#but i pull it out. and look at it. and my appetite swallows itself up. and i put it back in the fridge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pleathewrites · 1 month

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i am no mother, i am no bride

rating: T fandom: my hero academia relationships: todoroki rei/todoroki enji, todoroki rei & todoroki touya themes: domestic violence & implied/referenced child abuse, todoroki rei becoming a badass mofo, quirk evolution read on ao3

We argue in the kitchen about whether to have children

We come out of the womb hungry.

We kick and cry and scream for our mother’s milk — for a feeding spoon, for our father’s gentle smile, for a hand in our own and a home to keep warm.

We come out of the womb hungry for love, and so many of us die starved.

Todoroki Enji was a man built for warmth. He was a man with the kind of smile Himura Rei spent her entire life craving from her own flesh and blood. He was a man who seemed ready to feed her stomach full of everything she’d spent her life without.

His wedding proposal is fattened by an antique vase from the Meiji period, hand-crafted and meticulously detailed with the indigo brushstrokes of a rising phoenix, filled to the brim with bright and blue rindou flowers, “I was told these are your favorite.”

Just the sight of Todoroki Enji’s big hands engulfing the ceramic piece worth more than the entire Himura estate awakens the ravenous beast in Rie’s stomach — claws out and ready to gorge on every vow that drips so deliciously from stern lips.

“They match the color of your eyes,” Rei accepts and bats her lashes — the way her mother said thin women must do should they seek to be nourished by plentiful men.

Stern lips pull into a pleased smile, “Then let us hope our children have my eyes and your elegant taste.”

Oh, how famine makes us so desperate.

The very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most

Sometimes, Rei wonders about a life where her husband is not a hero.

Would his shoulders relax? Would he smile wider? Would he touch her more? Would he still have the insatiable need to be the very best and would he still feel absolute devastation when he is proven, yet again, that someone else has already taken that place?

Would this marriage be the same? Would he be the same?

Would he still slam the front door in the dead silence of their enormous home to announce his presence? Would he still kick his shoes halfway across the living room and shove his coat into Rei’s arms with nothing more than a curt, “What’s for dinner?” and would Rei still find the site of his retreating back more familiar than the warm smile he had gifted her on the day of his proposal?

Is there a world where Todoroki Enji is able to enjoy the life he already has?

They eat in a silence that Rei has learned to find a belly-aching comfort in.

“This is good, thank you,” Enji’s comment surprises Rei, and the corners of her lips are already ticking upwards.

“Thank you,” She feeds herself a spoonful.

“You haven’t made this in a long time.”

Rei laughs as she lays her hand over her protruding belly, “This little one has been making me crave the randomest cuisine,” She hopes her first-born looks like her.

Enji smiles, and for a second, Rei’s heart sings full with it.

“He’ll be a strong hero with an appetite like that.”

Her smile falters, “Our child will be strong in whatever they pursue.”

Enji stops eating.

‘Gods,’ Is there a world where Todoroki Rei’s shame over her gluttonous heart will ever swallow itself whole into the gratitude her mother demanded up till her dying breath?

Enji puts his fork down. His eyes are angry, and the base of Rei’s spine straightens automatically — in preparation for what, she hasn’t figured out yet.

“Do you not want our son to become a hero?”

If Todoroki Enji was not a hero, would he still twist every single thing that comes out of Rei’s mouth?

He calls their child ‘son,’ as if he’s already laid out their entire life. Rei wants to protest — ‘What if our child does not feel like our son? What if our child is not born with the same hunger as their father?’ — but she holds her tongue.

Women who protest are often left to starve.

You need your rotten heart, your dazzling pain like diamond rings

In all the ways Rei could not have imagined, it is the call of her first-born that quenches her parched heart.

Touya’s soft and giggly, ‘Mama,’ fills every single one of her husband’s empty promises. She holds his tiny feet in her palms and stretches out his fat thighs in rotation as she sings the radio tunes that have been filling the silence her husband leaves behind when he goes to work. With every passing day, she feeds her son until her sore breasts are empty and he no longer needs her help to waddle toward where she cooks his next meal. She pours all the light and love she never received into Touya’s bright blue eyes until they bloom just as beautifully as the rindou flowers she starts to buy herself.

For three whole years, her happiness is not tied to the efforts of a bountiful man, but to those of her own two hands. Her first-born inherited the fiery red hair and resolved blue eyes of his father, but for all intents and purposes, Touya is Rei’s child.

Unfortunately, after Touya’s third birthday, it comes to light that her first-born had also inherited his father’s flames.

It happens during a tantrum. Rei is out of ingredients for cold soba, and Touya is crying — “But-but! Mama always makes cold soba when I’m s-sick!” — and Enji is slamming his newspaper on their dining table, about to reprimand his son when the room flashes with heat and the smell of Enji’s burning newspaper fills Rei’s nose with smoke while her husband's astonished smile fills her heart with dread.

“Enji, please tell me that was you…”

Enji shakes his head, “It was not.”

“I-I — wha — that wasn’t! M-Mama…?” Her first-born looks so scared, “I-I didn’t mean to!” Touya begs, rivers of fresh and frightened tears running down his chubby cheeks.

Just as she’s about to comfort her son, Enji’s booming laughter drowns out her first-born’s fear and makes both mother and son jolt in surprise as Enji swings their child upon his shoulders, “My boy!”

Touya’s breath hitches and he scrambles to catch his balance on his father’s broad shoulders, tiny hands gripping the perfect crop of auburn hair. A questioning whimper escapes Touya’s throat, and Rei’s heart breaks.

It is the first time his father has held Touya since his birth. The first time her husband has laughed in all the time Rei has known him. The first time Enji has shown a pride that has nothing to do with his competition’s failures.

“You’re going to be the best hero in the whole world, Touya!”

Her son sniffles, “O-Okay.”

It is the moment Touya stops being Rei’s child, and instead Enji’s successor.

You need to go to war to find material to sing

“Gods, he’s not even in fucking Japan, and he’s still the Number One Hero!”

Every day is like this — ‘All Might this, All Might that, are the people blind? What more do I have to do? These quirkless idiots don’t know a worthy hero when it’s staring them in their fucking faces!’

“Touya, hurry and finish your food. It’s almost training time.”

Rei hardly has an appetite these days, “You need to let him rest after eating, Enji. He’ll get sick.”

There’s ice flowing through her veins but nothing freezes her blood like when her husband gives her that look — the one where brilliant blue eyes demand her to remember her place.

“Nuh-uh! I’m strong, Mama!”

Rei takes a deep breath and tries to remember that she is a person, not a placeholder. “I know you are, Touya,” She smiles at her first-born, “But your food needs to digest before any activity. You got sick last night, didn’t you?”

A thoughtful look passes through her son’s undeniably young face and he turns to his father, “That’s true…”

The large fists on the dining table clench, and the sparse auburn hair dusting over Enji’s knuckles stands out against the whitened skin that’s been cut off from its regular blood flow.

“That is why we pay for those doctors to stay with us,” Her husband cajoles through gritted teeth, “They gave you medicine, didn’t they, son?”

Touya’s small spine straightens, “Uhm, y-yeah, that’s true! I’ll be fine, Mama — Dad will make sure I’m okay!”

Rei misses when Touya’s trusting smile was directed towards her, towards the one person in this house who would never push their first-born to the point of needing medicine intravenously. For all his claims of being a traditional man, her husband berated her one night for grinding up the roots of her rindou flowers into the bitter tonic her mother used to pour into her upset stomach — “Please, in this day and age, really, Rei? It’s ridiculous, an utter waste, to ruin your flowers for something that will only work half as well as what the doctors I pay will clear up in an hour. Silly woman, let the flowers do what they’re meant to and keep our home looking elegant. That’s why they’re your favorite, hm? There’s no need to overcompensate.”

For a Top Hero, her husband can be quite thick. Back then and now.

Enji’s training schedule has ripped her first-born from the right to his childhood. When her husband leaves for work, Touya is to practice his form and meditate in the training room, while Rei is to leave his lunch at the door like a prison guard. When her husband returns from work, their family dinners are allotted a measly thirty minutes before Touya is to spend the rest of the evening training with a man six times his age and experience. All the while Rei is to sit outside, listen to her child’s pained cries and heaving gags, and zip her lips shut lest her husband finds out that his refined and thinly disguised torture is not as secret as he thinks it is.

Rei has not spent time with her child in so long and with every passing day, the voracious beast in her heart screams at the starvation of it

“Touya needs a sibling.”

Shock moves through Rei’s body, “I… I was thinking the same thing, actually.”

Could Todoroki Enji actually be paying attention to the loneliness that harrows their first-born’s beautiful blue eyes?

In the rare moments Rei manages to wheedle Touya into a sit-down breakfast and play a movie before starting his training, Touya tilts his head in wonder at the portrayal of siblings. They often have to watch these movies in increments — half one day, the other half the next — and the method gives Touya the eager excitement of hope for the new day, something to look forward to. They often pause the movie in the middle of its climax.

“Mama, Mama! That guy’s sister isn’t gonna actually die, right?”

“I guess we’ll have to see, baby.”

“I like it when you braid my hair, but it’s funny when her sister does it like that — all messy and with the clips!”

“I guess her little hands need more practice, hm?”

“I’d be the best older brother — like him! No, wait, better than him! I wouldn’t make ‘em cry like he does — that’s mean!”

There are times Touya will be immersed in the plot, but the conversation he always brings up with his mother surrounds the concept of siblings — family his age to exchange embarrassing secrets with, to play around in the pristine Todoroki backyard, to take care of and be taken care of by small hearts and juvenile hands that will grow wrinkled and frail together.

The hope for her husband’s humanity dies with his next sentence, “It will be good to have a motivator. Competition makes the best of us.”

The cold that wraps around her heart has nothing to do with the dazed look in her husband’s foolish eyes, “Enji?”

But he does not hear her concern. “I had hoped Touya would inherit both our quirks, but perhaps that was naive,” He turns to look at Rei, “I ensure Touya will come out a truly worthy hero, but we must keep trying for a dual-quirked child. Perhaps, that child will even strengthen our son, push him to overcome his weaknesses! Ah, Rei, I promise you — the Todoroki name will go down in history, and no one will even remember All Might.”

The night of Touya’s conception was the closest semblance of something like love Rei has ever felt in her life. On the night of their wedding, Enji was gentle and attentive. His large hands had wrapped around Rei’s waist as if she was an entity to be savored. His warm lips traced over the lines of her untouched skin as if he were sending a prayer into her very bones. His husky voice had spent the night checking in with everything that made Rei soar to the skies and stop short at anything less.

So when her husband had declared he was ready for more children, against her gut instinct, Rei’s heart had cracked open at the wish to feel that reverent touch again.

The fates laughed at Rei’s inability to understand that broken dreams are the only thing they have in store for her.

The conception of Todoroki Fuyumi was a horribly clinical affair. Gone were the soft hands and devout lips, the gentle check-ins and the concern for Rei’s pleasure. Todoroki Rei had never felt so used in her life, and it’s a feeling she’ll never forget.

Thus, when her first daughter was born, Rei manifested her children’s embrace would erase whatever craving she had for a husband’s touch. As she rested on the delivery table, she pushed her slick bangs from her forehead and watched with tired eyes as her first-born marveled over the small bundle of his wish-come-true.

“I’m gonna protect you from everything, Fuyumi-Yumi-chan. Dad says I was born to be the best, so I’m gonna be the best older brother ever!”

But alas, the fates do not favor the Todoroki family.

Her husband is quick to cast Fuyumi aside, and there is nothing her older brother can do to protect her denied heart. Rei is all too familiar with fatherly famine, and in her remedy to feed Fuyumi with everything she has, Rei forgets that starvation takes form in many different ways.

Her first-born is barely seven years old when his parents find out that he did, in fact, inherit both of his parents' quirks — in the worst way possible.

The whole family reaps the consequences.

Natsou’s conception is when Rei finally learns that her no’s do not matter. It is the turning point where she experiences to the fullest extent exactly how her husband will always get what he wants.

“I know how we can ensure this child is perfect, Rei. There’s this new technology, in vitro fertilization — it is specifically for quirks. Genius! To think, we could have done this from the start… Oh, how our efforts would not have been wasted.”

“I have told you time and time again, he is your responsibility! Why haven’t you stopped this nonsense? Are you really so useless? Gods, it is because of you that Touya is acting like this — you poisoned him with your weak constitution, and it is that same constitution that weakens you as his mother! If it is up to me to train that out of him, then it is only fair that you receive the same treatment!”

“What have you done… What have you done to my perfect son!”

But a woman is a changeling, always shifting shape.

The blinding white light makes Rei’s head pound.

“... oki-san. Todoroki-san, are you with us?”

Rei hums. She tried to nod but her neck had never felt so limp.

“The medicine we gave you is starting to wear off.”

“M-Medicine?” Rei’s throat feels like sandpaper.

“Yes, Todoroki-san. Do you know where you are?”

She wills the strength to shake her head once. It makes her stomach roll.

“You’ve been admitted to the Musutafu Behavioral and Wellness Hospital by your husband. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands now.”

She vomits all over her hospital gown before everything goes black once again.

Rei can’t quite pinpoint the moment she started to fill the void of her aching belly with alcohol. She thinks it may have started after her eldest son attacked his newborn brother.

A glass of red wine paired with her dinner quickly escalated into one that accompanied every meal of the day, then an extra for a midnight snack, then a glass for every hour in between to punish herself for the silence of all her children ignoring her poisonous presence. And when Enji caught on, like the vigilant hero he is, he quickly banned her from the one thing that numbed the gnawing beast she was born with down to nothing but a silent phantom — acknowledged by the chilling tension in the air, but no longer a physical commodity to be felt or heard.

But Todoroki Enji is a hero, and heroes are rarely home.

Rei turned to the solution of sneaky teens under orthodox households who found that clear spirits poured into water bottles are enough to ward off the attention from authority figures that care more about frivolous things like reputation and image over the human that supposedly lives inside their genetic possessions. And just like those sneaky teens, Rei found that the harder the alcohol, the easier it is to live under a dictatorship.

Gin, vodka, tequila — they all take away the burden of caring.

So Rei’s body doesn’t belong to her — so what? It never did. So her children despise her — so what? She hates herself, too. So her husband doesn’t touch her — so fucking what? She hasn’t craved the heavy grab of his thick hands for years.

So her fourth and last child is her husband’s prized possession — so what? It’s better to be the luxurious watch on a businessman’s wrist than to be tossed away like the dirty tissue paper stuck to the bottom of his shoe, like the rest of the Todoroki family.

During one of these blissfully blurry nights, Rei makes the fascinating diagnosis that she is fireproof.

How? Well, under the haze of whatever she poured into her last cup of coffee, she’d accidentally switched the wrong setting of her iron to Enji’s new silk dress-shirt for his upcoming Hero Gala and burnt a hole straight through it. She was so out of it, she didn’t even flinch at the flaming grip coming to engulf her tiny arm — ‘when did I lose so much weight?’ — and when nothing happened, when she felt absolutely nothing beyond the bruising pressure of his grip, when Enji’s azure eyes widened at her lack of agony, she laughed.

“Huh, would you look at that?” She snorted, “If only I had poisoned Touya the right way!”

Unfortunately, she was not immune to the crack against her face. However, the alcohol helped with that, too.

Caught in the wonder of her nonflammable skin, it seems she must have tested her theory about whether or not, this time, she poisoned her youngest son the right way.

When the doctors tell her what she did to Shouto, Rei cries for three days straight.

It took one horrible, drunken mistake to completely eradicate twelve years of carefully constructed motherhood. It’s hard for Rei to come to terms with how her husband’s deliberate actions will never erase his entitlement to her children — his children, now.

The doctors don’t care for her sober pleas. They don’t take her fears seriously, they don’t allow her to mourn what she’s lost, and they most certainly do not let her forget precisely why this abandonment can only be the fault of her own.

When she raises her fists, they trap her in unmovable fabric so tight it’s hard to breathe — so she does not fight.

When she raises her voice, they drug her to the point that she wakes up to a new month — so she does not scream.

When she declines to eat, they strap her down and inject her with liquid that only churns the ache in her belly to something sick — so she does not refuse.

She does not fight, she does not scream, she does not refuse — it’s almost like she never left home.

What strange claws are these scratching at my skin? I never knew my killer would be coming from within

There’s a television in Rei’s room that the doctors almost never let her turn on. It’s symbolically there for incentive. For when Rei takes the medicine that lulls her to a dreamless sleep, attends the group activities for anger issues she does not identify with, and eats the food that does nothing to sate the lifelong hunger that brought her into this mess.

A privilege — ‘not a right!’ — for when she is a very good girl.

Only — it’s on now.

Rei doesn’t know much about the outside world. The son she disfigured grew up into someone who has found it within himself to visit her semi-regularly this past year, but he treats her frustratingly delicate — like a shattered cup hastily glued back together, pouring the tiniest bouts of information into her decade-empty cavern with the expectation the contents will leak through and splatter the floor of these hideous off-white tiles.

He’d said nothing of the faceless zombie who sits in the 20-inch box of her unearned privilege.

“My name…” The zombie’s head lifts up to reveal his very-much-alive eyes, “is Todoroki Touya.”

Her whole body freezes over.

“The Number One Hero is my father.”

She starts to sweat.

Is this a trick? Has she finally lost her mind?

But she knows those tired eyes. Grotesque and patched up, surrounded by unhealed burns stapled to the pale skin she used to rub the pads of her fingers over and over again to wipe away heartbroken tears, mottled bruises, and training-induced vomit.

“Yes, the so-called ‘villain’ in front of you is Endeavor’s eldest son.”

Villain? Please, Rei has long stopped labeling people as villains when she realized she was legally tied to one. The way he says it, though… He must be infamous. He announces his name like it’s some grand secret, and the beast within Rei wails, ‘How did no one recognize my long-lost first-born son?’

Who else could hold such brilliantly blue eyes, carry the petite nose of his mother, and above all else, his scars — proof of a body poisoned by his mother’s weak constitution and the blazing azure of the too-hot fire his father was never meant to pass down?

“I’ve killed more than 30 innocent people.”

Rei wonders if anyone is truly innocent.

Before hospitalization, before marriage, and before the development of her first-born’s quirk, Rei remembers how people used to speak so highly of doctors. They are portrayed as saviors, empathetic do-gooders ready to ease and eradicate the pains of their patients. And yet, it was those very doctors who witnessed firsthand the source of her first-born’s anguish and decided to lock that secret in a steel box and swallow the key for stacks of yen that once brought stars to Himura Rei’s eyes. The same batch of falsely altruistic doctors she’s spent a decade under the fictitious care of, who kept Rei away from the funeral of the very child who now declares the consequences of his ignored agony through the television of her lavish jail cell.

Despite all of Touya’s physical damage, she can’t help but think her first-born looks… free.

Was murder the price Touya had to pay for his independence? … Is murder the only way to buy her own?

