped his head into his hands, groaning loudly. “Do you need a little encouragement?” The audience began cheering and clapping for Sebastian.

“Fine, alright, alright.” He shook his head before starting. “Long nights with hickeys earned like a badge of honor. Teasing kisses, twisted sheets, all signs of true seduction.” Sebastian looked up from his hands, expecting James to say something. All James offered, though, was a wave of his hand for Sebastian to continue. “I never have to worry because all my sins are forgiven when I’m with you.” James held his hand up, stopping Sebastian from continuing.

“Okay, let’s dissect that, Mr. Stan.” James propped his elbow on his interview desk, placing his head at an angle in his palm. “What is this song about?” Sebastian’s lips curled inward, stopping himself from laughter.

“James,” Sebastian leaned forward against the arm of the couch. “I thought this was a family show.” The British man quirked a brow, sweeping both hands in front of his body gesturing to the studio.

“This is the Late Late Show, Sebastian.” He turned back to the audience, addressing them and the cameras. “And that is all the time we have tonight! Thank you to Sebastian for coming on the show with me tonight! And thank all of you for tuning in tonight. We’ll see you next time.” The producer beside the camera signaled that the show ended and Sebastian turned back to James.

“It’s a good song.” Sebastian smiled wide afterwards, saying his goodbyes to the crew. He was back in the safety of his dressing room when his phone started ringing.

“Hello?” He knew that it was you from the personally assigned ringtone you picked out when he wasn’t looking.

“The Internet is going to eat you alive.” Sebastian grinned as your peels of laughter trickled in through the speaker of his phone.

“Oh yeah, could you imagine if I told them that it wasn’t just random sounds at the end?” He could just imagine your smirk at his mention of your little addition to Europe.

“We’re gonna have to do that again.” Sebastian paused, waiting for you to explain. “Although I think next time we should do a visual along with the audio. You pickin’ up what I’m putting down Stan?” Sebastian smirked to himself, thinking about being able to watch himself bring you to the brink over and over again, even when you’re not together. His pants got tighter at the idea.

“I think we might have to look into that, Y/L/N.”

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palbabor-writes · 3 years

Text

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man.

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash.

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class.

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late.

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance.

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction.

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace.

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows?

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black.

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression.

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him.

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him.

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him.

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely.

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.”

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle.

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you.

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier.

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work.

But today? Today takes the cake.

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work.

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.”

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details.

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are.

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips.

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with.

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf.

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!”

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.”

Great.

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick.

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more?

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing.

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names.

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position.

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better.

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint.

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way.

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine.

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.

You haven’t hit the enter key.

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.”

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward.

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.”

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing.

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up.

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters.

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse.

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you.

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster.

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface.

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip.

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips.

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his.

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses.

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you.

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him.

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.”

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small.

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.”

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up.

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.”

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.”

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs.

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.”

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance.

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.”

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle.

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?”

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with.

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands.

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt.

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?”

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books.

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch.

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you.

“Who said the video was on?”

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing.

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach.

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch.

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty.

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush.

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola.

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back.

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.”

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.”

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back.

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again.

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek.

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.”

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @evesmores

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((

#dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #university au #bnha dark fic #tw: violence #TW: cucking #tw: dubcon #tw: drugs #tw: bribery #tw: teacher/student #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: recording #libiraki #my own personal fic exchange #well bribery #bnha smut

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fandom-crazy-lunatic · 3 years

Text

Swimming lessons

Summary: when Stark decides to drag the avengers (including Loki) along to a pool party, a rather embarrassing secret is revealed. Loki can’t swim.

Pairing(s): Loki x Reader

Warning(s): uhh not being able to swim (does that count?), fluff, some steamy-ish elements

Characters: Loki, y/n and the avengers

‘Tony, is this really a good idea?’ you grumbled, as he took off his shirt and pants to reveal a pair of fiery-patterned swimming trunks.

‘Is anything I do a good idea? No, but it’s fun,’ Tony replied with a smirk. ‘Now outta those clothes and into the pool, I didn’t buy it for you all to stand on the edge.’ As if to emphasise his point, he ran up to the deep end and dove in, quickly resurfacing.

You shook your head, but before long you and the others were in the water, and having a pretty good time doing it. The only one who wasn't swimming was Loki, who sat on a bench by the side, looking immensely bored. Stark insisted on him coming along, and he couldn't exactly say no, or he'd lose the relative freedom he had from being with the Avengers.

As you swam up and down, occasionally diving under to grab someone's leg or splash their face, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were being watched, but every time you looked back at Loki, he averted his gaze. Typical.

Thor was probably enjoying all of this the most. So much, in fact, that he felt the need to call out, ‘Loki! Why don’t you join us for once?’

Loki glared. ‘And why would I feel the need to do that?’

‘Because it’s fun.’

‘Fun.’ He repeated. ‘Splashing around in chlorinated water is fun, is it?’

‘Yeah, it is, come on in, stabby,’ Natasha teased.

‘Stabby?’

‘Sounds kinda cute,’ you chimed in.

Loki was about to have a full on outraged monologue, but before he could, Thor promptly pulled himself out of the water, lifted Loki up, and tossed him into the deep end.

Tony and Nat burst out laughing. You, however, didn’t, as you saw Loki flailing about under the water. You paused for a second, expecting him to surface, but it seemed pretty clear that that wasn’t about to happen, at least not by itself.

Everyone froze in shock. Loki, god of mischief, the man who nearly took over New York, couldn’t swim?

He looked completely helpless, trapped under the water. You were always the empathetic one. Nobody seemed to be moving to help him, even when you gave them all your best death stare.

You took a deep breath, and swam towards him, pure determination egging you on. You’d always been a strong swimmer, and now was your chance to prove it.

Your arms wrapped around his torso, and you desperately kicked your legs, the water bearing his weight. Spluttering, he clambered out once you had reached the surface, his hair and clothing soaked. You climbed out after him.

‘Well that was...’ Steve started.

‘Something,’ Clint finished.

You ushered Loki into the changing rooms before he could murder everybody within a five mile radius. You were lucky that he tolerated you— in fact you were the only one that he tolerated— or he might have done something pretty drastic in his humiliation.

‘Thor.. that oaf, what the HEL did he think he was doing? I’ll kill him one of these days..’ he muttered angrily to himself as he paced up and down. You silently prayed that nobody would burst in on you two. He was annoyed enough.

‘Hey,’ you said, in the most soothing voice you could muster. ‘It’s okay.. it’s really not a big—’

‘I was just publicly thrown into a body of water, and my incompetence in that area was on display for EVERYONE to see. Don’t you even try and downplay it.’

‘I’m just saying... we all have stuff we’re bad at.’

Loki had now sat himself on the bench and was staring at one particular floor tile with enough anger to melt an iceberg.

A pause.

‘Do you have spare clothes?’ you asked, rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly.

‘No,’ he clipped.

‘I’d offer mine, but I doubt they’d fit,’ you laughed weakly.

‘Do I look amused?’

You decided it was best to shut up at that point.

***

Three days later, Thor burst into your bedroom.

‘Woah, have you heard of knocking?’

‘Sorry, Y/N. Urgent matter. Have you seen my brother?’

‘Loki? Is he lost?’

‘Apparently so.’

You leap off of your bed, pushing past Thor.

You searched for three hours, shaking and prodding every inanimate object you could find before an idea struck. A very, very, stupid idea, but still possible.

The front glass doors barely had time to open before you were through, and outside.

A mile of running, maybe two, before you were there: the swimming pool you had been to the day before. Your suspicions were confirmed once you burst in.

The sight would have been hilarious if you hadn’t been so worried. Loki, holding on desperately to the side of the pool, looking like a small, trapped animal, kicking his legs with so much force that the floor was flooded.

He was trying to teach himself to swim. It was almost adorable. You’d never thought him to be the type to do that, though. You’d pegged him as the type to run away from his problems and never actually get them fixed.

The moment he noticed you he pulled himself out, glaring, the same angrily humiliated face that he’d worn yesterday.

‘Loki! You idiot, everyone’s looking for you.’ You said, trying not to notice the fact that he was only in his underwear, his soaked dark hair hanging loosely around his angular face, the water making all the lean muscles on his torso shine. You stopped yourself from looking further down.

