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mythicamagic · 3 years

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Sesskag Week: Day 2 ‘Black’

Title: Under the Nails

Summary: After 500 years, Sesshoumaru comes looking for the miko Kagome in her era, wondering why she never returned to the past. What he finds plunges him into bleak despair...and causes Tenseiga to stir. Sesskag Week Day 2 - Black.

Rated T

Words: 2,600

Read on: Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

AN: For Sesskag Week Day 2 - Black (Mourning & Misfortune) a lotta angst in this one so buckle up.

Under the Nails

Heaviness weighed his steps down like his pockets were laden with stones, heart steeled, eyes on the top of Higurashi Shrine's steps.

Sesshoumaru forced his hands to remain loose at his sides, fighting the urge to rip off his glamour and fly. Soar above the concrete straight to their door.

But Sesshoumaru remained polite and wretchedly slow, human in appearance only. He dutifully climbed the stairs, walking with measured, frustrating steps.

Adjusting his tie upon reaching the Higurashi's door, he knocked, shifting.

Kagome's home looked just as it had many years ago- when he'd first located her again. He'd glimpsed her 3-year-old self, before turning away, satisfied that after 500 years of waiting, he had finally reached her era.

He could finally gain the answers he'd sought for so long.

Curious though, that her scent did not reach his nose. Various stale shades of it clung to a few things outside, but it did not feel vibrant, recent.

When her mother opened the door, brown eyes glassy and vacant, deep stress lines beneath them and grief clinging to her like a second skin, Sesshoumaru knew.

He knew it as instinctively as drawing breath.

No.

"...Don't tell me," Mrs Higurashi put a hand to her mouth, gaze flickering over his face searchingly. "You're not Sesshoumaru, are you?"

The tears filling her eyes worsened the ocean roar in his ears.

He could not answer, expression cracking open.

She quickly took his hand in a tight grip, squeezing it. "I'm so sorry. She talked about you- I-I'm probably not making much sense-"

"Where is she?" the question fell softly from his lips, not a demand like he'd initially wanted. His strength fled, instincts snarling, but limping, wounded. They detested everything her mood signalled, causing his heart to shrivel.

Watery brown eyes slid away, squeezing shut. She couldn't look at him when answering. "She's dead. I-it happened two weeks ago," her words trembled. "I'm so sorry."

Why are you sorry? It is not as though you killed her, Sesshoumaru thought dazedly.

"Two weeks?" he repeated numbly, voice a pale rasp.

He'd missed her. Miscalculated.

Kagome had returned to the Feudal Era at 18. She'd tried and failed to sustain a romance with Inuyasha, living as a village miko for a while before travelling. That was how they'd come to be unlikely companions. A demon lord and his miko. By the end of the year, they'd been lovers. At the end of another- a date had been set for their wedding and subsequent mating.

With an easy smile, Kagome left down the Bone Eater's Well just one week prior until they were to be wed, wanting the reassurance of her mother's arms since her family could not join them.

And she'd never returned.

Inuyasha couldn't cross through, as the magic had seemingly run dry once more. They'd waited many, many, many years, hoping it would grant access again. Fate would not permit it.

Sesshoumaru sank to his knees in the threshold of the doorway. "I missed her by two weeks...after waiting 500 years," he chuckled without humour, the backs of his eyes stinging. A gut-punch of emotion rendered him paper-thin. The roar in his ears became a drawling howl of despair. This couldn't be.

Mrs Higurashi knelt with him, sliding her arms around his shoulders and hugging him close. The demon lord remained stiff and unyielding, reeling with bitter shock. He stared ahead sightlessly, before jerking in her arms. He suddenly gripped her tight, pulling away to look her straight in the eye.

"Mrs Higurashi, the funeral-"

"We've already had it," she said gently.

Sharp teeth flashed in a silent snarl, desperation clawing at his tongue. "Not that. Tell me-" he choked out, blunt nails elongating into claws, biting into her clothing.

"Tell me, was Kagome cremated or buried?"

---

He hadn't thought he would have cause to use it again. Kagome getting mixed up in a car accident much like her father before her had certainly changed his assumptions.

Sesshoumaru's throat burned as he walked by some lonely graves.

Approaching one headstone situated closely beside another in the graveyard, Sesshoumaru spared the second a glance.

"It is far too early for her to be joining you," he rumbled, turning away from Mr Higurashi.

Sunset highlighted sparse, lonely surroundings upon the quiet hill in a fiery orange glow, a red plume painting across the sky.

Sesshoumaru felt his black heart clenching as he knelt before the characters of Kagome Higurashi's name, elongating his fingers into talons. He thrust them into the earth, beginning to dig.

He could've transformed, it would've made the process easier, but a part of him wished for penance after failing her. He'd failed his prospective mate. She never should've died. If he'd just gotten there sooner-

A claw chipped, but Sesshoumaru continued. His hands became caked in dirt, powerful arms moving, muscles coiling to discard the clumps of earth quicker and quicker. He began to sink deeper, willingly descending into the same grave his beloved rested within.

By the time the ground loomed above Sesshoumaru's head on all sides- the sky a rectangular shape above, his clothes had become ruined with mud, brown patches covering his fine suit that he'd worn for the occasion, some dirt marring his sweat coated forehead and cheek.

'Thud!'

Sesshoumaru paused, knuckles having connected with something sturdy.

Panting, moisture stung his eyes. Wiping pebbling dirt away, Sesshoumaru unearthed the sleek brown casket.

"Thank you," he'd whispered into Mrs Higurashi's shoulder, clutching her so tight her bones protested. "Thank you for not cremating her."

Apparently her husband had been foreign, so it felt only right to leave Kagome in the earth, resting beside her Father's grave in the same manner he'd been buried.

Straddling smooth wood, Sesshoumaru flexed his dirt-laden nails, swiping at the secures. Once they were broken off, he stood, grasping one side.

Bracing himself, Sesshoumaru willed his stomach to hold. He tried to summon his old ironclad nerves. His thick skin. The warlord who had seen and smelled plenty of bodies.

Sesshoumaru cracked open the casket, immediately hit with a foul odour.

Choking, he opened it a little further, eyes burning.

The sight of her would be burned into the backs of his retinas forever, and Sesshoumaru knew he shouldn't have looked. Shouldn't have tortured himself thus, but he'd also needed to.

This was the cost of failure. Never let it happen again.

His stomach buckled, and Sesshoumaru clamped a hand over his mouth, shuddering violently. He swallowed a gag, clenching his jaw.

Yanking the casket cover from its hinges, Sesshoumaru tossed it high out of the grave, ripping Tenseiga out of its sheath at his hip while standing over her decaying body.

Letting his glamour melt from his features, golden eyes blazed, silver hair hanging limp and dishevelled. Youki burst into the blade, forcing it to awaken from its centuries-long sleep.

"Kagome," he rasped. "Revive Kagome," he commanded, the blade shining with a bright blue light.

His vision relaxed in order to see the spirits, but alarm clutched his heart.

The pallbearers were nowhere in sight. They'd long since made off with her soul, leaving behind a trail of chains.

With a deafening snarl that tore at his windpipe, Sesshoumaru thrust his free hand down, grasping a chain and pulling with all his might.

Something heavy out of sight made the chain yank taunt- filling him with hazy relief as he dared to hope he wasn't too late.

Clutching one side of Tenseiga's blade between his teeth, Sesshoumaru grasped the chains with both hands, reeling them back in toward him.

He could not see whatever it was he dragged back, the light Tenseiga cast into the spiritual plain only allowing him to see where the chains disappeared to a few feet in front of him.

A good length of slack metal chains had coiled at his feet by the time an outline was dragged into his vision. Kagome's soul still retained her body's appearance, lashes shut. It had a ghostly white glow, motionless. Chains wrapped around her midsection and torso. He quickly dragged her in closer.

Angry pallbearers yelled at Sesshoumaru, clutching onto her sides and hissing. They tried tugging her back in the opposite direction.