A sharp prick at the curve of her palm, right under her thumb, stuns Rei out of her thoughts. With furrowed brows, she looks down at her clasped hands and gasps.

Embedded in the skin of her knuckles glitters the ticket to the very thing her first-born has found outside the clutches of Enji’s selfish grasp.

She rips her hands apart with a wet squelch and holds them up to the light. Translucent blue-gray crystals embed the tips of her fingers into sharp points, dipped with the fresh blood of her punctured hands.

Ice claws.

Today, the fates welcome Rei to laugh alongside them.

Hurried steps thud outside her assigned door and she jumps to action, shoving her metal chair under the doorknob and hurrying to the window. The frantic jiggling of the doctors trying to invade her room drowns out the horrible screech of her evolved quirk cutting a neat circle into the glass just above the window’s lock. She pushes out the carved circle and jams her hand through the opening to unlock the window from the outside. A loud bang invades her ears and the clatter of the wedged chair falling to the ground makes her move faster, opening the window and getting one leg over the ledge before she’s violently pulled back.

The doctor who managed to barge inside is a burly man, the one who’s not afraid to stuff bread down her throat and call her all the synonyms of ‘mentally deranged’ under the sun. He grips her arm unbearably tight while another doctor holds a familiar syringe that will knock her out to next week.

Cold fury floods her chest — she will no longer let others take control of the body she has been starved of.

She swipes her free hand in a grand arch, snagging both doctors’ throats. She feels their light leave their eyes through the lifelong beast that’s finally incarnated and come out to play.

One moment, she’s watching the two doctors wetly choke out their last breath, and the next, she’s jumping out the second-story window of her husband’s expensive dungeon and willing ice around her ankles to break her fall.

And despite the hot blood coating her gifted claws, they do not melt. Her ice is as fireproof as her.

I need my golden crown of sorrow, my bloody sword to swing, I need my empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology

Rei waits in her old closet of the bedroom she once shared with her husband.

The moon hangs full in the sky and illuminates just how much her husband has burned away every single aspect of her presence from their once-shared home. It’s amazing, really, how thoroughly an entire person can be wiped from existence. When Rei had crept through the living room window, she almost didn’t recognize the very place where she spent so much time watching heartfelt movies with her first-born, breastfeeding her only daughter, counting Natsou’s first steps, and drinking herself into a soothing oblivion that drowned out her last and final son’s cries.

When her husband tiredly walks into their — his, really — bedroom and changes out of his tattered hero uniform, Rei is silent like the ghost he molded her to be. She waits as patience had been her first lesson in the matters of famine. There is a time and place you are fed without consequence — too early and you’ll be scorned, too late and you’ll upset your stomach.

Through the wooden slats of her wardrobe, the one that hasn’t been touched since the day she was sent away, she spies her husband rubbing his weary eyes. He sits at the foot of the bed with his heavy head cradled by his meaty hands. Rei finds no pity, no sympathy, and no love to nourish the beast she was born with — there is only one thing it wishes to feast on.

She watches as her husband finally gets up to leave their bedroom and walks in the direction of where Rei had left behind her heart and the last bits of her sanity.

When the faint click of her first-born’s closed door echoes through the stillness of midnight, she abandons her hiding spot and keeps her feet light. She makes a quick pass to her daughter’s room before freezing the lock — she will not tolerate any interruptions to the one and only gift of freedom she will bestow her children tonight.

For the first time in this wretched place she once called home, the sober calm of an ocean’s summer breeze washes over her.

A smile creeps at her lips as she stands at her first-born’s door.

It’s time.

She opens the door and slips inside.

The look of her husband’s gaping bewilderment animates the rapacious beast inside her, clawing at her belly with the same manic glee it had when the doctors’ blood had dripped down her iced talons. She freezes the door locked, snickering as she traps husband and wife in the room of the boy they had murdered so slowly.

Her husband’s speed had always been one of the major talking points of his hero career, but velocity will always equal zero when an object is at a stand-still. The second he shifted to make a move towards her from where he kneeled, she froze his body in place with a swiftness that the Hero Billboard Chart would marvel at.

“Ah, ah, ah,” She tsks.

Those brilliant blue eyes widen in horror when he realizes he cannot melt his wife’s shackles.

“Oh, Enji,” She pouts, her head lazily dangling to the side, “Don’t tell me you forgot the sole reason you married me.”

“Wha — how…?”

“What is it your favorite hero would say?” She hums and taps the claw of her index to her lips, “‘Plus Ultra’?”

Now, Rei never got the chance to become a scientist but biology was always her favorite subject in school. She still remembers the lesson of homeostasis and she’s pretty sure her husband’s body is entering the fight for its life. Too bad it’s a losing battle — what good is fire to the incombustible?

The chatter of her husband's teeth is so satisfying against his quivering blue lips, “W-what a-are y-y-you doing h-here?”

“I think that’s obvious,” She steps towards him and squats down to his level, resting her elbows on her knees, “I have a better question — what are you doing here?” and lazily gestures to the picture of their first-born’s shrine before folding her hands under her chin.

Her husband’s blue eyes glaze over and his thick auburn brows twitch momentarily before he looks down with something a little like the shame Rei has carried her entire life.

“T-Touya, he — ”

The beast rages.

The resounding crack of Rei’s palm against her husband’s face thunders in the quiet storm of her first-born’s chambers.

She sneers at the scratched lines that bead bright red on her husband’s stern cheek and points the bloodied tip of her index at his face, “Do not say his name.”

Enji bristles, “H-he is m-my s-son — ”

“No!” She clutches her husband’s throat, “He is my son, and you are only the monster who took him away from me.”

It’s almost exhilarating, the fear in her husband’s eyes. The way such brilliant blue is unable to look at anything but her, the undivided attention she yearned for so long literally within her grasp, and his realization of the undeniable power Rei finally wields over Enji in the very house her husband spent years denying her of. The hungry savage of her born companion begs to glut on this feeling until it bursts.

“H-he’s,” her husband rasps, “a-alive.”

Rei grins and lets go of his throat, “I know.”

Enji sucks in a gasp, “Y-You d-d-don’t u-unders-stand,” he coughs, the deep sound utterly grating to Rei’s ears, “H-he’s a v-vi — villain.”

Rei sighed and opened a palm to rest against her husband’s bloodied cheek, “Then, perhaps, that is the only capacity of what he inherited from you.”

Enji scoffs and his eyes narrow, “C-Coming f-from t-the w-w-woman who m-mut-tilated h-her y-y-youngest’s f-fa– face.”

And there it is — that familiar sick satisfaction gleaming in her husband’s bright azure orbs at the opportunity to tear into his wife’s heart and turn her beastly companion on her. Except —

“Don’t you understand, yet? Your words don’t mean shit to me anymore, Enji,” Rei can see the exact moment when Enji finally registers the reality of his impending doom.

Her husband sucks in a quivered breath and opens his mouth to scream for help but the chance is cut off with a flick of Rei’s wrist as she calls on her quirk to freeze her husband’s tongue and shatters it in his mouth.

“Sorry,” She chimes over the sound of her husband’s pained gurgles, “But I’ve had enough of your voice to last a lifetime, dear husband.”

Though the idea of her husband suffocating on the chunks of his own venomous tongue is an end Rei would find darkly humorous, there is a theory she’s been wanting to test since breaking out of the hospital forty-eight hours ago. She knows her ice is fireproof and that she is, too. Thus, when her ice engulfs an object, it is swallowed down to become irrefutably hers. Rei wants to know, if she is able to move her ice freely from thin air in order to freeze something, whether or not she can telepathically move whatever object her ice consumes.

She spent half a decade eavesdropping on her first-born’s lessons with the Number Two Hero, so she’s picked up a thing or two. She focuses first on feeling the ice of her talons, drowning out the slowly quieting sounds of her weakened husband’s suffering. When she has a full grasp of every crystalized centimeter that weaponized her hands, she focuses on the frozen form of her husband’s kneeling statue and absolutely delights when she touches the beat of his heart. She can feel every working organ in her husband’s body, the way each pump of his aorta grows more sluggish than the last with hypothermia. Finally, the bits and pieces of Enji’s shattered tongue start to materialize as if they’re already in her hand. She calls upon them to slither out of her husband’s throat and float into the air.

Sheer dread takes over her husband’s face as Rei juggles the congealed pieces of tongue.

“Oh, Gods!” She cackles, “I’m unstoppable!”

Rei cannot believe she ever got married. How, once upon a time, she wholeheartedly thought a man would be the only thing to protect her from this vicious world and spoon down her throat the slew of what she’d been neglected her whole life while her presumably incapable hands sat firm in her lap.

From now on, with these very hands the whole world convinced her were utterly useless, she will feed herself.

“You know,” Rei tosses the chunks of her husband’s tongue in the wastebin near Touya’s shrine and wonders what her first-born would have thought about that — the epitome of tossing his old man’s fallacies in the garbage, “I was planning to gouge your eyes and tear out your heart with these,” She waves her twinkling talons in Enji’s face.

Her husband lets out a stunted whimper when the tip of her middle talon brushes the auburn lashes of his left eye.

“Shh,” She croons and pulls back, “There’s no need for that anymore. You’re a disgusting excuse of a man, but maybe if you had kept your lessons strictly verbal, you would’ve made a half-decent teacher.”

She slowly frosts over her husband’s vile heart from within his body, and it’s as if both ventricles caress the skin of her palms directly, “Maybe, now, you will finally feel what I felt all those years when you would put your hands on me.” Her nerves stimulate with every declining pulse of his atriums until the organ finally atrophies.

The frightened light fades from her husband’s brilliant blue eyes, and the insatiable beast that endlessly razed her soul is finally at peace.

And I was never as good as I always thought I was, but I knew how to dress it up

After Rei had moved Enji’s chilled corpse back to his bedroom, removed the ice from his body, and tucked him into bed, she sat at the dining room table and wrote her final goodbye.

My Dear Children, You have all grown so wonderfully, despite the hand you’ve been given for having me as your mother. I am so sorry for all the ways I’ve failed you. It is foolish of me to assume you’ll find comfort in the fact that my motherly shortcomings will haunt me for the rest of my life. For most of your lives, I’ve been nothing but a ghost. The woman I wanted to be before marrying your father was one who would protect you with every fiber in her being, but somewhere along the way, that woman was murdered just like the man you were forced to call Father. There are many regrets I have in my life, starting with accepting Enji’s proposal and ending with abandoning you three all those years ago, but I cannot find it within myself to regret bringing you all into this world. I am immensely proud of the paths you’ve chosen for yourselves. Fuyumi, my best and cherished daughter, for becoming a teacher — you have always had the astounding ability to see the light in every dark, and that is because you are the moon in this pitch-black world. You generously offer so much of yourself, and I hope you remember that while it is a beautifully noble thing to dedicate yourself to the next generation, you are not obligated to give the whole of yourself to anyone. You belong to yourself, first and foremost. Natsou, my bold and righteous son, for becoming a doctor — you have always been incredibly bright and incredibly kind, and with everything I have, I believe you will be one of the few doctors who will utilize your empathy for your patients in the many ways our family was denied. And on the days you feel yourself running out, remember to let yourself rest and enjoy the one and only life you have because you belong to yourself, first and foremost. Shouto, my little miracle, for becoming a hero — you are not a miracle due to your genetic material, but to the lovingly open heart you’ve approached this life with, approached me with, despite having hurt you so deeply. Your truly heroic resolve will take you far, and while I am excited to see the change you will bring to the world, I want you to know that should you decide to leave the hero-life, you are still worthy of every single breath you take because you belong to yourself, first and foremost. I want you all to squeeze out the very best of this cruel life. You three have chosen to lead your lives with morality, and I cannot belong to the honorable world you’ve chosen. And so, I will only ask you three for one incredibly hard favor. Please, let me go and continue onwards with the wonderful lives you’re building for yourselves. Love always albeit imperfectly, Mama

With a bittersweet smile on her face, Rei unfreezes Fuyumi’s bedroom lock and thanks the funny fates for her daughter’s uncanny ability to sleep so deeply.

As it turns out, villains are extremely forthcoming when desperate to thaw their blood. They eagerly spill details about a man who calls himself The Doctor who has a direct connection to the League of Villains. Apparently, word travels fast amongst evil mouths because one minute, Rei is turning a street corner to track down another lead, and the next, she’s gagging out thick gray sludge and opening her teary eyes to a dark laboratory lined with neon incubators encasing monsters.

“Todoroki Rei!” A smarmy voice exclaims behind her.

She whips around to find a portly man with giant goggles and a funny little creature held in his arms.

She coughs and spits out a wad of that disgusting sludge, “The Doctor, I presume?”

“I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

She feigns looking around, calling upon her quirk to wrap a microscopic frost around The Doctor’s heart, so light that his body temperature only changes a quarter of a degree. Just enough to feel his organs in the palms of her hands without him suspecting a thing.

“If you know my name, I’m sure you can guess what it is I want.”

Interrogating villains had the dual advantage of training her quirk. She didn’t have a particularly strong desire to kill anyone — in fact, it only took two pedophiles freezing to death for Rei to master the levels of frost necessary to own her prey.

She also knows the importance of stealth. Leaving behind a trail of dead bodies is a surefire way to attract a hero, and mystery is key. The less her foes know about her, the more they believe she’s a wild animal with no control and visible ice, the closer her freedom is.

The Doctor chuckles and Rei looks back at him, even though she really doesn’t need to. He’s in her grasp now, she felt his leering smile before her eyes caught it.

“Everyone in Japan knows your name now, Todoroki-san. You’ve left quite a gruesome impression — taking down the Number One Hero is no small feat.”

Rei gives the man a smile of her own, “I’m a widow now, Doctor-san. Please, call me Himura.”

The Doctor laughs, and through the spike in his heart rate and the sweat beading under his white coat, Rei knows it’s a tactic to cover up his anxiety, “The Paranormal Liberation Front thanks you for your service, Himura-san. Though, I’m not sure if your son will extend that gratitude.”

“Well,” Rei wiggles her icy talons in false threat, “Why don’t we call him over and find out?”

The Doctor takes a serious moment to think, petting his little monster on the glass encasing its exposed brain, “Would you indulge my curiosity in return?”

Rei raises an eyebrow, “Meaning?”

“Oh, nothing bad!” The Doctor assures, though his heart picks up with adrenaline, “I’m a scientist, as you may have gathered. I simply would just like to know more about your quirk, specifically how you were able to hold your own against Endeavor. Fire and ice — seems obvious which one should have won. And yet…”

“And yet,” Rei confirms. She shrugs, “Fine, bring Touya here, unharmed, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

The Doctor nods and looks at his beastly pet, “You heard Himura-san, Johnny. Let’s bring about this little family reunion, shall we?”

That same gray sludge starts to seep from the creature’s — Johnny’s — smiling mouth, and it clicks for Rei that the teleportation is a quirk not of The Doctor, but of his experiment.

Rei is so sick of men and their power-hungry creations.

On her right, gray sludge starts to form on the floor’s ceramic tiles and build upwards to reveal white boots and billowing white pants lined with staples, followed by a scarred torso wrapped in a white coat with burnt arms and pale hands peeking out the sleeves, until finally the sludge disappears and uncovers a face Rei has only seen trapped in a little black box.

“Ugh, you fuckin’ creep,” Blue fire engulfs her son’s hands, “What the hell do you — ”

“ — Please put your fire away, Dabi, we have a guest.”

“The fuck?” Her son looks to his right, and then to his left, tired blue eyes widening, “What the fuck.”

Rei smiles, “Hi, Touya.”

She feels The Doctor move and take hold of something, clearly trying to take advantage of her son’s shock while thinking Rei isn’t paying attention because she’s not doing something as primal as looking.

She freezes The Doctor’s body in place while also using her frost to keep Johnny’s mouth shut, “I’m sorry, Doctor,” she tsks, “Just where did you think you were going?”

Her first-born shakes himself out of his stupor and whips his head towards The Doctor’s paralyzed figure, “You fuckin’ shithead!” His staples snag at the scars of his cheek with the downwards twist of his mouth as he recognizes the object stuck to The Doctor’s hand, “You thought you were gonna tranq us and put us inside your fuckin’ Nomus?!”

Rei giggles and the snarl on her son’s face softens to a wary frown.

“So that’s what you meant by wanting to study my quirk,” Rei turns away from her son and walks up to The Doctor and peers into his panicked eyes, magnified by his goggles, “Aren’t you curious how I killed my husband?”

It’s a rhetorical question, given how she’s frozen The Doctor all the way up to his mouth. She’s not entirely sure how much sound needs to escape his mouth for his little monster to obey a command — better safe than sorry.

She bends down to trail a crystalized claw down The Doctor’s hardened throat, reveling in the clink clink clink to his chest, right around his — “Y’know, his heart was beating really fast, too. I could feel it, just like I can yours — slowing down as the hypothermia kicks in,” She whispers, well aware her son is hanging onto her every word with only the whitenoise of faint bubbling from whatever substance the nomus reside in filtering the silence.

Rei hums, “You’re a bit like him. You steal away children in hopes of engineering the perfect quirk for a selfish ambition that means absolutely nothing,” She commands her quirk to encase the struggling pumps of The Doctor’s cold heart, “It’s fitting you should die the same way,” and squeezes.

And this time, Rei doesn’t care much about stealth when she shatters The Doctor’s heart in his chest. As if filming a video, her frost captures the way each shard of aorta, ventricle, and atrium explode and pierce into their neighboring organs in mute catastrophe.

She rises and turns around to meet her first-born’s slackened jaw. Her heart catches in her throat as she finally takes in the damage up close, “Touya…”

In his broadcast, Rei remembers her son having more unmarred skin on his face than he does now. The blackened and purple burns that cut his cheekbones now connect to the scars below his eyes. His stress-induced white hair covers most of his forehead, but Rei knows if she were to smooth it back like she would when he was half her height and braiding his only sister’s hair, the pads of her fingers would find the rough leather of her husband’s inability to love his children the way a father is supposed to.

Her first-born’s face tightens in the same anger it had all those years ago when he had realized his birthright was as flimsy as his mother’s appetite, “What the fuck’re you doin’ here?”

She flicks off her icy claws to clatter to the ground, “The monster is gone,” and hopes the silent ‘I come in peace,’ is read between the lines.

Her first-born grips his hair the same way he used to when his father would ignore his hunger for acknowledgment and turn the other way, “He was mine to get rid of!”

“I’m sorry, Touya,” Rei sighs, her heart aching at having denied her first-born the very thing that has kept him alive this past decade, “But Enji was my responsibility to deal with long before he was yours.”

Rei does not flinch at the tragic cackle that leaves her first-born’s cadaverous mouth to bounce off the walls and echo his despair.

“Oh yeah?” Her son storms up to her, smoke seeping through his seams and stinging their identically delicate noses, “What about you, huh?” Flames of cremation engulf his hands once more, “You gonna pay the price your precious husband was supposed to? Make it up to me?”