‘And?’

‘They’re worried.’

‘Not about me.’

‘I was.’

He glanced up at you. You couldn’t quite read his expression.

You were trying so hard to look him in the eyes. ‘Are... are you going to come back?’

‘Not until I want to.’ All his answers were short, impatient. Angry.

Then you did something completely impulsive. You threw your shirt over your head and kicked your jeans down, leaving you in your underwear. Loki looked you up and down, and you went to cover yourself with your arms.

Sliding into the water, you gave him the kindest smile you could muster, swimming towards his side and grabbing his calves. You were in an extremely awkward position, but you tried not to let it show on your face.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Swimming with you. Come in.’

‘Is this some sort of joke?’

‘Nope. I’m gonna show you how, right here. Just you and me. That’s better than everyone else watching, right? It’ll stop you from humiliating yourself again.’ You regretted saying that last sentence, and expected him to lash out at you, but instead he let you pull him in by his legs.

‘Oh, Norns,’ he muttered, reaching out to the nearest solid object. Which happened to be you.

‘It’s okay, I’m not going to let you drown.’

Your heart was pounding at about a thousand miles an hour. His fucking perfect body was nearly pressing up against you. It didn’t help one bit that neither of you were fully dressed. His breath cooled your skin as he grasped your shoulders for dear life, wide eyes staring up at you. You had to resist giving yourself a shake to stop this self-destructive chain of thought.

‘Right, now, hold on to the edge. Yeah, like that. First you need to learn how to kick your legs properly.’

***

He was a quick learner, you gave him that. Thank goodness for the water hiding most of his body from you or you would have never been able to concentrate. Before long he could propel himself from one side to the other. You gave him your biggest smile and tried to be encouraging, but he dismissed your efforts.

He clambered out, sitting himself on the edge. You went to sit next to him.

‘Well this was..’ you said, not quite sure how to finish your sentence.

‘Pleasant,’ he finished.

‘I’m sorry? I thought–’

‘You thought wrong. Spending time with you was pleasant.’

You scoffed. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I mean it. I’ve mentioned before that I found you tolerable, but now I’m willing to admit that I possibly may have some affection for you, mortal.’

You stared down at the water, too awkward to look him in the eyes.

You felt something cold on your hand. Loki’s. He lifted it up to his lips, giving you the softest kiss imaginable. ‘May we do this again sometime?’

‘I’d love to.’

He smiled, warm and sincere at first, morphing into a small smirk. ‘Oh and Y/N?’

You looked up at him.

‘Your clothes are completely soaked through.’

#mcu #loki odinson #loki #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki fanfic #loki fluff #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #fluff #avengers

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olivia200312 · 3 years

Text

Prime Missing~ TFP! Optimus x Half-Predacon! Reader *Request*

Requested by the lovely CreatorCat

Plot: Hi there! Could I please request a TFP Optimus x half Cybertronian and half Predacon female Autobot reader? Only Optimus knows she is like that. Her Predacon form is a dragon and her vehicle form is a mustang car (Wildstyle colors from Lego Movie). Her fighting style is dancing (dance fighting, usually coordinated with music only she can hear in her earpiece, unpredictable). It takes place during Beast Wars where they meet Ultra Magnus. Optimus goes missing and the reader is very upset because she has a crush on the Prime.

Ultra Magnus grows a crush on her after seeing her fight in battle. He is concerned she'll get hurt because her style doesn't fall into the protocol and can't be monitored. He forbids her from joining the ranks in battle until she 'shaded up'. The reader is devasted and falls into sort of depression because that she wouldn't be able to dance or fight anymore and that was what she lived for. Optimus returns (finally) to find his crush (the reader) not herself anymore. They have been 'broken' and fight the way that Ultra Magnus saw fit. He's horrified because this wasn't 'his Y/N' and confronted Ultra Magnus. Afterward, Optimus takes the reader aside and confesses and she smiles for the first time in 'forever'. The next battle she's in, she breaks protocol and does her original style of fighting much to everyone's happiness (except Ultra Magnus). She also reveals her Predacon side to protect everyone from the Decepticons and Predaking.

What do you think?

That's a long request ever since I got a request to write a high school version. Lol. So, I read the entire text here and began to think. Do not think it is a bad way. I absolutely love the request but however, I don't like a few things. I'm not familiar with Beast Wars at all. I know only like literally one character and that is Optimal Primal. He is in fact the new Prime in Power of the Primes after Optimus' death. Don't believe me? Watch the 10 episodes or follow the OC book that I'm working on since I'm partnered up with Alita-One and others on Quotev. Furtonaly, I don't like Beast Wars at all since it's different. I also couldn't help but cringe a bit since it's TFP playing in Beast Wars. I remember some clips and scenes where Optimus actually goes missing after the base got exploded and Ultra Magnus appearing. I also remember Predacon's Rising.

Also since I don't like hurting other lovely characters (either rejected or friend-zoned), I made Ultra Magnus different. He'll be not crushing on the reader, but don't worry, he'll get tasted with his own medicine. Revenge will arrive.

Head area:

Brain: Processor / Brain Module

Head: Helm

Face: Face plate

Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials

Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor

Eye brow: Optical Ridge

Eyes: Optics

Mouth: Intake

Lips: Dermas

Teeth: Denta/Dentas

Tongue: Glossa

Chest area:

Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity

Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula

Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour:

Chest plate

Back plate

Mid-section plating

Neck guard

Side plating

Arm area:

Arms: Arms / Restarlueus

Forearms: Bitarlueus

Hands: Servos

Fingers: Digits

Arm armour:

Gantlets

Shoulder pads

Arm guard

Lower area:

Pelvis: Pelvis

Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate

Thighs: Tibulen

Calves: Cadulen

Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour:

Skirt plates

Aft plate / Skid plate

Thigh guard

Ankle guard

General/Internal components:

Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question.

Veins: Fual lines

Stomach: Tanks

Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating.

Heart: Spark

Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark

T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

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

"Jack, meet Ultra Magnus," Arcee introduced her human partner to the missing commander of the Autobots.

Jack looked shocked as he took a look at Ultra Magnus. He was light blue while Optimus was dark blue. The commander had a strict look on his faceplate. What was his problem? Sure, there was a war still going on because since Cybertron, the home planet of the Cybertronians, including the Autobots, Decepticons, and the Predacons, was dead so the idiotic Decepticons moved the war towards Earth when they discovered that the Autobots had been hiding there. Honestly, Megatron was too evil and stupid for actually settling the war on Earth. Earth! The planet was involved in many wars already, especially WWI and WWII.

But let's get to the point: what's been happening?

Well, the Decepticons discovered where the Autobots had been hiding. Before it got blown up, Optimus ordered everyone to leave the base and a serious warning: don't use the phone to call or send anything. If they do, then the Decepticons can track your signal, which can lead a serious danger. Jack went with Arcee, Miko with Bulkhead, and finally Raf with Bumblebee. Eventually, the base got exploded. Optimus got seriously wounded that Smokescreen found him. He was a smart rookie for hiding him so that Optimus can possibly heal and be safely hidden. Sadly, the damage was too much that Optimus was slowly offlining. He didn't want to leave, especially not Y/N. She was a half-Predacon and half-Cybertronian. She was an Autobot. So, it means that Y/N's carrier or sire was a Predacon while the other was Cybertronian. She was found wounded in a forest by Optimus and he took her to the Autobots base. Poor Y/N... She remembered how scared she was when she was there. I mean, she was wounded, lost on Earth, and didn't know anyone. She lost her creators thanks to the war. She eventually learned fast how to take care of herself.

When Optimus met her, he couldn't help but thought that Y/N was a unique and beautiful femme he'd ever seen. I mean, she was half-Cybertronian and half-Predacon. He had seen full Predacons before like Predaking. Soon, he'll meet Darksteel and Skylynx who were brothers. Y/N had wings and a tail so she was very unique. She was thankful to fly and control her balance more. The human kids loved Y/N. Miko, of course, asked too many questions that at one point, Jack and Raf had to stop her since they noticed when Y/N got uncomfortable and scared.

