#It happened somewhere along the way and i failed to register it in time to try to mitigate the damage

[thanotaphobia]

STAR-CROSSED LOVER BOYS.

purgatory is going to destroy me

crossposted to ao3

⋆

“There you are.”

Missa yelps, his whole body flinching– the ax in his hand drops to the ground with a thud. For a second he thinks about running, but then the words register, and the voice, and he whirls around.

“Philza,” he says, a mixture of delight and anxiety thrumming through him. “How did you–”

“Your guys’ base is not hard to find,” Phil says, hands in his pockets as he surveys the area around them with a critical eye. Missa wonders if he's trying to hide the blood underneath his nails. “You should probably move underground.”

“Maybe,” Missa says. “What’s up? Need something?” He’s a little wary– people have been killing, he knows that very well. He trusts Phil, but still. He’s seen the chat messages. 

“Not really,” Phil says. “Most of my team is out and around I got bored. Wanna walk?”

“Walk where?” Missa looks around the wasteland they’re calling home for now.

“I dunno. Somewhere?” Phil smiles at him and Missa smiles back, unsure.

“This feels like a trap,” he says.

Missa kicks his ax to the side where it will be safe and taking Phil’s hand when it’s offered. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I would never,” Phil promises, and they start walking together. “Ye of little faith, man.”

“Everything’s just gone crazy,” Missa says with a laugh, swinging their hands between them. The camp turns to beach turns to forest, both of them relishing in the shade of the trees as they amble along. “I hope we get to go home soon. I miss it.”

“I hope they leave our houses alone,” Phil nods. “Something weird is going on, and I don’t trust it. Yesterday was nuts but I feel clearer today. My head. Less tired.”

“Same,” Missa nods. “I kept getting killed and the respawn was awful.” He’s not exaggerating– something about the respawn on this island is different, lingering in his limbs and sending pins and needles up his body every time he wakes up. The pain echoes, and he knows he’s not the only one because Phil just nods, mouth set in a firm line.

“It’s probably on purpose,” he says. “To mess with us. I think a lot of things are. It’s definitely getting to some of the others.”

“Not you?” Missa asks, pausing mid step to look at Phil. “Are you alright?” He reaches out, takes Phil’s other hand. Phil smiles at him and gives his fingers a warm squeeze, and Missa giggles softly.

“No dreams, at least,” Phil tells him. 

“I’m glad,” Missa says earnestly. He’s glad to hear Phil’s doing okay– as okay as he can be, but like he said, purgatory is getting to some of the others. Missa knows what he means. He’s seen the looks in some of their eyes, the way people are quicker to snap. With Phil, it seems impossible that it could happen, but he’s heard shouting across the hills and felt the blade of a sword too many times now to deny it. 

“I think they want an excuse to go a little crazy,” Phil tells him and Missa laughs again. “Like, this is some fucked up social experiment and we all just went yeah, sure, why not?”

“You guys were so weird,” Missa says and Phil laughs with him now, both of them giggling. “Like, man, we were just trying to do stuff and failing and you guys were shouting in the distance–”

Both of them are laughing together now, and Missa basks in it. He missed Phil, so fucking much. He’s nervous here, but happy too, happy Phil is with him and smiling. Phil looks at him and opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something back, then pauses. Lets go of one of Missa’s hands and turns slightly, peering out into the trees. Missa makes a face at him, looking out in the same direction, but then Phil is nudging him backward and behind one of the bigger trees with wide eyes and a small smile still on his face.

“What?” Missa asks, dropping his voice into a whisper. “Philza, what–”

“Shh.” Phil presses him up against the tree and Missa lets him, lets the hand clamp over his mouth as Phil looks over his shoulder. This is ridiculous, Missa thinks to himself, and he can’t help the giggling bubbling up within him. His laughter is stifled thanks to Phil’s hand, and Phil is also still grinning, biting his lip as they stand there in the shade. It takes a second for Missa to register what Phil heard– footsteps in the leaves, voices. Fit, by the sound of it, and Etoiles. Now Missa gets it; those two have been on more than a few killing sprees, and who knows what’d they say if they came upon Phil and Missa out here. Missa holds his breath, staring hard in the direction of the sound, and while Phil seems insistent they stay quiet he doesn’t seem too frightened. After a few moments the sounds of their footsteps fade, and Missa is left staring down at Phil instead, who slowly pulls his hand away from Missa’s mouth.

Once he thinks it’s safe, Missa whispers, “So are you and– you know. Are you?”

“Etoiles?” Phil asks, and Missa blinks, then shakes his head. “Oh, Fit? Nah, it’s just fun. He’s gone fucking bonkers since we’ve gotten here, though.”

“I think we all have,” Missa says, giggling nervously. 

“Did it make you jealous? Before?” 

“No,” Missa says, and he’s honest about it. He also… kinda gets it. You just have to look at Fit to understand, honestly. “You come back to me anyway.”

Phil looks at him then, the smile dropping from his lips. He stares, something open and honest and brutal on his face at Missa, as though he’s just had a realization. Missa’s about to open his mouth and ask what it is, what’s the matter– but before he can, Phil surges up onto his feet and pushes his mask away from his face, kissing him harshly on the mouth as he slings an arm around Missa’s shoulders.

They’ve kissed before, but never like this. It’s always been on hands and shoulders and foreheads, soft intimate presses of closed mouths as reassurance and comfort. This is more. This is open lips, warm mouth, noses pressed uncomfortably together. This feels like desperation mixed with anguish, and Phil presses Missa harder against the trunk of the tree and Missa grabs at his waist with both hands and kisses back.

“I wish we were on the same team,” Phil tells him, pulling back a half inch and leaving Missa gasping for air. He feels like he’s on fire, all of Phil’s wild nature igniting him at once, leaving him to boil over. Red and blue– Missa feels the distance now more than anything. 

“We could make our own team,” Missa says, dragging him closer, trying to drown himself in Phil. “Maybe.”

Phil doesn’t bother responding to him; just kisses him again. Missa is going crazy, he thinks. Maybe it’s the place– purgatory sending them all spiraling into their own little wells of madness. There’s something about Philza here that makes this feel dangerous, like at any moment someone might pop around the corner of a tree and yell GOTCHA at the two of them. It’s– well, they’re husbands, everyone had pretty much assumed they were doing this anyway, but something about that thought makes Missa squirm a little, which makes Phil press him harder into the tree, which makes Missa duck his head and kiss him back even more. 

They do that for a while, kissing back and forth until Missa’s lips feel swollen and tender. At some point his knees go out, and they both sink to the forest floor. Phil’s in his lap, Missa can’t feel his toes or his lips, and yet he still wants more, somehow.

“Man,” Phil says between kisses, words punctuated by his face against Missa’s. “What the fuck did they put in the water?”

“I like it,” Missa says. He feels loopy, out of it. Maybe there was something in the water. Nothing feels real. He never wants it to end.

Phil laughs at him, pulling back from the kissing to grin at Missa lazily, nonchalant, like they do this every damn day. If Missa wasn’t already on the ground, he thinks he’d collapse. Phil tucks his warm nose into the crook of his neck and they sit there. The sticks and leaves press uncomfortably into Missa’s back and ass, but he doesn’t care. Phil is heavy on his lap, arms tight around his shoulders, and Missa holds him like he wants to every day. 

Selfishly, Missa thinks maybe purgatory is a good thing. Ignoring the death, and the dehydration, and the sun and the apples and the betrayals– he at least gets this out of it. He’s a selfish man. He’ll admit that much.

“Do you think we’ll get the eggs back?” Phil asks quietly. Missa plays with the loose strands of his hand, twirling them in between his fingers, alternating between that and running his hand down the long line of Phil’s spine. Tracing the bumps of his bound wings beneath his jacket.

“I don’t know,” Missa says honestly. 

“It feels like a trick,” Phil says, turning his head. Missa can’t see his face, but Phil’s gaze is directed outwards, towards where Missa knows the sea is. “All of this.”

“Yeah.” Missa can at least agree with that. It does feel like a trick. It makes him uncomfortable. “I’m still useless here, though.”

“Are you kidding me?” Phil turns his head to look up at Missa now, eyebrows furrowed. “Dude, you and your team have been doing better than us. That’s crazy.”

“Still,” Missa says. “It’s mostly Bad Boy Halo.”

“Bruh, BBH is just cracked. Don’t base your worth off of him.” Phil snuggles closer into Missa’s chest, and on impulse Missa leans down. Phil tips his head up and kisses him back with gentle care, and Missa’s heart rate soars. 

“I love you,” Missa says into the kiss.

“I know,” Phil murmurs back into his lips. Missa snorts.

“You nerdy motherfuck,” he says, and Phil laughs, kissing Missa again, and again. “Star Wars?”

“Would you rather me just say it back?” Phil asks, and Missa stops, lips hovering a breath above Phil’s. For a moment neither of them move, and then Missa draws away, inhaling slightly.

“Would it be hard for you to?” he asks. Phil looks at him, eyes suddenly guarded, and then away. The uncomfortable shift makes Missa feel as though a bucket of cold water has been doused on him, trickling down his spine.

“If I say it, it makes shit real,” Phil says.

“And?” Missa demands. “Is me being real a bad thing?”

“No, no, I just–” Phil’s face contorts. “Missa, if it’s real, it means losing you becomes real too.”

“So you just avoid it,” Missa says, and slowly, things click into place. And it doesn’t make sense even then, it just makes him feel… angry. He hasn’t ever felt angry at Phil before, but here they are. His hands tighten around Phil, fingers catching in the rough cloth of his jacket. “Don’t you ever think it’s real for me?”

“I know it’s real for you,” Phil says, and he sounds more cautious now, like he’s seen Missa’s anger. “Missa–”

“No, no no no, Philza,” Missa says, and now he draws his hands back and away, staring at Phil’s conflicted face. “You can’t handle it, sure that’s fine, yeah. But that’s just not fair.”

Phil’s eyes flash. “You can’t force me to say shit.”

“And I’m not!” Missa scowls a little. “I’m just thinking, if I’m such a coward and I’m able to face the fact I love you and you can’t, what does that say about you–”

“Wow.” Phil pushes up and off him, untangling their limbs messily and staggering back onto his feet. Missa hurries to stand up, brushing off his knees as he does and leaning against the tree for support. “Wow, low fucking blow.”

“Says the one who won’t even say he loves me back,” Missa says, and it’s weird how the affection he’d been feeling only seconds ago can fade into animosity so quickly. Maybe Phil was right. Maybe it’s this place. “We split on to teams and yet you only come find me when you, what? Want comfort? Want a kiss?”

“Maybe I just like hanging out with you,” Phil says.

“I wouldn’t know, you never fucking say it,” Missa snaps.

Phil glares at him, raising a hand and wiping the back of it against his lips. Missa drags his skeleton mask back over his face. “Maybe it’s a good thing we’re on separate teams,” Phil says, voice cold. “You always needed your space.”

“Now who’s throwing low blows?” Missa says. The mask serves a few purposes– to match Phil’s energy for one, and two, to hide the way his eyes start to well up with tears. He’s always been a crybaby, but this hurts. It really, truly hurts. At least when they start to stream down his cheeks, they’re hidden behind the comfort of his mask. “Maybe you don’t love me. Maybe that’s why you won’t say it. Just break my heart already, get it over with.”

“Break your heart?” Phil laughs, shifting his stance to something more solid, feet spread apart in the leaves and hands balled into fists at his sides. Missa catches the warning before the actual fire gets spit– the words like venom lashing out across the forest. “Like you broke Chayanne’s?”

Missa can barely see when his hands hit Phil’s shoulders, shoving him backwards on uneven footsteps. “Get away,” he says, then he’s shouting, “Get away, get away, get away from me!”

The heartbreak, it turns out, is very much real in this place. Purgatory, the place between worlds, an eternal waiting room. There’s no going forward here, not unless you play the right cards. Missa’s face feels red and hot and he says nothing as Phil turns on his heel and walks away, not even bothering to look back. He waits until he’s sure Phil’s gone before he crumples to the ground and cries, whimpering into his hands like a baby because he’s gone and ruined everything now, hasn’t he?

But there is an itch at the back of his brain.

Maybe you did the right thing, the itch tells him, gentle hands on his shoulders and fingers petting through his hair. Maybe it’s for the best. You’re on separate teams, after all, and it couldn’t work. Stay away for the next few weeks, give each other space. Run away and let it all smooth over– he’ll forgive you, after all. He always has.

Missa wipes his eyes dry. Gets to his feet again, and looks in the direction Phil left. Maybe his subconscious is right. Maybe it’s just a waiting game. They can be angry at each other here, fight here, kill here, and when they get back to the island it can all go back to normal.

It’s just the stress, Missa tells himself, thinking of their son as he turns back towards the blue team base camp. There are things to do now, fights to be won, challenges to work on. He can think about Phil later. A small fight between couples never killed anyone.

…Right?

#qsmp #qsmp shipping #pissa #q!philza #q!missa #they kiss guys #wee oo wee oo #my writing

[neverchecking]

Day 7: Virginity- Calamity

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Cal being a virgin, he busts a lil earlier, I tried to keep it pretty gender neutral but if I missed something let me know?

This is Day seven of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 6 >>>Day 8

He was…nervous. He knew you knew he was nervous, that the tempo you were going at was not for yourself, but rather him.  He knew this. He knew this because he was sure he told you it. He hadn’t uttered a word but it was all over his face. 

Cal had prided himself on holding his reactions and emotions to his chest. During training, he was the poster child for the perfect soldier. Silent, obedient, and almost mindless when it came to orders. He almost preferred it that way, really. He didn’t have to think. 

Because thinking was hard. It was so, so, so hard to do anything really. He could barely breathe with the way your hand was wrapped around him, even as featherlight as it was. Your touch was sacreligious with how much he yearned for it. Golden goddess above, he was ready to burst under the tension. His gut was tight and his abs flexed under him as his back arched. A whine left his lips, high and pretty, as his eyes burned with tears. It was so overwhelming, but not nearly enough. Just the absolute phantom of euphoria. 

He was absolutely shaking beneath you, fingers clutching the sheets beneath him. He was sure he had nearly ripped a hole in them. 

Watching you carefully, he sucked in a harsh breath as you moved over him, hole glistening from the earlier prep you had done (Under his careful eye, which was an experience spent shuffling from where he sat, hands covering his crotch to the best of his ability), hovering just over the head of his weeping cock. Drops of precum had drooled over the rest of his shaft from where your hand had earlier been toying with his cock, quickly cooling into an uncomfortable chill. He led out a small little choked noise, somewhere in between a sob and a whimper, as he bucked his hips uncontrollably. You hushed him, with that same gentle smile you always wore, before gently sinking your hips down. He cried out in alarm, warm tears trailing down his cheeks at the sudden feeling of pure warmth that surrounded him. It was foreign and so new and a sudden jolt of electric stimulation that had him grappling at you like his soul would leave his body if he failed to do so. It was divine, the feeling of your velvet walls clutching around him in a suffocating hold, pulsating in time with your heartbeats. But it was so much, too much. Shame filled his core before he even fully registered what was happening. 

It happened too quickly to process properly too. Before he knew it, his hips were jutting as far as he could and his hold on you turned into nail-drawn lines that flashed white before fading into rosy red. Whatever warmth there was previously meant nothing compared to now as it trailed down is cock and past the opening of your muscles, muddling onto the divot of his balls as he sobbed into your chest. Your fingers dug through his hair with soft hums of reassurance which didn’t make the situation any better. 

It was something so pulsatingly good, he nearly swore this was what heaven was in all its golden promises and clouded bliss. 

With you still seated on top of him, kissing his temple and talking him through what exactly you’d do to him next, he was sure of it.

#linked universe x reader #linked universe #yandere legend of zelda #link x reader #legend of zelda #yandere linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #yandere linked universe #loz #cindersins #Cinder's happy halloween #kinktober 2023 #lu calamity #yandere lu calamity x reader #lu cal #age of Calamity link #AOC Link #AOC Link x Reader

[1indigoisles]

Chapter 4 - Excerpt 3

It was night, I was lying on an unfamiliar bed, the window was open, and the moonlight was...

There was no moonlight. The moon and the stars and the sun never shone in Knightville. All that existed in the sky was an endless canopy of dark grey clouds, from which even darker water sometimes fell. Maybe it was all part of the ‘punishment’, but I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to think about that right now.