Brilliant blue eyes glow with the phenomena of her first-born’s raw power.

Still, “I’m fireproof, Touya,” She gently reminds him, “If you want to take your revenge out on me, you’ll have to do it another way,” for she cannot even feel the azure blaze that cowers this society’s useless heroes.

His fire snuffs out, and with a speed to rival his father’s, Touya snags a dagger from his boot and holds it to his mother’s throat.

“I didn’t get this far just relyin’ on my cursed-as-fuck quirk.”

Rei closes her eyes and her smile never falters, “Do what you must. I understand, Touya. It’s okay, if it’s you,” because, really, she just wanted to see her son one last time. She, of all people, knows that freedom is not eternal. When she had asked her children to let her go, she very well knew the many forms of what that could mean. Death is no longer something she fears because now, she knows, that when she enters Hell or Purgatory or whatever resting place the penance of her racked-up sins entails, her husband will be right there with her. If and when she must leave this Earth, she won’t be leaving the Devil behind in her place.

The dagger shakes against her throat and cuts the skin — but still, she does not wince. She won’t feed guilt into the many things that already eat at her son.

“You… You dunno what it’s like, to deal with the fact that you should’ve been there,” Touya’s voice cracks at the last two words with the lifelong misery of yearning for a mother who should have done more.

The beast inside her weeps, “I’m so sorry, Touya.”

She stuffs her tongue to the roof of her mouth and swallows around the thick building of all her sorrows pushing up her throat. She will not cry, she will not let her emotions overtake those of her first-born any longer

“Fuck,” Touya rasps, his trembling voice matching that of his unsteady hand, “Fuck!”

Suddenly, the pressure is gone from her throat, and at the loud rattle of Touya’s knife being thrown against the wall, Rei opens her eyes and gasps.

Her first-born cries tears of blood.

Her towers over today, having gone through a growth spurt that Rei was denied witnessing, but at this moment, he looks every bit like the little boy that filled her rumbling belly with all the things she was promised and never given. His broad shoulders hunch over the strong chest branded with all the ways in which he’s been left empty.

There’s a famished beast inside her eldest son, too, one he was born with. And just like his mother, Touya was tossed aside and abandoned to the fate of nourishing it himself with the meager means of his own two hands — hands that are held together by crude staples that dig into the bleeding tears spawned by all of Rei’s desperate mistakes.

She wraps her cool hands around his steaming wrists, “I’m sorry for giving up all those years ago,” She pleads, gently pulling Touya’s hands from his face so that he will look at her and sanction her promise, “But I’m here now, and I am never giving up again. On you or myself.”

“I’ve killed people,” He whispers as if that will change her mind.

Rei cheekily tilts her head towards the glacier of The Doctor’s corpse, “So have I.”

“I’ve killed many people,” He insists.

Rei shrugs, “How do you think I got here?”

Her son lets out a frustrated, “Innocent people.”

“Innocence isn’t real,” Rei tightens her hold on his wrists with her conviction, “Not in this world.”

Touya strains his neck to the ceiling and shakes his mother’s hands off him. “It’s too late,” He growls, “I don’t need a mother.”

Rei only smiles — her first-born has always been so stubborn. She’ll miss being called ‘Mama’.

“Then I won’t be your mother — I was never very good at it in the first place,” and that actually pulls a soft snort from her son. It’s not a proper laugh, not the belly-gripping squeal he’d let out when Rei would tickle his sides or chase him around the living room, but it’s a start and she’ll greedily take whatever her first-born is willing to offer for the slightest chance of their freedom, “Instead, I will be your comrade, if you’ll have me. And maybe one day, your friend.”

Some of the anguish finally leaves her first-born’s brilliant blue eyes and his shoulders begin to sag. He takes a long moment to think before, “We can’t go back to the League. Handjob’s gonna be pissed you killed that creep.”

The beast inside of Rei is singing with glee, “Then we won’t go to the League, if that is what you truly want.”

“Tch,” Touya looks around the lab, “Never really liked the guy anyway. He was just a means to a shitty end,” before he narrows his eyes at his mother, “That you stole from me.”

Rei laughs, “Sorry for stealing your thunder.”

“Yeah, well,” Touya huffs, “Dunno what m’supposed to do now. Wasn’t really plannin’ on stickin’ around after killin’ the old man — thought we’d both, y’know,” and makes a silly bkshoo! sound with his mouth, using his hands to mimic an explosion.

“Well, in that case, I’m no longer sorry,” Rei deadpans.

Her first-born rolls his eyes but the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips is too noticeable to the both of them.

Excitement wells up in Rei’s chest and she slowly offers her hand, palm out and welcoming, “So…?”

“… Okay,” Touya tentatively accepts, long fingers wrapping over his mother’s, and a printless thumb grazes the back of her knuckles, “Fair warning, this is probably gonna suck. We’ll be on the run for the rest of our shitty lives.”

Rei shrugs, “The hospital kept me fit. No exercise, no food.”

“Bastards,” Touya scoffs, before a mischievous smile takes over his lurid face, “Say, before we go, how would you feel ‘bout a lil’ arson? Feels like a waste t’leave the job half-done.”

“I like the way you think,” Rei scans the suspended creatures carrying the poor souls of The Doctor’s sick objective before turning back to her son and taking in his scars, “Oh! That reminds me, I have a theory.”

“Mm?” Touya prompts.

Rei lifts Touya’s arm while untangling their fingers, supporting his elbow with her hand, “So, your body is built to handle cold, and my ice is fireproof. From what I remember, this area,” She uses her index finger to trace the middle of Touya’s palm to the tips of his fingers, “is the only place your fire doesn’t burn you, right?”

He nods, catching onto his mother’s idea, “You’re saying you wanna try icing my body so I don’t burn when I use my quirk.”

Rei grins, “Worth a shot. You’re gonna do it anyway, maybe this is how we protect you.”

“Protect me?” Touya raises a thin brow, “I barely feel anything these days.”

“Which is even more dangerous,” Rei’s smile falls into a stern frown, “Pain tells our body what our limits are. Being numb won’t keep you alive, it’ll just kill you more slowly.”

Touya rolls his eyes, “Alright, fine, whatever.”

And as the laboratory blazes in the glory of blue fire and sets every lost soul free to eternal rest, mother and son confirm Rei’s hypothesis with the lunatic laughter of mad scientists and genius success. Hand-in-hand, they flee with only the stars of Japan hot on their heels and little Johnny tucked away in the large pocket of Touya’s white trench coat.

I am no mother, I am no bride, I am king

Himura Rei came out of the womb hungry.

She stuffed herself full with the violent scraps of her husband’s carnage, the trivial crumbs of her father’s greed, the cloying handfuls of her mother’s self-sacrifice, and the bountiful chunks of her first-born’s resolve.

We are what we eat.

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

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Dorne Part 2 - Boxer!Din AU

A/N: A cheeky birthday gift for my darling CiCi @astroboots I hope you have the most wonderful day, filled with laughter, love, lots of Riley cuddles and gifts galore! Thank you for being one of the most precious friends I've been lucky enough to meet and spend every day annoying, being a menace to, chatting with you and getting a glimpse into that beautiful brain of yours. Hope you enjoy it my love! I’m sorry it’s a bit of a mess asdfghj.

Word Count: 2.7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! MFF oral sex (female receiving).

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist | Dorne Part 1

“I wanna see if she’s as greedy for pussy too, baby—”

“Mm, you’re just full of good ideas today, sweetheart.”

You preened under his praise, ass pressing back in a feline arch where he bunched your dress up. Your guest was still busy on her knees—dutifully lapping at his cock while he pressed an indulgent kiss beneath your jaw, inhaling the perfume you favored and the musky—primal scent of arousal that clung to your flushed skin. He nosed along the line of your jaw, your fingers carding through his hair, completely lost in each other as he found your mouth again—a low groan lost along your tongue when the woman hollowed her cheeks around his sensitive head.

“First… I wanna see how greedy you are for pussy.”

The low lights cast shadows across your features, but the way your eyes darkened—pupils dilated and ringed with kohl and mascara—ritual paint for a sacrifice to a heathen god—had him snarling at the worship you and your companion lay against his body. He swallowed thickly at the striking smirk that morphed on painted lips, grazing his mouth but avoiding a kiss as you dragged them down the exposed length of his torso.

The length of your dress shifted like water—deceived his lust addled eyes to appear like the wily, tempting swish of a fox’s tail as you slinked down his body to stroke your fingers through the other woman’s hair.

You purred something into her ear – secret and alluring – a siren call that darkened her gaze as she turned away from his cock, fist slowly stroking him as you tempted her to stand with your mouth on hers, tongue stroking into her mouth as you rose. She was helpless to resist – fuck how could she – the way your eyes indulged in her bountiful curves and striking silhouette highlighted by a silver dress that ended up in a pool on the floor when you pulled the straps down and let gravity do the rest.

“No underwear?” you hummed as you circled the woman gracefully, and while your guest was naked and breath-taking, his eyes were just as easily pulled to your form as your legs extended with each step in an effortless prowl, without the bolstered force of a male—but softer, deadlier. A lioness—a hunter. His.

Fuck—

You made him sit—made him wait. And fuck, he indulged your little power play—it was enticing, for now. That’s what he told himself as he watched the scene unfurl before his eyes.

The noises you were able to drag out of your guest were filthy as she lay sprawled like a decadent buffet on the oversized ottoman – the quilted velvet easily the size of a king sized bed where it sat under the dark light in the center of the room – and was his sponsors ingenious way of getting around the ‘no bed’ situation in Dorne. Din couldn’t count the number of times he had to stop himself from gripping his cock to stroke some relief as your tongue delved expertly between her folds.

His fingers curled into his thigh, one hand massaging his balls distractedly as his lips twisted into a snarl.

The raven haired beauty – curls chaotic and wild fanning around her head – arched with a graceful bend in her spine. A dancer. Din mused as a licorice black melted into whiskey orbs—filling them with need as rich as his appetite for sex. They dropped to your hand pressing into the supple, toned flesh of her thigh to spread her legs wider. All part of the show… giving him a perfect view of the glistening slick gathering between puffy lips you were holding open with your other hand to flick your tongue over her hooded clit and curl up to gather that arousal on it.

“Mm… baby—she tastes so good…”

You were on your knees on the ottoman—down on your elbows with your ass in the air for him to watch the barely-there strip of fabric you called underwear darken with your own desire, gorgeous thighs accentuated by the suspenders that made up that fucking sinful lingerie set he had bought for you.

Fuck you were gorgeous… pink tongue that had lapped at his cock earlier now dripping saliva onto the pretty pussy of your guest, fingers smearing it into her slick with quick rubs over her clit and slit—making her cry with the pleasure as wetness leaked from her cunt and into your mouth. He could feel his muscles hum, a tense film of pressure running along his nerves and making him need to move. To stalk over there and take what as his. Waiting only made his neck strain with the growl he directed at the ceiling and your mischievous giggle incite a feral snarl in return.

“Come taste,” you looked over your shoulder, lips shiny and swollen from where he had ravaged your mouth—eyes weaving a spell over him, and he was helpless to resist you. He shot up, a bullet—a bull towards the cape as you refused to break eye contact when you kissed her navel, beckoning him over.

He was parched.

And your mouth was the first thing he needed. Hand moulding over the curve of your ass to dip along that strip of fabric between your cheeks, he pressed his fingers against your slick pussy lips from over your underwear and devoured your mouth. Groaning at the combined taste of your natural essence and the sweet tang of your guest, an accented aroma that brought you both to a frenzied high as his tongue greedily pillaged every drop.

The dancer – he decided she must have been – keened as he lost himself in your mouth, pulling his attention down to her naked form. He moaned with a feral lace of pride as he saw your fingers disappearing into her cunt with long, teasing strokes—your mouth finding his neck as he watched. Eyes only falling shut when you bit him. Bit him so hard his cock twitched violently—a silent claim in this hedonistic indulgence.

Mine.

The mark said.

Fuck, you were perfect. He gripped your jaw from where you were worrying a trail of marks into his flesh to kiss you hard,

“Back to work,” he growled.

And just like that, the dynamic shifted—an easy dominance he knew you weren’t strong enough to resist. Not when it was him. You might dominate your guest, but you would submit to him.

Challenge flared in those orbs, the woman on the ottoman gasping your name when your disobedience, your defiance showed itself in a third finger inside her dripping cunt—a hard swipe across her clit. Retaliating. He led your head down, back between her legs, and you followed—caught off guard when his free hand tugged your panties to the side to give your pussy a series of quick slaps.

You were drenched.

Slap slap slapslapslap—you mewled into her pussy, sucking her clit into your mouth as you fingered her—his own fingers grazing your neglected clit and making you push your ass back against him. He dropped to his elbow beside the dancer – Ally? Abby? Still no clue – and dropped his mouth to one of the peaked tips of her breasts. They were begging for attention, crowned in the glisten of his saliva as his tongue circled one, then the other—graveled growls soft and honey sweet against her skin while he stroked your hair.

“Talented, isn’t she? That tongue is a sin—”

“So greedy for my girl’s tongue…”

“Why don’t you beg for mine?”

And she did.

She begged. Begged for your tongue—begged for his, begged for you both. You glanced up her body, a landscape of willowy curves and heaving breasts as warbled pleas spilled from those pretty lips. You withdrew your fingers – she sobbed – to paint that body as you moved up it and Din took your place. Streaks of sticky slick stained her skin in the journey your fingers took up her toned stomach and between her breasts. You caught her whimpers with your mouth when Din’s tongue dragged a long swipe along her cunt, his facial hair sanding against soft skin and making her spasm under his tongue at the mixture of sensations. So different to the softness of your body.

He growled into her wet heat when she managed to pull your breasts from over the top of your bra, a pert nipple swallowed into her mouth when you leaned up enough to let her play. Giving him a sinners view of your wet cunt and rapturous expression when your head fell back between your shoulders as you leaned over her face, letting her ravish your tits and make moans spill wantonly from your lips.

It drove him wild, and he channeled it all into devouring her pussy with rapt dedication.

“Open,” he snarled when her legs tried to close around his head—her gasp of pleasure muffled around your breast when he forced even more juices from her as two thick digits speared her entrance. You keened, arching your back as you held her head to your breast, grinding your hips back in some desperate attempt to find relief. Relief your guest gave you with her fingers between your legs, rubbing over your clit in frantic swipes over your underwear.

“Din,” you panted, and he was delirious.

Drunk on the taste of you both, drunk on the fact that even receiving pleasure from another—it was his name you moaned. He wanted to take you right then and there, but fair was fair.

Your guest sobbed when he pulled away—cunt clenching where his fingers once were and the orgasm that had been cresting ebbed with a rock of her hips as she chased it. You dropped a kiss to her cheek, soothing her cries for release as you cupped her jaw to swallow them.

Din watched your hand slither down to her cunt once more, fingers splitting around her clit lazily while he shed the open shirt he still had on, kicking his pants off while he was at it.

“Up here, sweetheart—” he commanded once he was free, heavy cock in hand when he settled down on the ottoman. He smirked at the cogs turning in your head—shown in the glint of curiosity in those gorgeous eyes before you crawled into his lap to cup his cheeks. You cleaned his face of the other woman’s essence with kitten licks and languid kisses, and he almost lost himself in you—almost. He turned you with a guiding hand to your shoulders, your back to his chest while he nudged your temple with a growl, “gorgeous… so fucking gorgeous—”

You wriggled slightly – poor thing… untouched, desperate for relief – and he hooked your legs over his, spreading your thighs wide for the dancer to see how wet you were—her dark eyes turning obsidian as she crawled on all fours between your legs, kissing you indulgently and then him.

“Make my girl feel good, then you can cum,” he purred against her mouth, turning to press a kiss into your temple when you whimpered, your hand having dropped to stroke over your clothed clit.

He pulled it away – behave, baby – and you whined into his mouth as you turned your face up to kiss him, whispering against his mouth in nonsensical strings of babble—asking for more, please please please Din.

The woman watched you in awe, the control you had over her melting to willing submission as you kissed his scruffy jaw with wet licks.

The temptation to just fuck you right there and then—to turn you over and mount you roared in his mind with a territorial claim. Your pleas whispered so softly into his skin, he ached to fill you—to turn those pleas into cries of bliss as he sank his cock into you. Not yet. He wanted to see you come undone on another’s tongue as he directed them. The indirect pleasure he would give you—it was impossible to resist.

He pulled your panties to the side again as the woman kissed up your thighs, across your navel – that’s it… tease her – and the air on your cunt – soaked with desire – made you bite your lip, eyes fluttering closed when her wet breath fell onto it.

“Spead her open for me—” Din hummed, revelling in the wet squelch of them against her fingers as she opened you wide, her eyes full of hunger and her tongue flicking out across her lips. They lifted to him, her thighs rubbing together from where her own naked cunt was exposed and wanting as she waited, nuzzling her nose into the seam of your thigh—the trembling clench of your pussy finally making him show you some mercy.

The image of another woman’s face buried in your cunt when he finally allowed her to slake her hunger for your arousal made him feel more powerful than any victory in the ring, any bowed submission by bolstered masculinity from unworthy adversaries. It was an incomparable lust—to see you pleasured this way—framed by his body, the tongue between your folds under his command, and the both of you eager to please him—to please each other. Masculine pride that didn’t need overbearing territoriality, but a guiding hand and the trust you both put in him. That is what made his cock leak and twitch against your back.

“Avoid her clit—”

You whimpered.

“Two fingers in that needy cunt… listen to how soaked you are baby—”

She fingered you diligently, slender digits echoing the patterns he knew would have you crying—have you squirming had he not kept you prisoner against his chest—patterns he dictated. A swipe to your clit by her thumb, a mercy on her part—and he snarled a warning down at her.

“Slower, slower—she likes to be edged, don’t you, sweetheart?”

His arms kept you at his mercy, your body open and wanting as the siren between your legs slurped and sucked and spread your wetness—had you quivering under her tongue. He could hear it. The wet drags—you always got so wet, and the velvet soaked beneath you only proved the fact. Her tongue circled your clit, dropped down to prod your entrance on his command. You knew it—that was why your pleas were directed to him, your nose buried into his cheek as you babbled incoherently – touch me, touch me please – your fingers clawing at the back of his neck.

“I am touching you—” he muttered as he ghosted his lips across the arch of your neck that lay in vulnerable deference against his shoulder—hands tweaking pebbled nipples after he had unhooked the front of your bra, rolling them in coarse fingers before he gave one of them a quick slap, “what do you want, baby?”

You rutted your hips down to push your cunt further into the dancer’s mouth, her moans of approval making you sob at the vibrations, the dual clash of soft wet tongue and rough dry hands on your breasts. He snarled a command to suck your clit—the woman’s fathomless gaze meeting his as her ruby lips wrapped around that pretty little bundle of nerves to make you bow up out of his lap, your hands gripping her curls to claw her closer with a litany of curses and fuck fuck yes—yes more more more—

“Stop.”