But anyway, that all happened before the big explosion. Optimus grew in fact closer to Y/N that he was the only one at the base who Y/N trusted. She would stay by his side, help him and ask questions. Optimus gladly helped her whenever she was scared or asked questions. He also found her adorable in secret. He sometimes asked himself about her like her wings for example. Were they sensitive? Maybe they were? He will only know if he touched it. If Y/N ever allowed it.

While Y/N was with the Autobots, it didn't mean that she met everyone. She didn't meet Ultra Magnus at the time. He was a strict commander of the Autobots and was light blue and red. His vehicle was very similar to the Prime. His shoulderplates were weird, kinda. No disrespect. But oh boy, Y/N hated Magnus. When he saw her, he was only coldhearted and strict towards her. Y/N's fighting style was dancing but the commander didn't like it that he forbid her to do so. It was like this:

The Autobots just came back after a fight again with the Decepticons. The fight was brutal this time. Apparently, the Decepticons had a new 'weapon' and it was a full Predacon! It was a male and in fact, the ruler of the race when they went instinct many years ago thanks to Megatron himself. Shockwave managed to bring the king back from the dead. His name was Predaking. He was huge! After all, he was a male and a ruler. Since Y/N was half-Predacon, she actually can't transform. Some Cybertronians who were half-Predacons, couldn't actually transform. Some can, some couldn't. Y/N didn't mind that she couldn't transform. She liked how she looked, even having a Predacon tail and wings.

But everyone was wounded. Y/N fought against the male Predacon himself. Their fight was rough and they bit and clawed. But Y/N managed to trick him by dancing. Fighting was a little bit of dancing if you didn't know. You were moving and using your whole frame. It was exhausting for Y/N, but she won.

Ultra Magnus, however, didn't like her fighting style that he brought her into a private chamber. He closed the door and faced her, with his usual strict expression. "Soldier, I want you to change the style."

Y/N lifted her optical ridge up in confusion. What did the commander mean by that? Her armor? Her outgoing? What was it? "What do you mean?"

"Change your fighting style. Also, I forbid you from ever going to fight with us."

Y/N couldn't believe what she heard. Was he really serious? Was he going to forbid her from going out to fight? But what about Optimus Prime? He still wasn't found! He was missing ever since the big explosion that the Decepticons caused weeks ago. The human kids spread around together with their guardians and they weren't allowed to not use any technology or else the Decepticons will track them down. Jack, stupid enough, used his cellphone to text his mother that he was fine. It was understandable for a kid to text its parent to let them know that they were fine. But when it came to the war between the Autobots and the Decepticons, then it was important to listen to the advice.

Ultra Magnus simply left the private chamber, leaving the poor half-Predacon femme alone.

That's basically how it happened. Ever since that day, Y/N didn't come out a lot from her berthroom. She was very spark broken ever since the strict commander told her those words. He forbid her from searching Optimus, who was still missing at the moment. How could he say that? Y/N cared deeply for Optimus just like the entire team. He was their leader but also someone that would protect others and be willing to sacrifice his life.

Y/N would only recharge all day. She ate and drank of course but it wasn't a lot like she used. Basically, how a normal Cybertronian ate. If you didn't know, humans can die from broken hearts. It was in fact a Broken heart syndrome, also known as stress cardiomyopathy or takotsubo syndrome. It was very sad to have that like heart disease. Not only humans can have that syndrome but also Cybertronians, especially the Predacons, full or not. Y/N attracted that syndrome. Everyone says that action speaks louder than words, but words hurt more than actions. Y/N had shortness of breathing and having chassis pains. That was the most common syndrome of heart disease.

Ratchet, the medic of the team wasn't blind at all and was trained to notice signs of any health problems. Since Y/N was showing those signs, he did the tests and diagnosed her with Broken Heart Syndrome or should I say Broken Spark Syndrome? Ratchet kept a close optic on her and made her take medication, especially if she showed signs of chassis pains and shortness of breath.

But meanwhile in the main room of the base...

Ratchet was updating Y/N's health on the Cybertronian computer since it was important for the medics to keep new updates so that they can keep the information. There was actually no standard treatment for the syndrome that Y/N had, but you can survive with medication and as long as you're being careful. Not only do doctors like Ratchet keep updates safe but also dentists as well. Ratchet was mad at Ultra Magnus for saying hurtful words but kept it quiet. It was time that others should watch out for what comes out of their mouths. Words can damage someone and give an illness. He began to ask himself how would Optimus react if he found out about that...

Bumblebee then walked up to Ratchet and beeped a question at him.

Ratchet signed and looked over his shoulderplate. "No, Bumblebee. Y/N is still a little bit weak to come out. I am doing the best I can to help her on track. But her syndrome doesn't have a standard treatment. Just like on humans."

Bumblebee frowned and let out a sad whirl. He saw Y/N as his good friend and cared for her as a friend. He was mad at the commander for saying those words that he nearly attacked her. Didn't the idiotic commander notice at all how much he damaged her? Why was he even doing this?! Just because she was a half-Predacon!? Bumblebee clenched his fists in anger as he started to shake.

Ratchet, being a smart aft medic, noticed it and quickly placed his servo on the scout's shoulderplate. "Easy, Bumblebee." Just as Ratchet wanted to say something further, his computer caught a signal. He quickly went to the device and Bumblebee looked curiously over his shoulderplate.

"Hahaha!" Ratchet began to laugh and clapped his servos happily. That caught everyone's attention as they walked up to him, except Y/N, who was still sadly in her berthroom to rest. She did hear Ratchet's happy laugh, which was confusing, but she didn't bother to check since she felt weak. Ratchet turned around fast with a big smile on his faceplate. "Optimus is alive!"

That caused everyone to cheer happily. Y/N fell asleep at that time. She didn't hear Ratchet's loud voice that said that Optimus was alive and coming soon to the base.

2 hours later~

"Awesome! Optimus is now like 2.0!" Miko happily jumped as she was fascinated by Optimus' new look.

"It's good to have you back, Optimus," Arcee said with a smile.

Everyone was saying how happy they were to see and have Optimus Prime back. The leader was smiling as he listened to everyone with respect. He was happy to see them as well. Even though he was almost offline for good, he thought about others, especially Y/N. But wait, where was she? He saw his friends but not Y/N. He frowned. What happened to her while he was missing? He wondered about her every day. He nearly did join the AllSpark and taking the servo of his mentor, Alpha Trion. The old smart mech understood his student's decision. He even teased Optimus to get the spark of the half-Predacon. He blushed.

Ratchet seem to realize Optimus' frown and he immediately knew that it was about Y/N. He walked up to his leader. "Optimus, I have to speak to you. It's urgent."

Optimus nodded in understanding. Of course, he heard Ratchet's serious tone, which meant that he was deadly serious, especially for being a medic. His job was to take care of others and help if needed. They both went to a private chamber to speak while others stayed. Ultra Magnus, however, got a bad feeling...

Ratchet closed the door and turned to face Optimus. "Optimus, while you were gone, others had a fight against the Decepticons. They had a new 'weapon' it was a full Predacon... a mech. He's named Predaking, the ruler of the Predacons. Y/N fought against him. I must say, I am impressed with her fighting moves. Dancing. Ultra Magnus didn't like her style at all. I saw them going to a private chamber. I learned from Y/N that Magnus forbid her from going out and he forced her to change her style..." He sighed and took a deep breath. "As a result, Y/N has Broken Heart Syndrome, also known as stress cardiomyopathy or takotsubo syndrome in humans. But I called it the Broken Spark Syndrome. She has trouble breathing and having chassis pains. I made her take medication."

Optimus couldn't believe what he heard. How could Ultra Magnus do this? He was getting angry. The commander took it too far by his words. He look calmy at Ratchet and nodded. "Thank you for the information old friend. I will speak to commander Ultra Magnus and see Y/N."

Ratchet nodded back and they left the private chamber. Ultra Magnus knew that he was busted. Optimus slowly walked up to the commander, with a disappointed and angry expression on his faceplate. He took the commander to somewhere private and let's just say that Optimus was so stern. He also finally punished the commander for what he said to Y/N. Ratchet was satisfied and mumbled under his breath: "As humans say: 'Get rekt'."