With a bellowing snarl, he savagely decapitated them with a swing from Tenseiga.

"I have not come this far only to be stopped by the likes of you," he sneered. Shifted down, Sesshoumaru wrapped an arm gently around her soul, only able to feel a very light sensation. His throat ignited with a harsh burn, eyes pricking, chest tight as he placed it back inside her body, pulling the chains away.

Tenseiga's blue glow faded. Kagome's body healed, the effects and smell of decomposition fading away until she lay as though asleep, flesh unblemished.

Silence deafened the grave.

Sesshoumaru panted softly, heart hammering. His entire being flared with an all-consuming buzz, an unanswered cry. His skin thrummed, hungry for her touch. He needed to hear her voice- he hadn't heard its playful, teasing lift in so long. If she wanted to sing badly or argue with him again, that was fine. He didn't care. Anything was better than this silence.

And why wasn't she opening her eyes? She'd had such lovely, captivating blue eyes.

"Miko," he gritted out, kneeling over her. "Kagome. Kagome…" her name fell from his lips like a mantra. He dropped the sword, gathering her into his arms, dipping his face into curling black hair. She felt so cold. Why was she cold?

Kagome had always been warm, glowing so bright and strong. His priestess had carried the force of a thousand suns in her palms when reiki had exploded from them. And at night… her breath had been hot and ragged on his neck as she'd careened them over the edge, moving atop his lap with fervour.

Sesshoumaru bent into her, arching her back and gripping her so tight he feared she may break.

"Please," he choked out, her hair becoming damp. He'd scarcely begged for anything before, but he prayed in that moment, the fabric of his soul screaming.

He felt it when her chest expanded.

Kagome drew a terrible, choking breath, gasping loudly like she'd been deprived of oxygen. Sesshoumaru immediately pulled away, eyes widening as she fell into a coughing fit, shuddering against him.

Her eyes squeezed shut, a hand lifting to massage the base of her throat.

"Ah… crap, what the heck? When was the last time I drank something?"

Blue eyes pried open to blink up at him, halting his breath.

Recognition softened her features. "Oh, hey you," she smiled, before blinking, gaze straying over his features. "Have you been crying? Why are you covered in dirt?"

Her attention threatened to stray to their surroundings but Sesshoumaru clamped his hands onto the sides of her face, colliding their mouths together.

He poured five hundred years of repressed feeling into that kiss, hand curling in dark hair to cradle the back of her neck. Kagome squeaked but accepted the feverish kisses, tongue meeting his and brushing.

"Wait-" she managed out between kisses. "I- how are you here?" her hands smoothed over his shoulders, touching his shirt. "Did you come through the well?"

Sesshoumaru gathered her close, standing from the casket. Kagome grew stiff in his arms.

"That's a...casket. This is a-" she broke off, breathing becoming thin. "Oh God- oh fuck- what the fuck?!"

Leaping out from the grave, Sesshoumaru landed on soft grass, collapsing to his knees and cradling Kagome on his lap, rocking slightly. He wasn't certain if the motion was to comfort her or himself. She made awful, wailing noises, choking on broken sobs. However after a little while, she swallowed the cries enough to cup his face.

"What- what happened?" she choked out. "You're here."

"I'm here."

He tried his best to explain everything- her departure and subsequent lack of return to the past. The rest were things Mrs Higurashi told him, such as her collision with another vehicle and few hours spent in the hospital unconscious before damaged organs finally failed her.

"I-I remember coming home and driving but nothing else," Kagome gripped him tight. "The Bone Eaters Well...is shut? I can't go through it to see my friends again?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"And you waited all this time," she mumbled, shuddering. "Alone."

"The kit and Inuyasha still live," Sesshoumaru felt her stiffen, stroking her head. "Inuyasha mated a full demon, extending his lifespan, while the kit is enjoying his bachelorhood right now."

Kagome closed her eyes, letting out a shuddering exhale. "That's something at least. I'm glad they're alive."

Too much to absorb all at once. Sesshoumaru no longer wished to discuss such things while beside her grave. He stood while lifting her in his arms, leaving the grave. Kagome glanced over his shoulder, panic and deep, static despair roaming around her scent.

"I was...buried. In there," she said softly, resting her clammy forehead against his neck. "T-thank you," she quivered, "thank you for coming to get me. I'm nowhere near ready to die yet."

"It was this one's failure that resulted in your death in the first place, miko. Do not thank me for attempting to right a wrong that should never have happened."

"What are you talking about?" Kagome's thumb brushed the shell of his pointed ear, reminding him to don the glamour before they left the graveyard. "It was no one's fault, Sesshoumaru. So you got the time wrong- big deal. Calendars change and it would've been hard to take different leap years into account. Besides, I should've been a more careful driver if we're gonna start laying blame," she offered a weak smile, which dropped when he did not respond.

Kagome leaned up within his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Hey," she gently gained his attention, pressing another there, and then another.

Sesshoumaru returned her kisses softly, before tightening his grip, crushing her body against his. His mouth became an urgent pressure against hers, stealing her breath with ardent brushes of his tongue. He cradled her close possessively, trembling.

When they finally pulled away, a little breathless, Kagome rested her forehead against his. "After we see my family, let's go to your place. I don't want to wait any longer than I have to."

He blinked, tilting his head slightly. "For what?"

"To mate you, duh," she smiled, running a reverent thumb beneath his eye, lingering over the tired lines there. "You've waited 500 years after all."

"Kagome, you just awoke from death, and yet you are already planning on dragging me into the bedroom?" surprised exasperation lightened his worn expression, a film covering his eyes. Fondness. Love. Relief to be talking with her again. His strange, painfully unique human woman.

Kagome peppered butterfly kisses over his face, running them down his neck and feeling him purr against her in a way that belied how truly touch starved he was. But she could sense it. See it, from how he leaned slightly into the brush of her lips.

"Let's just say, I could really use a warm body against mine right now," she murmured, everything she didn't want to say left lingering in the air.

The phantom sensation of being locked beneath the ground would remain for a while; long after Sesshoumaru washed the dirt from Kagome's grave out from under his nails.

As they left the gravesite behind, they clung viciously tight to each other, never once looking back.

End

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #skw2021 #skw2021d2 #sesskagweek2021

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pa-panda-heroes · 3 years

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blue hour.

demon!au!dabi x reader nsfw; find the sequel here

Inspired (sorta) by this post. This was initially a 400 followers celebration fic but took so long I got to 500, plus it’s Halloween!! 🎃🎃🎃

i listened to Mothica’s song Blue Hour while i wrote this and honestly fell in love with it. hence the name! please go give her a listen!

Minors, go away. This content is not for you.

Warnings: brief description of kidnapping, tiny mentions of religion (nonspecified tho!) and human sacrifice, injury + blood mention, foul language, brief cremation, Dabi being horny (hehe), Dabi absolutely 100% not using magic on you nope, thigh fucking, orgasm denial, biting, dirty talk, degradation?, spanking, overstimulation, dumbification if you squint?

Words: 14k+

Summary: Kidnapped and held as an offering to an ominous demon, you thought your death was near. Soon enough you find your captor dead and the demon you were offered to becomes your savior. Dabi clearly has plans for you, but what are they? Or was everything just a dream?

Your heartbeat thrummed within your ears, sweat sweltering and becoming a thick layer on your skin all over, making the fabric of your clothes cling to it ever-so-uncomfortably. It felt like you were being smothered from head to toe in fabric. The cooled blood that began just above your temple and trickled all the way down your face and neck had dried by now, acting as a crusty reminder of the reason behind the throbbing in your head. Trees swayed in the chilly winds that passed, making the cool air even colder - yet here you were, sweating like there was no tomorrow. You were bound by the wrists and ankles to a musty wooden pole in a forest you’d never seen before, the sky dark yet bright for the blue moon. The stars looked so free, so beautiful, so serene tonight. Yet you didn’t feel it.