Your sob was heartbroken as your orgasm slipped from your grasp – wind through the pampas grass – and you turned, his hand tangled in your guest’s hair to yank her back, and you dropped to engulf his cock in your mouth. It made him choke—made him forget for just a moment as his head fell back and a guttural moan dropped from his mouth in encouragement.

Din dragged the woman up as you sucked him off—kissing your essence right off her with long licks and plundering swipes into her mouth, his hips lifting to push himself deeper down your throat as it convulsed around his girth with a gag.

“I make you both cum, understand?” he growled—smirking when you both nodded deliriously—you with a messy mouth and stroking the length of his cock as it rested against your cheek, and her pussy drunk delirium fogging her gaze.

“Good girls…”

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Some moots who might enjoy: @highsviolets @krissology @charnelhouse @thepoisonofgod @uncle-kenobi

#happy birthday cici!#boxer!din #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #mando #the mandalorian smut #din djain fanfic #star wars #the mandalorian fanfic #pedro pascal

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lifblogs · 2 years

Text

Just Let Me Be Normal

Sam Week 2022: Day 2 - Psychic Powers @prelawsam @suncaptor

The day was bright and clear, with hardly a cloud in the blue sky, so Sam was wondering why he felt off. The feeling showed itself as a tightening in his gut, like something bad was going to happen.

Sam and Dean had gotten takeout from a local sandwich shop in Denver, and were now sitting at one of the picnic tables at Cheesman Park to eat their lunch.

“How many dead bodies do you think we walked over already?” Dean asked, grinning before taking a large bite of his roast beef, parmesan, and asiago grinder.

Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to think about it. Not necessarily because it was scary—because, hell, that’s what his whole job was—but because it was just… sad. To think that the city hadn’t cared about those buried here and had given up moving the bodies and built a park over their resting place. Not to mention, the guy who’d dismembered a lot of the bodies and put them in the wrong coffins…

“You really want to think about that?” Sam asked.

“I mean, we’re following a lead on a ghost who chops people’s limbs off. Wondering how many dead bodies we’ve walked over really isn’t the creepiest part of this.”

Sam sighed, and unwrapped his Italian grinder. “Dude, do you ever have respect for anything?”

“We dig up graves for a living. How do you—”

Suddenly, Sam felt like someone had stabbed him through the head with an ice pick, just above his left eye. He might’ve cried out; he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything outside of his body at the moment.

Then the headache came with what he was expecting. A vision.

The night was cold, Dean’s harsh breaths fogging the air. He was lying on wet grass by a freshly dug grave, face bleeding. There was another figure, blurry and indistinct. What was obvious was the moonlight shining off of the cleaver the figure held.

The cleaver came down on Dean’s arm.

Dean let out the worst scream Sam had ever heard, blood spraying, and—

“Sammy! Sammy, you okay?”

Dean had grabbed him, and was shaking him as if that would get him answers faster. As if that would make Sam okay. The day came back to him, and he looked at his brother, seeing that he had both of his arms.

Sam’s headache faded to the background, but the image of Dean on the ground, helpless, stayed with him.

Sickened with what he’d seen, Sam shoved his sandwich away from him. He tried getting Dean to let go.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied.

“Please don’t tell me you just had another one of your freaky visions.”

Sam just tilted his head up and stared him down, giving him his best fuck you face.

Dean’s eyes widened and he pulled away, as if Sam’s psychic powers were a contagion that he might catch.

“Was it bad?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about this stuff.”

Dean swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, and he shifted on the park bench. “Yeah, not really, but… Is it something with us? With the job?”

Sam decided to just spit it out. “You got your arm cut off.”

“Oh. Well that’ll ruin one’s appetite.”

“No kidding.”

Dean got up, and was rolling his sandwich back up in the paper. “Okay, why don’t we finish going over the grounds, and then we visit the morgue? Then we’ll come back tonight and see if there’s anything worth ganking.”

Sam didn’t want Dean to even step outside that night, but he knew there’d be no stopping his brother.

“Oh, and uh, ask your visions who our killer ghost is.”

Sam forced a smile on his face. “Funny.”

“And see if I replace my hand with a hook, too.”

Sam stood at that. “This isn’t a joke,” he snapped. “You know how accurate my visions are.”

Dean looked around surreptitiously as he collected their trash. “Uh, maybe we should talk about this somewhere else.”

“Why? Because I’m crazy?”

Even as he said that Sam felt eyes on him, from other people who were at the park. A jogger with a saint bernard sped up a little after giving him a sideways look, her blonde ponytail swishing. Maybe Dean was right. Here everyone was just looking at him like he was a freak.

They were right.

Sam shook his head, and grabbed his stuff. “Whatever.”

They finished going over the area where the remaining 2,000 bodies were thought to be buried, marking cold spots on the map they’d gotten from the visitor’s pavilion in red pen. Dead silence encompassed them once they were back in the Impala.

Finally, Dean began, “Sam, you know I don’t like it when you get those visions.”

“Yeah, as if I can help it.”

“Can you?”

“What are you saying? That I’m trying to be a monster?”

“Well, can you?” Dean reiterated.

“No!” Sam argued. “Of course not. I don’t want this to be happening.”

“Can you make it stop?”

“What do you think?” Sam snapped.

“Fine. All I’m saying is is that Dad warned me about you, and—”

Sam slumped in his seat, a familiar ache forming in his chest. “Great, this again.”

“You think I want to do what Dad said?”

Sam looked over at his brother, who was busy watching the road, threading through Denver traffic.

“You sure bring it up a lot for someone who doesn’t,” he eventually muttered.

He wasn’t sure if Dean would actually… kill him… but it wasn’t as if he could fully state that his brother wouldn’t be the cause of his death. Sam was… something, a monster… and wasn’t that what they hunted? Wasn’t he supposed to take him out if things got bad? And Sam wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get the job done himself, so Dean—

But his brother loved him, surely.

Look out for Sammy. That’s my job.

“Okay, so I don’t like that you’re some kind of psychic,” Dean admitted. “Who would?”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Do we really need the sarcasm, Sam?” Dean grumbled.

“Dean, if I could wish this away I would, but I can’t. I can’t. And what I saw— You have to be careful, or you will get hurt.”

Dean drove in silence for a while, Sam worried about what his brother might say next. This whole conversation was ridiculous. Of course Sam didn’t want this power! Why would he? So much came with it, so much bad, and maybe that bad was inside of him, and his dad had been right, and Dean was right, and he was a freak, and—

Breathe, he told himself, noticing that his thoughts were spiraling.

Eventually, Dean asked, “Which arm am I supposed to lose?”

“Left one,” Sam answered without letting much emotion into his voice.

Dean held up his left arm, glancing at it, and then said, “Let’s just hope you’re wrong this time.”

That was the thing: Sam always wanted to be wrong about his visions.

---

They had to dig up three graves the next night. The body parts they were looking for were all spread out in the wrong coffins, as if someone had just thrown them in there like they were trash.

Sam kept a close eye out as he and Dean took turns digging up the graves. The first hour after dark had seen some drizzle, so the grass was wet.

There were no problems at the first two graves, but Sam’s headaches were getting more insistent, and the vision kept popping into his head. Fun. As if he needed a replay of that.

Almost done with the third grave, the vision came upon him again, and he hunched over, a hand to his head.

“Sammy, what is it?”

Cold. Sam felt cold.

Next thing Sam knew there was a dirty and rotting person before him. A ghost missing a limb, her head barely hanging on.

There was a flash of something silver, and on instinct he ducked. A cleaver went over his head.

But Sam was then grabbed by the throat, the grip crushing and bruising, and he was thrown from the grave.

“Sam!”

He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him.

He was coughing, trying to climb to his feet, while Dean reached for a shovel. This would be a great time to point out to him that the metal was aluminum, but Sam couldn’t get his breath back.

Dean swung it at the ghost, nothing happening.

“Worth a shot.”

Then he tried jumping down into the grave. Surely if the ghost was getting this antsy they were almost done with the job.

Dean was punched, the blow sending him backwards. He lay on the ground, dazed, blood trickling from his nose, and from his split upper lip.

Sam was on his feet now, but his head was throbbing. The ghost was approaching Dean, cleaver raised.

The cleaver came down on Dean’s arm.

Dean let out the worst scream Sam had ever heard, blood spraying, and—

“Nooo!” Sam cried.

Something pushed out of him, and Dean went tumbling across the grass, out of the ghost’s reach. The cleaver came down on grass and dirt.

Sam knew the only hope now was to finish the job. Though exhausted from all the digging he’d done that night, and feeling an even deeper exhaustion that seemed to go down right to his marrow, he jumped the six feet down into the grave, and picked up the shovel to wham it against the coffin till it broke.

“Sammy, hurry up down there!” Dean cried.

“I’m trying!”

Dean cried out, but it wasn’t the shocked, agonized cry of losing a limb, so Sam tried to ignore it. He had to if he was going to get this done.

Quickly, he opened up the coffin, finding it full of random body parts. Without even climbing out, he grabbed the salt and oil.

Once there was a fire going on some of the limbs, Sam clambered out of the hole…

Just in time to see the ghost burning up in the night.

Dean was lying on his side, more bloodied, but a quick inspection showed that he had all his limbs.

“That was not fun,” Dean said.

Sam gave a breathless, relieved laugh. “You think?”

---

Sam was throwing away the dental floss he’d used to stitch up Dean’s lip when Dean asked, “So, back in the park, when I… when I went flying, was that you?”

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line. He grabbed Dean a beer, and his brother immediately put it to his face.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Dean groaned against the cold beer bottle, but pulled away so he could talk. Sam decided to stay standing, wanting to be above Dean for this conversation. “Yeah, kind of. If you can do that, who knows what else you can do?” He winced, and muttered, “Son of a bitch,” putting the beer against his swollen lip again.

“So, are you asking as a concerned brother… or as a hunter?”

Dean threw out a hand. “Dude, I’m both.”

Did Dean not understand the weight of those words? It was like a knife had been plunged into Sam’s chest. Carefully, trying to keep his voice even, he answered, “Yes, it was me. And it saved you. That’s what matters.”

“I’m grateful, yeah, sure, but—”

“Does there need to be a but?” Sam asked.

“Dude, you have telekinesis. That’s not exactly human.”

“If I’m not human then what am I, Dean?”

That stopped his brother dead in his tracks.

“Yeah, you don’t actually have anything to accuse me of because as far as we both know I’m still human, and you can’t go around murdering humans, now could you? Because what would that make you?”

“All I was saying—”

Sam sat down on his bed, done with this whole conversation. “Yeah, I know what you were saying.”

“Sammy—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Because I know you’re not.”

Long silence passed, and then Dean eventually said, “Thanks for stitching up my lip.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Because it wasn’t a problem, because Sam would do anything for Dean, because he wanted to believe his brother felt exactly the same way.

Yet he knew he didn’t.

No matter which way he looked at it, they weren’t equals in this. Sam was going to have to lie low and hope his next vision wasn’t so earth-shattering.

Please, please don’t get another vision, he begged, he prayed. Just let me be normal.

#samweek2022 #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #my writing #psychic!sam winchester

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crimsonophelia · 3 years

Note

Can I request for a fluffy friends to lovers fic with Venti and a human gn reader? They’re good friends (but the reader doesn’t know his real identity) and when reader brings up their desire to see a wind wisp in real life Venti decides to surprise them by transforming into his true form and paying them a visit. The reader finds this mysterious little wind wisp at their doorstep and gets excited, takes care of it, and while feeding it apple slices starts talking about how their good friend Venti would love to see them - but oh, he’s less of a friend and more of a crush who I’ve loved for a long time… wait, where did the wisp go? Wait, Venti?! When did you get here?!

featuring: venti x gn!reader

warnings: none

published: june 30, 2021

form: imagine

a/n: thank you for sending this in—i need more venti requests, he’s my baby <3

you could tell that the drink was beginning to hit you hard when you felt your muscles go slack. it was your fourth pint of the night, and although you thought that you could hold your drink fairly well, you could never hold a candle to your bard friend’s seemingly bottomless appetite for wine. venti was on his seventh--or was it eighth?--mug of cider for the night, and was still fairly unfazed, if you consider his usual bumbling amiability to be his default. after a long day of working and whatever it was that venti did in the daytime, you two had decided to meet up at the angel’s share that evening for a drinking night between friends, and to catch up on life and whatever else goes on in the city of mondstadt.

the night had begun with a mug per person, as you and venti caught up with each other. due to your duties at home, and his rather inconstant job as a traveling musician, it was oftentimes difficult for you and the bard to stay in touch--responsibilities always seemed to get in the way. so, naturally, you took advantage of every opportunity you could get to see venti, one-on-one, and simply talk. after knowing him for quite a while, he really was a delight to talk to, always full of witty riddles and forever knowing the right thing to say at the right time. venti really was quite remarkable.

he also had the unique talent of contagious alcoholism; after having spent an hour or so drinking and chatting with him, you unwittingly started drinking more than your usual limit, absolutely carried away with whatever small conversation venti had you engaged with at the moment. the conversation had somehow strayed into the topic of myths and legends of mondstadt. venti was speaking of some strange conspiracies surrounding the origin of the anemo hypostasis up in the mountains, and as the alcohol began to break down your proper judgement, you began to go on and on about how you, as a child, dreamed of seeing an elusive wind wisp.

you had heard stories about the boy revolutionary, armed with his bow and his words, accompanied by a little white wind wisp, leading mondstadt’s journey to freedom. the story had enchanted you when you were young, and clearly you still had not given up hope of meeting a similar wind wisp. perhaps it would bring you the same joy and power to change your life for the better, just like it did for the hero of old mondstadt.

venti listened to your reminiscing closely, looking at you with a quizzical look of interest. your intoxicated state made it so that you didn’t notice the look on his face as if he was plotting something, but, to be fair, venti’s poker face was notable for its impregnability. the night ended with him having to walk you home, propping your arm over his shoulders so that you wouldn’t trip and fall on the cobblestone streets. the last thing you remembered was him tucking you into bed, and singing you one of his funny little songs.

the next morning, you woke with a pounding headache and the bright noon sun peeking through your shutters. archons, was it so late already? you pulled yourself out of bed, trying not to stumble, distracted by the pounding in your head. you had a long list of things to do today that you had to complete, and you severely regretted drinking so much and so late with that damned bard last night (though you could never really hate him--he was too adorable).

slipping on whatever clothing closest to your bed and sluggishly following through with your daily morning routine, you got ready to head out the door to water the carrots and potatoes in your backyard. as you pulled open the door, prepared to step out and face the piercing daylight, you caught yourself as you almost stepped on the little figure at your doorstep. lying there on its side, was a wind wisp. yes, just like the ones you had read about all your childhood and you had mused about endlessly last night. it had its little eyes shut, sleeping probably, its delicate little form curled up on the step.

you were bewildered, partially at the coincidence of it all, but mostly by the rarity of what had occurred before your eyes. a wind wisp, something most people never even saw once in their lifetimes, suddenly showing up right at your doorstep after you had talked about your desire to meet one just the night before. crouching down, you scooped up its little body in your hands. the little thing began to wake, hands rubbing its eyes sleepily, as it made a chirping noise. it was ridiculously adorable.

“hey there, little guy”, you cooed. “what are you doing here?”

as it began to regain consciousness, the wisp floated up off your hands, small gusts of air emitting from its form, and it flew up to nuzzle against your face. it felt like a warm breeze brushing against your cheek, and you heard it chirping in your ear.

you giggled. “well aren’t you the cutest little thing!” you raised your hand to pet it, and it made a little gurgling noise, leaning into your touch. something about its mannerisms felt so familiar, almost like something you had known in a past life perhaps, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. its presence was just endlessly comforting, even though you had only known it for a few minutes.

reaching into your pantry, you pulled out some apples you had picked the day before, and cut it into small slices. the wisp watched you eagerly as you went about your business, like it could understand everything you did. holding up a thin slice to the wisp, a little hole in its void of a face opened up and enveloped the slice whole. a little shocked but certainly entertained, you gave it an approving head pat.

as the day went on, the little wisp continued to follow you throughout mondstadt as you ran your errands. you went outside, behind your house, to take care of the crops you were growing. as you watered your plants, the little wisp helped you disperse the water more efficiently, blowing a gentle wind from your watering can so that you didn’t have to walk as far to water the faraway plants. you go to pick some apples and sunsettias nearby, and the little fellow would fly up to the hard-to-reach fruits and throw himself against them to knock them loose from the branches, right where you could catch them. you worried a little bit whether he was hurting himself by doing so, but he appeared to be pleased just to assist you, and he certainly was not ashamed to take a few bites from the fruits of your shared labor at the end of the day.

considering how efficiently your errands were completed today, of course all thanks to the helper you acquired that morning, you thought it would be nice to use the time you had in the late afternoon to take the wisp out for a picnic dinner at windrise to show your appreciation. gathering some of the fruit the both of you had collected, and some sandwiches you made, you placed it all in a little wicker basket and set off for the great tree with your companion upon your shoulder.

upon arriving, you laid down a gingham blanket in the shade of the great tree of windrise, just a moments away from the ancient statue of barbatos. you felt like a child again, remembering the summers of carefree exploration, tunneling through the thickets in the forest, or catching frogs by the creek, or tumbling down the hills by the sea. and now, a wisp joined you, taking you back to the memories of those years, when life was much simpler.

you couldn’t help but to think of venti, the bard, the friend, who had brought you such comfort through difficult times, whose music, like the warm touch of the wisp, reminded you of home and the beauty that life could bring. your companion was now feasting comedically fast on the food you had brought along, swallowing up fruits whole, and chewing for several moments before helping itself to another. you chuckled and gave it a pat. “greedy little fellow, aren’t you?” you couldnt help but to think venti would have loved to meet the wind wisp, considering his love for nature and all sorts of fauna, and considering the small resemblance between himself and the creature.

“stick around for a bit and i might introduce you to my friend, the bard”, you told it, not really caring that it probably couldn’t understand you. “im actually not sure that we are friends, to be honest. these days we rarely see each other but...” you trailed off, distracted by the sound of the breeze through the branches. the wisp stopped eating and watched you intently. “well”, you began. “i sometimes find myself wishing him and i were more than friends. maybe not lovers, not right away but... i just know that dearly. i cannot be sure that he feels the same, but that is of no matter.” you pat the wisp’s little head again. “if i can make him happy, even just as friends, that is enough for me.”

out of nowhere, a strong wind blew past you, knocking over your wicker basket and sending it flying several feet away. agitated, you scrambled up to chase after it, finally grasping it before it could fly too far. you were perplexed—where in the world could such a strong wind have come from? the sky was clear, and there were no clouds obstructing the setting sun. how odd, you thought to yourself.

you turned around to bring the basket back to your sitting spot, but to your surprise, the wisp was gone. no, in its place was now your bard friend, venti, sitting there on the blanket like he had been there all along. how in the world did he get here without you noticing, and where in the world did the wisp go off to? you hurried over to venti, questioning, “since when did you get here?”

the bard smirked, and fiddled with his lyre that you just noticed he had brought along with him. he had that look on his face again, the one he wore whenever he had some sort of plot in mind. “whatever do you mean, [y/n]?”, he replied amusedly. “i’ve been here all along.”