Optimus then walked through the hallway corridors, searching for Y/N's berthroom. Each bot had a nameplate hanging against the door. It was easier for everyone to find each other, except for humans since they were so small. But good that the kids remembered which room was who. They drew small symbols on each door of the bot. Ratchet got a symbol of a doctor, Bumblebee got a bee, Arcee a motorcycle, etc. Y/N had a dragon, even though she couldn't transform into a Predacon.

Optimus knocked on the door gently as he found Y/N's door. After no response, he softly opened the door and peaked in. He smiled softly once he saw Y/N recharging peacefully. But he was still worried about her health after all. He walked to Y/N, closing the door softly to not wake her up. He caressed her helm with his gentle digits and he smiled once he heard her purr. Predacons can purr a lot. Yes, even Optimus can too but not a lot like the Predacons can, even half ones. Optimus continued to caress as he sat down carefully, lifting Y/N's helm and laid it on his lap. For some reason, laps were so comfy. No wonder humans and Cybertronians fall asleep easily, even falling asleep on someone's body. It was so cute when a male slept on top of the female as a couple or friends. Family too. But mostly, females slept on top of the males.

Y/N softly moaned in her sleep as she moved a bit. She felt very comfortable. But that's when she groaned and had trouble breathing. She panted and Optimus got worried. He then noticed the medication on her nightstand. He grabbed it and then Y/N gasped and sat up, her servo on her chassis.

"Easy, Y/N," the familiar deep voice said.

Y/N snapped her helm towards the very familiar deep voice and gasped. it was Optimus! Wait, he was really here?! She was about to say something but Optimus silenced her by cupping her cheekplate, causing her to blush a lot. He helped her take the medication and soon, she breathed normally. But she felt then sleepy again. Optimus noticed it and softly pushed her down. "Recharge, Y/N. Your body needs more rest."

Y/N smiled softly and fell asleep. She can now catch a lot of rest since Optimus was alive and well. She found him more handsome. His new look, now strong body, etc. But she loved his hips, smile, voice, and smirk. As she was sleeping, she felt soft dermas on hers. Optimus was kissing her, just like in the movie Sleeping Beauty.

I apologize if it isn't familiar a lot. I decided to try and make it a little cuter for the fans, especially the ending part.

#optimus prime #transfomers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus prime #fluff #one shot #romance #x reader #reader #x predacon reader #broken heart syndrome #comfort #missing #optimus prime x reader

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theji · 3 years

Text

Can Wang Yibo Sing?

Of cos he can!!

I’ve been meaning to write about this topic for a while, after seeing way too many comments about Yibo’s singing on Weibo, YouTube etc. Accusations of him lip syncing etc. Of cos most of these are by antis, which shouldn’t matter, but it bothers me that he’s being misunderstood

Disclaimer: I’m not a professional musician, just someone who was in the choir for about 5 years and spent my teenage years watching way too many singing competition reality TV shows.

Objectively, Yibo is not a great singer but definitely a competent one. While he identifies as a rapper, we can’t discount his years of training in Korea. For sure they have lessons on things like vocal control, techniques, etc. By virtue of him being a rapper, he has good breath control, stamina, sense of rhythm, clear diction. Which are especially evident during his live song+dance performances. After all, for him to be able to sing/rap while dancing, it takes a lot more effort and skill, as compared to standing stationary on stage. Heck, he even rapped while suspended in air. These abilities all form the basis of singing and shouldn’t be disregarded.

Now, back to his vocals. I would consider Yibo to be a baritone - his vocal range falls between mid-low notes. Compare that to XZ, whom I would classify as a tenor. Some parts of vocals can be trained but part of it is just inborn. The implication is that he has a narrower vocal range and is unable to sing very low notes; neither can he belt the high notes. He also tends to use more of his chest voice so sometimes he doesn’t project his voice very well. I’ve also not observed him using much techniques like falsetto when he sings.

And that’s perfectly fine. Disregarding these, he actually has a nice voice. Very clean and warm and soothing. It just means he would sound better singing certain types of songs, within a certain vocal range. Songs that don’t fluctuate too much in terms of key.

I present to you Exhibit A:

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Considering that this was spontaneous and sung live without any music, Yibo did really well. He sounded really good here. If you compare it to XZ’s segment, you can clearly tell the difference in their vocal range and voice projection. But the point isn’t to compare but rather, to show that different singers have different vocal range and abilities and shouldn’t be measured by the same yardstick.

From past interviews it’s clear that singing isn’t an area that Yibo is particularly confident in. He knows he has limitations. Now, instead of debating on whether Yibo can or cannot sing (nothing is rarely so black and white), I want to focus on how he has improved over the years. Which he clearly did.

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Check out this clip of Yibo’s cover of Hebe Tien’s Xiao Xing Yun for a DDU episode in 2017. Here, he sounded ok but a bit flat and pitchy, especially when it came to the lower notes. But he can definitely carry a tune.

Unlike XZ, we don't see Yibo in that many public performances where he gets to sing. For the purpose of this post I'm not looking at his dance+rap performances cos it's not an apple-apple comparison.

In 2019, we were blessed with classics from CQL - Bu Wang and Wu Ji. Which also brought about many public performances. Comparing these two, more often than not he sounded better when he was performing Bu Wang, cos that song fits better with his vocal range and is more ‘even’. I’ve noted that he has the backing track on during his Wu Ji performances across the various concerts. Probably cos he wasn’t very confident since Wu Ji is a more challenging song. If you compare his parts with that of XZ’s in this example below, you can clearly hear the difference in the sound quality. XZ didn't have the backing track for his portions, which is also why some people commented that Yibo sang better because his voice sounded more similar to the studio version. (Side note: this is something that I really admire about GG. He always insist on singing live even when he's not feeling well). But nevertheless, even with a backing track, it can still be considered live singing to a certain extent. It's not the same as lip syncing. And I think Yibo did pretty well during those concerts and fan meets, even though there were still pitchy moments.

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Xi Wei in 2020. I thought it was a good performance. He sounded more stable and hit all the right notes. I recall during this performance there was quite a bit of online chatter saying that he lip synced. They said he was holding the mic too far away but it's actually pretty common for singers to pull the mic away when projecting their voices during the higher notes so as to equalise the volume. Part of the reason could be also about the pitch. To be fair I couldn't tell for sure from the online clips whether or not he had the backing track on but he definitely wasn't lip syncing. He also sounded better compared to CQL promo days. FYI I used the fan cam version here cos the audio is more obvious.

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And then we have Longing for Glory earlier this year. More power in his vocals here. I also thought he seemed to be getting more confident in his singing performances.

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TL;DR: While Yibo has a limited vocal range and lacks certain singing techniques, he can definitely sing. With the right song, he would be able to sing beautifully. For instance, Dear Mom, We Stay Together and his newest song. More importantly, he has improved over the years and I think that's something that shouldn't be overlooked.

Ultimately, at least to me, I don't see Yibo as just a singer or dancer or rapper. He is a performer and a great one at that. Vocals are just one part of a performance so I think people shouldn't just focus on whether he can or cannot sing. And stop accusing him of lip syncing. We can't deny his charisma and stage presence. Every time he's on stage, he shines brightly.

I'm looking forward to more songs and singing performances by Yibo, either his own single or from his upcoming dramas.

And finally, ending off with this clip of Yibo's DDU performances over the years. The boy can sing, ok?

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#Wang Yibo #DD can sing #antis be gone

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lavenderbexlatte · 3 years

Text

sitting pretty

stray kids 2.4k words female reader insert Dom!Reader x Sub!Bang Chan EXPLICIT/NSFW

🖤 warnings: dom/sub dynamics, hard dom antics, degradation, dom title “miss” sub title “puppy,” kink negotiation, collar and leash play, nipple piercings 🖤

🚨🚨 always communicate clearly and thoroughly with your partner before you add new kinks/kinds of play to the bedroom!

connect with me! / masterlist

Everyone who thinks Bang Chan likes to be in charge everywhere, including in bed, should see him now.

You know how he comes across: controlled, silly but largely responsible, self-sacrificial and humble, the oldest and most experienced in his group of shiny-eyed not-so-new industry blood. And he is all of those things. To his own detriment, you think. He thinks too much, worries too much about what he’s doing and saying and how he looks from the outside.

Here, he doesn’t have to worry at all.