Because it was all I was doing. Now that I was alone and there were no life-threatening situations to occupy my mind, every thought, question, and surprise I had pushed aside bounced right back into the void and it was all I could do to keep my head above the water.

My first thought after getting into bed was, I’m in way over my head.

I already knew that I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I was in a cage with no holes, and the oxygen here was too thick to swallow. The air in Knightville really was so subtly yet noticeably different from the outside world that I wondered at how it had taken me this long to figure it out.

The outside world, I scoffed to myself. As though I hadn’t been born and raised there my whole life. As though my subconscious had already accepted that Knightville was my home, had always been my home, and it had happened while I wasn’t paying attention.

I remembered the day of the attack, when the Shadows had come for me. I had been running. I had run with the speed of someone trying to outrun the truth, as though it were possible. I remembered the voices that weren’t voices at all, distorted, confused winding noises trying to be one thing but failing somewhere along the line. I remembered the words, We have been waiting a long time...

Waiting a long time for what? For me? For what I would do when I finally came here? Or for what I brought with me when I did?

I didn’t know much, but I did know that I had been a part of Knightville’s history long before I was born. A place had seemingly always been very reluctantly carved out for me here, an estranged hole, an assumption of what I could be, as though it were only a matter of time before I filled it in. Like I was supposed to be there, and these people were supposed to accept me. As though there were no choices, and would never be, for anyone.

And maybe that was it. Maybe I had never been angry at Jolene or Rowan or Desiree or Scarlett at all. I had just been angry at the fact that I didn’t get to choose.

Not that I would ever choose to not know about Knightville, my heritage, the truth about who I was. I would never want to not know the truth. No one ever does, really. It is only that sometimes, we wished the truth was different.

And then there was my strange power. I didn’t know what it was, but something had changed after I’d used it three days ago. Something about me, as a person, as a half-human, half-Diaforian, was different. Maybe it was just a new piece of knowledge being registered in my head, maybe it was a shift in my very subconscious, or maybe it was an irreversible something that had happened to me when I killed a Shadow with a beam of light that I had created, or it was still happening, like growing up. Whatever it was, I was stuck with a power that could potentially kill me if I used it too much, a power that I didn’t even want-

No, that wasn’t right. There was too much happening all at once for me to know what I wanted anymore. What I had previously wanted followed the rules of a world I had never really belonged to. I didn’t even know what I was doing here anymore! And I wasn’t even sure if I wanted my life to go back to normal, get out of this hell-town the way David and Victor had. Too much had changed already, too fast, too soon, and none of it was reversible. And as of right now, asking myself if I wanted my power was weird in the way asking myself if I wanted my hand or my leg was weird, minus the obvious answer being yes. Because although it was an extention of me, I didn’t really need it, did I?

No, of course I do, I thought. How else will I fight Shadows?

But, I don’t fight Shadows. Rowan, Jolene, Scarlett, and perhaps Desiree do.

But I live here now. How am I going to manage without it? I can’t throw a blade to save my life.

There can’t be that many Shadows here. It’s only a small town. Maybe I’ll never get to use my power again.

Maybe I should practice. It might come in handy.

I tried to shut my brain down. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to repeatedly bang my head against the wall and curse my luck.

Not that I actually did that.

All this, I figured irritably, was because of the Garamond brothers, who were both highly unimpressive, in my opinion. I will admit that Knightville can seem confining, but they had family, responsibilities, and their entire lives right here. Why would they drop it all to venture in a world they’d probably only ever read about? Not to mention that over-ambitious drama queen Victor over here thought it was a good idea to abandon family and potentially ruin the lives of two college students with rash decision-making skills and an unwilling elder brother with no spine or strength of will whatsoever. And because of all that, the consequences of their actions led to their untimely deaths, causing pain to both Lila and Cassidy-

Cassidy. I’d completely forgotten. Victor had been her boyfriend too, and he’d died right along with David. She’d been living with pain just as much as Lila, and hiding it as well.

My first thought after that realisation was, I never knew.

I was shocked.Shocked not in the normal way, but in a deep-inside-self way, like there was a pendulum that had been hanging completely still for a long time and this realisation had struck it back into shaking motion. Because Cassidy losing Victor hit differently in my mind from Lila losing David, because of the simple reason that I was born with Lila’s truth, and I had to find out Cassidy’s in a strange magical town with no way of leaving, from complete strangers (who were also magical), with the possibility of death hanging above my head like the yellow light bulb in the storage room.

It made me wonder how much of Cassidy’s happiness had been fake, how many of her smiles had just for show, how many times she’d lied to me.

It was settled. For as long as I could remember, I’d never felt any particular emotion for the name ‘Garamond’, always teetering between indifference and a vague sort of contempt for it, choosing to reserve it as an uninteresting fact of my origin. A name from Lila’s past that had nothing to do with her anymore and even less to do with me. But now, thinking back on the picture of the family painted here, in Knightville, burnt down and ripped at the seams...

I just hoped the Garamond shittiness didn’t run in the family.

But now I was panicking. Panicking because of what would happen to me in the morning. Because something was going to happen all right, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be anything good. I was currently trapped in the facility of the Three Chambers, which seemed to me, even though I didn’t have complete information, by all accounts a cruel, corrupt and overall terrible government system that had no qualms about eliminating anyone or anything that may seem like a threat, like how Scarlett would be a threat if they found out about her Shadow. And that was bad for me, because I was basically the father of all threats that could ever exist in this town. It was a one-in-an-eight-billion chance to have an outdated prophecy made about you depicting the end of the world, and of course, of course I got landed with the part.

But it didn’t matter, did it? In the end, I was trapped here, and I would have to face whatever was going to happen when it happened. I was falling down a rabbit hole into a broken world, from the tears of which darkness escaped, with people tied together by rusted chains, the holes doing nothing for escape.

Shackles around their feet, a dome around distopia, hiding behind clouds filled with dark water...

I closed my eyes. I opened them. It was morning, and my voice tasted vile.

I’d had a nightmare.

Welcome to the cage, came the lingering voice of real dreams, true and terrible.

Taglist: @jeahreading, @damn-this-transgirl-hella-gay, @mayaheronthorn, @cherryblossempearl.

Ok, I promise, lots more fight scenes to come (and just maybe a touch of romance?)

In other news, my novel title has changed to Land of Crooked Magic. You can also find it on WordPress. (Please ignore my feeble attempt at promotion).

#Land of Crooked Magic #Chapter 4 - Excerpt 3 #Novels #Writing #Writers on Tumblr #Writerblr #bookblr #Writing stuff #My novel

[lazeecomet]

How to teach someone to drive

Featuring my younger brother who has anxiety and has already been a passenger in a car crash

I learned to drive in spite of my parents. They got me an online class (no video, just walls of text and clip art with quizzes) and sat in the car, but they didn't really do any teaching. I failed my behind the wheel test on my first go around. I wasn't gonna have my brother go though the same thing so this is how I got him able to pass his test with 0 faults on his first try in about 6 months (and my parents never even knew it was happening)

Make sure this is something they want to do or feel like they should do. It's very hard to learn to drive if you don't think you need to learn to drive. my brother was against driving but ultimately conceded that he needed to learn at some point even though he didn't like the idea of it

Use the right car. Don't use a big truck or something with weird or large blind spots. I hated driving my mom's volt because i sat way too high in it and couldn't see out very well which feed back to point 1

Link it in with a fun outdoor activity. Are you going somewhere? Plan to do driving afterwards. Do not spring this as a surprise. since your already out and about go for a drive.

Plan a route. Look on Google maps for some cul-de-sac or neighborhood where there is only 1 or 2 ways in or out. This will ensure they can't get onto a main road and also cut down on other traffic

Park the car and take photos of the mirrors from the drivers seat. Show them what you have centered in each. Have them adjust the mirrors to match the photo

Drive around the cul-de-sac. The first few drives will only be about 10 minutes long. Show were to stop at a stop sign. show when to yield. get use to accelerating and breaking gently. Do a 3 point turn and go the other way for some variety. reverse the car against the sidewalk for about 30 feet. parallel parking comes later.

Repeat step 6 until they are comfortable.

Plan a longer route. Use Google maps to find a different neighborhood that has more cross streets and route out a 20 min weave though the neighborhood. with android auto/apple carplay/a phone clip, seeing the route to be taken and knowing what turns need to be taken ahead of time will add purpose to the drive. it sucks to drive around aimlessly. always have a destination

Drive the longer route. This should only need to be done once or twice. Point out any new road signs and what the mean and what to check for

Find the driver's handbook for your state and send it to them. It's usually not more then a 10-20 page PDF with lots of pictures and is a very quick read. the next step is dealing with THE PUBLIC so they should know ALL the rules of the road

plan a route along a less populated multi lane road. something that gets up to 35-45 mph with low traffic. you know the type

drive the multi lane road. go over merging and practice changing lanes at speed. point out new road signs and have them keep awareness of surrounding cars. is there someone behind them that wants to pass? move over. is there someone beside you in the blind spot? are they in front with their signal on? let them in.

its time to start extending the driving time. have them drive to the destination/event or drive home from it. stick to back roads. do not use the highway. google maps has a setting to avoid highways. just follow that. parking lots will now be the new practice backing up

when the situation presents itself, practice parallel parking. its not on the test but its just so good to know. if you could pull into a parking space have them try and parallel park instead

register online for the behind the wheel test and have them drive the car to DMV to take the test

and thats it. in ~6 months only driving one day a week for no more then 2 hours, you can get someone comfortable with driving. going from not driving to driving is all about building confidence. the steps need to be small enough not to overwhelm and the stakes low at the start to make messing up inconsequential. and speaking of mistakes, unless the error is unsafe, do not point out an error until after the situation was passed. its overwhelming and stress inducing if you point out the error while its happening as they will try to correct it, usually slamming on the breaks which is less then ideal.

for example, if they go though a pedestrian crossing without checking for pedestrians (even when there are none), point out how they didnt check, the signs that were leading up to it, and make a point to call out the next one so they do check. on the other hand, if they are about to make a unprotected left on green with cross traffic, STOP THEM.

I hope some people find this helpful. driving is stressful at times. learning how to drive does not need to amplify that

#comet tales #learning to drive #driving

[fuck-customers]

This is a long one, and a fuck customers, fuck coworkers, fuck managers, and fuck me aaaall wrapped into one hellish situation.

First week back at classes in college. I've worked for this place for a couple years now, and am now part of student management (assistant manager) at the university's food court. We have one really, constantly slammed unit that does burgers, wraps, salads, that sort of thing. And naturally in the middle of the lunch rush my fellow assistant manager, who decided she would just sit on her ass in the office giving orientations to new workers instead of spending some time on the floor like I do (and I constantly tell her to leave some to me but that doesn't seem to be happening), gives me a new student to train on REGISTERS for this super slammed unit. No matter how many times I show her all the buttons, she is in panic mode already seeing the line, so I'm also taking in that panic, I have a unit manager who won't go away and keeps giving me new information which I really needed to not be told at the moment in time. And the training on all the register options and combos is just patchy and sporadic and not covering the amount of material I wanted to because the line is getting so long.

While I'm getting that, I am preparing food orders, expiditing them to students who aren't listening for their number to be called no matter how loud I yell, while also constantly having to correct the student mistakes on the register because I haven't been able to actually pay enough attention to her, and then one of the full timers (not students, this is just their job) is talking over me to a student who's order I'm trying to prepare correctly and show the student how to ring up correctly at the same time. Asking him if he wants pesto and or extra pesto and shit. An order was missed somewhere along the way a few times. The full-timer didn't even need to be involved! She is doing wraps and salads! The dude wanted chicken tenders with buffalo sauce which is the grill side of things!

I try very hard to say "hey I need some space; there are four people talking at me" and she isn't listening and the student is getting freaked. So I finally had enough and told her "I need everyone (customer has moved on at this point down to wait for his food so not directed at him...i would never say that to a customer) to STOP talking" and frantically motioned with my hands for her to get away. I have a lot of problems processing repetative or constant noise and have had some uncontrollable outbursts when I was younger, resulting in broken belongings so I am trying so hard to regulate myself since it's been a long time since it was a problem but she Keeps. On. Talking at me. And NOW, she is saying I'm being rude and that it was so unnecessary. When literally the only thing that got her away from me was being rude! No one listens when I'm nice! They just assume I'm optional to listen to unless I'm an ass.

And really the new student was the victim in all this chaos. I feel like I failed her, and I DID fail her. She deserved better than I gave her today and I even sent out an email apologizing and asking how I can better support her in the future...but it's never going to erase what happened today.

And I am really normally great at my job. The chefs and other staff and managers usually get noticeably more at ease when I'm there, so today just has made me go to a really dark place knowing I was the total opposite today. And with my new managerial duties, i have yet to actually be trained or shown where to find documents, i dont have access to things like fuckin printers or online files, there are about 50 oddball half-formed docs and sheets floating around online that nobody actually ever shows me how to find, requiring about 50 tabs to be juggled with only about 10 minutes to find everything needed, there are no protocals or procedures or any sort of master list/sheet/file to help keep track of everything. And none of the other student managers will help me because they have so much on their plate already.

On top of all this, I have another job on weekends (that is also driving me up a wall), student teaching, four classes, and then this job. So I work 7 days a week, and the earliest I get home during the week is 11:30 p.m. (weekends is more like 6:30 p.m.) and the latest I get to sleep in is 7 a.m. But I so badly need the money. I'm really worried this is just how it's going to be and I'm just going to continue to get worse.

[teaandinanity]

Unrelatable aro-ace rant and slight spoilers for something in the first half of the third Scholomance book ahoy:

So, here’s the thing. The entire reason I, very deeply aro-ace to the point that I was deeply repulsed by the idea of sleeping with someone I wasn’t absolutely twitterpated about even when I was absolutely being COOKED in a stew of adolescent hormones, enjoy romance in fiction? Is because it’s usually written to be in a slightly altered register. In reality, a relationship in which two people love each other as intensely as I like to read about would be codependent and unhealthy. But that intensity makes it possible for me to believe in it, to feel something along with the characters, in a way I usually don’t. (Your aro-ace friends are not good people to talk to about relationship troubles because I have actually said ‘why do most women settle so hard they leave impact craters’ about allo relationships. I have probably said something in that vein more than once. I can, will, and do appreciate when a friend’s SO is being cute and I’m delighted when the people I love get the affection they deserve, but when things are rough I’m far more likely to be like ‘do you want me to beat him up’ than I am to say anything remotely constructive.)

Anyway. Codependency! Not healthy IRL. It’s still what I want to read about, because I find the idea of One Person As An Exception far more plausible than being allo. Yes, I know most of the population is allo. No, I do not care. I have no idea what that’s like; it is an alien planet that I have never visited and do not want to even do a flyby of, and I find the idea of any of that nonsense happening to me KEENLY upsetting.

Which is why when a book introduces me to a pair (or a trio! My usual reaction did not happen in Iron Widow because it was made clear to me before the book was out that it wasn’t a triangle and would resolve with poly and because the level of devotion was at that heightened register where in reality it would probably be terrifying.), I begin looking to be convinced.

I want to be convinced, but I do require convincing. Basically, I find primary sexual attraction less plausible than actual magic.

Which is why I’m probably never going to reread The Golden Enclaves, if I manage to finish. I stopped and I’m having to mentally beat myself to try to keep going.

I have the audiobook because I couldn’t pick up my preorder this week, and I’m not in a hurry, now. I paused it and I haven’t turned it back on, even though I usually like to have a podfic or audiobook going in the morning just for background noise.

I saw the idea that El might sleep with Liesel floated somewhere before release and I was angry about it at the time - that couldn’t be possible! Liesel was introduced in BOOK TWO! How would that even make any sense as part of a romance arc! - but I’m now very grateful to whoever posted it. Because if I’d tripped over that chapter unexpectedly, I would not be writing a vent post, I would probably still be crying. I can already tell based on this reaction, post-thought-innoculation, would have been like the time I hit a squick in an in-progress fic because I failed to read the tags, and THAT apparently managed to trigger me because I spent the rest of the day weepy and sick and the rest of the week upset.

Instead… well, I’m still upset and I WANT to cry but have managed to refrain.

I know this is not a relatable problem. I just needed to complain, because now that it’s morning and I’m not exhausted, I was too upset to just go back to sleep until my alarm. I have to go to work today and I cannot pull off ‘wide-eyed and tearful.’ I am not a Disney Princess.