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin x reader #venti #venti x reader #venti headcanons #venti imagines #venti fanfic #venti x y/n #venti x you #fluff #venti fluff

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courtlyharlequin · 3 years

Text

Breathing Room

Warnings: fluff, no plot just brainrot, lowkey horn knee, feral and angry Taku coming from nine o’clock because I squeezed too much of her favorite tropes into this

Summary: Humans are strange. Their hobbies and customs are bewildering, but nothing Jade couldn’t handle as he was quick to adapt. Sometimes, he might even partake in said activities. Case in point with hiking. And you, knowing Jade for a decent amount of time as his significant other, came to terms with the fact that he would decline a request to participate in something that didn’t pique his interest. So when you proposed that he play the pocky game with you, you were certain that he would decline. But he didn’t.

A/N: Happy birthday to the Jade simp, @takuyakistall~! I’m so sorry that this was posted late but you’re already wary of that and thank you for supporting me through such a tough time. Ahhh life just doesn’t want me to simp for my hair wife! I tell you this a lot but I’ll say it again: I’m quite attached to you since you were my first tumblr friend. I didn’t have any in real life or online friends who like twst before meeting you so you mean a lot to me as my first. You always make me laugh whether it be bullying you or rotting over our mains together. Even when we get serious, I still love talking to you. You’re that amazing. I hope you have an amazing day, one just as amazing as you are. Eat lots of cake and pocky. I love you ♡

“Jade,” you said, tugging at his sleeves.

He sighed through his strained smile as he set down a glass he was polishing. He tucked his hair behind his ear and dusted off his slacks as if he was brushing away invisible crumbs off the garment. It was an ungodly hour. He was working overtime for Mostro Lounge. Today was unusually busy. As vice prefect, Jade took it upon himself to bite off more than he could chew. And he could chew a lot actually. He was a moray eel with two sets of jaws and an immense appetite. In his human form, he only had one set of jaws yet the appetite remained.

The lounge was deserted. Students shuffled to the mirror chambers and headed to their respective dorms to retire for the night. Jade, on the other hand, was sitting on a barstool with an array of glasses and creased brows. You sat by his side, doing your assignments and engaging him in idle chatter here and there. He had promised to help you with your alchemy homework, but alas his duties called for him. In a way. You didn’t mind per se since he helped you understand the material within minutes during his short-lived breaks.

They were about three minutes long and Jade only took two breaks ever since his shift started. You weren’t an expert at reading people like he was, but even you could tell he could use some rest or a pick-me-up at least. Perhaps the latter. Jade was stubborn. He wasn’t going to head to his bedroom until he was done.

“Yes, (y/n)?”

You reached into your book bag and pulled out a small box of biscuits– pocky to be exact. You held it in front of his gaze. He cocked his head.

“Let’s play the pocky game.”

“Maybe later. We can play after I finish. Or tomorrow. It’s late so you should return to your living quarters and get some rest,” Jade said as he turned his attention to his task.

“Please? Think of it as a break. Your last one was about three hours ago.”

“Well, if you put it like that then I shall indulge you, my dear.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as he spun the barstool to make direct eye contact with you. You avoided his gaze as you opened the box, selecting a random stick of pocky and holding it in front of him. He took it and examined it with a perplexed expression.

“What is this?”

“Pocky.”

“Which is?”

“It’s like a cookie biscuit thing with a chocolate covering,” you said, getting yourself your own stick.

“I see. So this ‘pocky’ edible.”

“Yes,” you nodded, biting the pocky.

He mirrored your actions. You watched him chew it thoroughly. His eyes wandered around the ceiling of the lounge. You held your breath as he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“It’s delectable.”

Your shoulders relaxed and he chuckled under his breath. It would have been disappointing if Jade didn’t like pocky. That would mean you couldn’t persuade him to play the pocky game. You looked into his eyes lovingly while he nibbled on the remainder of the stick.

“And what is ‘the pocky game’?” Jade mused.

You took out another biscuit. His brows arched as you waited for him to swallow the last bit of his current pocky stick.

“The objective of the game is to be the last to hold onto the stick as we each take a bite and move closer to the center. Whoever is the last to pull away wins. You take one end and I’ll take the other. I’ll let you have the chocolate end because it’s your first time playing.”

“My, my how kind of you. I almost thought you were the headmaster. All you needed was to comment on your kindness.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned.

He brought his hand to chin. He feigned curiosity.

“Though… if you wanted to kiss me you could have just said, (y/n),” Jade gave you a toothy grin, ones he shot at the poor unfortunate freshmen souls that tried to escape the conditions of Octavinelle’s yearly exam contracts before chasing them down the hallways with his brother.

“I-I.. It would be more fun?”

“I jest, my pearl. There’s no shame in wanting to engage in intimacy. I shall indulge you. Though, I have a feeling that I will win every round– seeing as you get flustered even when I embrace you without warning fufu~”

There was not a shred of innocence in his voice. Jade knew where this was going. He was going to do everything in his power to win. He was good at that sort of thing, small ministrations that drove you wild.

When he found out that you were sensitive to neck kisses, chaste or not, he greeted you every morning outside of your first period threshold with a peck on the side of your neck. The first time he did that, you were reduced to a puddle of empty thoughts, a spasm of spiraling emotions and heated cheeks. The following incidents featured your hand instinctively shooting to the spot he kissed, cheeks still hot and bothered. When you had adapted to his rhythm, he kissed your neck in the halls, during lunch, and when he walked you back to your dorm. They were spontaneous and sporadic. They ceased when winter began and you wore a scarf around your neck all day, every day. Of course, that was months ago. The routine faded as your relationship developed. Jade had his share of teasing and came to understand that setting your nerves on fire on a daily basis despite your protests wasn’t exactly healthy. He also came to understand how people might get the wrong idea from neck kisses. He teased you for hours on end for being so lewd, but digressed when you were on the verge of tears due to embarrassment. That didn’t stop his other methods of teasing, but at least you were free from public surprise neck kisses.

Jade loved to tease. He was good at it too. He knew you and your ticks like the back of his hand. You were certainly going to lose this game, but it was better not to let your true feelings show and give him the upper hand.

You inserted the biscuit between Jade’s lips and took a deep breath before taking your end. It was more so a hybrid of a deep breath and a yawn. It was late after all.

Jade’s eyes widened and the stick broke in half. Your eyes widened as well.

“You’re supposed to hold onto the stick for a long as you can, silly.”

He closed his eyes: “Yes, my bad. Shall we try again?”

“One to zero,” you said as you slipped a biscuit into his lips.

“Did that count?”

“Of course it does.”

He pouted as you inhaled and exhaled deeply before taking your end of the pocky. It snapped immediately.

“Jade,” you whined, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“Apologies, my dear. It seems to be instinctive for me to bite the stick.”

“You can bite. It’s just that the pocky keeps breaking in half whenever you bite it. Maybe try to be more gentle?”

“Two to zero.”

“You’re so cruel, (y/n).”

You giggled as you handed him the stick. He pursed his lips and held the stick out for you to take a bite from your end. You closed our eyes and opened your mouth to take a deep breath once more and the stick snapped before you knew it.

You looked up at Jade to see the pocky awkwardly sticking out of his hand which was covering his face. Mostro Lounge’s dim lights made it difficult to make out many details, but you were positive that Jade Leech was profusely blushing.

“Jade?”

“C-Could you not do that*?”

“Do what?”

What could have possibly reduced him to such an adorable state? He’s usually so composed. He was never this flustered. Out of all the times you tried to get him to break, he was resilient. And here you were, not having any idea as to what you did to make him blush.

“O-Open your mouth.”

“Pardon?”

A yawn escaped from your lips. Jade spun the bar stool around and stared at the glasses with sudden interest.

“Could you not do that?”

“Yawn?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He mumbled something under his breath.

“Jade?”

“(y/n), you should have just asked for a kiss.”

The eel stood up curtly from his seat. He towered over you and his eyes glowed in the dark lighting. He pulled out a pocky stick from the box in your petite hands and slipped it in between your lips. There was a small pause before he came crashing down. If he hadn’t been holding your shoulders so firmly, you might’ve fell over from the force that he exerted. He came barreling towards your lips. You weren’t sure if he had even bit the pocky. You felt it snap, but when you parted your mouth to allow his tongue to entangle with yours, you could not find a single trace of the biscuit. The flavor lingered in his mouth, but the pocky itself was nonexistent. Did he swallow it whole?

He did not leave your mind to wander too far from him. He kissed you hungrily and nipped at your lips. His sharp teeth grazed your flesh and you mewled into the kiss. You could hear him growl faintly as he held onto your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He tiled your head for a better angle. You pushed him away. You needed to catch your breath. A string of saliva fell from your lips.

“Jade,” you gasped as he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck.

“It would be in your best interest if you don’t do that again, especially during mating season. I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself next time. I might break you in half, dearest.”

Your cheeks flushed as you nodded absentmindedly. Mating season?

He bit your neck.You yelped and wriggled out of his embrace.

“Jade!” you hissed, clutching your neck.

“Consider that a small price to pay,” he chuckled.

You huffed.

“I win this time,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah…”

He packed the glasses onto a shelf.

“You’re free to go now. I’ve finished here so you don’t have to keep me company anymore. Would you like me to escort you?”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

“Goodnight, Jade. See you tomorrow.”

Though you had agreed not to yawn, it escaped your lips. Luckily, your back was facing Jade as you exited the lounge so he didn’t see you yawn, but rather heard you yawn. You heard a distant bang on the counter as well as a faint “dammit” from a voice you knew all too well.

It took every fiber in your body to restrain yourself from turning around. You knew all too well that if you turned around, he would’ve rushed towards you and snapped you in half just like a pocky stick. It was best to give him a little breathing room even if you were hot and bothered yourself.

*Note: To initiate the mating process, moray eels open their mouths very wide at each other to signal the start of it. This trait carries over to when (y/n) yawns as Jade took it as a sign for his eel-y instincts.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader

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hanazou · 3 years

Text

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬.

Genre : Comfort, fluff, romance

Word Count : 1.9K

A response to this request.

— 𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠, 𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧, 𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙞𝙢𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛?

The days when time slows down is the most dangerous, you thought to yourself, because you can feel your soul rotting away, your will and lack of passion eating your bones, and yet the mind musters no good enough reason to pull your pieces back together.

It is a common story, your own. Your days have been cut shorter and your nights lasted much longer. The desire to sleep the sluggishness away monopolizes your energy, leaving none left to have your meals, diverting your eyes from mirrors so you don’t have to be reminded of your buffering state; one that lacks the passion to even stretch an arm.

You no longer drink morning coffee ever since its sweet-bitter taste is lessened to plain, distasteful bitterness, and the smell of your favourite food no longer makes your appetite moist. The insatiable thought of letting your bed suck in your slothful body washes away each wants and needs.

All those explain why you look the way you do now. You had the chance to make your eyes less saggy and to hide the dark circles, you could have pressed cold spoons and applied some concealer, but it was a chore to even toss aside the blanket glued to your body to drag yourself to the shower. You shouldn’t have slept that long, you barely washed your hair off the filth you gathered from sleeping on the same dusty pillow.

Even the possibility of running into Chuuya today wouldn’t get you on your feet. No, that’s inaccurate—it’s because you might meet Chuuya that you don’t want him to see you in this state. Your beloved won’t leave you alone the moment he sees you like this, which in itself isn’t a bad thing, but how will you explain everything to him? This dormant state, this feeling of wanting space and time to swallow you whole?

Your deepest wish is actually to have him around your arms. Just the thought of silently letting his warmth comfort you soothe you more than any blanket could, but you can’t afford to do that today when you’re in the headquarters looking like someone who’s considering starving themselves to eternal sleep.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier made your lips twist. You did brush your hair and wash your face and yet, you are still far from looking presentable to the Boss. Unfit to see him, unfit as a mafioso, unfit to be here at all. You did pat down your shirt and pants with a pessimistic hope the Boss will only reprimand you and not send you away on a probation period.

You couldn’t recall when your automated legs brought you here, but here you stand, listening to the Boss briefing you today’s agenda. The explanation feels like hazy flowing clouds of words that blow pass you. You can’t rearrange your wandering thoughts, can’t even feel your numbness away. You simply understand that there are vermins trying to intimidate Port Mafia’s weapons dealer and that the Boss is sending you there to give them a good hit on their faces.

Only when he mentions Chuuya’s name do the wires in your brain spark.

“Chuuya?” You blink.

“Chuuya-kun insists that you will need company, he came earlier than you did to convince me that.” The Boss grins, chin on his hand. “I have the same judgement as to him, but that aside, have you looked at yourself in the mirror today?”

Barbells weigh down your shoulders. That was his way of asking, ‘what makes you think you’re fit for a job today?’ The Boss is the personification of logic. How will he accept your explanation if even you don’t know why you’re feeling the way you do, as if you’re a homeless unemployed bum without responsibilities?

“I’m sorry,” You lower your head.

“Not a problem with me, actually, as long as the job is done.” He smiles. “You can go, Chuuya-kun must be waiting for you somewhere.”

After a respectful bow, you leave through the large mahogany doors. The corridor outside, dark and orange as usual, although narrow, feels too large without Chuuya next to you.

You and Chuuya usually walk out of the Boss’s office together, you smiling at the comfort he gives, discussing what you two would be doing after the day’s job. You feel like a forlorn. An abandoned. A lone traveller whose journey is just to get to the end of the corridor when it was you who tossed away the one whose presence is sure to bring recovery.

“Not going to say hi?” The voice you’ve been craving echoes from behind. You jolt. You’re happy. You want him to bask you in his presence. But you’re afraid. How will he react to your condition?

You debate with yourself, should you turn around and face him? You don’t want to make your worry contagious, but you will have to face him either way for the job. The tips of your feet face opposite directions, unsure where to face, but before you come to a decision, Chuuya appears right in front of you.

Your conscience twists like a sponge when Chuuya’s smile abruptly turns to shock as his eyes lay on you. He gapes your name, not sure what to address, and you turn and walk some distance between you.

“I’m okay, I just slept too much,”

Like a wilting flower, you hide your face.

“Are you kidding? Nobody looks like that from sleeping in too long!” Chuuya’s voice escalates just like you feared. You wish your earlobes can curl in to push away the guilt hearing him makes you feel. Oh, alas, he’s approaching—“What the hell’s been going on?”

“Nothing.” You cower away. “I’ve been feeling slow, that’s all.”

You omit the important parts because Chuuya didn’t sign up for them. He didn’t date you for you to become a lousy, disordered sloth. He wants the smiling and comforting you, not the you who needs him to smile and comfort you.

If you could just push him away for enough time for you to put yourself together—

Chuuya seizes the hand that’s about to put some distance. “You don’t think I can help you, is that it?”

You instantaneously look at him. “I never said that!”

“You know, I hate it when people lie to me, and I don’t like being kept in the dark just the same.” He says.

The way his eyes pierce your conscience makes your head avert away but he clenches your hand tighter. When you glance back at him, slowly that is, his hold softens. “But do you know what I’m feeling right now? Something like self-disappointment. For not noticing earlier that you’re having—those kinds of days.”

“Have you had one?” You ask, interest piqued. “Days when you just, don’t know what you want?”

With a distant look, Chuuya makes a noise of affirmation. He pulls on your hand, taking you with him to a deserted corner halfway at the end of the not-so-dark corridor now. In fact, it may feel a bit... warmer. More comforting, more familiar, more grounding with the way Chuuya’s hand has been holding yours. It’s amazing how just his hand helps more than sleeping for a whole day does.

When both of you enter the hidden corner, Chuuya’s pace still pulling you with him, he yanks you onto his body. Your body crashes against his and his arms are quick to trap you in him. There’s no room for you to struggle nor any space for your anxiety to linger. Like a strong wind, his embrace dusts away the cobwebs around your soul. His hand crawls to the back of your head to push you down so your face covers his shoulder.

“If I had met you when I was going through what you’re feeling now, you could’ve given me this.” Chuuya’s voice came from behind your head. His chin presses your back, his other hand holding you still against him. “So make sure to do this with me when it’s my turn feeling down.”

You begin to feel his heartbeat, and you wonder, has it always been this therapeutic, having this much influence to thaw your continuously swirling uneasiness? But the thought of letting him do the chore of comforting you doesn’t sit right. You push to put a little distance but his hold around you tightens, trapping your arms at your sides.

“Not yet. Just another 30 seconds since we’re on the clock.”

You’re unsure where to look. The floor in front of you? His hair near your nose? The material of his coat your hands are touching?

You don’t want to think anymore. No more confusing rationalities, no more questions, not in this position, not when he’s here. You want to feel, to finally accept. So you close your eyes, bring your arms around him, and let your breaths slow down.

How you’ve missed this.

This doesn’t solve problems, you think, but why can you feel your worry melting away?

The pressure on your arms becomes lighter. Has it been 30 seconds? You can put some distance between you and Chuuya now, but not to escape or avoid him. You just want to see his face.

But your vision was suddenly obstructed by something dark. A sharp scent of comfort, Chuuya’s scent, fills your nose. Your fingers graze up and down to figure out what it is. There’s a flat surface connected with the perpendicular one, and the texture feels oddly similar as you take it off.

From the upper sides of your eye, you spot that in your hand is Chuuya’s hat as he pushes it down over your face again.

“I’m lending you the hat this once so you can cover your face for the job, then I’ll stay with you for the whole day wherever you want.” His hand lifts off you. “I can come over, bringing some of my own wine. How’s that sound?”

You adjust Chuuya’s hat to sit properly on your head, liking how it fits perfectly on you as you look at him. From the look on his face, you know he thinks so as well.

“Hey, you know what? You don’t look half bad with it.” He smirks, pocketing his hands. “You can wear it for the whole day, if you want, but just give it back and don’t scratch it.”

“What a nagging man,” You chuckle. “I’m holding this hostage till I feel better.”

Chuuya scoffs. “Hostage? Ha! My hat will be the one making you feel better.”

“It’s not just because of the hat, silly,” Your cheeks grow from your smile, giving him a meaningful look to thank him.

Chuuya’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. He turns away, walking out to the corridor, and you follow. “W-Whatever, just keep it with you.”

“What if it’s not enough?” You pat down the hat, liking the way it presses your head. “What if I want more?”

“If you want more, then ask me! Why do you make it sound complicated?”

You lock your arm by slipping it through his. The fabric of his sleeve on your forearm feels natural as you sigh, your temple against his shoulder. “Can I really?” You mutter.