Your breathing was quick, panicked, and hurried to the extent that you’d take in more oxygen by breathing less. Your poor, puffy lip was numb from having been chewed on so much, to the point where you couldn’t remember whether you were a chronic lip biter or not; but you sure were, now. That is, until he gagged you by tying an old handkerchief around your face. You struggled against your scratchy, dry restraints so much, they began to dig into your skin and bleed, sending a trail of blood down your arms and a jolt of burning, throbbing, stinging pain through your nerves.

You were far from alone.

The only other human body you knew of was the one who put you in the position you currently find yourself in after a night of dancing, booze, and sweat. The inebriation from the alcohol made you an easy target, you guessed. God damn it all.

The night began with your celebrating a friend’s birthday at a club, drinking, dancing, and making merry. You had regretted agreeing to go at first after having a long, agonizingly tiring day at work, which gave you the burning desire to wrap up after a bath and lay in bed until the next day when you’d have to get up again. But as the night progressed, you were glad you tagged along; after all, it was an unexpectedly nice release after a bad day.

Now you were regretting it again.

If only you hadn’t gone to the club.

If only hadn’t agreed even if begrudgingly to go.

If only you hadn’t left your apartment.

You made the mistake of trying to find a bathroom on your own and ended up in an alleyway. The last thing you saw was a filthy dumpster before it all went black, and upon waking you found yourself bound in this horrifying forest.

Around you was a circular dirt clearing bordered with a solid line and filled with various marks made upon it, ones that you’d never seen before. They looked to be of a lost, long-dead language - the language your masked captor was evidently speaking as he sat on his knees with his hands in the air before a makeshift altar of a sort. There was some distance between him and the altar, probably about two meters, that being the same distance he sat from you as you watched in horror.

He was going to kill you, but not before torturing you - or other things. For some hideous purposes that looked a lot to do with a demon or something. All because you were a virgin that just so happened to cross his path.

You tried making noises, tried screaming, but it made no difference. He wouldn’t stop his hideous chanting and no one could hear you anyway. The thick forest swallowed your every scream and the gag held back your every cry. More tears run down your cheeks at your predicament, your struggling against your binds only digging into and stinging your skin as piping hot blood continued to trail down your tender wrists and ankles. It felt like frostbite was setting in. Was it actually, or was it your nerves?

A pillar of black smoke began to rise from the ground in front of your masked captor, who then bowed with his forehead to the ground. Your own heart was beating in your ears so quickly you thought it would explode any minute. If only it would - you wouldn’t have to endure this any longer.

“What... the hell do you want?” you hear a voice boom, distorted in such a way that made it sound like it echoed a thousand times. “Filthy human.”

“Your favor, my lord. I offer you this virgin.”

You try screaming again, your throat beginning to feel scratchy and dry. It almost felt like it was bleeding. Could it be bleeding? Your mind was almost a haze, now.

You can see a form emerge from the ground where the black smoke stands, and you’re stunned and scared into total silence as you see the silhouette of two large wings and a pointed tail. Other than that, the silhouette appears mostly human. But it’s not.

“My favor, eh?” you hear the voice again. The silhouette swings his arm and with it vanishes the smoke, and the reality that this... thing isn’t human finally settles in your heart. His hair is black and spiky, there are pieces of what look to be burnt flesh under his minty eyes and the lower half of his face, bound to the unblemished skin by silvery staples that seemed to spit steam. Three dotted piercings adorned his nose, and plenty more his ears. His wings reminded you of a bird’s with feathers and all, and they were a flat charcoal in colour, albeit they seemed a little worse for wear and severely burnt. The demon’s horns poked out from each side of his forehead and curled around like that of a ram’s. He wore a dark, simple cloak.

You almost wondered if he had goat hooves for feet.

He looks down on the human who summoned him, literally and figuratively, it seemed. His eyes narrow viciously at the man, before jolting to you - and you, honest to all that exists, feel what you can only think of as a bolt of lightning course through every nerve - no, cell - of your body before it feels like your heart stops beating. You can feel the blood coursing in your veins, and it’s ice-cold, all of this forcing you to tense every muscle you’re able. He looks away and you’re instantly back to normal, slouching in your restraints.

“Is this asshole bothering you, little one?” the voice of what’s clearly a demon rings.

“I-I beg your pardon, m’lord Dabi?”

“Shut your trap, moron.” Clusters of the brightest, bluest flames you’d ever seen erupt above each of the demon’s eyes and he leans downward to grab the man by his neck, before easily lifting him in the air as the human choked. “Y’know, back in the day, sacrifices in some cultures were an honor. It was seen as a gift, a way to serve ancient - nonexistent, mind you - gods. People vied to become a sacrificial lamb. I’m ancient, too, you know that.”

The human man stammers and stutters, trying to say something coherent but failing out of fear.

Dabi lets the man rest his feet on the ground as he jerks your captor to look at you, and you want to just shrink into yourself. “What the fuck is that, huh? Do you see the fear in her eyes? The bruises covering her body? The blood seeping down her arms as she fights against that rope? Does that look like a willing sacrifice to you? Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think she is willing at all.”

You blink. What? How? Why?

“You piss me off.”

Dabi throws the masked man to the ground away from him, then raising his palm into the air and summoning flames to filter out of the ground. They swallow him hole, and whilst he’s screaming in agony and burning alive, the demon turns on his heel and saunters your way. “Well, this is quite a mess, eh, dear?” His eyebrows are pointed upward, almost as if the gentle tone behind his words is sincere, yet almost as if there is deviance behind them.

You can’t help but gulp at the look in his eyes. Smile and arch his brows as he might, he was still clearly a demon unfitting of your trust. Right? He was going to hurt you. Surely.

His hands reach up for your face and you shut your eyes tight and turn away.

Much to your surprise, fingers work away at the handkerchief splitting open your poor, stretched, and saliva-coated lips, and you nearly gasp at the relief of pressure on them, the ache in your cheeks quite apparent and downright agonizing. Not only that, but the corners of your mouth were rubbed raw, and you weren’t sure if there was saliva mixing with more saliva, or blood mixing with saliva at the site. Dabi drags a finger from the corner of your mouth up to your cheek to wipe away the tears staining your skin, and you have no strength to fight the shiver that runs up your spine as your eyes fall half-lidded.

“Fuck me, you’re lookin’ a bit worse for wear, little one,” you hear him coo. “Easy, babe. You’re alright. That ugly, scary man’s all gone.” He seems to chuckle at the irony, before a toothy smirk splits his lips. His teeth are sharp, certainly enough to puncture skin without much effort, and you shiver again.

You’re quickly relieved of your bounds, but with the little strength you have left, you’re not able to stand on your own and collapse into his chest, spent and sore. He’s warm. It’s... nice. Fuzzy. Cloudy. Soft. Where are you, again? What’s going on? Why is everything spinning?

Everything fades to black.

:·•·:

You groan and turn over in your bed, pulling the fluffy covers up closer to your head as your body ached. You were warm and settled in, nothing could make you leave the comforts of your bed, yet you knew you needed to. To explain the achy joints, you tried reminiscing the night before. You remembered that night. Parts of it, anyway. When you tried to remember the feeling of being bound or the blood trickling down your wrists, nothing came up. When you tried remembering the chanting of your captor - nothing. It seemed that any parts which could be deemed... unsavory were gone from your memory. You brought your wrists up and felt around them and-

Also gone were any wounds.

It was odd. You could remember it all happening, but at the same time, you couldn’t. Must’ve been some whacked out dream induced by the alcohol.

You had no want to, but you sat up in bed and reached over to your nightstand to switch he clock around so you could see it. It read about half an hour after midday, and you sighed. How long were you asleep? You picked up your phone from the nightstand and switched it on, your heart leaping into your throat at the amount of notifications. Texts, emails, calls, there were dozens upon dozens of them.

“How long was I asleep?!” you shriek.

“Enough to nearly get evicted.”

Your head jolts up so quickly you hear your neck crack, and you see the demon leaning against the wall in front of your bed. You can’t help but gasp and scoot away, your back banging against the headboard of your bed. It wasn’t a dream.