But god, I hate that I’m now so upset at a protagonist I loved and I feel so uncomfortable in her head that I don’t want to go back in.

#babble tea (blacklist this for less chatter) #this is not at all relatable #and it's a rant post #basically if we've never spoken you probably shouldn't read it #the inside of my head isn't interesting it's just unpleasant #also I'm not really looking to talk about it but sometimes you need to scream into the void so it FEELS like you talked #I'm tricking my brain into thinking I've had emotional catharsis so I can have a workday #if listening ears are not available the staring void is fine

[notthatgirlfrcmculiacan]

Where can I go When the shadows are calling Shadows are calling me? What can I do When it's pulling me under Pulling me underneath?

The constant beep, beep, beep of a heart monitor taking over the sound of a crying infant, of Tony’s crying, was the first thing she registered. He was alive. He was okay and she’d gotten to hold him. But seconds after she took notice of the heart monitor beeping, she realized the weight of an infant in her arms was no longer there.

And that was when it all came crashing down around her.

The fire raged around her, burning her skin. The blast was enough to tear her limb from limb, but instead knocking her several feet backwards and throwing her onto her back. Glass rained down like a glittering shower, sparkling in the dim street lights. And she stared, eyes on the night sky until darkness swallowed her whole, her head pounding from its impact with the asphalt road.

Tears fell from her eyes at the realization. Her fingers moved to the endotracheal tube, ready to pull the uncomfortable device from her throat when suddenly Poté was there. He pulled her fingers away from the device that had kept her breathing, shaking his head and telling her to wait. But she didn’t want to wait. Not for a doctor. Not for anyone. Unless that someone was Tony. But just the thought of his name caused the stream of tears to fall quicker down her face.

There was no place for the White Queen to appear and give her a few wise words of advice, something to urge her on. There was no appearance of white other than that which decorated the entirely too sterile room. No person to tell her to hide behind a facade. And so her tears flowed freely. Her walls were shattered just like the glass that had rained down on her. And she fell limp, hands falling back to her side, head nodding off to the side. She was unable and unwilling to meet anyone’s gaze in that moment.

She had failed. She had failed so many.

She’d failed Guero, her first love, the man who’d pulled her from the streets of Calicun and from an entirely too handsy boss. He’d given her everything she could have ever wanted for, and she’d fallen asleep while he bled out in her lap. He’d been buried somewhere just on the other side of the Mexico-America border in an unmarked grave. She’d promised she would figure out a better way to do things.

She had failed Brenda, her best friend. She’d left Brenda to find help and returned to find her dead, killed by members of the cartel. Killed on a mission to extort money from that very same cartel. She’d sworn to Brenda that she’d keep Tony safe.

She had failed King George when the man he loved (because Teresa wasn’t that naive as to not see through them) had been kidnapped and had his mind taken from him. She’d failed Birdie who ended up just being a piece of collateral damage along the way, not even a part of the business and yet taking the retribution due to Teresa.

But none of that hurt as much as the ache that resided in her chest in that first waking moment. In that moment when she realized that Tony was gone. He was only fifteen. He was only just beginning his life. Learning to drive. Applying to art school. She’d started a trust fund for him. She had high hopes for him. She was so very proud of him. He would break the cycle and no matter what happened to her, he would thrive in this life. He would live a comfortable life. He would have a family of his. And he would not be part of this business.

But Tony was dead. He was dead because of her. Yet another person she had failed. He’d died in a car bomb undoubtedly meant for her. It was her car. Who were her enemies to know that the SUV that had been her’s fifteen minutes prior now belonged for a fifteen year old boy? Tony, her godson, the very last person connecting her to her former life, he was gone. And it was her fault.

The tears had only faltered, only stopped and dried when she simply couldn’t shed anymore. The doctors checked her over several times before removing the endotracheal tube. She was stable. She would live. She had little more than a concussion, bruising and a few cuts that had been stitched. She would be released the next morning as long as nothing changed overnight. How was any of that fair? She wanted to scream that they’d gotten it wrong. She was dead and Tony was fine. But she knew that wouldn’t change anything.

She already knew the answer based on the silence all around her, based on the pitying looks Poté and Kelly Anne, hell even Boaz gave. But though she knew the answer, she couldn’t stop herself from that words that fell from her lips when her voice returned to her at some point in the middle of the night.

“Where’s Tony?”

Saying his name hurt worse than thinking it had. Saying his name left a bitter taste in her mouth, left the smell of burning in her nose and brought a tightness to her chest that threatened to stop her heart even as it resided in her chest. At least that would stop the constant beep, beep, beep of the machine beside her.

But what hurt most of all was the look of sadness that crossed over Poté’s face as he stood from his chair and approached her bedside.

“Teresita…”

It was little more than a whisper that broke the sound of the air conditioning that blew into the room.

“He did not make it. He was too close.”

A sob was wrenched from her lips, hands covering her mouth as tears fell anew. She wouldn’t look at Poté, closing her eyes against the salt in her eyes. She’d known the answer, but that didn’t make hearing it any easier. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but she knew he wasn't. The image was ingrained in her mind. The look of confusion on Tony's face as the car’s engine didn't turn over. The way he’d looked at her, turning the ignition again as she yelled his name. A second too slow. Not that it would have made much difference. Even if he'd been able to get out of the car in the seconds that followed her realization of what was going on.

Poté didn't leave her side, his hand resting gently against her arm. He was still there as she resolutely reached up to wipe tears from her face. Layer by layer she pieced back together the Queen facade. Cool and calm, calculating. It was once her face was devoid of any sign of the emotional turmoil that lurked behind darkened hues that she spoke.

“I’m going to kill every single one of them.”

It was a declaration. She didn't care how long it took, or how hard she had to work to find those responsible. Teresa would find anyone and everyone that had anything to do with Tony’s death and she would kill them.

Like blood in my veins Darkness is sinking Darkness is sinking me Commanding my soul I am under the surface Where the blackness burns beneath

#self para #qots rp #queen of the south rp

[kurt-wagner-official]

Post #115: XF issues 30-32

Bobby is training the kids with mutant volleyball on the deck of Ship, until Scott and Jean come out, almost get hit with a bomb, and go off on Bobby for being irresponsible, even though he's been by far the most helpful caretaker for the kids recently. Scott and Jean head out on a baby finding mission- I thought they said the whole team was gonna go and take Ship? maybe I misread it- and Bobby takes Hank out for a night off. He gets overwhelmed and goes for a walk across the rooftops, where he sees Infectia transform a cop. Meanwhile, Scott and Jean head to find Freedom Force, the last to see Maddie alive, to find a lead on the baby. They discuss Alex's death. I was wondering why it didn't come up before now; I should have trusted Simonson, who writes Scott as having the same numbness he felt when he thought Jean died in the arctic long ago. Wife-grief and baby-grief have broken through his defenses, and if he lets one more grief through it'll finish him off. Back in New York, Infectia sends her new minion after Bobby and then runs to him, playing damsel in distress. He saves her when the minion explodes like her last ones did, and though Hank tries to tell Bobby what he saw, Bobby ignores him to talk to reporters. Cut again to Warren searching his old company's records for info on Candy's disappearance. No updates on that yet, Simonson just wants to keep the plot thread going, which I appreciate since Claremont would probably drop it for 5 issues at a time. Scott and Jean find Freedom Force, who threaten to arrest them for not registering. Bobby takes Infectia back to Ship, where Hank runs off in a huff and Bobby starts flirting.

Hank can't explain what he saw, but he knows Infectia is dangerous, so he convinces the kids to keep her away from Bobby, which Tabitha is happy to do cause she's into him. What follows is a series of looney tunes attempts by Bobby to kiss a woman that keep getting interrupted by bombs, earthquakes, fireballs, forcefields, and dinosaurs (those are Artie's illusions). Meanwhile, Freedom Force doesn't know how to have a conversation, so they start fighting Scott and Jean, who hold their own while continuing to interrogate them. Destiny finally answers them in a very cryptic way; Maddy didn't know where their son was, but she can see him imprisoned somewhere. She says his destiny lies in New York, so back they go. Now time for the issue to jump to Nebraska for one page, where an assassin kills the parents of a young child. Then cut again to a room full of shadowy figures talking about how Warren is getting closer and closer to them. And finally back to the main plot, where Infectia takes Bobby back to her apartment, frustrated by her failure to kiss and transform him. She straps him up to a power dampener and prepares to actually do it, but is interrupted again by Hank, who dives in the way and takes the kiss. The energy feedback destroys the power dampener as Hank, suddenly covered in blue fur, collapses. This is what happens when you kiss girls Bobby. Stop trying it. I do really like the way Simonson writes, but the constant jumps between plotlines gives me whiplash when I'm trying to summarize it. Nothing much going on in these issues character wise, just people following through on the plots from the last downtime issue.

The villains of this one are the aliens Xartans, shapeshifters who fought Thor one time and have since copied the form and powers of the Avengers. They're preparing some invasion plot when they see Ship in the upper atmosphere and attack. Scott and Jean have returned to find Hank in a coma. Scott is starting to crack again; every time he's gone to save someone in this book, he's failed and then come back to find someone else in grave danger. When the fake Avengers attack, along with another Xartan who turns into a giant monster immune to X-Factor's powers, the kids convince Ship to let them go help, and they turn the tide back to our heroes. That's most of the issue, another battle focused one. At the end, the kids are celebrating their success, but the adults worry that they're raising child soldiers like Xavier did with them. They decide the best thing for the kids is to send them to a human boarding school for a while. In the teaser, the head of the mysterious figures who were worried about Warren contacts N'astirh, a Limbo demon, and makes a deal: he'll deliver mutant babies for a sacrifice, and N'astirh will give him the power to survive Warren's wrath. This was kinda a generic issue; I feel like half the Marvel books I've read have done "evil imposter Avengers" stories. But the action was serviceable and Simonson is currently writing like 4 books and planning Inferno, so she's allowed to take it easy every once in a while.

#wes reads xmen

[jpmay23-kb]

Day 3 - Tokyo

  Our first morning in Japan came with quite a wake-up call. Around 4:30, I woke up to the sound of the scariest sounding alarm I have ever heard. At first, I just thought my roommate had decided to wake up at an egregiously early time, but then I realized the room was shaking and when I checked my phone, it said there was an earthquake. By the time I’d actually processed what was happening, it had already stopped. I tried and failed to get back to sleep, and thus decided to just get ready for the day.

   After having breakfast at the hotel, we took a quick train ride over to Tokyo Station before making our way to the Imperial Palace Gardens, admiring the Wabi Sabi aesthetics of the trees along the way, their branches cut to form separate, unsymmetrical clumps. We’d see this aesthetic more within the imperial gardens, as we saw more trees cut like this and landscaping that flowed naturally as opposed to sticking to a perfectly symmetrical or segregated layout, the woodland area being allowed to look a little overgrown even as it is clearly well maintained. Seeing the city beyond the palace walls drove home how Japan has advanced into modernity while maintaining traditional landmarks and values.

   After leaving the gardens, we explored Character Street, located under Tokyo Station. The area had shops for everything, from Studio Ghibli, to Pokemon, to Harry Potter. This is where I first noticed the prevalence of gachapon machines in Japan. There was a whole wall of them here, and most stores had their own machines as well. We ate lunch at the station, and I had the best meal of my trip, roast duck soba from a random place I picked to eat at. It was incredible and I was introduced to how many other restaurants set up their ordering system, via QR code. Each seat had its own QR code that would let you order from your phone and keep track of your order without needing you to register a phone number or make an account, making it very convenient for both the customer and the workers at the restaurant.

   After lunch, we briefly passed by Akihabara, known for its multi-floor stores. While it was interesting to see so much packed into such a small area, looking back, I can’t help but feel like there wasn’t much available there that we couldn’t find somewhere else. This is also where the rain caught us. While we’d been treated to a sunny morning, the rain in the afternoon came quickly, luckily, the convenience stores all had affordable umbrellas available.

   In the rain, we made our way to  Sensoji Temple, the path to it lined with many different shops for souvenirs, some offering traditional items and food, while others offered western items in a Japanese theme, such as Shiba plushies and matcha wafer cookies. The Temple was beautiful, with the gold detailing on the doors, in the writing on the walls, and at the tops of the buildings helping bring a sense of grandness to it, especially with the red paint to contrast with it. As we left the temple, the rain died down and we made our way to Shinjuku, where we ended our day.

[recipro-turbo]

brother mine - year six

Chapter Rating: T Chapter Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Notes: originally posted to twitter here. tensei is 21 in this chapter.

Chapter-specific content warnings: hospitals, child abduction and endangerment

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

Awareness returns to Tensei slowly.

He feels like he’s at the bottom of the ocean, several hundred leagues beneath the surface. His eyelids are too heavy, limbs filled with lead. He can’t make any sense of what he hears, doesn’t know who, if anyone, is speaking.

Tensei’s breathing, he knows that much. Every breath hurts, but it’s a muted sort of pain. He focuses on that sensation, clings to it like it’s the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing him back up.

He wasn’t imagining the sounds. As consciousness slowly returns, he registers voices. Two of them. Tensei might know them… they sound so familiar to him, but he can’t quite…

No. No, he can.

One of them is Manual, the third year from U.A. High currently working with Team Iidaten for his work study. The other… Mother? It sure sounds like her…

Tensei tries to move. Agony spikes up his right arm, near his exhaust pipe. He must cry out, because he hears someone say his name. They’re talking to him, but it gets lost somewhere along the way, muffled by the waves of darkness that threaten to pull him back under.

Opening his eyes is a daunting task, as heavy as his eyelids feel. Finally, finally, he pries them open, the shock of bright white making his eyes sting. He fights to keep them open―if he closes them now, he’ll fall back into the darkness, deep beneath the ocean, right back where he started―and blearily tries to take in his surroundings.

Slowly, so slowly, the world comes into focus. Tensei is in the hospital. There’s no oxygen mask, but he’s distantly aware of the IV drip in his arm. He can hear the beeping of his heart monitor, too loud in the quiet room.

“Senpai?”

Tensei lets out a soft groan of acknowledgement, turning to face the source of the voice. Mizushima hovers at his side, eyes wide with concern. Mother stands behind him, looking every bit as worried.

“Sh-should we call a nurse?” Mizushima asks. “If you’re in a lot of pain, maybe we could see if they can up your pain medication. I mean, they should probably know anyway―”

“Ease up a little, Mizushima,” Mother says. “Give him a second.”

“Right, right. Sorry, senpai!”

Tensei lets his eyes fall shut for just a moment. The nurse can wait just a little while longer, he just needs to remember how he got here. What happened?

-x-

The first thing he remembers clearly is being sent out on patrol with intern Manual. It had been mostly uneventful, helping with small acts of heroics and de-escalating situations before things could turn violent. Then mid-afternoon, Mother―Algorhythma―had radioed the two of them with news of an urgent child abduction in the area. A villain with an unidentified Mobility Quirk, but nothing that Ingenium couldn’t handle. 

The child in question? Tenya Iida. His little brother.

Whether Alogrhythma had been aware of that fact, Tensei wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter who the child was, of course, but the stakes felt higher, somehow. He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t be the reason Tenya would never be able to make his dream of being a hero a reality.

The villain was fast. Not faster than Tensei, by any means, but he handled corners a lot better than what he was capable of. That had been enough to put some distance between them for a little while, but when they reached the highway, catching up was inevitable. As he closed the distance, the villain became desperate. Somehow, he did the only thing he knew would send Tensei off his trail.

He threw Tenya off the side of the overpass.

-x-

Tensei’s eyes fly open. He throws himself up, eyes wide with panic, heart monitor skyrocketing. “Tenya―”

“Honey, calm down―”

“Tenya, oh my God, he’s… is he… did I..?”

Time moves in slow motion as the villain throws Tenya aside. His brother’s scream of terror overrides any sense of logic or reasoning he’s capable of. He jumps after him, engines roaring with fury as he rockets over to Tenya. He doesn’t stop until they’re clear of the traffic below them, but now he has a new problem―his engines have stalled, and they’re still several meters above the ground, falling fast.

One way or another, this is going to end badly… but he’s not going to let his little brother die today. As quickly as he can, Tensei puts himself between Tenya and the ground, holds his brother close to his chest, and hopes the airbags the support department installed in his armor work as well as they did in testing.

“Senpai, he’s all right! Tenya’s safe.”