Chuuya heaves a heavy breath and releases it with a long sigh. You raise your head to apologise but he shoves down his hat to cover your eyes again, obstructing your vision. “Of course you can, stupid. I promise.”

You breathe in his scent again, feeling his hat around your head, his clothes against your skin, and his strong stature on your body.

You see light at the end of these kinds of days if he’s with you.

📜 ; like what you read? visit my bookshop!

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russadler · 3 years

Text

The Red Room (Russell Adler x OC! Bell) SMUT/EXPLICIT

Bell needs something from Adler...

EXPLICIT/SMUT 18+

A/N: Just a little something I wrote while in quarantine. I imagine this taking place in my “A Little Death” universe (I’ll probably find a way to write it in later on) but this can be read as a standalone if you wish. I’m still looking to add to “Playing with Fire” so stay tuned in the meanwhile. Thanks for reading!

It’s only midday and Bell can feel herself cracking. The CIA agent makes a half-decent effort to make herself look busy with her own assigned tasks, but in reality she feels her skin crawl with yearning.

Her mind is fixated on one thing and one thing only.

With the others having either gone into town for lunch or other business, the main area of the safehouse is left solely occupied by Adler and herself. Bell slips into the red room as soon as she sees the chance.

The brunette toes quietly into the workspace, not looking to completely interrupt her fellow agent’s current task at hand. Adler still turns when he hears footsteps behind him, his ears finely tuned after years of espionage work.

Russell greets her with a simple “Bell.” As he continues developing the image in his possession. The American man is not a fool by any means, he knows she wants something. What exactly it is she seeks is another question entirely.

He of course sees fit to make her wait until he is ready to give it.

Bell leans casually against an adjacent table to observe Adler as he works, her arms supporting her body as she leans back. The position pushes her chest forward and thus causes her nipples to poke very visibly through the thin white cotton of her muscle shirt. Her choice in attire had already earned a look from the elder man earlier in the day, but he had chosen to not make any comment.

The young woman studies the muscles of Adler’s arms intently as he works, paying extra attention to the way his back shifts through the material of his dark green polo.

Russell finishes his current project after a few short minutes, taking time to set his tools down and remove his gloves before turning to face his companion.

“What do you need, Bell?” He questions.

The woman in question moves from her place at the table and slowly approaches the man, stopping only when they touch chest to chest so he can feel her hardened nipples as her fingers hook themselves in his belt loops.

The brunette peers up at the older man, gnawing at her lip in a show of both nervousness and want.

“Bell.” Adler sighs. “We can’t — not here. Not now.”

“So you still want to?” Bell asks mischievously in return. “You didn’t say no, just that we can’t.”

Adler sighs again, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lover’s lips as his hands come to grip at her sides.

“You know damn well I’d love to baby.” He replies quietly, his thumbs rubbing softly at the meat of her hips. “But if we were caught, there would be lots of trouble for both of us, especially for me.”

The shorter of the pair doesn’t consider the other’s answer for too long. She already expected him to say no, it was why she came with a back up plan.

Bell leans in to whisper in the other’s ear. “Let me suck you off.”

She leans back to observe the man’s reaction. Adler is a man of very subtle mannerisms. He isn’t easy to read, but the lack of sunglasses as well as her personal relationship to him makes things a lot easier.

His face doesn’t shift at all with surprise, but instead she sees the minute etchings of curiosity decorate the man’s features.

Adler’s eyes dart quickly to the door. Bell answers his unsaid question.

“Everyone’s gone out for lunch, and we both know Hudson has meetings at BND headquarters all day.” The female states matter of factly, beginning to reach for the man’s belt. “We still don’t have enough time for you to fuck me, but surely I can get you to cum in my mouth at least.”

Once his belt is unbuckled, her dark haired form drops to its knees in front of her commanding officer. As she wrestles his cock out from his briefs, Bell feels the light touch of Adler’s hand on the crown of her head as he pushes back the hair falling in her face.

The Russian finally reaches her goal, the man’s half chubbed length presenting itself as she tucks his briefs behind his sack. Leaning forward to suck the engorged tip into her mouth, Bell glances up at Adler as his flesh enters her mouth.

She notes the way his jaw clenches in the red light, groan caught in his throat as he watches her closely. The woman works to suck more of his fattening length into her mouth, left hand gripping at his thigh as her right grips the base and massages what she can’t fit in her mouth.

Russell reaches down to stroke delicately at her chin.

“Good girl...you’re so good for me.” He whispers adoringly, admiring his girl as she sucks him off.

Bell closes her eyes and continues working her mouth up and down, knees becoming sore as they rub at the cement floor. A hand coming to rest on the top of her head, guiding but not pushing her to take him further.

“Lift your shirt, let me see those gorgeous tits” Russell whispers roughly, hand on her head shifting to grip at her hair as she swallows down more of him.

The beauty complies with the man’s directive and her left hand moves to lift her shirt, exposing her perky breasts to the chilled air. Bell straightens at the sound of Adler’s pleased hum.

As she sucks him further, she eventually feels her gag reflex trigger. Forced to pull back and take a moment to breathe, Bell knows she looks a mess, hair mussed by Russell’s grip and saliva covering her face, but she knows they both enjoy the absolute filth of these things.

Russell rubs at her bottom lip with his thumb as she gasps for air, playfully pushing it forward for her to suck at before pulling away.

“Sweet girl…” He rasps with a smirk, moving forward to tap the tip of his cock on her swollen lips. “Better move faster if you want me to cum before they come back.”

She beams back with a stellar smile of her own, before opening her mouth to allow him to push his cock forward. The elder groans, swearing under his breath as Bell resumes sucking him off with vigor.

Bell swallows him deeper with each pass, moaning in pleasure as she gets him off. Adler’s hand clenches and grips at her hair as attempts go restrain himself from fucking her throat.

As much as she would love him to, they both know they wouldn’t be able to explain why she suddenly lost her voice midway through the day.

“God...you’re so good to me Bell…” Adler murmurs.

The brunette pulls back suddenly from sucking his cock to lap at his balls, moaning in unison with him as she begins to suck harshly at a testicle.

“Fuck...Bell...yes.” Adler hisses, tossing his head back as his face pinches in bliss. Bell makes note to suck at the other testicle as well before returning to swallow his length.

From that point on the younger begins a rapid and zealous assault on the CIA agent’s erection, determined to make him cum. A hand jerks him at the base, while her mouth moves along his length at a swift pace.

The red room becomes filled with Adler’s groans and quiet praises, mostly drowned out by the wet sounds of Bell choking on his fattened dick.

Bell can feel herself absolutely melt as she blows him. The carnal act and the absolute danger of their current situation feeds her insatiable appetite for the man. She feels the hot burn of tears run down her face as she makes herself swallow him with haste until she chokes, a mess of saliva covering most of her face and dripping down her chin.

“Make me cum baby...I know you can…” Adler encourages as he’s cut off by his own groan. “Suck that cock dry...I wanna cum in your mouth.”

The Russian whimpers at the words as she continues her assault on his penis for another few minutes. She wants nothing more than to feel the warmth of his release in her mouth, to hear him cry out as he releases.

She pulls back and takes a deep breath before rapidly sucking him to the base in one go, she coughs as she deepthroats him for the first time but she still manages to hold on.

It finally does the trick.

“Oh fuck! Bell I’m gonna fucking cum…I’m gonna cum. Oh Jesus…” The man lets out a groan from deep within his chest as he releases. His partner’s hair tightly gripped by both hands.

Bell pulls back, only leaving the tip in her mouth as he comes. The salty taste of his thick release soon fills her oral cavity.

“Show me.” He growls lowly. “Show me the cum I put in your mouth then swallow.”

Pulling back off his softening cock, the female leans back and opens her mouth. Her tongue is barely visible beneath the sea of white cum.

Adler places a finger under her chin to tilt it upwards and whistles approvingly at the sight. “Goddamn...good girl. Letting me dirty your mouth like that.”

He removes the finger from underneath her jaw and steps back. “Now swallow it.”

Her mouth snaps closed, and she angles her head upwards to make a show of her throat moving as she swallows. She finishes by reopening her mouth, now bare of his release.

Adler gives her a lopsided smirk and helps her from the floor, greeting her as she rises with a filthy kiss. He seems uncaring of her messy state, and of the fact she just swallowed his load.

“Oh you filthy, filthy girl…Thank you.” Another kiss, followed by one of his hands moving to push a stray hair behind her ear as Bell smiles shyly. “You’re fantastic, you know that?”

He moves to help her clean her face with a spare handkerchief she had brought along, before using it to wipe his now soft cock before zipping himself up.

Russ gives her one last kiss, arms enveloping her shorter form and pulling her close as he leans down to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to make you cum so hard later...I’m going to make you fucking shake. You hear me?”

She nods silently as he pulls back, one of his hands coming to grip at the meat of her ass.

Bell takes a moment to enjoy his hold. "I’m gonna go get freshened up properly before everyone gets back, because I definitely look like I just sucked someone off.” She declares as she begins to pull away.

Adler gives a huff of amusement as he begins to head back to his work station. “Yeah...I think that’s a good plan.” Bell smiles at him as he begins to put on a new pair of gloves while she moves to the door.

“See you later?” He asks, his head turning to look at her one last time as she leaves.

“See you later.” She confirms, blowing one last teasing kiss over her shoulder as she strolls out the door.

Bell debates later if she imagined it, but she swears he smiled as she left. Not a smirk, or the tight lipped smile he rarely dons.

No, she swears, he beamed.

A/N: This one goes out to @judo-98 <3

#russell adler #russell adler x oc #russell adler fanfic #russell adler smut #call of duty smut #call of duty fanfic #black op cold war #bocw #bocw fanfic #mine #my writing #a little death au

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sweet-by-and-by · 3 years

Text

Baptized In Your Name - Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

summary: The rugged stranger who found her at her lowest turns back up on Charlotte Balfour’s doorstep, offering help as she navigates her new life in the remote wilderness. Determined as hell, she lets him teach her a thing or two about guns, and finds herself offering her own help in turn. But as questions of his past bubble to the surface, will she find the man she believes him to be, or will she learn of a darker side? word count: 3819 pairing: Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

AO3

The Northern air had always been healing. Arthur took a deep breath in, the fresh air from the Northern Kamasana River calming and crisp.

He had travelled across the Eastern Grizzlies after his ride with Rains Falls. He decided to take the long way back to camp, needing some time away after all his talk of ghosts. Away from Dutch, from John, from everyone who reminded him of everything he had lost.

The painful memories played in his mind as he rode through the mountains. He rode down into Roanoake Ridge, stopping as he approached the fork in the road at Doverhill. He chuckled at the memory of the mad scientist there, a frown settling across his face as he recalled another life lost. He wondered if he was cursed, if to meet him was to meet the angel of death itself.

It had been a few days since he found the widow of Willard’s Rest, Arthur thought to himself as he hesitated at the crossing of pathways. He eyed the road to his right, the one that would take him back to camp. His frown deepened at the thought of seeing Dutch just yet, and he spurred his horse Eastward.

It didn’t take long before he was turning off the main path towards Charlotte’s cabin. He savoured the beautiful scenery, idly watching a buck stand guard over his family as they sipped from the river’s edge.

He startled at the sound of gunfire, his attention drawing towards the sound. He reached for his holster, ice running through his veins as he realized the gunshots were coming from Willard’s Rest.

He dug his heels into his horse’s side, the loyal beast sensing his panic and darting off towards the cabin. Visions of robbers and bandits danced across his mind, fearing what he would see when he rounded the bend up towards the cabin.

He pulled his horse to a stop as he crossed through the gate, eyes scanning the homestead to assess the situation. His brows furrowed in confusion when he saw that Charlotte was alone, and he quickly holstered his weapon before she could take notice.

“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed as he swung out of the saddle. His worries drained away at the tone in her voice and the beaming smile she wore as she turned to greet him.

He took in the state of her, his confusion only deepening at the rifle in her hands. He tried to focus as she thanked him again for the rabbit, doing his best to keep his concern off of his face. He had only just met the woman, but he found himself worrying for her already.

He listened as she told him of her plan to shoot at some bottles, his heart lifting at the excitement in her eyes.

He offered his tips, his heart racing as he leaned in close to her. He shuffled slightly as he adjusted her stance, begging his hands to stay steady as he pointed down the barrel to guide her aim.

They worked together to improve her shooting, and by the end of their session Arthur was impressed. She may not be taking on Annie Oakley anytime soon, but he could see she took pride in her gained skills and her determination was infectious.

“Thank you for everything,” she smiled, her melodic voice drowning out his thoughts. “Would you join me for a meal? It’s the least I can do.”

Arthur nodded, not daring to speak as his chest tightened. His heart hammered at the invitation, hammering against his ribs. He followed her into the cabin and glanced around her home. The solid wood logs were familiar to him, but the decorative touches screamed of rich inhabitants. Arthur felt starkly out of place against the backdrop of luxury. He awkwardly took a seat in the ornate dining chair at Charlotte’s prompting.

He looked around and took in the rest of the cabin, and could practically hear Hosea scolding him for his gawking. Her home was full of beautiful items, the likes of which Arthur had never seen in a cabin in the woods.

He whipped his head around at the sound of the stew pot slamming down on the table, Charlotte’s hiss at the heat drawing his eyes to her. He smiled politely as she dished up his dinner, passing it to him with a “bon appetit”.

“Huh?” he slipped out before he could stop himself, and he quickly cursed his muddled response. Charlotte spoke of Aristotle with grace that would have Dutch draped at her feet, and here Arthur was sounding like some back country hick in Murfree territory.

“Please, enjoy,” she said, her eyes casting downwards in embarrassment. Arthur felt himself flush at the realization he thought it was cute, casting his own gaze down to a spoonful of stew. “And thank you again, for everything. I really am grateful.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” he dismissed, scraping his spoon against the porcelain bowl to keep himself busy.

“You’re a good man,” Charlotte said decidedly, turning away before she could see him react. He was taken aback by her conviction.

“Oh, you don’t really know me,” he murmured, his conscience heavy with the weight of misleading a poor widow. He thought of his deeds, of the list he could give her to prove his case.

“I know enough,” she retorted, busying herself around the kitchen.”There’s always more to find in ourselves, you helped me to see that.”

“My husband Cal was such an optimist,” she said fondly as she took her seat across the table from him, “I found that to be quite contagious. We were both born with the silver spoon...banquets, butlers, valets,” she trailed off.

“Sounds awful,” Arthur chuckled, a cough working its way through his chest. His ears rang and his vision wavered as he tried to suppress it. He blinked to clear his eyes, listening pointedly as Charlotte told him of her father and her fear of being crushed by the wilderness.

“Well, I reckon you’re gonna be just fine,” he coughed, struggling against his labouring breath.

“Are you alright?” Charlotte asked, her worry evident. His coughing worsened but he waved her off, rising to his feet.

“I’m fine,” he stammered, rising to his feet. The spell he was under broke, and he realized the risk he was putting her at by having come in for dinner. He rushed to get himself out the door, out of her home and away from her with his disease. The angel of death had forgotten his place, let himself enjoy Charlotte’s company and foolishly put her in danger.

“Thank you for this,” he struggled, staggering forward as the room spun around him. He forced himself to keep going, splatters of blood peppering his fist as he coughed even harder. “I think,” he wheezed, “it’s best if I just-”

And he was down on his knees.

He heard Charlotte rush towards him as he collapsed to the floor, trying to keep her back as his body shook. His lungs burned and his abdomen ached, rendering him helpless as he curled into himself.

“Stay right there,” he faintly heard, “it’s going to be okay.”

The melodic promise carried him away as darkness swallowed him.

He startled awake, another cough bringing him back to life. This one was less debilitating, just the usual tickle through his chest and throat.

He propped himself onto his elbows, looking around to register his surroundings. He forced himself to roll onto his side, pushing himself to a seat with a groan. He shook his head and ran his hand down his face, stopping to wipe blood from the corner of his mouth. He glanced around again and noticed a note at his bedside, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he leaned forward to reach for it.

“My Dear Arthur,” he read, blinking at the words before him. His face sunk as he recalled his letter from Mary just a few days before, the same greeting pulling at his heartstrings.

He smiled as he read the rest of the letter, fought through the confusion from the sleep-addled fog that still clouded his mind. He admired her penmanship, her decorative sprawl surely a result of her higher education.

He scowled at her words about the money in the jewelry box. He knew she had plenty, but his stomach turned at the idea she thought his visits were for some kind of payout. He tucked the letter away, reaching around the jewelry box for his hat. He stood, glaring at the box that stashed the bills as he pushed past the door and into the main room.

True to her letter, Charlotte was out hunting. He took another chance to gaze around the room, no memory of Hosea’s reprimanding stopping him this time. A fire roared in the great stone hearth, warming the cabin from the slight chill in the morning air. This far North the chill lingered late into Summer, and Arthur was grateful as a shiver crept down his spine.

Though he wasn’t sure the cold was to blame for that.

He looked at the fine furniture, wondering to himself how much they had brought from Chicago. He was sure it wasn’t purchased around here, though he supposed it could have been shipped up through Annesburg.

He looked at the pictures in their frames, photographs and paintings decorating the dark wooden walls. He was struck with a longing to stay, to hang his own photos alongside her relatives.

His heart ached as he continued to look around the cabin. He imagined a life here, of coffee brewed on cold mornings and conversation shared over breakfasts. The fancy furniture would take some getting used to, but he could easily see himself settling into it. Could even imagine the patter of small feet running across the floors, the chime of a child’s laugh bouncing off the walls.

He shook his head to clear that thought, the echo of ghosts rattling in his skull. He turned to the door, walking towards it as he left those images behind. There was no point in pining for something so intangible. All just hopelessly romantic dreams of a life he stopped deserving long ago.

He pushed the front door open and stepped out onto the porch. His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the sun, and he faintly wondered how long he’d been out for. A misty fog hung low in the air, the weather seeming to reflect his somber thoughts.

Arthur sighed and stepped down from the porch, greeting his horse from across the homestead. He strolled down the path at a leisurely pace, trying to savour the last few moments before mounting up and heading back to camp. He approached his steed with a pat on the neck, wiping away some dirt from their journey. Arthur noticed the horse’s trepidation to his touch, his own hair rising on the back of his neck. He was suddenly overwhelmed by an encroaching feeling of being watched.

He reached into his saddle compartment and pulled out his rifle, gripping it tightly as he checked the chamber. He looked for cover, but found nothing useful in sight.

“Well look who decided to make an appearance!” a voice cried out from the woods. Two men on horseback emerged from the thicket, guns already drawn and aimed.

Bounty hunters.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Arthur warned, “payday ain’t worth the risk you’re about to take.”

“I dunno,” the other one snickered, “they really seem to want you. I reckon we could get ‘em to ten thousand if we brought in that lovely lady of yours too, I bet she’s got all kinds of things to say.”