He waves his hand lazily. “But don’t worry, I got it covered. Congrats, you have free rent for life, now.” His wings, horns, and tail are all gone, and he almost looks human, save for the staples and scars. You guess he can’t change his appearance much. Perhaps he doesn’t want to.

The teeth showing off from his smirk look just as sharp as before, however.

Your eyes are drawn to the huggies piercing the cartilage of his ears. They’re as shiny and plentiful as you remember. Your heart rate spikes, and you begin to breathe heavily.

“That soreness is probably from you bein’ out so long, sweets,” he comments, arms crossed in front of his chest, his right ankle also crossed over his left. His voice is smooth and a clear attempt at comforting you - yet there’s something behind it.

“Th-thank you. For saving me, and... the rent... I guess.” You hoped he would leave if you thanked him. Why else would he stick around?

He only shrugs, though. “Sorry, little one, but you’re not special. That sacrifice wasn’t done right in the first place.”

‘Ouch!’

Ah, you remembered that, now. But you couldn’t remember his name.

“What’s your name?” you ask hesitantly. He’s obviously not going to kill you by now. Why would he stick around?

“Dabi.”

“That’s it?” You tilt your head. You were surprised at how... nonchalant you were beginning to feel about this. The longer he stood there, the more it felt normal.

“That’s it, dollface.”

:·•·:

He ended up not having goat hooves for feet.

You knew there was a catch to being saved by that demonic bastard.

Aside from the fact that he wouldn’t leave you alone, keeping a demon cooped up in your apartment wasn’t easy. It especially wasn’t easy when said demon was constantly on your heels, pressed right up against your back. Personal space was not in his vocabulary. Dabi was constantly up to something, and he loved to harass or scare your neighbors with his devilish form; it was just too easy. “What else have I got to do while you’re gone all day?” he’d say. “Gotta entertain myself, somehow, doll.”

Apparently, it had been a long time since someone had summoned him at all, let alone with an offering of some kind. He hadn’t seen the mortal realm in hundreds of years, and because you were offered to him, he decided to stick around you. You only agreed to it as long as he never left your apartment.

Well, technically. He wasn’t actually giving you a choice, he was going to stick around anyway. Dabi so loved giving innocent mortals the impression that they were in control when they never truly were. The demon practically got off on the idea of giving a helpless little thing like you a false sense of security.

Having him essentially stuck to your hip, you couldn’t let him cause any trouble with the human world, be it harmless pranks or downright murder; hence why you left a line of salt in front of every opening to your place one day, to keep him home. He was a curious demon, a sketchy one.

And a bit of a horny one, at that.

If the groping or peeking in on your showers wasn’t enough of a clue, the fact that he did everything else in his power to seduce you certainly was.

Demons don’t sleep. They’re immortal, they don’t need to. Yet, as you lay snuggled up in your bed at night, he always snuck in with you to poke and prod at you, the exchange usually ending with you kicking him out of bed - sometimes literally. Other times, he’d randomly lean into your ear and say the filthiest things you’d ever heard - and then some, obviously - to get a rise out of you, giving him the opportunity to tease you about unconsciously clenching your thighs, whether it was for friction or out of denial.

You were starting to think he was a damn incubus.

But no, he denied that. He looked almost insulted when you made the insinuation before explaining that incubi and succubi are one and the same, changing back and forth between male and female. First as a succubus, the demon collects... “seed,” and then transforms into an incubus to “plant” it. He could change his physical appearance if he so wished, but he never had much want or need to, save for hiding away or using his devilish form; nor could he procreate, he was so proud to tell you.

It seemed the fact that you were a virgin only spurred him on to seduce you. With Dabi being the vile and damned being that he is, you thought he wouldn’t give a damn (ha) if you consented or not at first. The thought was honestly horrifying. Yet not once had he forced you or went too far. It was “poor taste,” he once said, there being no fun in it. You wondered if his rule of consenting sacrifices played a part in his discipline.

And of course, Dabi would go on about how badly he, a demon, an unsavory being to say the least, wanted to be the one to take your virginity and “defile” you, “the pure, innocent treat that you are.”

Defile? Really?

And treat?

‘Pick better wording next time you sex-starved, pointy-tail-having, staple-wearing, horned son of a bitch,’ you thought sarcastically, shoving dishes into their proper places after having dried them. He’d left you alone for most of the day, talking to you and treating you like he was a normal human being. ‘Then, maybe I’d consider letting you get your dick wet.’

Would you, though?

Nah...

Right.

One of the plates was a little wet still, and managed to slip out of your hand and shatter on the counter in front of you. You yelped when a shard cut into your palm after you’d instinctively reached to catch the plate, failing miserably. “Dammit,” you mutter, holding your left hand up to inspect the cut. From the looks of it, no stitches were needed, but it still stung like hell.

You should’ve known better than to think he cooled his jets for the day, because in an instant he’s standing next to your left side and reaching for your wrist.

“It’s fine, just a tiny cut,” you mutter, quirking a brow as he seemingly glares at the wound. “I think I’ve got a first-aid kit somewhere... Have to keep it clean, at least.”

“Nah, don’t need it,” he mutters, before pulling your hand toward his mouth. His tongue slithers out from between his lips and drags along the cut in your palm, the wet appendage searing against your skin.

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation, and yet another soars when you see the hungry, predatory look in his eyes, which are fixed on your wound. You can’t help the gulp that sounds from your tight throat, or the yelp that fights out of your lips when his whole mouth latches onto the fatty part of your thumb where the cut is. Your knees begin to feel weak and your eyes fall half-lidded.

Dabi sucks on the flesh there, licking the wound occasionally as well. His eyes then flicker to yours, and they burn into you like no other ever has. You feel the heat of a blush trail up your neck and to your cheeks and ears, your heart thrumming in your chest and lips slowly falling open just a tad as he licks away at the opening in your skin.

“Ah-“

The demon pulls away with a pop from one final suck of your flesh, whilst a trail of his saliva - do demons have saliva?! - hung between your hand and his mouth. “See? Take a look.” He pushes your hand towards your view, and amidst the clear wetness on your skin, you see no wound at all.

Your mind flips back to the wounds you should have had from that night.

“Back then... did you... y’know...”

“Naah. There’s spells and the like for bigger stuff like that,” he explains nonchalantly with a shrug. He almost seems proud of himself with his next line. “Tiny paper cuts like this can be taken care of with good ol’ fashioned demon spit. It’s nice, huh?”

You deadpan at him. “No, it’s totally gross.”

Dabi chuckles at you, waving a hand as if to wave you off. “Admit it. Your virgin ass enjoyed it.” His words are crass, but you know he’s only teasing and they’re not meant to insult.

Yet it still riles you up.

That heat crawls up your neck again, and you huff at him. “Shut up!” you gripe, then turning away from him to at least try to clean up the dish shards. There was nothing wrong with being a virgin! A lot of people wait for the right person, or they just aren’t ready. People have their reasons, and there’s no shame in it! Just like there’s no shame in being the opposite. As long as it’s healthy, that’s all that matters!

“Jerk! You seem to forget whose apartment you’re squatting in!” you grumble, scooting the pieces of the plate you broke together - ever so gently - with a washcloth from the sink. “I could kick you out, y’know.” You forgot for a short moment that he managed to achieve free rent for life for you, but you told yourself it wouldn’t matter anyway. It was still your apartment, after all.

“Really, now?” The demon scoffs, then leaning against the counter and crossing his arms - clearly at you. “How would you go about that, little mouse?” His tone is unconvinced and sultry, the look on his face painted with doubt.

You avoided eye contact with him and perused the kitchen for a plastic bag before marching back to the mess of plate shards and trying to sweep them off the counter and into the bag. “I’d exorcise you,” you mutter. Finding a priest in this area would prove difficult, but you could manage to find one willing to travel. You could do it if needed.