Tensei snaps back to reality, gaze flickering up to his kōhai. Mizushima is motioning over to Tensei’s left…

…where Tenya lays bundled in a too-large Iidaten hoodie, fast asleep.

He lets out a shaky breath, bringing a hand up to brush a few stray strands of hair out of his brother’s face. There’s a bandage on his cheek, small cuts scattered across his skin, and a bright blue cast on Tenya’s arm, just barely visible beneath the gray fabric of the hoodie.

“Tenya’s very fortunate he came out of this with a broken arm and a few scrapes,” Mother says. “But you… Tensei, you could have died. What were you thinking?”

Tensei opens his mouth to argue―what kind of fucking question is that?―but Mother is quick to cut him off. “Your engines stalled mid-air, Tensei. If your airbag system had malfunctioned, that fall at your speed would have killed you both. What. Were. You. Thinking?”

The fight leaves Tensei far faster than he wanted it to. He looks back down to where Tenya lays. “I didn’t think,” he says, voice just barely above a whisper. “I moved.”

Mother’s expression softens. “Keeping your emotions in check on the job―especially in situations where someone you care about is in danger―is difficult. But it’s an important skill to learn, Tensei. When someone’s life is on the line, keeping a cool head is what ensures everyone involved makes it home safe.”

She looks like she wants to say more, but one of the nurses pokes her head into the room. “Glad to see you’re awake, Ingenium! I hate to interrupt, but I need to check your vitals.”

Tensei knows this conversation isn’t over, but Mother lets the topic drop for now. Before she steps away to let the nurse go about her business, she wraps her arms around him tightly.

For the first time all night, Tensei notices how distraught she truly is.

“Thank you,” she whispers, “for getting Tenya back to us alive.”

Never one to get in the way of someone else’s work, Mother pulls away after a moment. “I’m going to call your father and let him know that you’re awake. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

Not long after Mother steps out and the nurse leaves to let him rest, Mizushima heads out―“Villain attack or no, I’ve still got an essay due tomorrow!”―leaving Tensei alone in a too-quiet hospital room. Tenya still sleeps peacefully at his side, despite his earlier outburst. A sad smile finds its way to Tensei’s lips… of course nearly dying would take a lot out of someone, especially a kid Tenya’s age.

“I’m sorry,” Tensei murmurs softly, bringing his hand down to rest on Tenya’s head. “I’ll work hard to be a better hero, Otouto. For you.”

Tensei can feel himself growing tired, his latest dose of painkillers beginning to kick in. He makes an attempt to get comfortable without waking his little brother, but the soft shifting of fabric tells him that he’s failed in that department.

“...Niisan?”

“Hey, little man,” Tensei murmurs, looking down at Tenya. Sleepy red eyes meet his gaze. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

Tenya sits up, the Iidaten hoodie slipping off his shoulders. Tensei feels a pang of guilt seeing the cuts and bruises that litter his brother’s skin, but takes some small comfort in knowing that this could’ve been much worse.

“How’re you feeling, Otouto?” Tensei asks. “I know everything that happened had to have been overwhelming for you.”

He remembers Tenya didn’t give the villain the satisfaction of screaming or crying, no matter how scared he had to have been. No matter how much distance had been put between them, his little brother’s faith in him didn’t waver for even a second. He had been so brave, and―

There’s a sob.

Tensei pulls Tenya close without a second thought, ignoring the way his right arm protests. “Oh, Tenya…”

“You’re hurt,” Tenya manages to squeak out.

“I’m hurt,” Tensei acknowledges, “but I’m alive. I’ll get better.”

“My fault.”

“No, no, no, Tenya. This wasn’t your fault.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of his brother’s head.

“You got hurt saving me!” Tenya sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry―”

“Shhh, shhh.” Tensei tucks his head beneath his chin, using his good arm to rub his back. “It’s part of the job, Tenya. You’ve seen me get hurt before, and sometimes it was because I helped someone. Do you think it was their fault?”

“No,” he whimpers.

“What makes this any different?”

Tenya sniffles. Tensei figures his logic must be sound, as his little brother doesn’t offer any argument. Satisfied, he moves to lay down, bringing Tenya with him.

“It’s late,” Tensei says, tugging the thin, white blanket over them. “Let’s get some sleep, okay?”

He hears a sleepy hum, but nothing more. In moments, Tenya is dead to the world, head resting on Tensei’s chest with his ear over his heart.

With the last dregs of his strength, Tensei drapes his good arm over his brother protectively, then allows sleep to take him.

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #iida tensei #iida tenya #recipro fics #series: brother mine #hospitals #child abduction

[freebooter4ever]

the upstairs roommates are now coming downstairs to hang out more often while im not there since ive stopped being in the common areas except for my work hours, which is GREAT and makes me think theyve been building dislike/resentment over me being here 24/7 longer than i realized. i hate being confined to a house i hate it hate it. at least i do have my small space to retreat to and its not like feb when that entire house was cat allergy infested and i couldnt be there for more than a few hrs at a time, i cant imagine doing quarantine there. But you know when someone doesnt like you so they go be extra nice to everybody else around you to highlight how awful you are, thats what this one roommate is doing. i feel like such a loser.

#Meanwhile im in hiding mode i havent talked to any of them since last wed #Journal shit #when i said at the beginning that i was scared for the day my roommates got sick of me during quarantine #This is what i meant #It happened somewhere along the way and i failed to register it in time to try to mitigate the damage #I am well aware i am annoying its one of the reasons my bff and i get along despite the age differences #Same with justin scarred there is a thing when you are ADD and over enthusiastic and Too Much Too Often #its very easy to wear people out #My friend and i were talking about this on our walk actually #They are having trouble with their partner and they were frustrated by how their partner didnt understand the enthusiasm #And how hard it was to be unable to express that kind of energy and have it expressed back at a reciprocal level #and this is a thing specifically magnified by quarantine bc all our normal outlets and coping mechanisms #Are just plain fucking impossible #You know that mind meld thing where you find someone and are just like #Wow your brain functions in the same way mine does even if our thoughts are different #I miss that like air lol this is why i think i might need to say fuck total lockdown and go on more walks at the artists house

[pet-genius]

A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

#pro severus snape #snapedom #snape meta #snape love #severus snape #psychology #complex ptsd #I'm not qualified to diagnose anyone #But like #come on #sometimes JKR writes brilliance she doesn't seem to comprehend #snape #occlumency #harry potter

[dreamingofaizawa]

Obedient (Rewritten)

Soft! Yandere! Erasermic x Chubby! Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

You must be 18 years old or older to participate in this reading. If you are not, please remove yourself from the line and find another piece. Thank you.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, implied drugging, kidnapping, reader is way too fucking calm with the situation, Stockholm Syndrome, BDSM themes, a collar, body worship, the word Daddy once, smut, double penetration (diff. holes), anal, unprotected sex, overstimulation, aftercare.

Word Count: 6.6 k

Author's Note: Alright. I've been wanting to rewrite this for a while now. Obedient was the very first fic I'd ever written and posted back in September, and my writing has changed A LOT since then. Reading the original, I realized there's a lot that I can change and tweak, and a lot that wasn't very clearly or well written (in my opinion). So, here it is!

You can find the original here.

Enjoy~

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“Happy birthday to me.” The words tumble loosely from your lips on a heaved breath, your fingers curled lazily around a cold glass of whiskey.

It isn’t a rare occurrence to see you perched atop a stool at the edge of the bar, nursing your third glass at 2am on a Friday night. Or rather Saturday morning. It’s one of the only places you can find solace, away from nosy coworkers and nosier acquaintances. The loneliness is soberingly blissful. You never cared much for social interaction.

At this point the bar is emptying, only a handful of bodies sticking around in the early hours. In the reflections of the rows of glass liquor bottles you see them again. Two lanky figures sitting in the corner booth at the back of the establishment. Any normal person would see them and think nothing. But you know better. When you first walked into the bar six months ago they were in that exact spot, and every time afterward they’d be there when you walked in and stayed after you left.

You, being observant as you are, always watched everything from your spot at the bar, the slightly warped images in the glass serving as your eyes for the night. It didn’t take long for you to figure the two were watching you every time you stepped inside. The blonde one always sat with his back to you, and his head would occasionally turn in the reflection. You’d alternate seats to make sure you weren’t imagining things, but it only confirmed what you’d suspected.

Not that you cared enough to do anything about it.

As long as they keep their distance you’re perfectly content letting them look. And they did keep their distance. They’d never even come within 5 feet of you, seemingly happy with just lingering glances. Of course, tonight would be a different story.

You watch as their glassy reflections stand up, the distance between you and them shrinking with each of their long strides. You let your eyes fall to the amber liquid in your hands, praying they’d only pass you by on their way out. Two sets of footsteps approached, two bodies popped up on either side of you, and a deep, silky smooth voice sounded on your right.

“Mind if we take a seat?” A glance to your right revealed a rugged, yet handsome man peering down at you with his deep, tired onyx eyes. Long raven hair spilled over his shoulders, framing his chiseled jaw peppered with barely tamed scruff and a scar curved along his cheekbone. You turn to look at his friend, long blonde hair pulled up into a high bun and hypnotic green eyes focused on you behind orange tinted sunglasses despite being indoors past midnight. He is handsome as well, a small mustache on his smiling lips, high cheekbones and a sharp jawline drawing you in.

You couldn’t help but feel they look familiar, somehow. You’d seen their faces before, somewhere, but you pushed that to the back of your mind for now.

It wouldn’t hurt to let them sit with you, right? They seem friendly enough, and it’s better to entertain them in case things go south should you reject their request. With a small, tired smile, you nod.

“Sure thing, fellas.” They both plop down on either side of you and the blonde immediately gets talking.

“So what’s the occasion, little listener?” Two thoughts came to mind. One, how did he know there was any occasion, two, what kind of pet name is ‘little listener’? Your confusion must have shown on your face, because the raven haired man spoke up.

“You’re pretty dolled up for a night at the bar, kitten.” Ah. So they had been watching you. You aren’t wearing anything that would normally be considered ‘dolled up’. Your tan sweater and black skirt are relatively plain, and the platform boots you’re wearing accompanied by your thigh-high socks are something you’re experimenting with.

But usually you entered the bar with a white button-up and black slacks from your job as a waitress. Today you had time to go home and pamper yourself a bit before heading to your usual drinking spot. Evidently, they noticed. You bring your glass up to your lips and gulp down the remaining liquid before entertaining the question.

“Nothing special. Call it a birthday party.” And hey, you mean it when you say it isn’t special. Your birthday only marks yet another routine year on this earth. The blonde nudges your shoulder with his own.

“I’d say that’s pretty special, sunshine!” The alcohol must be affecting you, because you chuckle a bit at his enthusiasm.

“Just another year gone by, you know?” You’re never this talkative sober. The man on your right rapped his knuckles on the bartop, the barkeep making his way over with a tired smile.

“One more glass for this pretty kitty here.” The name had your eyebrows raising.

“This one’s on me.” As the fresh glass was sat on the bartop you scoffed quietly.

“Kitty?” A deep hum came from the man.

“Well how would you describe yourself, kitten?” Somewhere in your muddled brain you warned yourself not to be self-deprecating on your 25th birthday. You didn’t listen.

“Definitely not feline. I’m short and chunky and the only thing cat-like about me is my posture and eyeliner,” you stated, matter-of-factly. As a waitress at an esteemed high-end restaurant, you had to learn to be quick on your feet, agile, and most importantly, poised. A hum comes from the blonde, a muttered ‘pretty and humble’ floating on his breath. You force a chuckle at the statement.

“Pretty is also a word I wouldn’t use to describe myself.” A short silence falls between the three of you, and you take the time to study their faces. Where had you seen them before? You’re certain if you’d met them before you’d remember them, you don’t tend to forget attractive people.

They’re oddly patient as they watch the cogs in your brain turn, your eyes taking in every detail of every feature. Your breath caught and your eyes went wide when you’d finally placed their faces.

“Present Mic and Eraserhead. You’re pro heroes.” The words are quiet, nearly imperceptible as you breathe them, but they’re close enough to hear. Present Mic beams at the recognition.

“In the flesh, sunshine. But we’d prefer you use our names.” Eraserhead leans away and sticks a hand out for a handshake.

“Shouta Aizawa.” You shake his hand and turn to the blonde, who similarly has his hand held out.

“Hizashi Yamada.” You introduce yourself, a bit shaky and only slightly starstruck. What in the world are two pro heroes doing talking to you? As you regain your composure you excuse yourself to the restroom. You weren’t prepared to talk to heroes tonight. A glance in the mirror has you sobering yourself, rationalizing their strange behavior. These two are pro heroes. They were clearly only worried about your safety, a woman all alone in a bar till the earliest hours of the morning. ‘That’s why they were watching me’, you muse. You quickly fix yourself, then step back out to the two heroes.

The three of you pass another hour of time before you decide it’s time for you to head home. They offer to give you a lift, but you politely decline. You can't intrude on them any more than you already had. Hizashi insists otherwise.

“Please Sunshine? If something were to happen to you we’d never forgive ourselves!” It made sense to you. They’re pro heroes after all, it’s in their nature to worry. So you oblige to ease their anxieties.

Since Shouta hadn’t touched any alcohol, he’s driving, and you punch your address into the GPS system of their very expensive looking car. As you sit back, Hizashi holds a bottle over his head.

“Water?” You thank him and drain the bottle, realizing you’re a bit more dehydrated than you initially thought. In your semi-drunk haze you fail to notice that the bottle had already been opened, and you miss Shouta’s eyes watching you down the beverage through the rearview mirror.

It’s only five minutes later you feel drowsy, your head lolling to the side and eyelids drooping. You don’t quite register the question Hizashi asks you, and when you don’t answer he turns around to look at you.

“You seem tired, Sunshine. Take a nap, we’ll wake you up when we get there.” Your exhaustion takes hold over any rational thoughts, and with a sleepy nod, you stretch out over the backseat and let your mind slip into unconsciousness, blissfully unaware you’ll never see your apartment again.

The first thing you notice as you wake up is how stiff and sore your muscles are. It takes you a moment to realize you aren’t in your clothes from last night, nor are you in your own bed. Your eyes snap open and you sit up, taking in the unfamiliar room. With a curse under your breath you scour your memory for anything, checking if you’d gone home with anyone or gotten yourself in a tight situation. The last thing you remember is being driven home by the two pros, then passing out in their backseat.

Questions began forming in your mind. ‘Where am I? How did I get here? Where had the two heroes gone?’ In an attempt to think clearer, you try crossing your legs, but your ankle is stopped short by something heavy. Throwing off the blanket, a thick metal cuff glinted in the light of the room, an equally thick chain leading somewhere over the side of the bed.

When your breathing begins to quicken, you settle your mind, refusing to panic. Willing yourself to relax, you begin to think about how you can get out of this situation. ‘Today should be Saturday. Assuming this room is part of a house, someone would most likely still be here’. With a small breath, you speak, hopefully loud enough for someone to hear you.

“H-hello? Is someone there?” It only takes a few seconds for footsteps to reach your ears, and the door opens to the last person you’re expecting to see. A ruggedly handsome Shouta Aizawa stands in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a small smirk on his lips.

“Good morning, Kitty.” As endearing as the pet name is, the only emotion you feel right now is confusion. Your mind is drifting to all the fanfiction you’d read online, piecing together the events of last night like a puzzle. ‘The bottle of water was already open’. In your defense, they’re pro heroes, it’s only natural for you-- or anyone, really-- to let your guard down. A large hand on your shoulder jolts you back to reality, your eyes wide as you stare up at Shouta like a deer in headlights.

“You okay Kitten?” All you can manage as you settle your thoughts is to blink up at the man, swallowing down the lump in your throat before letting out a shaky breath.

“Let me guess. I’m home now, aren’t I?” The man stares back down at you with subtly raised eyebrows before chuckling softly.

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I can’t say I’m mad about it. You’re a smart little kitty, aren’t you.” He leaves you to your thoughts and your mind begins reeling once again. You understand this is wrong, that you shouldn’t be so willing, so obedient. You also know how boring your life has been up until now. How mundane and lonely you’d been for as long as you can remember.

You’d cut ties with your family long ago, and ‘friend’ is a very loose term. Most of the people you called friends are acquaintances at best, your antisociality and trust issues meant ‘making friends’ is not on your life agenda. Somehow you knew, deep down, you wanted something like this to happen. You longed to give up control, to let someone else string you along and take the reins and let you relax, not have to worry about anything anymore. That side of you tended to make itself known through your explorative late teen years.