The first man hummed, his eyes darkening, “If we even hand her over,” he smirked devilishly.

Arthur growled, his fists clenching around the cool metal of the rifle. His lips cured up in a snarl as rage rushed through his veins. Before he could think, his barrel was pointed between the man’s eyes and a bullet ripped through the air. Arthur quickly dispatched the other one, whose bolt was still half-cocked in loading when his body slumped down the side of his horse.

Arthur heaved as his rage coursed through him, snorting furiously and spitting at his feet. He fought back another cough, not willing to let his victory be spoiled by another fit.

He watched as their horses took off, throwing their heads back and whinnying as they galloped away. He sighed and shook his head, slinging his rifle across his back as he went to get rid of the bodies.

He whistled for his horse, who met him dutifully as he hoisted the first bounty hunter up. He slung the body over the horse’s rear, the man’s arms and legs dangling morbidly as he hung from the beast. He reached down to lift the other hunter over his shoulder, and he whistled again for his horse to follow him.

They walked the bodies down to the water, stashing them behind a rocky coverhang at the base of the waterfall. He quickly washed the blood from his coat in the pool of the river, hoping it wouldn’t stain. He wasn’t sure how much laundry the girls were doing anymore, not that he would be in camp long enough to have it washed anyway. His stops there were getting shorter and shorter between Dutch’s errands, the state of the camp only adding to his souring temperament.

Once he was satisfied with his cleaning, deciding it wouldn't get much better than this, he walked back up the hill to Willard's Rest. He wanted to make sure there was no trace of the bounty hunters left, get their horses good and gone before Charlotte returned from hunting. He held back another cough, frustrated by the ache in his lungs. He had barely done any heavy lifting, nothing that would even have him breaking a sweat a few months ago, but now he could feel himself on the edge of exhaustion.

He passed under the wooden arch and paled when he spotted Charlotte standing on the front porch. She held a hat and a pistol in her hands, remnants he had missed from the bounty hunter’s corpse. He sighed and cast his gaze down to his feet, keeping his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat as he approached her.

She turned to look up at him, her confusion evident as he drew nearer. Her mouth opened as if she was going to speak, but no words came.

"Mrs. Balfour," Arthur murmured, stopping when he reached the steps of the porch. He kept his head dipped, resting his hands on his gunbelt and waited for her to speak.

"Please, it’s Charlotte" she said, looking between him and the hat in her hand, "is everything alright? I found this by the gate, a-and there was blood in the dirt…"

Arthur said nothing, just refused to meet her gaze.

"Did something happen? Are you alright?" she asked, her tone more insistent. Arthur heard worry in her voice, foolishly hoping she was afraid for him, not of him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, "some...some men came lookin up here, tryin' to find somethin'."

"Oh my," she gasped, "did you chase them away? What on earth would they be looking for up here? Perhaps it was Cal's relatives, I wrote to them regarding his...incident."

Arthur almost smiled at the innocence in her eyes, but the weight of the situation kept him serious.

“No,” he drawled, shifting uncomfortably where he stood, “they-uh. They were lookin’ for me. Bounty hunters,” he admitted after a long pause.

He watched Charlotte’s expression shift as she realized what he was saying. He waited for the moment she kicked him off of her porch, shooed him away like the mangy dog he was.

“You’re a criminal,” Charlotte said simply. Her tone was dangerously even.

“I told you, you don’t really know me,” he warned, “I’m not a good man.”

He cringed as Charlotte unconsciously took a step away from him. The action cut through him, made his shame swell and his chest ache. He knew he deserved it and so much more..

The two of them stood there for a moment, tension hanging thick in the morning air. Arthur turned away, clenching his hands into fists at his side and hung his head as he walked away from the cabin. “You don’t want me,” he said forcibly. “I’ll leave. You won’t have to worry about seein’ me no more.”

“What kind of outlaw would just leave?” Charlotte called out, and Arthur froze at her words.

“What?” he gaped. He turned to face her, finally looking up.

“Should I expect to go in and find that you’ve robbed me blind?” she asked.

“No,” Arthur said slowly.

“And will you turn your gun on me and force me to lie with you?”

“No!” Arthur sputtered, appalled that she would even suggest it.

“Well, I’m not sure you’re quite the bad man you seem to think yourself,” she said, her face set with that same determination that he admired so much. She stepped down from the porch and walked slowly towards him. “In the city, everything is painted so black and white. But out here,” she gestured to the forest that surrounded them, “I see clearly now that there are so many shades of grey.”

She closed the last of the distance between them and reached out to rest her hand on his arm. He felt himself relax at her touch, noticing the sweet scent of her perfume that mingled with sweat from her hunt.

She placed her other hand under his chin, dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “You’re a good man,” she said, the steadiness of her voice and the fire in her eyes almost too convincing, “I can feel it in you.”

Arthur didn’t dare to move, barely dared to breathe. Worried that at any moment he would wake to see the waxed canvas of his tent and find that all of this was just some far-fetched dream. His eyes searched Charlotte’s, looking for some kind of trickery or deceit. All he could see was kindness, and he found himself leaning forward against his better judgment.

He startled when his lips pressed against hers, surprised by their softness. It had been some time, but he didn’t remember it feeling this easy in the past. Not even Mary, whose secret, stolen kisses always gave him such a rush.

He was shocked to feel Charlotte return his affections; kept waiting for her to push him away. Instead, she met him with a soft passion that entranced him, made him unable to stop himself from running his tongue along her bottom lip and deepening the kiss.

She opened to him willingly, wrapped her arms around him and pulled him in close. Their tongues danced, the taste of coffee on her lips swirling around the cigarette smoke that lingered on his. Nothing else existed in that moment; not bounty hunters or wolves or even Dutch and his plans. Nothing mattered but the taste of her on his tongue, the soft fabric of her shirt beneath his fingertips.

She pulled away after what felt like eternity, leaning her forehead against his. He ducked his head to steal one more chaste kiss in case this was the last chance he had.

He drew back when he felt a teardrop against his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Charlotte’s brimming with tears, silently crying as she squeezed her lids tightly. Arthur reached up to cup her cheek, wiping away the falling teardrops gently with his thumb.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said lowly, his voice all whisky and honey, “I shouldn’t’a- I mean I-” he stammered, returning to his senses. He stepped back and pulled his hand away like it had been burned.

“No,” she choked, “it’s not that. I wanted it- I do want it. I just...,” she hesitated, hiding her face in her hands as more tears flowed, “it’s Cal.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped, a wave of guilt and shame washing over him at the reminder. Widow or not, Charlotte was a married woman. And here he was, stepping right over her husband’s grave to make his move.

His mouth tasted bitter, no longer of coffee and cigarette smoke or the underlying hint of her. He stepped back farther, putting even more distance between them.

Not knowing what to say, he stood aside as Charlotte cried. He forced himself not to reach out to comfort her. He didn’t trust himself not to take, not to hold her in his arms and will everything else to fade away again.

“I make a terrible widow,” she laughed humourlessly, “my husband is barely ten minutes into the grave and I’ve already fallen for the first handsome stranger that crosses my threshold,” she shook her head, her voice catching in her throat.

She smoothed her skirts and wiped away her tears, straightening herself to try and regain composure. She looked to the sky and smiled sadly.

“I think it’s best if I go,” Arthur said, adjusting his hat.

“I wish I could say that I didn’t agree,” Charlotte replied, “but just for now. I’d like to see you back soon, though perhaps without the bounty hunters next time.”

Arthur frowned as the guilt returned. Charlotte stepped forward to place a kiss on his cheek, resting her hand on the other side of his face to draw him in.

“I don’t care what you are,” she whispered against his skin.

“I ain’t got long,” he replied, his head swimming with thoughts of bounty posters and doctors and Pinkertons.

“Once a widow, always a widow,” she joked, “at least now I come with some experience on the matter.”

Arthur laughed, wondering how such a fine society lady could have such humour. Before he could think on it for too long, she was backing away to return to her porch.

“Goodbye, Arthur,” she said, “Arthur Whoever-You-Are.”

“Morgan,” he said, “but, uh, don’t go lookin’ it up. Please.”

She nodded in understanding. He took in the sight of her one last time, trying to memorize each detail of her for his journal. He stared as she reached for the door handle, opening the heavy wooden door and disappearing into the cabin.

Arthur sighed and whistled for his horse, swinging himself into the saddle as he prepared to ride away. He turned back to look at the cabin, his mind racing. He tried not to let himself hope, but he felt lighter than he had in years. So maybe, just for now, he could let himself believe that things would work out. That he could find something he needed at Willard’s Rest, and he could be something in return to the widow that lived there.

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #charlotte balfour #arthur morgan x charlotte balfour #arthur morgan/charlotte balfour #fanfic #fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #my goal was to make this read like a paperback novel with a shirtless werewolf on the front of it #so i hope you enjoy 😅#my fic

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whumpmatsus · 3 years

Note

Ooo my bad, maybe Jyushi gets a stomach ache and Kara tends to him? Giving him water or something to ease the pain. Or getting him to lay down and rest!

aaaaaaa I love them 😭

To be completely fair to Karamatsu, his choice of restaurant isn’t really to blame for Jyushimatsu’s appetite.

In fact, it’s debatable that even Jyushimatsu is to blame for his appetite. It’s more the fact that he just eats so fastthat it would be a miracle if his brain registers that he’s had a whole meal before he goes back for more. Typically by the time he processes that he’s full, he’s had two or three more servings.

It’s no wonder that he often ends up with a stomachache if he’s given the chance to inhale more food than he really should. Most of the time, though, it quiets down after a little bit of relaxing and maybe a tummy rub from one of his brothers.

Of course, while the two of them are out at a fast food place, it’s not like they can just lie down in the middle of the floor and try to chill. … Well, they could,but they’d probably end up getting kicked out before making any significant progress.

So the second Jyushimatsu gets a little pale and complains that he’s not feeling too well, Karamatsu’s first immediate thought is along the lines of, We’re fucked.

And in Jyushimatsu’s defense, Karamatsu should have been a better big brother and cautioned him against ordering as much food as he did. Even if he had, however, what else could he have done except give a warning? Jyushimatsu’s an adult, it’s his money from the allowance Dad gave him, and he can make his own choices, can’t he? Or at least he should be expected to. He probably wouldn’t take being bossed around and told what to do, and it’s not like anyone can forcehim.

As usual, though, Karamatsu has let one of his little brothers down. The least he can do is try to make it up by figuring a quick way out of the situation. He springs to his feet, setting a hand down on Jyushimatsu’s shoulder. If they need to move fast, he should be prepared. “Alright, you don’t feel well. Understood, dear brother. Is it your stomach?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright… how bad does it feel?”

Jyushimatsu ponders the question for a second, before holding up both hands, covered by his condiment-stained sleeves, over his mouth. “Um. Gonna… gonna throw up.”

Shit.Karamatsu knows his little brother wouldn’t say something so decisive without knowing that yeah, he’s about to hurl. “Alright, let’s get up. Do you want to go to the bathroom here or try to make it to the car where I believe I have a plastic bag?”

It almost looks like he’s considering the possibility that he could make it to the car, then suddenly his face turns a bit green. “― Bathroom!”

That one word combined with his younger brother’s urgent expression and tone of voice spur Karamatsu into action. He moves like lightning, pulling Jyushimatsu to his feet and practically dragging the other man toward the tiny partition on the other side of the counter.

A three-part harmony shriek of horror tells him he probably should have paid more attention to the signs on the doors. He offers a hasty apology to the offended ladies inside as he yanks his brother away from the door. (Although he knows Jyushimatsu is desperate, even this kind of emergency doesn’t constitute staying in the women’s restroomto puke.) As soon as he does, Jyushimatsu gags into his hands and Karamatsu knows they don’t have much time. Once Jyushimatsu starts making audible sounds like that, the full event isn’t too far away.

“I-it’s alright, it’s alright,” he tries to reassure as he tugs Jyushimatsu into the men’s restroom. “If you can wait a second, we’re nearly there!”

He does his best, but they never even make it into a stall. Once the door closes, Jyushimatsu stumbles toward the mirrors… and proceeds to vomit into the sink. Geez.Karamatsu feels himself wince at the thought of the poor worker making like ¥100 an hour who’ll have to clean this up.

Well, he can’t focus on that part right now. This can’t be pleasant for Jyushimatsu either, obviously.

The sound of everything he’s just eaten splattering against the edges of the sink is no match for the way he’s retching and sputtering. It looks like he started out trying to brace himself with both hands clutching the countertop; now, he’s sunk to only having his elbows propping him up, both hands up against the side of his head.

Karamatsu sets a gentle hand on his brother’s back, trying to be of some little comfort while his entire meal comes back up. Though he can’t remember Jyushimatsu ever eating himself sick like this before, he supposes it was bound to happen sooner or later with the way the fifth oldest tends to shovel food down.

He wants to think this memory of his stomach turning itself inside out will serve as a lesson to slow down in the future. To be mindful of how fast and how much he’s eating. Even someone as hopelessly delusional as Karamatsu has to acknowledge that’s a long shot, though.

After a moment the gagging and heaving finally dies down. Jyushimatsu is left gasping as he tries to get his breath back. When Karamatsu peeks over, he sees that there are tears starting to roll down his little brother’s face.

That earns an extra few seconds of back-rubbing from Karamatsu out of pure pity that this was either emotionally draining or physically forceful enough to make Jyushimatsu cry. “Aaah, my little Jyushimatsu,” he hums. “Does it feel a little better now that you’ve been sick?”

He nods weakly. “A little. I… think I ate too much, Karamatsu-nii-san.”

“Hmph, I think so, too.” Karamatsu reaches over to grab a handful of paper towels, pressing them to Jyushimatsu’s mouth. “Next time you might eat a bit slower or listen to your big brother telling you not to eat so much. But… it’s alright. What else are big brothers for, but to care for their younger brothers? I think perhaps we should go home.”

“Mhm, yeah. I wanna lie down and snuggle a pillow against my stomach.”

Well, that certainly sounds like a plan. “Alright, then. How about a drink for the ride home? Something easy to settle your stomach.”

“Ooh… Sprite?”

“Mh, I think they have that.” He gives an affectionate squeeze to Jyushimatsu’s shoulder. “Will you be okay by yourself for a moment while I go get that and dispose of the trash we left on the table?”

“Yeah, mhm. I’ll hold onto the counter.”

Ah. Yeah. That’s a relief. At least it’ll keep him from getting dizzy or passing out if he tries to move on his own. “Good! I’ll be back before you know it.”

Karamatsu can’t apologize enough to the person working at the counter of this place, telling them that his baby brother threw up in the bathroom sink and he’d clean it up if he could but he should get his brother home just in case andalsoasmallSpritetogoplease?

For once, he can kind of understand why people think he’s painful. The cashier has this blank look before muttering, “Excruciating…”and ringing him out for the drink. He kind of wishes the floor would open up and swallow him and he’s pretty sure he now knows how Ichimatsu feels when talking to people all the damn time. He’s surprised he doesn’t just burst into flames from the sheer awkwardness.

After a bunch of apologies, he manages to herd Jyushimatsu into the car so they can head home. He does find a plastic bag for his brother to hold, just in case he feels like throwing up again, just until they get back.

To his credit, Jyushimatsu is calm as can be on the ride home. He sips at his Sprite and closes his eyes so he doesn’t feel motion sick and hums along quietly to the radio. He’s so cooperative Karamatsu wants to ask who the hell he is and what he’s done with Jyushimatsu.

When they walk into the house, he ushers Jyushimatsu through the main rooms, up the stairs, and onto the couch in the spare room. The others save for Totty are spread out among the floor; Choromatsu and Osomatsu seem to be reading, and Ichimatsu has a cat cradled up in his arms… wrapped in one of Karamatsu’s shirts. Fantastic. Nothing like cat hair all over his clothes so he’ll be all itchy and sneezy when he decides to try and steal it back.

As he tries to get his brother set up on the couch, Choromatsu seems to fully realize what’s going on. “Oh, hey, you two are back. That was pretty fast. Uh… is Jyushimatsu okay?”

Jyushimatsu waves his hands in the air. “I threw up!”

“Tch.” Ichimatsu shifts in position, stretching one leg out. “That’s what you guys get for going to a shitty burger place. Next time just eat here where the food’s free and won’t make you hurl.”

Karamatsu plops down onto the floor in front of the couch, and is promptly slapped over the shoulder by one of Jyushimatsu’s jellylike arms. “Hmph… as I’m still spectacular, you should already know it wasn’t the food. Sweet little Jyushimatsu just ate too much of it.”

“Geez,” Choromatsu chuckles as he gets up, “someone’s eyes are bigger than his stomach. Well, you guys are home now, so you can relax and maybe start feeling better.” He brushes a hand over Jyushimatsu’s stomach and earns a soft mewl of gratitude before pulling away. “How about I make you some ginger tea?”

Karamatsu moves to get up almost immediately. “Oh, no, Choromatsu, I’ll get it! All the rest of my dearest brothers were already relaxing, so allow me to―”

“Nooooooooo,” Jyushimatsu interrupts with a whine, pulling him back down with now both arms. In a. Very. Tight hold. “I want you to stay with me, Karamatsu-nii-san!”

“Ah…! Okay, alright…” He tries to take a breath and pats lightly at his brother’s hands. “A-ah, my sweet little Jyushimatsu… let go… ahahaha… b-big brother’s not going anywhere, I promise, so you can let go of him!”

“Aaaaaah.” Jyushimatsu’s arms go lax, though he starts tugging on Karamatsu’s hand while his brother tries to get a decent breath in. “Belly rubs?”

“Hmph… sure, anything for my dearest younger brother. Just let me know if I’m being too rough; I would never want to hurt you.” He adjust himself so he can still be in a comfortable position while being able to reach Jyushimatsu’s stomach, giving tender strokes as well as he’s able.

The door slides open and Choromatsu gives a quiet hum at the scene. “Well, you both try to chill out, then. I’ll go get that tea, alright?”

“Heyyyyy,” Osomatsu suddenly speaks up. “Can you make some for me, too?? Or maybe a beer? I’m thirsty!”

All he gets in response is the sound of the door shutting.

The eldest pouts. “Hey, I know you heard me!! You’re such an ass! Grab me a beer, Fappymatsu!!”

Karamatsu lets out a low laugh and continues to carefully rub at his little brother’s stomach. “Hmph, so things are totally normal around here. At least that’s a comfort, isn’t it, Jyushimatsu?”

“Ah-hah! I’d feel weird if we got home and everyone was being all nice to each other.”

“Heh.” He leans his head back with a soft sigh. “That’s right. You only need onebig brother to be nice to you and that’s me. Any other requests besides the tummy rubs, you beautiful bastard?”

Jyushimatsu giggles and nestles his head closer against Karamatsu’s. “Hmmm… nope! I think I’m good just like this.”