Dabi only laughs you off, though. The sound is smooth and velvety, yet you’re left to describe it as littered with smoke and ecstasy. “C’mon, doll! That wouldn’t work,” he says finally. “Besides, we both know you don’t wanna do that. You like havin’ my sorry ass around too much, eh?”

“Ha! You’re right about you being a sorry ass,” you sass with a huff before tossing the bag into the waste-bin.

Oddly enough, while you’d never tell Dabi this and end up stroking his already massive ego, you felt safer with him around. It was hard to pinpoint why. Nothing had happened for him to be called to protect you; however, you lived in a less than savory part of town, which wasn’t entirely unbearable, but shit still happens. And you’ve already been abducted once, leading to your acquaintance with this horny (I’m more ways than one) asshole. Maybe it was because you knew part of what he can do, all that aside. Push comes to shove, he’d protect you, right?

That was a nice thought to have, if a bit naive, you thought.

He was a demon, not a guardian angel of some sort. He had no obligations to you.

Yet here he was, still living with you over a month after that awful night.

Your thoughts are completely swept away when you’re pushed by the hips against the counter with your back to it, your hands instinctively bracing the edge on each side of your hips for support. The demon’s face is immediately in front of yours, his breath easily filling your nostrils with an ashen smell. You see those horns of his again and have to fight the urge to reach up and grab one, maybe even give it a tug. He’d probably cremate you for it.

Could he hear your thoughts? Previous instances somewhat insinuated that he could, but he never admitted to it - or denied it.

Dabi was right. You don’t want to get rid of him. Especially not when he’s looking at you like that. There is an intensity in those half-lidded, fiery eyes of his that has never before been directed at you by anyone, and it leaves you wishing you could read his thoughts. Are his eyes merely looking at your own, or are they bearing into your soul, calculating and appraising it?

What you can tell is that it’s full of impatience and want. Greed. Lust. And so much of it all.

You tilt your chin down a bit and look up at him with a gulp quietly. You can’t think of anything to say, and tension builds within your chest as you search; you feel as if that silence ought to be filled, yet here you are, at a loss for words as you stare at your own reflection in his glossy eyes. On the other hand, he seems totally content letting you lie in it, letting you squirm for him as he smirks.

And so you look away, bringing your hands to your chest and holding them there bashfully. The sleeves of your sweater are soft and warm and plush - just how Dabi would describe you right now.

This maneuver of yours not being what he wanted, Dabi scowls a bit and grabs your chin to essentially force you to look at him, his thumb ghosting over the softness of your lower lip. He tilts his head at you almost curiously, perhaps evaluating your reaction as it’s been so long since he has seen or felt the mortal world. Those eyes narrow at you, though not out of ire. Dabi’s thumb pokes at the crevice between your lips, and the rest of his fingers on your jaw tug downward.

Confused, you comply anyway and part your lips for him, only for his thumb to invade your mouth and press hard on your tongue, coaxing you to gag and instinctively grasp both hands on his wrist. You attempt to pull it away, to relieve the pressure in your mouth, but he doesn’t want that.

Hell, in reality, neither do you. You just don’t feel like gagging and clouding your vision with tears.

Aw, you poor dear.

With a contemplative hum he pulls his appendage out of your mouth and holds it not far from your mouth, as if planning another venture into your wet cavern. You can’t help but stare at the string of saliva still connecting your lips and his hand as it glistens in the low lighting of your kitchenette.

“Open back up for me,” he huskily demands, but it’s not cruel and dictating, so you comply, entranced as if under a spell. But you know you’re not. This time, it’s his forefinger and middle finger that roam between your teeth, and as if he had told you to do so telepathically, you close your lips around them. With an innocent, doll-eyed look, you suck his fingers and lick at them with your tongue, earning yourself hushed praises and a searing trail of touches up your ribcage and back down. You continue to lick away, occasionally wrapping your tongue around his digits or cradling them as you suck on them, coating them in your saliva as some of it trails out one of the corners of your mouth. They feel cold, as if there was a lack of circulation, and it only spurs you on to warm them with the toasty cavern of your mouth and soft plushness of your tongue.

You’re sure you’re less than apt at this, but the praise and touch you’re receiving helps you feel less... off.

Dabi leans in for your ear, his hot breath against your cartilage sending a chill down your spine before his wet tongue laps at it, and you jump in your skin at the burning, completely unknown sensation. It’s so hot it almost stings, but it’s not painful; tingly, maybe. In the process you lean away to your left a bit, at which he seems to pause. But then you lean back as if to tell him to go on, and you can nearly hear the simper he gives just before he latches onto your ear, licking and nibbling away as you tremble and whimper around his fingers. The heat at your core throbs in tandem with your racing heartbeat, creating a melody of your arousal that you hoped only you could witness.

But you knew better than to doubt the senses of a demon.

“You’re doin’ good, doll,” he breathes into your ear, aggravating the sound of blood flushing through your ears and the thump of your heartbeat. “Such a good girl for me...”

The digits in your mouth get a little adventurous and explore your wet cavern a bit, but they’re quick to push down on your tongue again and you gag around them. Tears start to pool within your eyelids and your whimper is stuck in your throat.

The demon then unceremoniously pulls his fingers from your mouth to reach down at the hem of your sweater and yank it up over the swell of your chest, leaving your torso and bra-covered breasts bare. Dabi seems to drink up the sight of you as if it were a sweet wine he hadn’t indulged in for centuries. Both his hands then trail ghostly fingers - really, they felt like spiders - up your belly and to your sternum. You shiver and a mewl fights out of your throat unexpectedly, your back arching unintentionally toward him as you clutch onto his forearms. Dabi lets out a hot breath, just thereafter his hands roughly squeeze your breasts through your bra as he grinds his pelvis against yours, the outline of his hardened cock clear as day against you. You don’t even try to fight back the moan it elicits as your head droops back at the stimulation.

Why bother, right?

The inhuman entity before you takes the opportunity to use your open mouth, his own latching into yours and tongue exploring your mouth in a battle for dominance you have absolutely no hope to win as he makes a mushy mess of you. You accidentally lacerate your tongue on the sharp point of one of Dabi’s teeth and flinch a bit, the sting on your tongue nearly coaxing you to pull away while the taste of iron floods your mouths. That tase you could certainly live without only encourages him, as Dabi growls and grips the base of your neck to hold your head in place as he quite metaphorically devours your tongue with his own, before his teeth latch onto your lower lip and you squeak in surprise as he pulls away.

“Aw, what’s’a matter, little mouse?” Dabi taunts, left palm dropping to rub against your clothed sex.

“Ah, Dabi-!” You jolt at the sudden stimulation on your clit and breathe in hard. Even if there are a couple layers keeping his bare hand from touching you, if feels damn good to have someone else touch you like this. Ripples of warmth flood through you and you feel your body temperature rocketing. Your own breath feels as though it’s on fire as it leaves your heavily salivated mouth and bloody lips in rabid succession, alongside your increasingly rapid heartbeat. Your grip on his firm arms tightens and you resist the urge to grind against him as he continues his ministrations. “Fuck...” Your lips throbbed, yet you weren’t sure if it was from the tiny wounds he created or your blood pressure spiking.

“Hm?” The demon hums, inquisitive and high in pitch - yet maybe condescending. “‘Fuck,’ huh?” His grip on the back of your neck relaxes only slightly before his tongue pokes out of his mouth and drags along your lower lip, lapping away at the blood pooling there and drawing a slight whine from you. “What about it? You sayin’ you want me to fuck you, doll? Tell me.”

Blood rushes to your face like there was a race and your eyes wander from his bashfully, instead choosing to look at the horns cutting through his spiky black hair. He’s right, you do, you have to admit it. But admitting it out loud was embarrassing! With a gulp you elect to simply nod, but his brows furrow and he’s clearly unimpressed considering the animalistic growl that claws out of his throat.