Chan had arrived at your place half an hour before, in the dead of the night after a long day of schedules, exhausted to the bone but eager for some positive attention. Well. You have plenty of attention and affection to give, even if it comes out in…interesting ways.

The two of you found your way into the bedroom quickly enough. Clothes were shed, terms of the scene laid out, the traffic-light safeword system instilled like usual. And now, you’re slowing it all down, just enjoying the delicious view of your boyfriend as he blushes and fidgets his way through your latest innovation.

“Is that too tight?” you ask.

“No.”

You reach down to slip a finger under the sturdy black collar that circles Chan’s neck, making sure that there’s enough give. The digit fits easily, so you’re not worried that he’s lying and risking harm just to get more stimulation.

“I said it was okay,” he says good-naturedly, eyes still on the floor.

“Are you talking back?” you tease.

You nudge his head upward with your hand as you draw it back, and he meets your gaze. The two of you cut quite the figure in the dim light of your bedroom. He’s flushed all the way down to his toes. You know that for certain; he’s nude except for the collar, knelt on the floor at your feet as you lounge on the edge of your bed, shirt long gone and breasts bare to the room.

His hands are clasped neatly behind his back, and his cock is already standing out proudly, so hard even though you’ve barely started.

“No, miss,” he says.

“You’re gonna be my good boy, aren’t you?” you coo.

He looks mortified, self-conscious but also so, so intrigued. You raise your other hand and it amuses you how he follows it with his eyes.

His collar isn’t just an accessory tonight. Clutched in your hand, you have the end of a thin leather leash, brand-new and still creased from the way it was coiled in your toybox until Chan could come break it in with you. The other end is clipped to the thick O-ring on his collar, and as you give an experimental tug, the collar bends toward you easily, making Chan gasp as it digs into his skin.

“I’ll be good,” he agrees.

“You’d better be.”

Your hand dips down, further this time, and tweaks one of the black barbells that are pierced through each of Chan’s nipples. He jumps at your touch, and you huff out a laugh. Though the piercings have gotten much less sensitive over time, he still acts like they’re fresh during playtimes. Maybe the arousal makes the sensation more pronounced. You’re not sure. You just know how much you love it when he’s whining and squirming for you.

“Sitting pretty for me,” you say, “Listening and keeping that mouth shut, like a good boy.”

He just regards you, his ears flaming red. You’ve said much more to him in the bedroom before, you know his limits and his tells well enough. He’s not truly uncomfortable, just embarrassed at the mingling praise and backhanded compliments. You keep going.

“On a leash like a dog.”

A whine slips out of Chan’s mouth before he can stop it, his gaze back on the floor. Jackpot.

“Oh, you like that?” you ask, “You like being my dumb little puppy? Only good for listening and doing as you’re told?”

“I don’t mind it, miss,” he says, voice barely loud enough to hear.

You slide forward more on the bed, bringing Chan into easier reach. He’s so pretty like this, just waiting for you to say something, to do something, to touch him more.

His hair is blonde now, recently bleached, all wild natural curls in a vivid near-platinum color. You tangle your fingers in his hair indulgently, right at his hairline, and tug sharply so that he has no choice but to look up at you again.

“Are you shy, puppy?” you say condescendingly.

“A little bit, miss,” he admits.

“At least you’re honest.”

You fall back onto the bed, laying down more fully and propping yourself up on your elbows so that you can still see him. At this angle, your pussy is level with his face, and you spread your legs apart as if to give him a better look. He can’t see anything, since you’re still clothed on your lower half, but you watch Chan’s throat and the collar move as he swallows.

“Eager,” you tease.

He’s blunt, “Yes.”

“Can’t do anything unless you undress me, puppy,” you encourage.

Slowly, Chan unfolds his hands from behind his back, and he comes forward to slide his hands under the waistband of your lounge pants. You lift your hips so that he can pull them over your ass and ease them down your legs. He discards the pants, taking his sweet-ass time on it, and then moves to pull your panties down, too.

When you’re bare to him, he sits back on his heels to wait for your next instructions. It makes you nearly purr with satisfaction. Such an obedient boy. He’s always pliant and eager to please, but there’s something heavier and more desperate to it tonight, with the new power dynamic that you’re exploring together.

You tug on the leash, urging him forward. He follows, leaning into the gentle pull on his neck, until you’ve guided him between your thighs. He’s essentially crawling to you on hand and knees, and you can tell that he’s aware of exactly how he looks doing it.

“Do you want to taste?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says, immediately.

“Go ahead.”

Chan reaches out, as if to grab hold of your thighs before he begins, but you stop him.

“No hands,” you instruct.

“But…but…”

“Can puppies use their hands?” you ask.

“…No,” he says, grudging.

You can tell that the puppy play is embarrassing him as much as it’s arousing him. It interests you. Some people are really into pet play for its own sake. They like the pet names and the mindless role of it all, just happy to explore in a new way.

But for Chan, it seems perversely satisfying in the same way that degradation can be. It’s not that he loves being your puppy, but he loves you flexing your power over him. He loves trying out anything for you, just once, with permission and tender attentive care.

Truly your best boy. Best boy in the world.

“You can always safeword,” you remind him gently.

But he shakes his head. “Green.”

“Make me cum then,” you say, “But no hands.”

You give another tug on the leash as if to motivate him, but Chan doesn’t need any more encouragement.

He dives in fully, locating your clit with practiced precision and tracing circles around it, then over it, with an experienced tongue. Still propped up on your elbows, you can see his eyes flutter shut, long lashes falling against his cheek. He really is so beautiful, still knelt there on the floor between your legs, licking and sucking and kissing at your pussy like he’s got no more important task in the world.

The embarrassed burn is starting to fade from his ears, leaving him just his usual arousal-flushed pink that you love so much. He’s relaxing as he pleasures you, quietly taking his cues from your small sounds and hips grinding into his face.

“I missed you with blonde hair,” you say, through the arousal that’s steadily building and clouding your mind.

He laughs, the sound stifled as he continues to eat you out with abandon. His arms are still neatly by his sides, from what you can see, and really, he doesn’t need them. Circling your clit, sucking the bud between his lips, fucking his tongue into you gently…he’s plenty good with just his mouth.

You decide he needs a bit more of a challenge, and you tug on his leash so that it digs into the smooth sinewy column of his pretty neck.

A strangled word that almost sounds like begging catches your attention.

Chan is, first and foremost, eager to please. If a scene is focused on you, he doesn’t beg or even ask for very much. He’s not a brat, that’s for certain. The perfect service top, giving to a fault, much the same way that he likes to be in the other areas of his life. It’s part of the reason you feel the need to take full control and spoil him so much.

But now, here, as you wrap the end of the leash around your wrist and increase the pressure on his throat, he breaks.

“More.”

It’s just a rasp, a gentle whining request that has you breathing out a laugh through your own pleasure.

“What was that?” you ask, “You want me to pull harder, hm?”

He just looks up at you, eyes shiny and slightly glazed. His tongue is still moving against you in perfect time, and you give him a dark smile.

“My poor dumb puppy, so pussy-drunk he can’t even string two words together,” you say.

You give another tug on the leash, harder than all the previous times. It’s not enough force to pull him away from your core, but it’s plenty to cut off his breathing for a split second. When you let the line go slack in your hand, Chan gasps in a breath that turns almost immediately into a helpless moan.

Satisfied with his reaction, you give him a moment to recover. But as you tune into him for any sounds or signs of discomfort, you notice a very distinct sound of skin on skin.

He’s not touching you. But if you’re not mistaken, he IS touching…

“What are you doing?” you ask sharply.

Chan freezes. His mouth stops moving, that skin-on-skin sound stops, and you can feel him huff out an anxious breath against your inner thigh.

“What are you doing?” you repeat.

“I…” he hesitates.

You sit up more fully, and Chan’s eyes are trained on your face as you look down to see him with his cock in hand, slick with precome.

“Y-you…you didn’t say I couldn’t…” he mumbles, letting go of his cock reluctantly.

“I didn’t say you could, either,” you counter sharply.

“I’m sorry, I just-”

You tut. “Does eating pussy just make you that fucking horny, puppy? So horny that you have to jerk yourself off without asking first?”

Almost imperceptibly, Chan nods.

“Use your words,” you say.

“I do love making you feel good, miss,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He hesitates. “Y-yes, eating pussy makes me that horny, miss. I couldn’t help it.”