Karamatsu closes his eyes. “You know… I think I am, too.”

#Osomatsu san #whump #Kinnikumatsu #Jyushimatsu #Karamatsu #illness #vomiting #overeating #AAA POOR JYUSHI #at least Kara is a good big brother 😭😭😭

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mxpseudonym · 4 years

Text

Just Good Business III

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, “wife”

Summary: Reminding Tommy that he didn’t marry a fool was the greatest thing to happen to your bedroom.

Length: 1650 words (allegedly)

Warnings: 18+, sex, hints of rough sex, cursing, and as usual, underlying tones of forced/arranged marriage

A/N: There’s a forehead kiss and a sprinkling of Dom!Tommy in here for your patience! I am pretty sure I’m going to have this be a total of five parts. Part IV may not come right away because I’m in the middle of a WIP though.

Part I | Part II | Part IV

Reminding Tommy that he hadn't married a fool set several things in motion. First and foremost, you and Polly managed to successfully persuade your husband into conducting family business, not that it was hard. You knew London quite well, and one glance at the Eden Club's books had you asking Arthur if he could count to ten. Much of the above-board dealings in London were now your responsibility- properties, charities, and a social life that allowed you to see your friends more often.

Unfortunately, this meant regularly making the trip to Birmingham for the family meetings you'd been avoiding. It wasn't so much the meetings as it was Birmingham itself. One has no great hopes of Birmingham, as they say. However, there was a significant consolation that made it all worth it.

Tommy Shelby, in action, turned you on.

Actually, it was one of many things about Tommy that turned you on. With Tommy's guilt out of the way, you saw him around the house more. He came to bed, albeit late, nearly every night, and you got at least two breakfasts out of him a week. Along with finding that Tommy was much funnier than he let on when he wasn't talking about work, you also noticed that you had much in common. Tommy was as stubborn and prideful as you were. After six months, you still credited happenings between you with a desire to conduct good business- and business was excellent. Stubbornness, pride, your appetite for adventure, and Tommy's addiction to risk resulted in one shameless, exciting sex life.

You'd had partners before. Why deny yourself the world's physical pleasures? But while none could keep up with your desire to find and push boundaries, Tommy had mastered it. You thought you'd have to ease him into it, but it really just took you asking, "What are you going to do, Thomas? Spank me?" while bickering to get you on the same page.

Not that Tommy wasn't enjoying himself as well. He'd met his match in his back talking, neck biting, hair pulling new wife he could hardly bring himself to say no to. What was coming to work late more often or your hands down his trousers while driving the Bentley in the grand scheme of things?

So at the Birmingham family meetings, there was something about the way he was no-nonsense when he firmly told you where to sit and give updates when asked. If you were both being honest, while you loved taking orders from Tommy in the bedroom sometimes, you were on the fast track to giving them too. For now, you watched with thighs pressed together, and bottom lip pulled between teeth as he commanded the room.

After Arthur wrapped up the meeting, you'd meant to mingle with your sister in law, but were quickly distracted. Ada didn't need to follow your gaze to know what was stopping you from listening to a word she said.

"Good god, stop staring at my brother like that," Ada pleaded. You looked at her only long enough to say,

"I almost wish I could say I was sorry." You had just caught Tommy's eye and smiled. "He can be quite good looking."

"Ugh, okay, he's coming over here. I'm going to find Finn," Ada scoffed, then all but ran away only to have Tommy replace her.

"Can I help you?" he asked, amusement evident in his voice. You chuckled and looked up at him.

"You're already spoiling me, Mr. Shelby. What more could I ask for?"

"I'm sure you have a list," Tommy said. You plucked his cigarette from between his fingers and took a pull.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

"Should I make you beg for it?"

"I don't beg," you said, defiant as ever. Tommy rolled his eyes but moved closer. You could feel the warmth of his wool suit, and it matched the heat that was rising to your cheeks.

"Then what do you call what you were doing the other day in my office?" Tommy asked. You thought for a moment then smirked.

"Minding my manners. Please and thank you, Sir," you said, making him laugh.

"Oi, stop flirting on come on," John yelled in partial disgust from where the family was gathering near the door.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming," you shooed him. You gave Tommy a knowing look as you grabbed your bag to join the group at the Garrison.

"Gonna tell me not to get any ideas?" He asked.

"Of course not. Get as many ideas as you can from here to that pub." You pointed a stern finger at him.

"Yes, ma'am."

Tommy had long given up trying to get a grasp on what to expect from you.

"God only knows what's going on up there," he'd say while tapping your temple.

But nothing surprised him more than your absolute willingness to have him any time, anywhere.

"Skirts hike up for a reason, Thomas," You once told him in the stables. Tommy had yet to find a good enough argument against that, so here you were, shushing him through breathy laughs as he almost tumbled into you.

It was a busy night at the Garrison, and it wasn't hard to leave your group to find the back room. Now you were pressed up against a shelf that wasn't nearly sturdy enough. Tommy's pants were unbuckled in a hasty moment, and your knickers were pulled aside, and you were both stifling your moans.

"Oh god, fuck, Tommy, how do you always feel so good?" You asked, your grip already in his hair. He groaned at the question and thrust deeper.

"You're the one always warm and wet for me, aren't you?" He squeezed the flesh of your bottom, making you moan. He quickly relocated you further into the dark and onto a crate. "Such a naughty little thing I've got on my hands."

"Just the way you like it." You bit his ear as you played with fire. His thrusts got hard and deep, earning more high pitched moans from you until he pressed a hand over your mouth. He kept his grip firm, just how you liked and spoke in your ear.

"I'm giving you what you asked for with all of these people just out there. Do you want them to hear you?" He leaned back to see you nod. Of course, you did. Tommy shook his head as he chuckled. By the sound of your yearning moan, he just knew you were pouting beneath his palm.

"I know love, but when we get home, you can be as loud as you want. You can let the maids hear you, what was it? Minding your manners for me. How's that sound?" You accepted his counteroffer with a nod and was rewarded with Tommy moving his hand. He relished in the smeared lipstick that was now on your chin before adjusting his grip on you.

"Now, be good, and stay quiet for me."

Tommy had to give you credit for carrying out your version of quiet. You forfeited your usual words of encouragement and panted hotly in his ears, a whimper or moan periodically coming forth.

"Tom," You pleaded his name under your breath. His grip tightened around your waist, and you knew it would bruise, which only shoved you that much closer to the edge.

"That's a good girl," he praised you, knowing what it did to you. In this case, it made your thighs tighten around him. "So good, you can tell me where you want it. Should I make you walk around with me all over your face?"

He felt you shiver and swallow a moan that came out like a sob. His thumb reached between them, and it only took a few circles of your clit to send you over.

"Oh fuck," You bucked against him as you came. Tommy's eyes squeezed close while you kissed his neck. It was truly incredible, you had to admit. You knew he was close and you had to decide. "In me."

"In you?" He repeated, not fully registering anything as he got closer.

"I want you in me, Tom. Please," you said again. You kissed him, then pulled back to look in his eyes. "I'm begging you."

You loved watching him come undone. Even in the low light, you took in his parted lips, creased brow, and flushed cheeks. He rested his forehead against yours for a moment before you pulled away and began putting yourselves back together.

"I'm excited to go home if you keep your word," you said, leaning against the crate while Tommy pulled out a cigarette.

You quietly smoked and thought about how strange this was. Before it was sprung on you, being married was something you hadn't expected anytime soon. Being married to someone you actually enjoyed was a fate every woman you knew hoped for but knew not to anticipate. And here you were with both a marriage and an enjoyable husband.

"What's wrong?" Tommy asked, tossing away his cigarette. He brought his hand up to stroke your cheek, but you caught it and observed the silver band around his finger instead, running your thumb over the metal.

"Do you like this?" Your eyes lifted to meet his. "The ring?"

The ring, the marriage, what was the difference? He smirked then turned his hand, interlacing your fingers.

"So much that I think there must have been a mix up of fortune. A better man should have it, maybe." He said, then kissed your forehead and started towards the door. "Come now, I think I'll let you walk around with me dripping out of you for at least a half-hour."

"I may just have to give you a proper thank you on the ride home then, Sir."

Tommy expertly ignored questions about his whereabouts from his brothers and knowing looks from his sister, all while holding your hand. You smiled to yourself and thought,

I have a crush on you, Tommy Shelby.

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor; @amysteryspot

JGB Series Tag List: @biba3434

#Tommy Shelby Imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x Reader #Tommy Shelby Fic #Tommy Shelby Smut #peaky blinders imagine #Dom Tommy

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gyllousos · 3 years

Text

Warnings: Depression, masochists, language.

Dedicated to @the-grimm-writer

_________________________________________

Hannya despised hospitals. She hated the smell of disinfectant, the plain white walls decorated with awareness for the human body, as well as the chairs in the waiting room. Not that the one she was sitting in was uncomfortable, yet her ass felt like a pin cushion since she'd been in the thing for well over an hour and counting. Just ten minutes ago she had gone to the vending machine for a soda, downing the Sprite in one gulp.

She was still staring into the empty soda can as though it would refill with more of the carbonated beverage. Her thumb pressed into the side, crinkling the corner. Above her a TV played an old show, something about two children using their imagination to escape into a new world.

One where they forgot about all the bad stuff, even for a moment, a paradise for two. A haven. Thinking about that made a lump swell in Hannya's throat. She set her can onto a nearby table, curling her hands into her lap. A nail dug into the fabric of her leggings, she winced at the bruise there. It was still throbbing a week later, still sore. Her back arched from the cut diagonal cut, also a week old, but it didn't pulse like the thigh bruise did.

Her old cuts and bruises hurt most days, even though half of them were healed for weeks, despite their ugliness in the beginnings. She used to never recognize herself in the mirror after they fucked. Not screwed, but fucked until she lay beneath him unable to move, a quivering mess of orgasm.

God. She was truly sick.

She inhaled slowly through her nose. Hannya refused to cry in this place. One of the nurses had been looking at her so often, a pitying look in her eyes. Hannya avoided eye contact.

She knew that nurse too well, she'd nearly made a home here. But that was long ago. And the nurse, a petite brunette with gentle doe eyes was always so kind to her.

Vague flashes of Hannya in a room where she was monitored, wearing a gown, and counting the hours on the clock to her meds. No, she wasn't going down memory lane again.

What if she broke again? But not because of him.

Dabi.

ㅤHe twisted the fabric of her shirt, bunching tightly. There were tearing sounds. Fraying sounds. Dragging her to within inches of his leering, predatory smile.

ㅤHer shirt came away in a ribbon, leaving her in unkempt, scant rags. He sneered, pinching a nipple as her pert little breasts jiggled free. Dabi tweaked the nipple, and swatted her breast with an open-palmed slap.

Hannya let out a cry between a gasp and a moan.

Dabi clenched his fist around her throat, thrust his arm so she was pinned to the wall behind her. One hand constricted the air from her lungs, while the other twisted cruelly on the same nipple from before.

"Scared yet?"

"No."

ㅤㅤ"No need to lie."

ㅤHis other hand slipped low, her breast freed from his cruel touch only for his hot breath to caress it. Dabi sank teeth into her its supple flesh, snakelike tongue uncoiled to writhe slick against the nipple. His loose fingers delved between her thighs, groping a handful of her warm, tender sex.

ㅤHe didn’t need her to black out from the choking, but it was designed so that every throb of pleasure he squeezed into her body lightened her head. A cruel, sadistic practice to strangle every last drop of ecstasy, to send her spirit into heaven but her body to hell.

Dabi's fingers were long and defined, two sunken deep into the supple heat of her cunt. His pace, merciless. The villain ground the heel of his wrist firmly against her clit, assaulting every inch. He worked in and out of her with aggressive vigor, stirring up loud, sloppy noises from her.

She felt him adjust, she bit her lip from the harsh penetration when he slammed himself into her, those haunting blue eyes never leaving her face.

"You're mine, Hannya."

"I'm yours."

"If another man looks at you the way I look at you, or even thinks about fucking you, I'll split his goddamn skull."

Hannya snapped back to reality at the alert of her name being called. She remembered now that she had been called into the exam room for tests. The gown felt paper thin on her, exposing her to the nurse who held her clipboard in hand.

She hadn't commented on the palm bruise on her thigh or the cut on her back. Hannya was almost relieved her skin was back to semi-normal. It had been a long time since she last been here. How long ago?

Three years since her last attempt.

"You're doing well Hannya, much better since your last visit with us. You've been keeping up with all of your appointments, last time you were hear you had bad anemia and an infection. You bounced back like a champ. "

Hannya smiled faintly. The plump old woman reminded her of a doting grandma.

"Your appetite back to normal?"

"Yes ma'm. Everything is good."

She tried best to hide the clip in her speech.

"Now that we're following up, I'd like to wait for the rest of your test results to come in."

Hannya hid her impatience, wishing time would go forward, she could grab her things and leave. Back to her home where she could close off the world. Block everyone out. Would Dabi be waiting for her? For once, she didn't want to see him. As much as their sadistic games were fun time both of them, she just didn't have the desire. No other man could get her off the way Dabi did.

Lately, she dreaded seeing him propped in her couch, or getting a text from him. She could damn near feel him without him being near. A moment later, when the same woman poked her head in, Hannya actually beamed.

The door closed behind her.

That's when Hannya left the hospital in a daze, barely clutching her phone and purse, she didn't even know she drove home until she parked in the driveway. Turning off the engine, she sat in stunned silence, her knuckles tight onto the steering wheel.

God, she just wanted to turn back time to the last month, the last year, erase everything. She was numb enough as is and she hoped Dabi wasn't waiting on her. She just couldn't take it right now.

“No,” she said, barely audible. The nurse's words echoing in her ears once more.

A sob escaped her. She dragged herself out of her vehicle, barely registering her feet moving towards her home, inside of her apartment. She locked the door behind her. And didn't have to look around to see a tall man with spiked dark hair and a smile that gave her goosebumps.

"Dabi..."

"Miss me?"

Her legs felt like jelly. Her heart was being so fast she feared it rip itself through her chest. Hannya's knees shook, and her heart hammered in my chest. She felt like she was already walled in, and she didn’t even know it.

“I wish I’d never met you,” she said, almost whispering.

He stopped, his boots creaking the wooden floor under him. “Believe me, girl, the feeling is fucking mutual.”

No arguments, no shouting, no cursing even though she wanted to spew a blue streak at him. Eventually she fell onto her knees, the metallic clink of a belt and a zipper being pulled down; she parted her lips for Dabi's cock already slick with precum. She swallowed him into the back of her throat.

"Good girl," he praised her, stroking the back of her head.

___________________________________________

Hannya hadn't seen Dabi since that day, what felt like over a month had turned into sixteen months. As much as she didn't care, she ached for him, and not in the sexual sense. She truly yearned for his company if she could actually believe it. Just what happened to him after that?

No texts, no calls. No sudden appearing without warning. Poof! He never told her he was leaving. Then again he never told her a lot of anything. Hannya often dreamt of him, as the little boy named Touya. The same boy who came crying to her in the catacombs and she to him. Two kids yearning for a place in the world.

She hadn't given up hope she'd see him again, if ever. Hannya swiped her fingers across her phone screen, tucking her device back into her pocket, her blue eyes swiveled up the moon, an ache swelling in her chest.

"I'm losing it..." She mumbled, proceeding to walk. She was patting her pockets for her car keys when a hand snaked its way around her forearm, dragging her into a brick corner, pinning her against a wall.

She couldn't scream because of the stranger's hand covering her mouth. Her eyes doubled in size, his sinister smirk making her skin flush.

Touya!

"Dabi." It came out as a muffle.

"Like you've seen a ghost," he sneered, letting her go.

"For a minute I thought I did..." She whispered.

His eyes raked over her outfit, eyes narrowing in on her chest. He sure knew how to make her vulnerable, naked without undressing her. So he hadn't left after all. Was he hiding from her?

He was never far to begin with. Something told her this wasn't a social visit, she needed to get home before she did something like kiss him. He'd take her right here in public. Wouldn't be the first time.

"I was looking for you, " she said.

"Is that a fact?" His voice was utterly emotionless. Not the least bit of warmth.

"I suppose I was looking for you, too. You made a big mistake Hannya."

The way he said it made Hannya scoot an inch from him.

"What are you talking about?" Hannya remained composed, furrowing her dark brows. Dabi only advanced.

"Telling lies, keeping secrets. It was all gonna come out eventually, you just should have been more careful."

"Dabi..." He chuckled, one hand stuffed in his jacket pocket.

"I...I meant to find you...I was looking for my family."

Dabi almost laughed, shaking his head slightly.

"You were looking for a family, huh? One could argue it's my family you’re looking for right? How are my baby boy and girl by the way? Got my eyes don't they?"

All the color drained from Hannya's face.

A glimpse into memory had her back in the exam room months ago.

"We ran more tests Hannya. Your bloodwork shows you’re also pregnant, a little over eight weeks along. Congratulations.”

Why couldn't the Earth just swallow her whole now? There's no way he could have known. No she wouldn't have told him right away, if at all. He wouldn't have been a great father. When she was told she was pregnant Hannya wanted to cry, scream, break something or even someone. The last thing she had ever wanted inflicted on her had happened, she was in such hysterics she nearly fainted.

Why couldn't it have been anyone but him? The raw cry she let out. She imagined life with two tiny humans, ones she could give unconditional love to. Innocent souls. Her twins. She knew she was going to keep them, her darling babies. How she tried to keep them from Dabi and now...

"You knew...how long..."

"Does it matter? You honestly didn't think you could hide them from me forever Hannya. You should know better than that." His voice was almost a taunt.

"Try keeping them away from me, if you so much as leave with them I'll burn everything down in my path, everyone, to get what I want."

It was like a slap in the face. He wouldn't? Right? No, he had no rights towards their children. Her children. As far as Hannya knew Dabi was just the sperm donor.

Hannya scowled.

Dabi smirked.

He was right, the twins got his eyes alright.

Still advancing, Dabi pinned Hannya to the rough brick wall, his nose level with hers. He didn't want to admit he missed his little devil. He had to resist the urge to to tear off her clothing and fuck her until she was begging him to stop. God, her scent. She couldn't have been more beautiful, plump lips, inviting breasts, fair skin he wanted to mark again.

"I'll be watching you and our children, doll. Who would have thought..."

He gripped her oncoming wrist from slapping him. Should he break it? No. Some other time. He released her, backing up to give her space, almost yearning for the closeness again. No more talk, he left quietly as he came. He heard the faint falling of Hannya on her knees, cursing him to hell and back.

#yandere dabi x oc #yandere bnha x oc #yandere my hero academia #yandere mha #my hero academia fan fiction #yandere bnha #dabi x oc #bnha dabi #mha yandere #yandere dabi #my hero acadamia #by gyllousos all rights reserved 2021 #copyright all rights reserved #dabi smut #mha dabi #mha fanfiction #mha oc #mha smut #yandere

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