“Hey, I’ve been locked away from you humans for so long, y’know,” he breathes, his voice dark and low. “I’m a bit behind on gestures. You have to tell me.” This time, you can tell by the almost playful tone of his voice that he’s really lying and just trying to make you admit it aloud. Dabi’s palm leaves you before moving up to the waistband of your jeans while his other hand snakes up your neck and latches onto a fistful of your hair. “C’mon, say it. Where’s all that spunk from earlier? You’re all bark and no bite, little one.”

“Y-yes, Dabi. I... I want you to fuck me.” You finally meet his eyes again, and the hunger in them from before hasn’t faded at all; it’s only deepened. What else has changed was the hunger and arousal in your own eyes.

That smirk appears again and Dabi leans into your ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he parrots, “do you? You want my demon cock to take your virginity and fill you up? You want me to fuck you against this counter until your voice gives out? You’re a slut after all, little one. Beg like one, then.”

Your thighs clench together and you gulp. This was... not how you fantasized your first time to carry out. “Demon cock” was not something you’d ever thought you would hear someone say.

But who cares? Not you.

“Yes, please. Please!” You tug at his jacket in an attempt to coax him toward you, your knuckles turning white from your grip. “Please, fuck me with your demon cock...” Your this time voice is less loud and demanding, albeit it’s more desperate and pleading. “Please.” Your voice breaks this time.

Nor was it something you thought you would ever say.

A groan rumbles from Dabi’s chest. “Good little human. Keep it up, yeah?”

You squeak as he roughly yanks your sweater over your head before working to unbutton your jeans, his lips and teeth savoring your neck all the while. Your head cranes back again, a mute gasp leaving you at the sensation of his searing tongue on your recently sweat-slicked neck as his fingers work to remove your bra before they move onto yanking your panties down. At least, you thought he yanked them down, but a quick glance to the floor revealed he ripped them off, rendering them unusable.

“I liked those!” you whine, still panting.

“Tough luck. I didn’t.” It’s not like you need to wear panties around him anyway. He’d burn every pair you owned to mere ashes if it meant getting you to waltz around your apartment with no panties. They just got in the way.

“Daabi! Why would you-

“Oh god!”

You jump and thrust against Dabi’s hand when his fingers run through the slick of your soaked cunt, your breathing ragged, while he gathers the slick abundant there and edges toward your clit. His tactic coaxes ripples of pleasure that lull a low moan out of you.

“Ha,” he scoffs in your ear, “no gods have anything to do with it, babydoll.”

Dabi’s fingers finally work their way to your clit and circle around it a few times before rubbing in a steady rhythm around it. You moan at the combination of the bliss he gives you and the pet name, and your legs instinctively open wider for him as you mewl.

“I’m really not sure you are a virgin, doll,” he starts with a chuckle, “You’re fuckin’ soaked, you know that? Like a slut begging for my dick.”

“D-Dabi!” You flinch at the sinful words he’s spitting at you, embarrassed.

The demon’s digits leave your clit and trail back through your folds, and the wet, lewd sounds that result almost surprise you more than the fact that you want to fuck a demon. You buck your hips in hopes of encouraging his fingers back to your clit, albeit his other hand distracts you with a flick to your nipple, before it rubs circles over the sensitive nub as the rest of his hand palms at your tit.

“Ah, feels so good,” you find yourself muttering.

In response his ear seems to twitch. “Speak up.” His lips are sucking and nipping at your neck, either ignoring or enjoying the layer of sweat built up on your skin as the heat coming from his body begins to overwhelm you. Not that you mind either way. He’s definitely leaving a mark here and there as he works around your neck. Not that you mind either way.

“Your fingers... ah, feel so good!” Your head cranes backward, your hands dropping to the counter against your ass for support as your legs begin to feel weak. The shockwaves of pleasure his hands send through your nerves leaves you feeling weak and mushy.

“Good. Now hold still.”

You give a confused look, eyebrows pointed upward before you feel the tip of his digit poke at your weeping hole, eliciting a loud gasp from you when his finger plunges into your pussy with no reserve. You hiss at the sudden intrusion, you walls stretching pleasurably yet painfully as he slowly moves his finger around, letting you adjust. His other hand merely plays with your breast.

Biting your lip, you lean forward and plant your sweaty, flushed forehead on his shoulder. “Hey, it kinda hurts,” you whine.

“Just relax, doll.” Dabi’s voice isn’t as crass as it was before, nor is it entirely soothing. You figure he just doesn’t have it in him to coddle you, being a demon and all that.

You whimper as Dabi ever so slowly thrusts his finger in and out, the mixture of pleasure and pain not at all what you’d expected. When his finger hits a spongy spot, you jolt and moan for him, and he takes the opportunity to take over your mouth again in a wet, hurried kiss with a groan. Dabi swallows any and all sounds that you make, and in the process you feel the hand on your tit move downward to your hip before it swings around and wraps under your thigh to lift your knee up to his hip level. The muscles of your legs tensing and the choked moan in your throat tell him the pain is starting to very slowly fade away. At the realization, he carefully dips another finger into you and you moan, higher in pitch, into his mouth before he pulls away to stare at the sight of his fingers fucking into you for only a short moment. Dabi is then quick to shove his tongue back into your salivating mouth.

The lithe digits within your wet walls pick up pace gradually, giving you time to adjust and not barreling into you. By now there is still a barely-there stretch, and all the pain has essentially faded as the assault on your nerves takes place and you near an orgasm. Your eyes lull shut and your head cranes back, your hips almost thrusting involuntarily on his fingers as his pace keeps increasing and pushing you over the edge.

“I’m- ah, I think I’m...”

Dabi hums as if requesting you repeat yourself or perhaps simply acknowledging your sputtering, but you’re too busy moaning louder and and thrusting into the palm of his hand, to do so, as the coil between your legs tightens. His fingers graze over that same spot as before and you cry out for him, for which his fingers increase their pace even more rapidly and slam into that spot over and over and over again as he groans at the lewd, wet squelching resulting.

“Shit! I’m gonna cum, Dabi, I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it. Cum for me, babydoll.” His voice is much more authoritative and huskier, and as per Dabi’s demand you cry out almost loud enough for your neighbors to hear as your orgasm slams into you like a tsunami of pleasure crashing into your nerves. Your soft, hot walls convulse around his fingers in your release as he uses them to fuck you through your first orgasm of the night, with your hips still thrusting toward him uncontrollably as you go through your high and begin to climb down, panting.

Your head feels light in the best way possible and your legs are weak, so you whine lowly as he pulls his fingers from your heat with a pleased sigh. The second your legs give out, he catches you by the ribs before grabbing your trembling hips and lifting you onto the counter, with you latching onto him and holding tight all the while, your forehead on his shoulder and arms around his neck while your legs wrap around his hips.

Dabi drags the tips of his fingers up and down your spine, sending a jolt of calming, electric waves up your spinal cord as he repeatedly kisses your hair and ear on the side accessible to him.

“Atta girl,” he mutters into your hair.

Do you... thank him? He’s giving you a compliment, after all, right? Do you nod? Do you hum? You have the energy to do all three, but what response does he expect of you?

“I didn’t... do anything,” you mutter quietly, chest rising and falling in quick succession.

“Technically. Doesn’t matter because you will, soon.” He leans into your ear like he’s so fond of doing, his lips grazing your earlobe. “We’re not done, doll.”

Your legs twitch around him unconsciously, eliciting a deep, amused chuckle from the demon.

You see pointed pearly whites bear at you before he lifts you off the countertop and plops you down in front of him. Dabi’s hand squeezes your ass cheek, said hand then spinning you around to put your back to his chest. Searing breath on the back of your ear makes it twitch. “You’re wet and all, doll, but I’m not sure you’re wet enough,” he taunts, his hands splaying out on your abdomen and gently roaming around, fingers spread wide as they adore your body.

“For what?” Dabi’s chest against your back prevents you from turning around and giving him a confused look.

“My cock. What else?” he jabs.

Your curt reply is totally cut off and forgotten when you feel a wet tongue singe the side of your neck toward the back, and you gasp shakily.