You’d had romantic partners before, though once anything intimate came up they all refused to associate with you anymore. They couldn’t understand your want to give up control, your need to submit. They refused to collar you ‘like an animal’. None of your partners ever understood the weight behind such a garment. This may be your chance at the relationship you’d always craved, regardless of its twisted nature.

Then there’s the logical side, the chances of you actually escaping. As a quirkless human in the presence of two trained pro heroes (assuming Hizashi is also in on this), the likelihood of you making it out is slim to nonexistent. If you somehow manage to get out, the two could easily track you down and just as easily drag you back. So, as wrong as it seems, you don’t fight it.

Shouta returns with a tray of breakfast, setting it down on your lap after you’d adjusted yourself to lean against the headboard. As he pulls back you mumble a ‘thank you’ and begin to eat, acknowledging the pang of hunger in your belly. As weird as it seems to say ‘thank you’ to your captor, you find it could be helpful even if only a little. Being polite is automatic, but it’s also a great way to make sure you don’t end up injured, or worse, dead somewhere, so for once in a long time your manners are intended. You’d gotten halfway through your meal when Shouta speaks up.

“You’re taking this really well.” He almost seems skeptical. You peer up at him as you finish the food in your mouth.

“There isn’t much use panicking. I’d only end up hurting myself. Besides, it’s not like I can get out.” You motion to the cuff around your ankle and he gives a small chuckle.

“You’re not wrong, kitten.” He leaves to let you finish breakfast, returning ten minutes later and taking your empty tray. He comes back right after, a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold in hand.

“I’m sure you need to use the bathroom.” You give a small nod, acknowledging the pressure in your bladder for the first time since you woke up. Gently, he takes your wrists and locks the cuffs around them, then holds up the blindfold before going to tie it around your head.

“These are just a precaution.” Soon you feel the cuff on your ankle fall away, and Shouta’s strong arms loop under your knees and back as he lifts you off the bed.You’re both surprised and not that he can lift you with relative ease. He is a pro hero after all. It takes less than 30 seconds for him to stop and gently place you down, taking the blindfold and cuffs off.

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door. Once you’re done, knock and I’ll take you back to bed.” You nod and he leaves, locking the door once he’s outside. Of course it locks from the outside. You take a moment to just think about your current predicament. Currently you’re locked in the house of a pro hero, being kept against your will (sort of). Your life had just taken an unexpected turn.

You knock on the door like Shouta said, and it isn’t long before you’re back on the bed with the cuff around your ankle. As he turns to leave you stop him, and he turns back to you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Can I...draw?” You didn’t know if he’d actually let you have anything, but it was worth a shot. If you were to be cooped up here you need to keep yourself occupied. With a low hum, he leaves the room and comes back with a sketch pad, pencil, and eraser.

Days come and go with either of the pros serving you three meals a day. They begin questioning your obedience, especially Hizashi. He questioned your lack of panic and how you never seemed to try to escape. Even he knows this isn’t normal. Shouta seems less skeptical, like he’d expected less of a fight than any normal, sane person would give. When Hizashi asked questions you answered truthfully. Lying is of no use to you.

“Really, I don’t mind it here. So far my life has been pretty shitty and boring, so this turn of events is mildly appreciated. Besides, you treat me relatively well, considering I’m being held captive, so I can’t say I’m upset.” You’d guessed from both your reading and their actions that they truly believed they cared about you. The chances of them hurting you are slim, so you’re able to live with them without fear.

The cuff around your ankle came off about a week in, and Shouta gave you the freedom to roam the house, though it wasn’t without warning. He held his hand out to you, an offer to help you stand, and you took it. Slowly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shift your weight to your feet. Your legs shake like a newborn fawn, but Shouta held you to let you stretch your legs and get comfortable walking again.

He led you out to what you assume is the dining table and sat you down, Shouta taking the seat on your right. You assume Hizashi is in the kitchen, what with the clatter and smell of food. Shouta asked what you’d been drawing, which caught you a bit off guard, but you answered anyway.

“Koi fish.” He hummed, focused on you.

“Any particular reason why?” You take a moment to think about your answer, it’s not a question you’re used to responding to.

“Well they’re gorgeous creatures. Elegant, sleek and graceful. The way they move is so mesmerizing, smooth and flawless like a flowing creek. I’ve always loved drawing koi.”

The conversation lapses into your fascination with the fish, how they somehow remind you of dragons and how the fantastical creature’s existence isn’t as far-fetched as it’s made out to be. Hizashi joins soon enough, serving dinner and listening in on the conversation.

Once you all finish eating you get comfortable on the couch, nestled between the two men. It isn’t long before you drift off to sleep, their body heat lulling you into dreamland. Shouta carries you to bed, carefully laying you down and pressing a light kiss to your temple. He stands above you, admiring your features as you sleep.

You’re gorgeous to him, a goddess in your own right. He and his blonde counterpart had started watching you mainly because you were a woman, completely alone and seemingly unarmed in a bar until the earliest hours of the morning. Neither of them could tell if you were quirkless or not, and as heroes they made sure to keep an eye on you during their weekly trip to the bar should you get into any trouble.

But eventually it became a habit to look for you, and the more they looked the farther they fell. You looked as exhausted as Shouta every time you stepped through the doors, hair just beginning to lose its style and shoulders sagged. But you were so beautiful, even in your exhausted state. Hizashi was the first to mention his infatuation to Shouta, but the raven-haired man had already figured the blonde was into you.

Soon enough they began to get antsy, constantly watching you walk out the door into the dead of night all alone. You’re just too trusting of the world outside, not taking enough precautions for a woman of your caliber. They made it their mission to make sure you were safe, and one day, take you back home where they could protect you.

Now that you’re here, it’s like a dream. Even as you sleep you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. How your lashes flutter against your cheeks, the way your lips softly part with every breath, how your chest gently rises and falls, it all makes him stare down at you in complete awe. It takes a great deal of willpower for him to tear his eyes away from you and join Hizashi in their room.

*

***3 months later***

*

A couple months have passed since you’d...moved in with the two men, and you can’t say you hate it. They’ve respected your privacy, allowing you to stay in your own room and letting you bathe yourself after refusing their attempts at persuading you to join them. Honestly it’s been nice living with them.

Though, the longer you’re with them the more thoughts begin gathering and swirling in your head. Caring thoughts, how their days progress, how they’re feeling at any point in time. And needy, dirty thoughts. Any time those pop up you make it a point to push them deep down into the farthest recesses of your brain, refusing to fuel those pesky embers.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you know what’s happening, what’s been happening. You’re no stranger to Stockholm Syndrome, having done your own minimal research on the subject a few years back. You constantly tell yourself this isn’t normal, nor is it healthy, to enjoy the company of your captors. You have to remind yourself that they had taken you from everything you knew, and even though there wasn’t much for you to love, they’d taken you from that as well.

But soon enough the illogical prevailed, because despite all of that, the two have been nothing but good to you.

In no time at all the days you spend alone in the large house are the days you find yourself missing their company, hoping they’d return sooner. You managed to dig through their clothes and pick out some of their older t-shirts, and began wearing them around the house. Their lingering scents have been a comfort as you patiently wait for them to come back. They don’t seem to mind at all, so you’re content.

As time passes you get closer with them, gravitating toward them and snuggling into either of their sides, letting them wrap an arm around you and tug you into them. You began giving kisses when they left and returned, a small peck on the cheek at the door. The first time you had engaged a kiss was a shock to both of them.

You had tugged Shouta’s sleeve and when he turned you silently grabbed his collar and yanked him down, leaving a small peck on his cheek, doing the same with Hizashi. They barely had the time to react before you dashed to your room and curled under the blankets, face heated and heart pounding like some schoolgirl who had confessed to her crush and got a positive response. That night you’d received more cuddles and kisses than normal.

The kisses became routine, and before long you all slept in the same bed. Strangely enough, life began to feel somewhat normal. The house began to feel like home.

And soon enough that schoolgirl crush manifested into something dirty, something lustful and carnal. Just as much as you long to be around them, you want desperately to feel their hands on your bare skin, mapping out the curves of your body as you writhe beneath them. You crave them and their touch. But of course you still have your pride. Dropping hints would have to suffice.

Slowly, subtly, you dress lighter, more scantily. No shorts under their t-shirts that barely cover your ass, allowing the stretched collars to drop and expose the slightest peek of skin. After a shower you walk back to the room in nothing but a towel, allowing the edge to ride up your thighs. Your tactics seemed to work, their eyes glued to the newly exposed skin, soaking in your plush thighs and soft skin. Their stares make you ache, but after weeks of nothing but lingering glances you decide to toss your pride out the window.

You have dinner ready when they walk in the door, and after everyone had eaten and showered you usher them both to the couch while you sit facing them from the coffee table. Their confusion is evident on their faces, your nervous fidgeting and reluctance to look them in the eyes didn’t help. What you’re about to bring up is embarrassing to say the least, but staying silent would be a detriment to your sanity. With a steadying breath, you meet their gaze and quietly force out your seemingly ridiculous request.

“So… I enjoy being here with you,” your fingers twist into the hem of your shirt and you swallow down the lump in your throat, “and I really appreciate that you’ve given me anything I asked for-”

“No.” Shouta’s voice suddenly cuts off your sentence.

“You can’t go outside, Kitten. I’m sorry, but that’s non-negotiable right now.” You blink dumbly at him, completely thrown off balance by his statement before you catch yourself, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

“No! Oh god, that’s not…um…. I wasn’t asking to go outside. I love being here, with you, and doing whatever but...it’s what we don’t do...that’s bothering me...just a little bit…” By now your voice is so quiet and high-pitched you wonder if they can even hear you. Hizashi, bless his heart, is just as confused as before the conversation started.

“Sunshine, you aren’t making much sense. If you think about it, there’s actually a lot we don’t do.” Shouta holds a hand up, silencing the blonde. His dark eyes drag over your body, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly rub together and you can’t meet his gaze. You squirm, the intensity in his eyes something you aren’t used to but it makes you hot all over. His hand comes down on his thigh twice.

“Come here, Kitty.” Slowly, you stand and walk to him, letting his hands grab your hips and pull you down to straddle his lap. A finger curls under your chin, angling your head to look Shouta in the eyes. A small smirk pulls the corner of his mouth, a moment of realization flashing across his face.

“Our little Kitty is getting needy ‘Zashi. Isn’t that right, Kitten?” Heat flooded your face, your embarrassment and arousal sending hot blood to your face and chest. You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, hoping they’d do something about the very horny state you’re in. Shouta’s hand moves to your hip again, lifting you and placing you in Hizashi’s lap before standing and walking away.

The blonde cooed at the surprised squeak you let out at the sudden movement, and you open your eyes to his wide grin. Leaning forward, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. It feels nice, and you let your body melt into him and his warmth, his long fingers digging into the flesh of your lower back as he tugs you closer and a pleasant haze settles over your mind.

It’s a blissful moment shared between you, and Shouta returns just as Hizashi pulls away from the kiss. They share a look you can’t place before the former raises a hand to gently stroke your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He seems conflicted, trying to mull over some sort of decision in his brain, his brows just barely drawn and jaw set. When his eyes dropped to his other hand, yours followed, to find he held a long thin black velvet box. Clearly it holds some sort of jewelry.

After a few moments he turns it to you and lifts the lid, and your heart damn near stops beating. Whether it’s from excitement or a brief flash of fear, you don’t know. These two have been watching you for much longer than just at the bar. Those few months are only the tip of the iceberg, but how they’d come to notice you would probably forever remain a mystery to you.

Right now, all that matters is that they know everything. From your failed relationships to the reason they’d all ended. They had to know, that’s the only explanation. There’s no possible way it’s pure coincidence that you now gaze down at a beautifully crafted leather collar. It’s simple, thin, black dotted sparsely with sparkling gems and a dainty metal ring centered at the front. Tentatively, you reach out and trace the leather with your fingers.

“Is this...for me?” A deep hum sounds in Shouta’s chest, and that’s answer enough for you. Shouta plucks the garment from its seat and moves behind you. The cool leather feels heavenly as he loops it around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin. Everything seemed to go quiet as you waited for something, anything, to solidify this moment.

Click.

You shudder out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Shouta tilts your head and presses his lips to yours, looping a finger through the collar and giving a gentle tug. It makes you mewl, allowing him space to slip his tongue behind your teeth. He can see your pupils dilate when he pulls away, plush lips slick with saliva, lust invading your mind. You look so needy and desperate for them, so fucking gorgeous.

Hizashi leaves a kiss on your cheek then picks you up and places you on your feet. Both men grab either of your hands, lacing their fingers with yours, and gently pull you with them to the bedroom. Hizashi begins undressing first, and you can only let your eyes drag over his bare upper body for a moment before Shouta grabs your chin and distracts you with another kiss. This one is more passionate, heated, rough as his tongue effortlessly invades and dominates your mouth. Hizashi’s voice permeates your lust-filled haze.

“Come here, baby.” Shouta pulls away and allows you to walk over to where the blonde sits naked on the edge of the bed. He motions for you to turn around and you oblige, then he grabs your hips and pulls you back to sit in his lap, your back pressed to his chest. You watch as Shouta undresses, baring his skin to you as Hizashi tasks himself with undressing you.

Your shirt is the first to be removed, a groan spilling from the blonde when he discovers you aren’t wearing a bra. He pulls you flush against his chest, peppering wet kisses down your neck and shoulders as your eyes roam over Shouta’s sculpted frame. The raven haired man makes his way over, kneeling down between your legs and reaching up to toy with your breasts, rough fingers working your nipples until they peak. Hizashi’s hands find their way down to the pouch of your stomach, grabbing at the soft pliant flesh and squishing the fat there.

You let out a low whine, feeling extremely self-conscious with his hands working at the parts of your body you hate the most. You grab at his wrists in an attempt to pull him away, but he hushes you and whispers into your ear, his breath hot on your neck.

“It’s okay, pretty baby. Let me feel you.” You will yourself to let him go, let his hands explore your body the way he wants. He keeps his hands on your belly, long fingers massaging into your skin.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He’s nipping and kissing at your neck, whispering praises into your ear as he fondles all the fatty parts of you.

Shouta’s hands reach up and tug your panties down, then grip your thighs and pull them apart, exposing you to his hungry eyes. You can’t help but feel exposed, uncomfortable, as they touch and gaze at every part of yourself you had always despised. A whimper builds in your chest, tears beginning to sting your eyes and your breath shaking. Hizashi leans over and kisses your tears away as Shouta leans forward and kisses at your belly and thighs, hands working at whatever flesh he couldn’t get his lips on.

“Let us love you. All of you. You’re such a pretty kitty.” You let yourself relax, let yourself relish in the fact that these two gorgeous men are doting over your body like you’re a goddess, like they couldn’t live if they didn’t worship every one of your perfect imperfections. Though you’re far from comfortable, the initial fear subsides, allowing them full access to you.

“Good girl kitty, good girl.” Shouta whispers as he nips at your thighs, sucking little red marks into your skin. He hooks your legs over Hizashi’s, and the blonde’s fingers dip down to tease your folds, barely breaching your little hole and making you buck for more friction. A soft moan slips from your lips as he pushes two long fingers into your soaked pussy.

You rock your hips into his hand, his palm barely brushing against your clit making you mewl. Shouta focuses his attention on your breasts and belly where Hizashi left bare, kneading and kissing and licking, leaving blooming marks all over your skin. Soon you feel a knot form in your stomach, tightening and burning impossibly hot. Hizashi feels your pussy clenching around his fingers and quickens his pace, grinding his palm down against your clit hard and curling his fingers to hit that spot that has you seeing stars.

When the knot snaps you’re falling apart on Hizashi’s lap, back arched and legs shaking. You throw your head back against his shoulder and cry out, pleasure racking your body in intense waves. Hizashi keeps moving his fingers inside you, letting you ride out your high, legs trembling and toes curling with the continued stimulation.

After your release you relax back down, chest heaving with every breath. Hizashi lifts you up and lays you down on the bed, Shouta crawling up over you and kissing you sweetly. He grabs your legs and wraps them around his waist, lining up his painfully hard erection with your throbbing pussy.

“Are you ready for me kitty?” You look up at him through your lashes and nod fervently, needing him desperately despite the sensitivity. He tugs at your collar gently.