“See, not that hard, is it, puppy? Using your words?”

Chan nods again.

You give him a soft smile, a genuine one. As much as you love pushing his buttons and making him squirm with the obscene things you can coax out of his mouth, you love him most of all. He returns it in kind, a shy little smile.

“You’re not gonna touch yourself without permission, are you?” you ask.

“No, miss.”

“Good boy.”

Another tug on the leash is all it takes to get his mouth back on you, the hot wet slide against your clit after a period of rest hitting just right, your nerves prickling with the sharp stimulation. You’re suddenly much closer than before, and you let your hips roll into the pressure shamelessly.

“Make me cum, and then we’ll see about you,” you say.

Chan mumbles a reply that you can’t quite hear, but you’re not about to make him repeat himself and risk breaking his stride. You’ve let your eyes slide closed, dedicated only to enjoying.

The response from practically choking him with the collar was absolutely delicious, so you wrap the leash another loop around your fist and tug. Chan moans, cut off into a gasp in the middle by the lack of air, and he leans his head against your thigh as he catches his breath.

“Miss, if you keep doing that…” Chan breathes.

“What, you’ll cum all over yourself like a filthy little pup?” you chide.

He just whines, and continues his careful assault on your folds, determined to make you cum before he loses his mind entirely.

Fortunately, the constant and steady feeling of his mouth on you, the obscene sounds of your wetness on his tongue, the little noises he’s making under his breath as he’s savoring you, all combine to drive you closer and closer to your high.

You peel open your eyes, and the sight of him is the final thing you need to push yourself over the edge.

Kneeling on the hardwood, blonde hair mussed and curly and wild, eyes shut, dick leaking precome against his thigh, hands once again clasped behind his back as if to fully resist the temptation to touch after he’s been told not to.

Gorgeous.

Your back bows as you cum, and you have one hand tugging at the leash and the other hand fisted in Chan’s hair, holding his mouth against you as you gasp out his name. He dutifully licks you through the tremors of it, not stopping until you’ve begun to nearly writhe away from him from the overstimulation.

“See, what did I say?” you tell him, as you catch your breath, falling fully onto your back to stretch out, “Gotta keep that mouth busy.”

“Is it my turn, miss?” he asks.

He sounds impatient, a little bit of bite leaking into his words, and you grin to yourself. You turn your torso until your spine pops, releasing some of the tension in your bones, and you swing back up into a sitting position. Chan has relaxed to sit fully on his heels, just watching you with big puppy eyes.

“You’re lucky I’m so nice,” you tease, ruffling his hair affectionately, “If you pull another stunt like that, I’ll have to put you in cuffs.”

#stray kids #bang chan #bang chan smut #bang chan fanfic #stray kids chan #stray kids chan smut #tw hard dom #tw degradation #tw pet play #kpop #kpop fanfic

467 notes · View notes

junicai · 3 years

Text

peaches.

| summary | aria’s hiding something. lucas figures out what it is. (partly)

| word count | 4.1k

| warnings | mentions of physical abuse (not real)

| era | November 2019, SuperM World Tour

6. “Isn’t that, like. Illegal?” “Potentially.”

15. “Sh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.”

38. “Where did all those bruises come from?”

a/n: i was not intending on including this plot point so soon, but it really fit with the request and the next thing i knew it was written? so ill just leave this here to stew. first person to guess what’s going on, 10 points to ur house

Aria loved her job.

Aria loved her job, but not when she was sore and aching, and the only thing that was on her mind was burrowing beneath her blankets and sleeping for sixteen hours. The bone deep exhaustion was not something new to be experienced, but she wasn’t sure if it ever got easier to endure.

It was only two weeks into their official world tour and Aria had forgotten just exactly how taxing it all was on the body. Just yesterday, she’d taken a small spill across the stage - having not seen the protruding wire that was coming from the lighting at the front of the stage. Half asleep, her mind was elsewhere right up until the moment the world tilted and the floor came rushing up to meet her.

Aria had caught herself with her left hand, stopping her face from taking the brunt of the fall but her wrist had twisted beneath her body as her elbow gave out under the abrupt pressure.

Her cry had reverberated around the stadium and it wasn’t long before seven boys were coming around the stage curtains, making their way over with wide eyes.

Ten had wrapped an arm around her shoulder to hoist her up from the ground as her wrist was bandaged - Aria had insisted that it wasn’t necessary, but the red ring marking the skin left no room for arguments - and turned her head away from the darkening face of Baekhyun as he crouched down to ask what happened.

Glancing down at the now purple ring of bruises around her wrist, Aria sighed before reaching out to snag the roll of bandages from the countertop where she had put it after carefully unwrapping it from her wrist. She hadn’t wanted to get the wrappings wet under the shower head, but after struggling for a moment to put it back on, she realized that she probably needed a second pair of hands.

Aria winced slightly, already anticipating the admonishing look she was going to get from Taemin for taking off the support so soon.

She pulled at the towel wrapped around her body making sure everything was covered before bending over and tossing her hair over her shoulders. She caught the hair in an old t-shirt, wrapping it around once before standing upright and twisting the material onto the top of her head.

Having flicked her had up so quickly, Aria shot out a hand to steady herself as the world spun slightly. She stayed stationary until the world came level again.

As Aria sleepily shuffled out of the bathroom into her bedroom, she could have cried in relief when she saw Lucas sitting on the adjacent bed.

Aria loved her members, that went without saying. But Lucas here meant she didn’t have to shuffle out into the main living area to find someone to help her rebandage her wrist. Lucas would do it for her, and he could never scold her - no matter how hard he tried.

“Heyo,” Aria greeted, nodding her head at the lanky boy from across the room. “You mind giving me a hand?”

Lucas looked up, before quickly looking down with a pained look. “You mind putting on some clothes?”

Aria laughed at his face, eyes shut tightly closed and facing the wall. She told him to wait a moment or two, before pulling the folded pajamas and hoodie (she was pretty sure it was Ten’s but at this point it could have been anyone’s) off the duvet cover and quickly pulling them on. The wet t-shirt that had wrapped her hair on top of her head fell to the floor, and Aria picked it up before throwing it into the small basket in the corner.

“You can look now,” she teased, running her good hand through her damp hair.

Lucas turned back around with a scowl. “We talked about the towel thing, Riri.”

“Correction: you talked about the towel thing. I laughed at your misery.”

He glared at her from across the bed. The effect of his hardened stare though, was greatly reduced by the large yellow sweater that covered most of his body, and the way he had tucked himself in to a small ball shape on the end of the bed. “There was a good two and a half minutes of conversation, and I distinctly remember you saying that you’d be more careful.”

“And I distinctly remember you saying that you’d be staying in the living room to watch Iron Man with Mark, yet here you are.” Aria countered, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

“Yeah, like two hours ago!”

“Well how was I supposed to know the movie had ended?”

“Time perception?”

Aria snorted. “You know I’m bad at that.”

“Well get better at it?”

“But Lucas,” Aria whined now, throwing herself to lie flat on the bed, “I’m in pain and that means I’m not focused. I’m injured doesn’t that automatically mean you have to be nicer to me now?”

“You’re in pain?” Lucas’ voice dropped a tone.

Aria sat up rapidly, her head spinning slightly at the speed. “No,” She denied.

Lucas levelled her with a look before extending his hand out, turning to fully face her on the bed. His legs folded beneath him couldn’t have been comfortable, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Show me how bad the bruising is again.”

She looked into his eyes and saw nothing but concern. Perhaps a tinge of the humor remained from their previous course of conversation, but it was quickly swept away with a blink. Relenting, Aria held out her left hand and looked away when Lucas inhaled slightly at the purpling skin. His hands were gentle, but Aria still hissed slightly at the contact.

“You took off the bandages?” his voice was softer now, as were his fingers as her carefully cradled her wrists. Aria shook her head lightly.

“Nah, I just needed them off so I could shower. I wasn’t sure how they’d fair against a ton of deep-treatment conditioner, and I didn’t want them to go soggy or something.” Aria explained, still allowing her wrist to be held gingerly by Lucas. “It doesn’t actually hurt though, I was just teasing.”

“Where are they now?” Lucas questioned, dropping Aria’s wrist back to her own lap. “The bandages I mean.”