“What to do, what to do...?” you hear Dabi whisper into your now-pebbled skin, his hands ghosting down toward your thighs.

“Oh.”

Remaining silent yourself, you could feel the damn lightbulb light up in the bastard’s horned head, but you didn’t know what exactly would entail.

Before you can ask what the hell he was on about, his fingers drove between your glistening folds and prod around, as if measuring the lewd slick settling there. They quickly pull away after a quick hum from Dabi.

“Be a good little human and bend over, yeah?”

Without a word or thought against it you comply, bending over your countertop and leaning on your elbows a little. You gulp at the thought of your leaking cunt bearing for Dabi. You weren’t sure what he could see from this position, but you were a little embarrassed, nonetheless. With a gulp you shift your weight back and forth on your feet nervously.

Hands rub and palm at your ass cheeks as thumbs rub deeply into your flesh in a symphony of soothing touch. You sigh blissfully and spread your legs for the demon without realizing, but it’s over all too quickly when he instead moves your legs back together. You crane your neck to look at him. “Wha...?”

Wasn’t he going to fuck you from behind?

Suddenly the weeping tip of his cock slips between your thighs, gliding against your dripping cunt and through your folds. There’s no piercing despite his many others, though perhaps that was why he asked you to take him to a parlor not long ago.

Dabi’s cock manages to grace your clit and your body unwillingly jolts a little, still having been sensitive from your previous orgasm. A soft gasp leaves your swollen lips and you hear Dabi growl behind you while he pulls back from your ass end only to jut forward again. Legs beginning to tire out, you unconsciously spread them, only for his hands to push them together roughly.

“Don’t fuckin’ spread ‘em,” he hissed, hips holding still. The fingers on your thighs push deep with force sure to leave bruises while you hiss quietly at the stinging pain they bring to your nerves. But that sensation is quick to fade into something warm and euphoric yet electric and sensitive, causing your head to spin even though he’s not fucking your desperate pussy. He pistons his hips into your ass, and you mewl.

“That’s your last warning, fuck!” he grunts.

You nod vigorously, content with letting him fuck your thighs so long as he keeps grazing your puffy clit like this. His pace quickens and soon enough you hear loud skin slapping against skin, his hips jutting into your ass and balls pattering against the crevice between the soft flesh of your thighs. The quick pace and silkiness of his cock against your clit is euphoric, leaving you to wonder if it would be better than this if he were inside of you. Are you drooling? Your head droops lazily as you revel in pleasure.

The wetness and heat between your legs has increased several-fold, but it’s apparently not enough for Dabi. Your poor body rocks against the counter and your eyes are clenched shut, head fixated on the sensation of his cock grinding against your cunt and between your soft, drenched thighs. You weren’t sure if it was the position or your nerves going haywire, but your legs ached with a dreadful burn.

“D-Daaabi,” you whine pitifully, “my legs... aah, hurt...!”

A hand jumps to your navel and brings you back toward him to allow room for his fingers slithering to your cunt. Before they graze over your clit, they stop. “Cum for me, then,” you hear him command, voice deep and breathy and sending a chill up your spine. “Maybe when you’re done, I’ll take you to the bed and fuck you into the mattress. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya, doll?”

“Yes, b-but,” you suck in a breath when his hand envelops your tit, “‘maybe?’” You parrot the word desperately, your head going blank as you near orgasm.

“Mhm.” You can hear the smirk in it, and the sound of the hum rumbling in his chest is oddly euphoric for you to hear.

You hated having him behind you like this. All you wanted in the moment was to latch onto him and relish in his heat no matter how intense it would be for a mortal like you. You wanted to touch him, to be able to see him, and he was depriving you of it all - very likely on purpose.

Your moans and squeals get higher in pitch and Dabi evidently picks up on your cues, thrusting against your cunt faster and faster until your entire body tenses.

You cry out his name ever so quietly, yet before you can climax he pulls away and leaves you panting and weeping, a whine escaping your throat. “But you told me...!”

“Changed my mind.”

“You’re a jerk!” you half-gripe and half-whine, standing up to glare at him. “I was so... so close, you know! You better make it up to me!” You huff and puff from the intensity of almost cumming.

“You’re awful feisty when I’m not touching you,” he remarks cockily.

You’re going to regret saying what you said. At least, that’s what the look in his eyes tells you when he spins you around. It’s dark and already you shrink in front of him. The next thing you know, Dabi’s pushing you against the counter and mumbling something into you ear, that something being an incantation that sends a trickle of electricity though every nerve of your body. Suddenly you’re cumming hard as heavy waves of pleasure wrack your cunt clenching around nothing rapidly as whatever the demon used on you pushes you through your orgasm, your toes curling and lips shrieking, head falling back so fast it almost slammed into the cabinet if he hadn’t caught it. You don’t register that you had wrapped your arms around his waist until his hands grasp them as if holding you there.

“How’s that for makin’ it up to you, eh?”

With his voice pulling a moan out of you, your poor brain goes foggy and full and it spins within your skull as you pant away, your body feeling heavy. Dabi grabs hold of you and lifts you onto the countertop when it seems like your legs are going to give out. “Hey,” he mutters into your sweaty neck, “don’t tire out on me. I wanna fill that pussy up with my cum ‘til it’s dripping out.”

You feel heat rush from your heaving chest up your neck to your cheeks. “Stop... that! You pervert.”

Dabi chuckles at you. You weren’t prudish, you were inexperienced. “What? Stop what, hm?”

“Talking like... that.”

He only hums, though, and he’s not to comply with your request. “Ya know, if you weren’t a virgin, I’d take your ass, too. Or put you on your knees and shove my cock down your throat until you’re chokin’ on it. Fuck, you’d sound like an angel.” Dabi chuckles at his ironic comparison, seemingly proud of himself for it.

You shrink in front of him and shiver, the room feeling so cold. You glance at your bedroom door and he notices promptly.

“I’ll carry you, for a price.”

Your eyes flicker back to him and the simper he flashes you would’ve had you weak in the knees had you been standing.

“Like what, my soul?” It’s a slightly genuine, slightly snarky question.

“Your mouth.” Dabi waves a hand at your widened eyes. “Not tonight. Maybe next time. You won’t know up from down and I don’t feel like playing teacher more than I already am.”

The demon doesn’t wait for your snarky remark before he picks you up and lugs you to your bed. You let out a noise when he literally drops you onto the mattress, your form bouncing atop it before he pins you to the bed roughly, so quickly you get dizzy. He dips his hips between your legs and spreads them wide while his mouth delves into the crook of your sweat-coated neck to let him begin suckling and leaving stinging marks with sweet, little kisses peppered in between.

It seems he’s suddenly gone soft on you, but it won’t last, even if you don’t know it.

Your back arches against him, ready to finally feel his torrid body against yours so that you can relish in his warmth despite the fact that your body was soaked in sweat; you wanted so much more, you needed it. Your next moan is dealt without a care who can hear, and thereafter with you wrap your arms around his neck tightly. Dabi grabs your hips and squeezes the plump flesh before his hands roam down your thighs to your knees as he hikes your legs around his hips, with you far too eager not to comply.

“Dabi,” you breathe, and he hums with one of his hands still on your hip as the other supports his weight by your shoulder. “Kiss me. Please.” Your voice is desperate and needy, and you’re starting to think this is more than lust pushing you on.

Had he used another demonic spell on you?

When Dabi complies, his hips grind against you to allow his hardened cock to nudge the folds of your glistening pussy.

This time around, with his tongue prodding in your mouth at a slower, more passionate pace, you catch on and realize he has a tongue piercing. Your walls clench at the thought of what it would feel like licking stripes up and down your soaked cunt, wondering whether it would be cool to the touch or searing hot due to his body temperature.

Searing hot would be the answer, though you don’t know that as of now.