“Use your words kitty cat. Are you ready for me?” Your eyes widen slightly and you answer without any real thought.

“Yes Daddy.” Shouta growls at the name and swears under his breath, thrusting his hips forward and bottoming out all at once. The air is punched from your lungs, the stretch around his thick length almost enough to make you cum a second time. Shouta leans down and kisses at the bruises Hizashi had left on your neck, giving you some time to adjust. It only takes a few moments for your walls to stop clamping down on him.

“I’m going to move now kitty. Relax for me.” He starts slow, groaning as he watches his length slide in and out of you.

Your warmth feels so good around his cock, and he moves faster, driving his cock so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Hizashi lays down next to you and puts two fingers into your mouth, your tongue sliding over them, coating them in your saliva.

He pulls them out and goes to rub your clit, leaning over and placing open mouth kisses along your collarbone, sucking new bruises onto your skin. Your legs quake with the quick building pleasure, your second orgasm creeping up fast. Suddenly both men stop their movements, Shouta pulling your body flush against him and sitting up.

Lithe, cold fingers suddenly dance around your back entrance, toying with your puckered hole. A single finger pushes in and you mewl and squirm at the new sensation. A second finger works its way in, the two digits working to stretch you gently. Soon there’s a third, and when you’re relaxed the fingers are gone and replaced by the thick head of Hizashi’s cock.

“You ready, sweet thing?” You nod and whine, a little weary but ready to be full of the two men. He slowly inches his way inside, shallow thrusts sinking him deeper until his hips are flush with your ass. Both men pepper wet kisses along your shoulders, giving you time to relax, but you don’t need it. You whine, wiggle your hips in an attempt to get them to move, and they oblige.

Their initial pace is slow, letting you feel every ridge and vein as they slip in and out of you. They build up a rhythm, when one is bottomed out the other has only the tip in, and soon you’re drooling from the amount of stimulation you’re getting. Hizashi’s fingers move down to work at your clit, and just the slightest touch has you trembling. The stimulation shoves you over the edge and has you cumming hard around them, your slick dripping down your thighs. They slow their pace slightly, your holes clamping down on them and attempting to milk them dry. Hizashi’s fingers rub your clit harder, overstimulating you.

“Do you have one more for us baby? I know you can cum one more time for us.” You whine, thrashing in their arms trying to simultaneously get away and tug them closer. Tears fall down your cheeks and a familiar tension fills the pit of your stomach and Shouta leans over and bites down on your shoulder. The pain pulls you over, crying out as you clamp down on their lengths hard. Their hips stutter as they chase their own release, and they shoot rope after rope of cum into you as you ride out your own high.

They still their movements, holding you and each other close. After a few moments they pull out together, the movement making you moan and tremble. Your body goes limp and Shouta pulls you to lean against him, stroking your hair and back. You’re sobbing softly into Shouta’s shoulder, your last release washing over your body almost painfully, your bones already beginning to ache. Shouta rubs your back softly and Hizashi peppers soft kisses along your shoulders, both cooing praises in your ears.

Shouta picks you up and the three of you go over to the bathroom, where Hizashi plugs the drain and turns on the tap to fill the large tub with hot water. Shouta climbs in and sits down, still cradling you, and the slowly rising water begins to soothe you. Hizashi pulls out a tube of ointment and rubs it onto Shouta’s back, relieving the scratch marks you left on him. After tending to Shouta he unlocks your collar and sinks into the tub, leaning against you. You let the two massage you and wash you, bringing you back from the intense scene.

“You okay kitten?” Shouta rumbles into your ear, petting your hair. You nod into his shoulder and grab Hizashi’s hand, wanting to be close to the both of them. The hot water and the care of the two bring you back down to earth, and you start to feel fatigue pulling at your consciousness. Hizashi notices you drifting off and takes you from Shouta. He dries you off with a towel and locks your collar back around your neck.

“Sho, I’m going to take her to bed. When you’re ready come join us.” Shouta hums and Hizashi carries you to bed.

You lay with Hizashi and cuddle into his chest, letting him hold you and rock you as you drift off. After a few minutes you feel the bed behind you dip and look up at Shouta with half lidded eyes. He gives you a peck on the lips before nuzzling against your back. With a long, soft sigh you melt into their arms, content with the new life you’d been brought into.

#erasermic #yandere erasermic #erasermic x reader #yandere erasermic x reader #erasermic smut #erasermic mha #erasermic bnha #shouta aizawa #shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa smut #hizashi yamada #hizashi yamada x reader #hizashi yamada smut #shouta aizawa mha #shouta aizawa bnha #hizashi yamada mha #hizashi yamada bnha

[pawpupster]

I’ll Always Be Here

Author’s note: Still new to this whole writing thing. I’m open to any constructive criticism anyone has. Also, pov is a little weird in this one, I hope It’s not bothersome. Any mistakes are mine. Please enjoy!

Fandom: Supernatural  

Summary: Just a cute fluffy moment between two boys in love. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x male!reader

Warnings: just a lot of fluff

Y/N was driving the impala down a back road through the night with his two favorite boys riding with him. He took over when Dean finally admitted he was too tired to drive, and with Sam already asleep in the passenger side, that left Dean to swap spots with Y/N and move to the back. It was very rare Dean ever let anyone else drive his Baby, so Y/N enjoyed it while he could. Plus, it was good that Dean was starting to admit when he needed help. 

It was interesting how their relationship developed. Y/N had been introduced to the boys when he was 14, with Dean being 13 and Sam 9. Their dads occasionally hunted together after they had almost killed each other when hunting a shifter, unaware of the other's  presence. After Sam had left for college, Y/N would sometimes meet up to hunt with Dean when neither wanted to admit to their dad they needed help. On those short meetups, they started to feel things neither had ever really felt, especially to another man, before. But, being the sons of who they were they were sons of, neither admitted anything, with the fear of the others or their dad's reactions. 

Y/N hadn’t known about the loss of contact with John, too busy with figuring out who he was for a change after his dad died on a wendigo hunt. It was a new experience, being able to walk into a bar and flirt with all the men you wanted, with no fear of repercussions. It was actually at a bar where Y/N saw the brothers for the first time in years. 

Dean was drinking, what looked to be his fifth or sixth beer, alone at the bar. A quick look around had shown Sam sitting at a table in the corner with what looked like just a water. Y/N had made his way over to Dean and tapped him on the shoulder. Dean had looked over, ready to tell someone to fuck off, when he registered is was you he was looking at. All Dean had done was look over to Sam and put a couple of bills on the counter and tick his head to the door for you to follow him out. 

It was a really sad night, Sam and Dean explaining how their dad died, and their journey to continue to try and kill this demon themselves, taking any hunts they could inbetween. There were some tears as Sam explained what happened to his girlfriend. And after Sam was snoring away in one one of the motel beds, Dean tearfully told you of his guilt with his father selling his soul for him. The two of you eventually migrated to the other bed and you held him in your arms as he fell asleep on your chest. 

The next morning, while Sam had been in the shower, Dean had admitted how it would be nice if you could join Sam and himself on the road. So you did. And along the way, you and Dean reconnected, and without the influence of your fathers, took the next step to being committed boyfriends, and it was amazing for the both of you. There was a different side of him you got to see, and no matter how much he said he didn't like ‘chick flick moments’ the light he had in his eyes whenever you had one never failed to make you feel warm inside. 

And that’s how you got to where you were now, sitting in the front seat of the impala and glancing up to the rearview mirror to see your adorable boyfriend curled up in the backseat, using your jacket as a blanket to protect him from the cold of January. Y/N was pulled from his thoughts of the past, when the kid he saw as a little brother shifted around beside him. 

“We almost there yet?” Sam asked through a yawn as he rubbed his eyes. 

“Almost where? Did you want to stop somewhere?” Y/N responded in a whisper. 

“It would probably be a good idea to stop there for the night” Sam responded, pointing through the windshield at a motel with its ‘vacancy’ light fully lit. 

So, Y/N kept driving and with a glance at the clock, showing it was two in the morning, was glad to see the motel was open 24/7. As he pulled into a spot near the check-in, he silently nodded for Sam to go get a room.

As Sam went inside, Y/N grabbed all the bags from the trunk, being as quiet as possible as to not wake Dean. When he saw Sam walking over to a room and unlocking the door, he carried all three bags over to the room and followed Sam inside. He set the bags down on the couch and watched Sam plop down onto the bed on the opposite side of the room. Y/N got one of his hoodies from his own bag and went to pull back the sheets on the open bed in front of the door. 

Tossing the hoodie on the bed, he turned and walked back out of the room and over to the impala, making sure to close the door but not latch it. Y/N opened the back passenger side door of the impala and peeked inside to see Dean still peacefully asleep with his head on the driver's side of the bench. Y/N put one knee on the bench to better reach Dean and put one arm under Dean's knees and the other behind Dean's back. Carefully lifting him into a bridal carry, Y/N felt Dean shift around in his arms to accommodate his new position, gently laying his head on Y/N’s shoulder. 

Successfully getting Dean out of the car, and closing the door with his hip, Y/N made his way back to the room. Opening the room door with his back and closing it again with his foot, hearing the automatic lock click, Y/N carried Dean over to the bed the two of them would be sharing. 

Dean slightly opened his eyes as he was laid on the bed, but a soft murmur of reassurance from Y/N, and he was asleep again. Removing Dean’s, and his own, jacket from Dean, Y/N laid them over a chair and took off the rest of Dean's clothes, excluding his boxer-briefs. Getting the hoodie onto Dean was pretty easy when a dazed Dean was helping get it on. 

“I’m going to go get myself ready, I'll be right back, I promise,” Y/N told Dean as he tucked the blanket around his sleepy lover, getting a nod in return. 

Y/N got his toiletries and another hoodie for himself from his bag and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth and change. Going back to the main room, Y/N climbed into the bed with Dean and put an arm around his shoulders to pull him onto his chest. 

“You’re not going to leave… right?” Dean asked, just as you had just closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep. 

“No, I won't, I plan to stay by your side for as long as you’ll have me. What brought this question up?” You told him while running your fingers gently through his hair. 

“Nothing…. Just that….,” Dean sighed heavily, and you knew this was going to be another conversation that was kept secretly between the two of you. So, you laid there waiting for him to share, never stopping the motions of your fingers through his hair. And soon enough Dean continued, “It’s just that everyone leaves me eventually. First my mom, then Sammy off to college, then dad not answering my messages, I’m scared you're going to leave too.”

“I’m never going to leave you. You hear me? I’ll always be here, right by your side,” you told him empathetically, You softly gripped his head and brought his lips up to yours for a soft kiss. 

“I don’t ever want you to leave me,” he said as he slowly pulled away from the kiss, “I love you.”

“I love you too Dean, get some sleep baby,” Y/N ordered with a kiss to his forehead as he closes his eyes. 

Looking over to Sam’s bed, Y/N saw him lying on his back under the covers, breathing evenly in his sleep. With a final glance around the room, Y/N joined his boyfriend in a nice relaxed rest. 

#dean winchester x male reader #dean x reader #supernatural fic #fluffy dean #supportive sam winchester #male reader #spn x reader #sleepy winchesters

[wondernimbus]

two sworn enemies — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

summary: there is only one thing worse than being hated by draco malfoy; it’s being fancied by him.

requests are closed for now! please refrain from plagiarizing my work.

After being on the receiving end of Malfoy's torment for four whole years at Hogwarts—a place where she's supposed to be making friends and learning and making the most out of all her youthful years—[Y/N] is beginning to grow tired.

The last thing she’s supposed to be worrying about is a snarky Slytherin boy who always has some sort of rude remark resting on his lips every time he comes across her in the corridors. Or anywhere, for that matter—Draco Malfoy's incessant jest seems to stay within no boundaries.

Eleven-year-old [Y/N] used to be fazed by it; she used to cry herself to sleep every time the platinum blond would push past her in the hallway, yelling out something offensive on his way, usually to do with her friendship with blood-traitors and the "big-headed" Harry Potter (or so Malfoy referred to him). She used to feel angry—angry enough to want to whip her wand out at him and hex him into oblivion every time he'd even as much as lay eyes on her. But the more Malfoy tried to bother her, the more it didn't anymore.

Fourth year wasn't so bad. Malfoy had already called her about a hundred nasty names at that point and was running out of them—his creativity was dwindling and [Y/N]'s concern along with it. She'd even laughed at him, one time during Transfiguration class—genuinely laughed, not out of frustration or anger but because she found something that he said to her funny.

"How does it feel being surrounded by blood-traitors and Mudbloods, [Y/L/N]? Pity you chose the wrong crowd to hang around."

"How did it feel to get punched by a girl, Malfoy? I hear Hermione packs quite a punch."

Malfoy’s nose had wrinkled into his signature sneer before he scoffed. "Tell Granger she can improve her right hook." At which point [Y/N] had snorted out a laugh—and yes, it wasn't a full-blown burst of chortles, but it was a laugh nonetheless.

Fifth year rolls around and Draco Malfoy is the least of [Y/N]'s worries. She's gotten over his nagging at this point; all his jabs have lost a bit, if not all of their luster.

But then a week after classes have started, Malfoy starts acting—weird. Very weird. [Y/N] has no idea what's gotten into him, but Draco's cruel insults seem to have veered off course and taken a very dramatic turn. He still yells at her in the hallways, but not to make some harmful jibe [Y/N] has heard thousands of times before. Instead Draco—yes, Draco Malfoy, the same boy who has never once failed to torment her in the past years they've known each other—has now made it a habit to yell pick-up lines. At her. At [Y/N]. At the same girl he's been bad-mouthing for the past four years.

The first time it happens, [Y/N] can't believe her ears. She thinks he's yelling at someone else other than her, because there is no way bloody Draco Malfoy is shouting "DO YOU PLAY QUIDDITCH? BECAUSE YOU SEEM LIKE A KEEPER" at her from halfway across the Great Hall.

But he's definitely staring at her, grinning widely in that conceited sort of way that [Y/N] has always despised.

"Is he talking to me?" [Y/N] asks Hermione, bewildered.

"Looks like it." Hermione looks just as surprised as her. "Knowing Malfoy, he's not up to anything good. Ignore him, [Y/N]."

But ignoring Draco Malfoy is not something [Y/N] is capable of; the feistiness in her makes sure of that. So instead of moving on and turning a blind eye, she cups her hands over her mouth and yells, just as loud, "ARE YOU A BLUDGER? BECAUSE I'D LOVE TO BASH A BEATER'S BAT INTO YOUR—"

Whatever Malfoy is up to, [Y/N] isn't entirely sure she's enjoying it. The next afternoon—also in the Great Hall, while [Y/N] is doing her homework instead of eating lunch (because Snape apparently thinks it's a good idea to ask for a four-page essay when the school year has barely even started), there's a thump and [Y/N] looks up to see that there's a little red envelope sitting on her empty plate. Looking even further up, she sees an owl flying away from the table and out of the roof of the Great Hall, where the owls always come from to deliver letters—although that only happens at breakfast. Which means this is from someone else, likely another student.

[Y/N] stares.

"It's a Howler," Harry says from next to her, like she doesn't already know.

"I'm aware," she mutters, narrowing her eyes at it before she sets down her quill to grab it.

"Who would send you a Howler?" Ron has looked up from where he'd been shoveling beans into his plate. He crowds into her space, peering at the envelope she now holds in her hands; and she can't really answer him, because only her name is scribbled across the front in handwriting she doesn't recognize. Whoever sent it to her didn't bother with writing their own name.

She hesitates, brows furrowed as she, too, wonders where it's from. Her parents don't have a reason to send her a Howler—unless she's done something wrong that she isn't aware of. But it's only been a week since school has started and as far as she can tell, she hasn't done anything worthy of being sent a Howler. Or at least not yet.

"Might as well," she sighs—it's going to deliver its message one way or the other, anyway, and [Y/N] prefers to open it herself than have it burst into flames, rain ashes down upon her homework, and then start talking—so she opens the envelope.

The Howler jumps to life in front of her, hovering in front of her face, and [Y/N] has never seen a piece of stationery look so angry before. A forked tongue slips out of the envelope—[Y/N] braces herself for the worst, despite not knowing who on earth might have sent it—until a familiar voice booms around the Great Hall.

"ARE YOU A BASILISK? BECAUSE WHEN I SAW YOU, I FROZE."