She gestured to the other bed in the room, where the beige-coloured roll sat on the pillow at the top of the bed.

“I tried to put it back on in the bathroom, but..” Aria trailed off, waving her hands around to try and articulate herself without the words. She wasn’t sure if she had made much sense, but Lucas nodded all the same.

Without a word he pushed himself off the bed, socked feet padding across the floor to the other bed. He snagged the tail end of the roll, pulling it towards him before flailing slightly and just grabbing the body of the roll itself when it began to unravel.

He heard a muffled laugh from behind him, and turned to look at Aria over his shoulder. The girl was grinning behind her hand, facing away into the corner of the room.

“Careful, or I’ll leave you to go tell Taemin-hyung why your wrist is un-supported right now.”

Aria promptly shut her mouth, pout naturally forming.

Coming back over, Lucas nudged her over with his knee to make room for himself against the headboard. The clean bedsheets folded underneath him, and he settled himself comfortably with his legs spread slightly. Lucas pat in between his legs, motioning for Aria to come closer.

“C’mere I’ll fix it. I wouldn’t leave you to hyung’s wrath,” he promised, a wide grin on his face.

Aria was still slightly untrusting of his smile, but her exhaustion won over her skepticism quickly and she shuffled up the bed to sit cross-legged in between Lucas’ extended legs.

His hands were more careful this time - having learnt from the first experience handling her tender wrist - but he made quick work of wrapping back up the bruised area. Aria could see that he was concentrated on getting it right, only muttering a hold that or a is that too tight? once or twice before folding the tail ends into the precisely wrapped material.

“Where’d you put the safety pin?” he questioned, looking back over at the pillow on the other bed incase he missed it.

Aria left her injured wrist in Lucas’ lap, using her good hand to fish out the metal clip from the front pocket of the hoodie she was wearing. She handed it to Lucas with a small smile, thanking him with a light punch to his arm once he pinned the strapping in place.

“Oh my god I’m tired.” Lucas leant back onto the bed, letting his head bang against the wall with a resounding thud. Aria winced slightly at the sound, but Lucas didn’t seem to mind the minor brain trauma so she refrained from commenting.

“Same. So so much same. Really just want to go to sleep right now, but if I don’t do something with my hair it’ll be horrendous in the morning, and I can’t deal with another scolding from the make-up noonas. Not twice in a week,” Aria complained, falling forward so her still wet hair fanned out over the duvet.

“Want me to braid it?”

“You know how to plait hair?” Aria stayed lying down, eyes trailing over the cracks in the ceiling paint.

“Yeah,” Lucas laughed slightly. “Kunhang wanted to see what he’d look like with little plaits, so I watched a few youtube videos on it.”

Aria bent her neck at an angle to look at Lucas’ face with squinted eyes. “Promise you won’t make a bird’s nest of my hair?”

Lucas looked at her with comically wide, sincere eyes and held up three fingers pressed together. “Scouts honor,” he nodded solemnly.

Aria coughed out a laugh, kicking at him with her feet. “Oh my god how do you even know that, you’re spending too much time with Mark.”

Lucas laughed with her, shoving her attacking legs away with ease. “Hey hey do you want me to braid your hair or not? I can’t do that if you break a rib.”

Despite his words, the broad grin never left his face, and he never waited for an answer before Lucas was wrapping an arm around Aria’s waist and tugging her around to face the opposite wall, sitting in between his legs again but this time with her back to his chest.

“Do you have a hair brush and a few hair ties?”

Aria nodded, reaching over the bed with a hand on Lucas’ knee to grab the aforementioned items off her bedside locker. She handed them back to him, before settling herself comfortably on the bedspread.

True to his word, Lucas was actually quite good at braiding - Aria was nearly sure he was lying but the three even strands of hair didn’t slowly become a tangled ball of mess as he worked his way down her hair. In all honestly, it was quite relaxing, letting someone else brush out her hair as she sank deeper into the duvet cover as he braided the strands together with ease.

Even despite Lucas’ hands calmingly carding through her hair though, Aria still shuffled back and forth, rolling her shoulders every now and again. At first, Lucas’ had deigned to ignore her small twitching, but after the seventh time she rolled her shoulders and nearly knocked the strands out of his hand, he stopped.

“Sh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.”

“Hm?”

“You’re wriggling and it’s throwing me off.”

“Oh.” Aria looked at her hands. “Sorry, its just the hood - the tag is scratchy and its annoying.”

“Ah,” Lucas nodded. “It kinda looks like someone tried to cut it off not gonna lie.”

“It’s not mine, so I don’t care but it’s just annoying.”

“You want to take it off?”

Aria froze a little, before deliberately untensing her muscles. Now would be the worst time to work herself back up, especially right after relaxing so much. But she wasn’t sure if she could take off her hoodie, the top she was wearing didn’t cover enough of her back, the scooping backline stretched out after years of wear.

“Riri?” Lucas’ voice prompted her out of her thoughts.

“Hm? Oh- oh no it’s ok,” she fumbled, rubbing at the irritated skin on the back of her neck with a hand. “You’re almost done anyway, right?”

“I still have the other braid to do.” Lucas’ voice was confused now, hands resting on her shoulders. True to his word, only one of the two braids were completed, half of Aria’s hair pulled back neatly with the other half splayed across her shoulder.

“Oh.”

Reluctantly, Aria pulled herself out of Lucas’ hold slightly, turning to face him. “Yeah no that’s fine. I’ll just, grab a towel to cover my shoulders? So I don’t get my clothes wet.”

Aria let out a breath of relief when Lucas’ nodded at her, seeming unsuspicious of her quick shift in mood. She slid off the bed gently, only letting her feet touch the floor briefly before she was reaching forward and snatching the towel from the adjacent bed.

Sneaking a short glance towards Lucas and seeing him distracted, she pulled the hoodie quickly over her head. Aria wrapped the towel over her shoulders before he had time to look over at her, and held the two ends closely together as she shuffled back into the space Lucas had created again for her.

He hummed at her, before resuming his methodic braiding process, fingers gentle and hands pushing her head to the side. Unlike before however, Aria couldn’t find it in herself to relax, fingers gripping the towel’s ends closely together in an iron grip. She was so concentrated on ensuring the towel hadn’t flipped up to expose her back, Aria missed the short double pat Lucas gave the top of her head to tell her she was done.

In fact, she was so concentrated on making sure the towel didn’t slip from her grasp, Aria jerked away from Lucas when she felt him tug gently on the now soaked material.

Lucas instantly moved away, hands held up. “Woah, chill. I just don’t want you to get sick, the towel is wet.”

Aria nodded, not really listening and moving to shuffle away from Lucas but he had mistaken her nod as an affirmative, hands pulling more insistently on the soaked material.

This time, the towel slipped from Aria’s grasp, the same moment a gasp left Lucas’ mouth.

Time seemed to slow for a moment, ice trickling down Aria’s back, almost mocking her. She could feel the air around them drop several degrees, the happy, content atmosphere replaced with something else - something cold, something that seeped beneath your skin and stayed there. The air-conditioning didn’t help, goosebumps raising along the newly exposed skin, partially tanned but for the most part covered in purple and blue and green mottled colours.

Bruises.

Everywhere.

Aria heard more than felt Lucas’ hands clench, an audible crack coming from his knuckles. His hands had retracted from Aria’s sides where they were before, bringing them to his sides in fists.

“Aria.” Cold.

No response.

“Aria.” A little more insistent this time.

Still, no response.

“Aria. Where did all those bruises come from?”

Aria inhaled sharply for what felt like the first time in hours. With a single intake of breath, time sped up to meet her, and she scrambled out from between Lucas’ legs, giggling nervously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she denied, shaking her head. Her hands were already reaching for the discarded hoodie - itchy tag be damned - but Lucas had longer limbs and was a good deal faster.

He snatched the hoodie from the end of the bed, standing up as Aria shifted her weight onto her back foot. Her eyes were looking over his shoulder, no matter how much he stared at her.

“Aria. What happened?”

She was wringing her hands in front of her, shuffling back and forth. “I - I can’t, it’s fine - it’s fine Lucas, don’t - don’t worry okay?”