Ron's shoulders automatically start shaking with laughter. Most of the Great Hall—or at least the ones close enough to hear the Howler—have turned around to watch the spectacle unfold, giggling behind their palms and pointing at [Y/N] like she can't see them. [Y/N], in the meantime, stares, completely dead to the world and everything else around her, because she knows that voice.

But then the Howler keeps talking. "IF YOU LET ME TAKE YOU ON A DATE, I CAN PROMISE YOU THINGS THOSE FILTHY PEASANTS CAN NEVER GIVE YOU."

The entire hall has fallen completely silent. [Y/N] feels her face burning up, but not with embarrassment—[Y/N] is angry. She feels it thrumming in her veins, curling around her lungs, clouding all of her senses.

With a single flick of [Y/N]'s wand, the Howler bursts into flames with a final feeble wheeze of I'm also a fairly good snogger. Ron is roaring with laughter and Harry has also joined in. Two-faced gits.

[Y/N] slams her palms down on the table and vaguely even registers the pain this gives her as she steps out from behind the bench and turns around to face the Slytherin table because of course she knows who sent the Howler. Of course she knows who would go out of his way to humiliate her in front of the entirety of Hogwarts, because that extremely irritating, maddeningly haughty voice can only belong to one person—and sure enough, the idiot in question is standing there on top of the benches, arms outstretched towards her and that proud, snooty look on his face like he expects her to actually be impressed.

Over Ron and Harry's laughter, [Y/N] shouts angrily, "Malfoy!"

Malfoy drops his arms to his sides, hops off the bench, and swaggers towards her. She meets him halfway—and when she does, she doesn't hesitate to shove him angrily by the shoulders. He stumbles back a little, but he's still grinning annoyingly wide. "Have you come to me bearing an answer?" he says, his tone mocking, and [Y/N] just barely suppresses herself from whipping out her wand and jabbing it somewhere she wouldn't want a wand anywhere near. They are still surrounded by teachers. "I imagine it's a yes—who would turn me down, after all—"

"Drop the fucking act," she hisses; all eyes are on them, because Hogwarts never passes up a chance for gossip, and this might be the most exciting one yet. Draco Malfoy publicly asking out the girl everyone knows he's hated, and has hated him, for a long time—what a spectacle. But [Y/N] knows that his intentions are far from genuine; this is just another way to humiliate her and get on her nerves. And as much as she hates to admit it, it's a pretty good fucking move, because she hasn't been this annoyed by him in a long time.

Her teeth are gritted together so hard her words barely come out coherent. "I don't know what you're playing at," she practically growls, taking a step closer to get in his face, "But I encourage you to get yourself together."

But Malfoy seems unaffected. "Pity you didn't let the Howler finish," he drawls, still with that same smirk on his lips as he wriggles his brows suggestively. "I could've told you more about my superior snogging skills."

"Which is exactly why I didn't," she fumes. "We're in the middle of lunch—any more of you talking about your 'superior snogging skills' and the entirety of this hall would've thrown up on themselves. I know I would've."

At this, the smile on Malfoy's face droops a little, a ghost of his familiar sneer seeping in. [Y/N] takes a step back away from him, because she can't stand being more than a few feet near the prat. "You've got a lot of nerve, pulling this," she scoffs. "Try it again and you'll regret it. Now excuse me while I go do my bloody homework."

And then she turns around, goes back to the Gryffindor table, and does her bloody homework.

—

But Malfoy, as it turns out, isn't as weak-willed as he lets on. She's started receiving Howlers every morning at breakfast, all of which burst into flames every time to rain ashes upon her innocent plate of eggs and toast, but only after loudly blurting out some ridiculously bad pick-up line. It's been four days since the first Howler and they've only gotten progressively worse ever since—"you must be a Boggart because I'm terrified of pretty women"—and [Y/N] is beginning to grow so very tired.

Today, she hexes him in the middle of the hallway just as he's coming out of Potions class. She had warned him, all those days ago, that he'd regret it if he didn't let up. So [Y/N] watches, terribly amused as Draco starts wailing in the corridor, his hands splayed over his face in a measly attempt to cover the sardines falling out of his nostrils. It's an irreversible hex—or at least for eight hours—but until then, Draco will have to deal with the tiny fishes that shoot out of his nose at random intervals. [Y/N] can't bring herself to feel bad, not when he's humiliated her time and time again in front of so many people.

No Howlers arrive the morning after. There's a sense of what feels like disappointment coming off of the Great Hall; some people have actually turned around in their seats to watch her in anticipation for an owl to come swooping down upon her bearing a red envelope. Unfortunately for them, it doesn't happen. [Y/N], meanwhile, is finally at peace.

Or at least until Ron jabs her in the side and goes, "So are you?" he's grinning. "A Boggart, I mean."

It's a reference to the Howler she received yesterday. Her movements are dangerously swift; immediately she smacks the back of his head, sending him into a complaining frenzy. She rolls her eyes. "Stupid Malfoy."

"As much as I hate to say this," Harry begins, "I kind of wish you hadn't hexed him into stopping. His pick-up lines were pretty funny."

"Ha!" [Y/N] points a finger at Harry and nods approvingly, laughing a little. "That's a good one, Harry."

Harry stares at her dead in the eye. "Oh, I wasn't joking."

Her face falls.

"I suppose being on the receiving end of Malfoy's affection isn't any better than being hated by him," says Hermione, offering [Y/N] a sympathetic smile. "It's a good thing you showed him not to mess with you any further, [Y/N]."

[Y/N] tries for a smile of her own, but it comes out all stiff and crooked. "I feel like the past few days have been a fever dream," she says, shuddering. "This new form of—bullying, I don't know—has just been so weird. The bad names I've gotten used to, but—the compliments? The pick-up lines?"

"D'you think he's gone off his rocker?" Ron suggests.

"Maybe he fancies you," says Hermione off-handedly.

The effect this has on the three is instantaneous; Ron, Harry, and [Y/N] simultaneously blanch as though they've all swallowed something sour at the same time. Ron is choking on a piece of toast and Harry has spit water everywhere.

"Absolutely not," [Y/N] is shaking her head, nose wrinkled in distaste. "He can't possibly—that's ridiculous. We've hated each other for years."

"Feelings do change," Hermione shrugs, rolling her eyes at Ron and Harry, who have yet to recover from their initial shock. "And besides, it was just a suggestion. Although I don't see why he'd go out of his way to send you Howlers repeatedly asking you out if he doesn't fancy you."

"Because he wants to humiliate me in front of everyone!"

"Oh, alright, alright," Hermione sighs, sensing her defeat. "But you never know."

Ron has gathered his bearings once more. He turns to Hermione, genuine concern flooding his features, and blubbers, "Did I hear you right? Malfoy—fancying [Y/N]?"

"Yes, Ronald." Another eye-roll. "It's not that outlandish. Boys are boys—even Malfoy."

"Merlin's beard," he slumps down in his seat, shaking his head. "I don't think I've ever been this surprised. Not since I heard that Percy managed to score himself a girlfriend, and that was three years ago."

A few days pass, and while no more Howlers arrive, Malfoy is still as insistent as ever in his attempts to "woo" her—or, well, whatever it is he's trying to do. [Y/N] doesn’t quite know what to call it anymore; for some reason, it no longer feels like an attempt to bully or humiliate her. It's not as though he's insulting her, and it's not like her reputation is in any way being lessened. In fact, most of Hogwarts, it seems, enjoys the so-called "love-hate relationship" they've got going on, and expects them to get together sometime in the near future.

[Y/N] learns all of this from Fred and George, who are always a good source of gossip.

"What better love story than two sworn enemies falling in love?" George gushes, clasping his hands together.

"So romantic," Fred sings, closing his eyes and swaying his hips as though listening to a sultry tune only he can hear. “Setting aside their differences to answer the call of their hearts."

"Oh, Malfoy's still an arse, of course."

"But it's still romantic."

Part of [Y/N] wishes that the twins hadn’t told her that, because it makes it all the more confusing on her part. If, by some miracle, Malfoy does fancy her—what is she supposed to do? Ride off with him into the sunset? They are enemies—they have been for four, supposedly five years now, except this year Malfoy is being an insufferable twat who won't stop yelling pick-up lines at her in the hallways.

[Y/N] decides to turn a blind eye on him. If she ignores him for long enough, he's bound to stop.

Right?

—

Despite being a close friend to the famous Harry Potter, [Y/N] can say she’s made a name for herself at school that stretches far beyond just that girl who hangs out with the Chosen One. She’s been playing for the Gryffindor Quidditch team for two years and has contributed to some of the house’s most fantastic wins as a Chaser, and she’s also a fairly good student. She may have a penchant for trouble-making, but she knows how to limit herself. She prides herself for her work ethic and thus her grades are above average—enough for her to earn the favor of most of her teachers and for eager first-years to sometimes come up to her asking for help doing homework.

But enough for those very same first-years to come up to her in the hallway ready to do all of her biddings for the day, practically demanding her to hand over her books so that they can carry them for her? No. Certainly not. [Y/N] may have made a name for herself, but definitely not one renowned enough to earn the eleven-year-olds now crowded around her moments after she steps out of potions class, telling her that, “We’re here at your disposal! If you need us to do anything, just say the word!”

[Y/N] stares at the three children clustered around her, all wide-eyed and for some reason incredibly eager for her to start bossing them around.

Taken aback, she ushers them into a corner; the hallway is busy and people will keep bumping into them if they stay in the middle of the hallway like that.

Once away from the bustling main corridor, she bends down a little so that she’s at eye-level with all of them. “At my disposal?” she repeats, eyes narrowing playfully. “What do you mean?”

“We’re here to carry your books for you or grab you snacks from the kitchens or tie your shoelaces if you need us to!” one of them exclaims, bouncing on his toes.

Alright—this is getting ridiculous. [Y/N] pauses, lips pressed together into a thin line as she stares at each one of the first-years in turn; all three of them are staring at her as though waiting for her to start asking them to do push-ups.

She inhales. Someone must have put them up to this, because there is no way these children woke up this morning and simultaneously decided to become her servants for the day.

“Well,” she begins, smiling at them—and good grief, did she really look that young when she was eleven? “Thank you for offering to help me. I appreciate it, really—but lucky for me I’ve got some very capable arms and I think I can handle tying my shoelaces and carrying my books around and whatnot. But again—thank you. You’re all very nice.”

She pauses to look at their reactions; the smiles on their faces have drooped a little as they turn to one another, seemingly at a loss for words. “But,” the one girl says, frowning, “We’re supposed to help you.”

[Y/N] raises her eyebrows. “Supposed to?”

Someone definitely put them up to this—[Y/N] is certain of it now. And she has a good guess as to who.

She starts by saying, tone gentle, “Did someone tell you to do this? Because that’s really kind, and I’d love to thank them.”

The girl bunches up her lips in thought, shuffling her feet against the ground. “We’re not supposed to say,” she mutters, glancing at the two boys next to her nervously.

[Y/N] inhales. She needs confirmation, so she crouches down so that she’s the same height as them, and offers them all the friendliest, most trustworthy smile she can muster. The kind that wins over eleven-year-olds. “You won’t get in trouble if you tell me,” she tells them gently, and waits for them to nod in understanding before she goes, “Was it Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?”

They don’t have to respond—the looks on their faces are enough confirmation. [Y/N] suppresses the urge to roll her eyes, because of course Malfoy is the kind of person to somehow get first-years to do something like this. And she’s pretty sure it has something to do with bribery.

“Did he promise to give you anything, maybe?” [Y/N] presses on patiently.

The girl leans in and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper excitedly, “Chocolate frogs. Five for each of us.”

Ah. Of course. [Y/N] sighs inwardly and nods, standing up properly to once more tower over the tiny first-years. As much as she would love to have her own personal butlers, there is absolutely no way she is agreeing to take any part in exploiting these young kids. So she ruffles all of their hair in turn and promises to give them much, much more chocolate frogs than Malfoy will ever be able to offer if they swear to ignore him for the rest of their lives.

So she stands there in the hallway, a minute late for Transfiguration, watching the three first-years skip down the hallway, grinning excitedly to themselves—no doubt because they’ve just been promised what could be an infinite supply of chocolate frogs.

Which [Y/N] will now have to spend a lump of her summer savings on. Great. Bloody fantastic.

She didn’t think she could hate Draco Malfoy even more than she already did, but now, with the burden of buying chocolate frogs resting on her shoulders, she realizes that anything is possible.

[Y/N] finds Draco later on in the day when she’s heading to the Great Hall for dinner; as she’s passing by a window that coincidentally overlooks the Quidditch pitch, she sees him zooming around the stadium by himself, no doubt practicing to better his (in [Y/N]’s opinion) ghastly Seeker skills.

So she trudges off to the pitch, arms folded over her chest as she yells, “Malfoy!”

He notices, stops in mid-air, and immediately flies down to land in front of her, one hand on his hip and the other resting on top of his broom. That signature smirk is already on his face, mirrored by [Y/N]'s angry scowl. “Here to take me up on my offer for a date?” he grins, shaking his (sweaty, wet) hair out of his eyes. [Y/N] watches the movement, unimpressed. “Or were you just planning to watch me practice?”

She scoffs, tearing her eyes away from the way he’s running a hand through his blond hair. “Neither. I thought you were bad enough, Malfoy, but bribing first-years into doing my bidding for me? In exchange for bloody chocolate frogs?”

Malfoy’s hand pauses in carding through his hair. He drops it back to his side. “So you figured it out.”

”Why else would first-years be so eager for me to boss them around?”

”Maybe because they find you just as beautiful as I do?” he suggests, eyes glinting, the smile on his face growing even wider. [Y/N] lets out a quick breath of incredulous laughter, because is he really still keeping this act up when no one is around to see? Is he that desperate to get on her nerves?

“Just stop it, Malfoy,” she says through gritted teeth, taking a step closer to him. At this, he whistles a little, eyebrows rising, and for some reason [Y/N] tries very, very hard not to look at the sweat trickling down his forehead, the pale pink hue of his cheeks from the strain of practicing—“Please for the love of Merlin can you just drop the whole I’m-in-love-with-you act? You got what you wanted. You’ve annoyed me enough.”

Draco's nose wrinkles. “Oh, but that’s not what I wanted,” the smile on his face falters a little. ”Did you really think I did all of this just to annoy you?”

[Y/N]’s eyebrows furrow—and is that her heart skipping a beat? No. No, definitely not. Falling quiet for a few moments, she finally sniffs and says, “Why else would you go out of your way to act absolutely smitten by me?”

An echo of Hermione's voice from several days ago reverberates through her head. Maybe he fancies you.

Malfoy shrugs, his smirk falling just the tiniest bit to be replaced by a semblance of sincerity. But that can’t be. And then he says, “Maybe I fancy you,” and [Y/N]’s eyes widen.

That can’t be right. Flabbergasted, she blinks, taking a step back. This has to be some sort of joke—no, yes, that’s exactly what this is: another way to crawl under her skin and annoy the daylights out of her. She has to applaud him for his creativity.

Pinching the space between her eyes in irritation, she looks up at Malfoy, inhales, and says, deadpan, “I’m being serious.”

“I am too,” Malfoy counters, eyebrows raised innocently, and [Y/N] has never wanted to smack him more than she does now.

She lets out another incredulous laugh, because this entire situation is just so bloody ridiculous that she can’t quite wrap her head around it. Throwing her hands up in the air in frustration, she turns to him and says, “Alright—okay. Let’s say you do fancy me. I’m going to pretend for a few seconds that you do—okay?”

Draco watches her, evidently amused judging by his grin, shrugs, and nods.

“Okay,” she huffs. “If you do fancy me—why on earth would you?”

Draco opens his mouth, but she cuts him off: “We hate each other, Malfoy. We’ve hated each other since the moment you laid eyes on me and I laid eyes on you. What could have possibly changed your rotten mind?”

He rolls his eyes at this, shifting a little on where he stands. “For starters,” he begins, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, “I didn’t hate you. I disliked the fact that you hung out with the wrong sort of people.”

”The wrong sort of people,” she repeats, deadpan.

“The Weasleys. Blood traitors. Mudbloods.”

She scowls at him, brain struggling to fathom what the bloody hell he’s trying to tell her. Managing to once more plow through her confusion, she says, “Your point is?”

“I’d have asked you out long ago if only you were smarter with who you chose to befriend,” and there it is—that familiar, distasteful sneer [Y/N] hasn’t seen in a long time. “Your family’s one of the oldest wizarding families around. It’s a shame.”