Aria made towards the door, hoping that maybe she could crash in Taeyong’s room for the night, but Lucas’ hand on the doorknob dashed that idea into smithereens. His face was dark, darker than she’d ever seen it and when he turned to look at her his eyes were filled with a type of anger she hadn’t known he’d been capable of feeling.

“Miyazu Akari you tell me right now, what’s going on.” His voice was firm, body tense. “Is someone - Is someone hurting you?”

Aria froze for the nth time of the night. A disbelieving laugh broke its way out of her lips. “Oh, oh god no Lucas - that’s not what this is, I- I promise.”

Lucas only dropped his hand from the doorknob, coming to crouch in front of Aria on the floor.

When had she sat on the floor?

His face was stony, and Aria wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. Was he angry at her? She wasn’t lying, he was just assuming things that weren’t true. She knew it looked like that, that’s why she hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about it - she knew that this reaction was unavoidable without someone else there to back her up - oh god why did this have to happen right now, Aria was tired and she wanted to go to sleep but Lucas was still looking at her - his face was less stony now but Aria was too panicked to figure out what that meant - yes he’s definitely angry at her, please don’t let him get the hyungs, she’ll never talk her way out of it then, oh god oh god-

“Riri,” his voice was quiet now, the fire in his eyes poorly masked by worry. “Riri, it’s okay. It’s okay, but I need you to breath. Can you do that for me? Can you breath?”

When had she stopped?

Aria’s lungs expanded with a gasp, and she coughed on the first intake of air. Lucas only rubbed her back, tucking her face into his neck as she coughed her way through several more breaths - not letting go until he was sure her breathing had evened out again.

Pulling back, Lucas’ eyes bored into hers, both hands on either side of her face to make sure she couldn’t look away. His legs were bent uncomfortably underneath himself, but he payed no mind to the ache in his knees.

“Riri, it’s okay. If something’s happening it’s okay but I need you to tell me what’s happening so I can help. Or so I can get someone else to help. Who’s doing this?”

“No - no one,” Aria choked out, throat tight. Her hand banged against her chest as if to kickstart her lungs again. “It’s no one, it’s not that.”

Lucas looked at her like she was lying. He definitely thought she was.

God damn it, this was not how she wanted it to come out.

“Aria you can trust me, I’m not going to hurt you. But I need you to -” Lucas began, being cut off by Aria.

“No, no I’m not. I’m not being hit by anyone, I promise, Lucas.” she looked him in the eye. “I promise.”

“Then what is going on?”

Aria looked down again. “I just bruise easily, you know that.”

Lucas scoffed slightly, “I know you bruise easily Aria, but you literally look like you were body slammed into a wall.”

A moment of silence. A flicker of horror.

“Were you body slammed into a wall?”

“NO!” Aria near shouted, hands coming to cover her mouth in a gasp immediately afterwards. Both of them stilled, carefully listening out for any stirring of the other members.

After a few seconds, hearing nothing, Aria allowed herself to relax minutely. Downside of hotel rooms meant thin walls, so it was truly a miracle that Aria’s shout hadn’t woken the others.

“I can promise you, no one is listening to us right now. So I need you to be honest with me, Riri.” Lucas’ voice had lost the cold edge to it, now filled with warmth and worry, like sickly sweet honey.

Aria wanted to gag. She knew she couldn’t lie to him, not directly to his face.

“Can you please- I’ll explain in the morning. I’m tired, I’ll explain in the morning,” she tried.

“We have schedules all day tomorrow, I know full well you’ll avoid me all day and then room with someone else,” he countered.

Aria could pick up the hurt radiating from his body. He thinks you don’t trust him.

She bit her lip, not letting go until the pink skin ripped beneath her teeth and the taste of iron filled her mouth. Damn, that was going to take forever to close.

“Lucas, I’m fine. I swear to you, I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m fine.”

“And I’m not buying it. Not when your back looks like that.”

Ok. Half truths.

“Remember the last practice I had with Dream before we left on tour?” Aria’s voice was unintentionally smaller, but she thought it might work in her favour - something proved correct when Lucas leant forwards on his knees.

He said nothing, only nodded to assure her she was listening.

“Well. Okay you have to promise you won’t get mad at anyone.”

“I promise.”

That was absolutely too quick, he was so going to get mad.

“Jeno and I, were. Messing, right? And- and he picked me up, like the way you guys do all the time, except this time he knew I was kinda down about leaving - just because I was going to miss them, yaknow? - and so when he picked me up, he was real careful about it don’t get me wrong but he picked me up and I don’t really remember what happened because it all happened so fast but-”

“Breathe.”

Aria took in a gulp of air. “Sorry.”

Lucas nodded at her. It was rare to see him so serious. Aria hated it.

“Jeno, like, flipped me? Over his shoulder, the fireman carry thingy. But he lost his grip and I think I slid or he tried to catch me and flipped me over fully but. I just kinda remember looking up at the practice room ceiling with my back really hurting.”

Silence.

It hung in the air like something tangible, like you could take a knife to it.

Aria wanted to.

“So. You’re telling, me, that you look like you got the life kicked out of you, because Jeno flipped you over his shoulder?”

Aria winced. “Yes.”

“That happened nearly two weeks ago, Riri. The bruises should have faded by now.” His voice was torn, like he wanted to believe her but there were too many questions left unanswered.

“Well I-”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Lucas whipped his head over to her.

Aria couldn’t meet his gaze, pulling at the hangnail on her right hand. “I knew it would land Jeno in trouble, and it wasn’t that big of a deal-”

“Aria your back is black and blue-”

“I knew people were going to overreact and-”

“I’m not overreacting I’m just worried-”

Aria held up her hand, halting the conversation in its tracks.

“Lucas.” the boy nodded slowly, giving her his full attention.

“Lucas, I swear to you. I swear, you know I’d come to you if something was wrong. You know I would.” Aria began, voice soft. Her good hand crept forwards to hold Lucas’.

“I bruise easily, you know this. You once threw a cushion at me and nearly gave me a black eye.” Aria reminded him ruefully. “My back, is because I fell; which is Not Jeno’s Fault. We were both clumsy, and we both should have been more careful, but it was a mistake, and I’m fine.”

“But still, why didn’t you tell us?” Lucas cut in.

“You know exactly what Taemin-oppa is like when it comes to worrying. I think he would have made me sit the entire two weeks out. And you reacted like this, how would I have explained this to Baekhyun and Jongin-oppa? They would have taken the entire staff team hostage to interrogate them as to what happened.”

“Isn’t that, like. Illegal?”

“Potentially.”

Lucas laughed. It was a nice sound, a sound that rang out through the stale-atmosphere in the room. It brushed away the tension, only leaving that in Lucas’ shoulders and the worry creased into his eyebrows.

Aria shuffled closer to Lucas, both still sitting cross-legged on the floor. She tucked herself into his arms, knowing that it was both for her comfort and for his.

“I’m right here, Xuxi. No one’s done anything to me. I’m right here.”

Lucas exhaled quietly, arms tightening around Aria’s body minutely. She could tell he was being mindful of her back now - the presence of the bruises still fresh in his mind. A few words were muttered into her hair, muffled.

Aria hummed, pulling away slightly.

“You trust me right?” Lucas’ voice was wavering slightly.

“110%.”

“Okay. Okay, okay. That’s okay. You’re okay.” Lucas seemed more like he was talking to himself moreso than anything else.

“We’re okay.”

“Ari-ah?”

“Yes?”

Aria padded into the kitchen, seeing Taeyong standing there with a small white box in his hands. He turned, and upon seeing her - held out the box for her to take.

Aria nodded in understanding, hands moving to take the box of medication from her leader’s grip. She turned it over in her hand, eyes scanning the blue label before she looked back up to Taeyong’s eyes.

They were kind, but around the edges there was a small colouring of pity.

Aria hated that he gave her the same look each month.

Nodding in thanks, she spun on her heel, going to put the box in the far corner of her chest of drawers.

On the box, the letters:

DDAVP, vWF

#*aria.writings #cassia: i hate eyes #also cassia: EYESEYESEYESEYES #this was not meant to be this long #nct 22nd member #nct 24th member #nct additional member #nct dream 8th member #nct #kpop!oc #kpop addition #kpop additions #nct additions #nct addition #nct extra member #nct female member #nct female member au #nct female oc #nct 2020

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