She lets out another scoff of disbelief, but the first few of Draco's words have something inside of her stirring. She refuses to address it and instead says, “So—and again, I’m pretending—you fancy me because of my family?”

He lets out a little sniff. “Not what I said.”

”What is it you’re trying to say, then?”

“Blimey, how long is it going to take you to realize that I actually bloody fancy you?”

Draco has dropped all pretense of nonchalant arrogance; he’s staring at her, obviously frustrated and a little annoyed. He stops leaning on his broom and lets it drop to the ground in favor of advancing towards her until he’s mere inches away from her face.

”I fancy you,” he repeats, and it’s funny, how he says it, because declarations of love are supposed to be sweet and gentle—not scathing and angry. He’s scowling down at her, lip curling, brows drawn in together in the middle in a tight frown. “I’ve decided that I don’t care who you hang around anymore because I fancy you. Do you get it now?”

[Y/N] swallows, staring at him, momentarily frozen. Malfoy doesn’t seem as though he’s joking—and now she doesn’t know what to say. She’s never been this close to him before—close enough to see herself in the reflection of his eyes, which are a striking grey and remind her of thunderstorms brewing behind dark clouds—

She takes in a deep breath and swivels around, turning away from him. “Stop sending children to be my servants,” she says, and starts to walk away—until Malfoy grabs her wrist and forces her to look at him again.

For a moment the look in his eyes convinces [Y/N] that he’s about to apologize, but then his lips are splitting into a wide grin again and he says, “What if I bribe a seventh year into doing your homework for you?”

Another scoff. She tears her wrist away from his grip and stalks off, in complete and utter disbelief.

”Or a house-elf to bring you food?” he calls after her. “Someone to do your hair for you in the morning? Or someone to yell at me for you?”

She halts at the last one, and for some odd, unknown reason, she feels like smiling. But she doesn’t, because that will open a door into something she isn’t sure she wants to explore. So she turns around, suppressing that mysterious little smile, already twenty feet away from Malfoy as she says, loudly, “I like doing that last one myself, thanks.”

From this distance, she thinks Malfoy might be smiling. But she doesn’t stay long enough to find out.

click here to read pt. 2!

#harry potter #harry potter oneshot #harry potter oneshots #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy oneshots #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfic

[undersero]

addicted

this is my (several days late) piece for @seita's corrupt-a-virgin collab! thanks a bunch for letting me participate!

pairing: toru oikawa x fem reader

contains: unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, swearing, corruption and corruption kink, loss of virginity, very light dacryphilia.

word count: 3036

**this work is intended for 18+ audiences only. minors do not interact. do not repost my work or recommend it on any other platform**

“Oh, it feels good though, doesn’t it?” he chuckles, breath wafting over your face as his fingers press against your crotch through the fabric of your panties.

It does feel good and you think that’s the worst part of it all. Toru’s fingers feel good, they feel so fucking good in fact that you’re embarassed at the memories of your own fingers between your legs like this, desperately trying to get yourself off to no avail.

“Hey,” he murmurs, nudging your noses together gently, making you catch his gaze; his eyes are so dark now that they look like molten dark chocolate. It’s only seconds until you’re lost in them.

“Hm?” you mumble, face horribly warm.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yeah,” the response tumbles from your mouth without any prompting from your brain. Toru smiles at you, dazzling and breathtaking as ever.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips. His fingers continue their slow circles against the fabric and it isn’t long before you feel wetness spreading around, making the fabric heavier and sticky.

It feels good, it really does- so good. He knows what he’s doing, that’s clear, but you try to push that thought from your mind with moderate success; he’s here with you now. That’s what matters. Someone as handsome and charming as Toru couldn’t go without pussy, and what was the harm? You’re enjoying it, reaping the benefits of his experience-

“Getting lost in that pretty little head of yours?” he coos, smiling against your cheek. Before you can answer, he’s speaking again. “I need to up my game, then,” he sucks slightly on your earlobe before pulling away. Long, elegant fingers hook underneath the flimsy fabric of your panties and he pulls down, exposing your glistening, aroused cunt to him.

You whimper, gasping slightly as your panties are slid away and the cooler air of the room hits your flushed skin. Out of instinct, you try to close your thighs, to hide your soft pussy from him, but he’s quick to keep your legs parted with his hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides playfully, smirking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Keep these pretty legs open, baby. Can you do that? Be a good girl for me, now.”

Slowly, his index finger slides up and around your folds, the sensation eliciting a whine from you immediately. Your nerves alight with pleasure, tingling in a way you’ve never been able to feel from your fingers alone. This was better than anything you’d ever tried, and at this point you’re too far gone, too given in to the pleasure, to care if Toru knows that or not.

“Mmmmf,” you whimper, pressing your lips together tightly, and you hear a kind, amused chuckle from your lover.

“Sounds like you’re purring for me,” he tells you, leaning in to steal another kiss from your sweet lips. “Must mean you like this, huh?”

He tilts his head at you, waiting patiently and adorably for an answer. You’re able to nod, mouth suddenly too dry to let him know by speaking. But that seems to be okay with him, in fact, he seems to really enjoy the fact that you can’t speak at the moment.

“So if this feels good,” he continues, talking out loud to himself like you’re not even there, “then this must feel pretty great, huh?”

As he speaks, his fingers part your folds and he circles the pad of his finger against your clit. A loud cry tumbles from your lips immediately, pleasure surging through you at a dizzying pace as Toru plays with the acing, hard bud.

“Well, lookie here,” he says in that slightly mocking sing-song voice, “I’d say you like that, don’t you, baby?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. It feels so good, too good, and your toes are curling, back is arching, wetness spreads through you like you’ve never felt it before.

And then it’s gone. Toru takes his hands off you completely, causing your cunt to throb almost violently with the loss.

“Toru!” you whine, sounding more pathetic than you meant to, and if you weren’t so desperate, you would be embarrassed by how it sounds.

“I asked you a question, little girl,” he tells you, and though his voice is light and playful, there’s an edge underneath it. His eyes are hard. Looking back on this in hindsight, you realize he’s molding you here, shaping you into exactly what he wants.

The next words out of your mouth show him that you’ll allow this.

“It feels good, I like it,” you whimper, lips quivering, suddenly upset at the thought that you may have upset him or disappointed him in some way. Your hips move downward, sliding down the bed toward Toru, seeking out more of that pleasure.

“That’s what I was looking for,” he approves, sliding his hands back between your folds and returning his fingers to their work of circling your clit.

“I expect you to answer me when I ask you questions, princess,” he says, “otherwise I’ll have to punish my sweet girl… and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

You bristle. No. You don’t want that.

“Right,” you whimper, voice shaky and unsturdy with the pleasure he’s giving you, “don’t want that.”

And then he’s his normal self once more, sweet and teasing and mocking you in a sweet voice; completely being the Toru you know and love. This had been an experiment, you’ll realize later, to see what he could make you do, and to see what all he could get from you. You played right into his hand. Like taking candy from a baby...only easier.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on it, ‘kay?”

His next words pull you from your blissed pleasure quickly, like yanking you out of a warm, wet dream.

“Gonna do what?”

He laughs at your slurred words, settling himself on the floor between where your legs have draped over the side of the bed.

“I’m gonna put my mouth on this pretty little pussy,” he repeats, letting his lewd intentions drip off each letter as a triumphant grin spreads over his lips as you become visibly more flushed and shy and turned on than you were before.

“Why would you do that?” you want to know. Your question is met with another chuckle.

“Why don’t you be quiet and let me do it,” he replies, “and then you’ll know the answer to that question.”

You nod, face burning, and he winks at you, long lashes framing beautifully dark eyes, and then he bows his head and all you can see are the chocolate waves of his hair, where your fingers quickly find purchase once he slides his tongue over your folds, licking in one long, sloppy swipe.

It sends shivers up your spine, your mouth falls open, a whimper falling from it before you can register what’s happened. He repeats the action, using his strong hands to pull your thighs up to hook over his shoulders. All you can focus on is his tongue, is the way it feels like magic. It makes you cry out with each stroke over your folds.

His right hand is spread out at the bottom of your belly, beautiful fingers over soft skin, and his thumb starts swiping at your clit intermittently, in time with when he’s sliding his tongue over you. The added stimulation makes you groan and whine, catching your teeth harshly between your lips as you have to close your eyes from pleasured tears welling behind them.

Your back nearly snaps in half when he swirls his tongue around your clit. It sends every nerve alight with pleasure, his soft, wet, delicious tongue working against the sensitive nub is a dream, and the feeling of it makes you damn near lose all your senses.

At that moment, you don’t know your name. You don’t know how old you are or where you’re from, and you don’t even remember what you had for dinner that night. All you know is Toru and his tongue and his long, beautifully expert fingers and how they can make you feel like a goddess and bring you into a world of pure pleasure. Your brain is mushy, unable to string together a thought, let along a sentence, so the only thing falling from your lips as you rake your hands through beautifully styled trusses of Toru’s hair is broken syllables of his name.

It’s not long before you feel a different kind of euphoria creeping around the edges of your pleasure, blurring it, bringing it to zenith, the likes of which you’ve never known before. Your fingers haven’t brought you pleasure like this before, nor did your vibrator; no, this was unparalleled and uncharted territory.

“To-ru!” you cry out, voice hoarse and strained as you tug on his hair. “I’m go-nna,” you try to tell him, words failing you completely. He pays you no mind, continuing to slurp and suck and lick at your cunt and your clit, humming against your skin as though he’s completely unbothered.

One final sob leaves your lips before you cum harder than you ever have before. It washes over you like a wave so powerful that it nearly drowns you. Your vision spots white as tears fall from the corners of your eyes, and somewhere deep inside, you know that you’re addicted now, addicted to Toru and his tongue and what he can do with it. There’s no hope for you to ever escape, but it’s a good thing you don’t want to.

Your entire body, each nerve, sings with pleasure so bright and golden that you feel like you’re glowing, and from Toru’s perspective, you are. You look gorgeous in your bliss, and he’s so lucky, he thinks, to have such a wonderful seat from which to see it.

“Think you’re ready for me to put it in, babe?” Toru asks you, his voice now deeper than it had been. You blink at him, not comprehending, and he grins. The now familiar heat on your cheeks continues to burn as you see his slicked chin, clit throbbing as you know what he did to you to make such a mess of himself.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks , tilting his head with a slight blush on his cheeks, which only makes you heat up more.

“Yeah,” you whine out, causing his lips to pull into a grin. He kisses you again, and you taste your cunt on his mouth, much to your embarrassment and arousal. The slick of his chin slides over yours, but you’re unbothered by it. If anything, it excites you more because it’s messy and it’s sexy and it’s naughty.

“My good girl,” he coos affectionately, smirking at you. His fingers slide down your thighs before he speaks again, “I’m gonna finger you open now, okay?” He asks, concern evident in his tone.

“Yes,” you murmur, feeling the heat of arousal begin to pool again in your stomach as he begins touching your folds with his fingers. Then, he slides his index finger into the warm cavern of your cunt.

It feels weird. Good, but weird. Your body tenses a little bit, and you mewl, but he’s quick to soothe you with soft words.

“It’s okay, babe,” he murmurs, curling his finger gently as he fucks you with it. So slow. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you groan, feeling wetness spread through you once more as his finger continues its slow, thorough path into and out of you. It’s another moment before you relax.

“That’s a good girl,” Toru says proudly, grin pulling at his lips as he slides another finger into you. Quickly, his hand is slick with your arousal, it’s dripping down his fingers and to the back of his hand, staining the sheets below you.

The second finger is easier to take now; it slides in easier and the pressure against your walls is delightful. As he hooks his fingers, you arch your back, feeling the soft pads of his fingers press against soft, spongy spots inside you that you never could have dreamed to reach with your own hand.

Toru’s third finger has your eyes prickling with tears of pleasure. It’s good, so good, to feel so full. Spit is dribbling from the side of your lip, but you’re unable to feel it, unable to realize you’re drooling for this man and his fingers. Arousal rushes from your cunt like a waterfall, the sheets underneath you will have to be changed because you’ve made them so wet. Never in your wildest dreams did you believe there were so many glorious spots within your walls, but now that Toru’s found them, all of them, you can’t imagine not having this again. You’re addicted to this feeling, too, to his fingers just as much as his mouth, and--

His fingers are gone.

It takes you a moment to register the loss, but when you do, you whimper, and it is so amusing that Toru huffs out a laugh through his nose. He’s standing now, pushing your body further up the bed and crawling over you. His cock, which is as pretty as his fingers, is red and throbbing from his own arousal. You’ve done that to him. You’ve made him that hard.

“Gonna fuck you now, sweet thing,” he rumbles in a deep voice. His hand fists around his cock and he tugs at it, grunting at the semblance of relief he finds in the action. “‘S it okay if I do that?”

“I think if you don’t fuck me, I’ll lose my mind,” you tell him in a slurred voice that feels disconnected from your body.

And he does. You’re wet enough that his cock splits you open with ease, although the size of it isn’t something you expect. As he hovers over you, his hand slides over your hair, petting it in a soothing gesture. He’s speaking to you softly, but you can’t hear the words because your heart is beating too loudly.

“Sweetheart,” he says, firmly now as his hand slides around your jaw. This brings you out of whatever reverie you’re in, and you’re able to look at him, albeit with a bleary gaze.

“Hm?” you mumble.

“Does it hurt?” he asks you, brow furrowed. You consider for a moment. No, it doesn’t hurt… you don’t want it to stop. It’s just...weird.

“No,” you say, shaking your head, “feels weird.”

His face relaxes and the line between his brows disappears as he smiles at you.

“Can you let me keep going?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Soon, his pelvis is flush against you as his cock is fully inside your cunt. The heat, the stretching, the intimacy of it makes your body and your insides feel hotter than the surface of the sun.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, rubbing his hands over your belly. “Taking my cock so well baby. Fits so nice in that little pussy, doesn’t it?”

“Yuh-yeah,” you whimper, holding onto his arms so tightly that your nails are cutting crescents into his skin, but neither of you can be brought from the moment to care.

“Still feel weird?” he wants to know.

“Al-m-ost good,” you pant out with great effort, cheeks burning with heat.

“You feel so good…” he starts kissing your jawline toward your ear, nibbling along the lobe and the cartilage, tugging gently with his teeth, just enough to make you whimper out, “...gonna start fucking you know, ‘kay pretty girl?”

“‘Kay, Toru.”

His hips move slowly, and it only takes two or three thrusts before almost good starts feeling a little good; and in mere moments, a little good morphs into really good. There’s a slight wet noise coming from where you’re coupled, and if you weren’t so high on your lover you’d be embarrassed by it, but you don’t care and neither does he.

His cock fills you even more perfectly than his fingers. It drags along every inch of you, rubbing, stimulating, enchanting your cunt and entire body with pleasure you’ve never known before.

“Toru,” you groan, hands finally releasing his arms to slide up and brush through his hair.

His face is flushed, a pretty pink color, and his eyes are so dark you don’t see any difference between pupil and iris. Sweat gleams on his forehead, and he’s staring into your eyes with the most intense, loving, needy gaze you’ve ever seen directed at you. His gaze makes you feel known. It makes you feel seen. It scares you and delights you, all at the same time.

“Taking my cock so well, baby,” he praises. “Like a little pro, you were made for this,” his words are cut off by a groan and he presses his face into your shoulder, hips moving slightly faster now as his own orgasm comes closer to his grasp. His balls slap your ass more frequently, the bed frame starts creaking and smacking against the wall, and your wails of pleasure are louder. Toru’s fingers are no longer calm and practiced as they swipe over your clit; now they’re frenzied and shaking.

“Gonna cum,” is the only warning you can say before you cry out, back arching as his cock presses against that particularly wonderful place inside you, as his fingers swipe just right.

You’re cumming, tugging his hair and whimpering out pathetically. Your walls clamp around his cock, milking it, and soon, his hips pause. They press in once more, and he moans, cock spurting ropes of hot cum along your walls.

Both of your breathing is ragged. Your heart is pounding so hard you can almost see it through your chest, and as Toru slumps against your body, you can feel heart battering his ribcage, too.

It’s quiet for a long time, but you don’t know how long it really is. Time moves slower now, it doesn’t make as much sense. All you know is that Toru’s hair smells wonderful. His weight on you is out of this world. His softened cock, his cum, his fingers, all are things you’re addicted to now.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

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