The demon grinds against you as he devours your mouth with his own, his weeping cock sliding through your your wet folds. On the other hand you’re careful not to cut your tongue on his teeth again, albeit he wouldn’t complain if you did; if anything he’d encourage it. Your hands splay on his hot back, and you wonder that if leaving them on his searing skin for too long will burn you. If it gave you the opportunity to roam your fingers over his muscles and caress the staples, goddamn would it be worth the burns. With a sigh into his mouth your hands move from his back to grab onto those horns you’d thought about, your grip gentle yet exploring as you try to focus on feeling the rough texture of them.

Dabi pulls away from you to pepper open-mouthed kisses among your jawline, growling all the while. “What’re you doing?” he brusquely asks between the wet gestures, and you croon. His voice was so rough and gravelly while the gestures were soft and... sweet. You almost dare to say it was heavenly.

“Just feelin’ ‘em, babydoll.”

You throw his pet name back at him purposefully, and the mockery elicits a dark chuckle from him. Ever so slowly, you were beginning to learn how to be more brazen. You were getting comfortable with him on this intimate level. You’d already been comfortable in some way with him living forcibly in your apartment for over a month, but not on this level, not like this.

The stapled hand on your leg disappears before it reappears in your hair and gives a pull - not a yank - to tilt your head back and further expose your neck. You expect him to ravage it with his mouth like earlier, but he stopped to admire his apparent handiwork. You can’t see the marks he’s left, albeit he’s apparently satisfied as he smirks.

“What’re you doing?” you mimic him playfully.

“Thinkin’ about how I want you, of course.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

In response, you huff at him.

“Let’s see,” he begins, moving closer to you, his breath fanning the lower half of your face as his eyes bore into your soul, “chest up against the wall, or on your hands and knees... hell, maybe just your knees...” He moves down so that his breath reaches just under your jaw, his eyes still staring intensely up at you while his hand slithers to your tit, rolling the hardened bud under his finger and you mewl. “...could always put you in a mating press and fuck you like a bitch in heat... I might even let you get on top, if you’re a good girl. Decisions, decisions, eh?”

“What,” you huff, “you mean, with all that whoring and harassing you did, you never thought this through?” You mirror his smirk with your own quirked brow while you rub the horns on his head, thoroughly enjoying their soft yet rippled texture.

“Oho, that’s the problem, doll. I’ve thought about it too much.” Dabi’s teeth put on a show for you to see from his widening smirk. Next thing you know, his fingers are pinching and tugging your nipple roughly for the first time and you keen under him from the shock before his wet mouth matches onto your other tit, tongue lulling over the bud. You mewl and flick your head back, chest heaving in your panting as you feel him suction onto your plump skin and suck away with a sopping, hot mouth, his low sigh into your skin blissful.

Your hands drop to his shoulders as a result of the distraction his mouth brings. Demonic saliva coats your tit and glistens in what little silvery moonlight filters through your blinds, all while you feel the pull of your leg over his right shoulder and prodding at your weeping heat with the tip of his cock.

“Ya know what?” he murmurs into your skin, “I wanna see these lovely tits of yours bounce.” With his other hand he guides the tip in and gives a moan at how warm and slick the entrance of your cunt is around him. And tight as hell, too. Of all the summons he could’ve answered, he answered the one that, unbeknownst to Dabi, lead to you, just on a whim. And fuck, if it wasn’t worth it.

You whine and writhe underneath him, needy as can be, as your entrance clenches around the head of his cock.

“Use your words, babydoll.”

You groan at him. “Just please hurry up and fuck me!”

“Your wish is my command...” Dabi’s voice is full of tease and mockery, which makes you want to bite his tongue.

Without any warning he sheaths his cock all the way into you as a groan escapes his throat, and you jolt at the sensation of suddenly being so goddamned full, your lustful gasp resonating off the walls of your bedroom. That one hard pump of his hips sends a wave up pleasure through your nervous system and the stretch of your tight walls leaves you wanting more. He’s much longer and thicker than his fingers, and you can’t help your cunt clenching around him like it does. The subconscious movement has Dabi groaning and panting out as you clench on his cock, and he still can’t help but relish in how fucking worth the wait you are.

That stretch of your cunt is back again, sweet and sinful as before. His cock brushes against all the right places, filling you up perfectly and having you drool for more.

Dabi holds still at least, though you can tell it won’t be for long.

“So goddamned tight,” he spits through his teeth against your neck, fighting the demanding of every cell in his body to fuck you like a rabid animal. Dabi’s hot breath fans over your neck, his teeth clenching as a result of your tightness around him.

His hips slowly start pushing and pulling to gently thrust his throbbing cock in and out of you, slowly letting you adjust before he can pick a normal pace.

...is what you thought he would do.

But nay, he begins with slow and agonizingly yet blissfully hard thrusts into your wet core, his grunts being drowned out by your wails and mewls as he slams into your sopping cunt. The lewd sounds of wet skin slapping slowly against skin and hot squelching mixes into it all, creating a melody of sin only you and Dabi share, that only the two of you can hear.

You were definitely going to hell, by now. But hey, good dick seemed worth the eternal damnation. Right?

With one particularly hard thrust, Dabi bites into the crook between your neck and shoulder, unexpectedly not breaking the skin, eliciting a cry from your parched throat and your eyes shut tight. The teeth latching onto your skin feel less sharp and more human, as he’s morphed them not to tear into your flesh and draw blood. He’d never hear the end of it for getting blood on your sheets, he knew that. Besides, if he wasn’t careful it would kill you.

He doesn’t want that happening again. Ugh. That was a godsforsaken mess - literally.

With every pounce of his hips, your tits bounce on your chest like he set out to do and he was sure to take in the sight of it all very well, having waited over a month for it. The smarting pang you felt earlier when his fingers fucked you is completely gone by now, leaving you to writhe and thrust your own hips from the overwhelming fucking of your senses.

“Dabi, Dabi!” you sob, your thoughts blending together until nothing but the demon inside of you remains in your consciousness. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, drawing a thick, black liquid in the deep crescents, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Words, babydoll,” he breathes out, emphasizing the first word with a thrust. “C’mon, you know better.” He groans above you.

A yelp and another, higher in pitch slap of skin resonates within the room amidst the wet, sloppy ones and his grunts, but it doesn’t register that he’s slapped the underside of the thigh perched on his shoulder until you feel the pulsating sting that scatters through your leg. The yelp was apparently yours.

“Faster!” Your voice is devoured by a whiny tone and squeals that fight out of you, but it’s drowned out by the rhythm of his hips against yours.

Another slap hits your senses, and you cry out, tears flooding your eyelids. All you need is a little push.

“So fuckin’ demanding... Where are your manners, little mouse?” His lips are on your ear again, almost as if threateningly. “I’d be a little more... ngh... polite if I were you.” The covers bunch and roll under your body when it’s slid back against them from the hardest thrust he’s graced you with yet, the process bringing a shriek out of you and shock as a result of his hitting that special spot after angling his hips just right and causing your poor head to spin. With Dabi then yanking you back to where you were with the hand on your thigh above the reddening cloud of flesh, you croon underneath him as he stops fucking your dripping wet heat altogether. You’re left to stare into his fiery blue eyes directly while hot breaths flood out of you in rapid succession. His nose almost touched yours, and the look in his eyes tells you he’s dead serious.

“Hate to break it to ya, but you’re at my mercy, doll. If I don’t want you to cum, you won’t.”

“Nonono, I’m sorry! Please! Please! I’m sorry!”

A cross between a hum and growl leaves his throat, and you shrink underneath him.

“‘Please,’ what?”

“Go faster, please!”

Dabi’s teeth are on your neck again when he picks up his thrusting into you, increasing in speed and fucking your sopping pussy like you had requested. With his hands on your hips, the demon mutters praises and moans into your neck and you sputter incoherent gibberish when you’re not gasping for air and squealing and bawling out from his almost inhuman, blissful pace. The leg wrapped around his waist clenches as hard as you’re physically able as he slams into you, and while your senses are being ravaged and brutalized, you hear faintly those wet squelching noises and the sounds of metal and wood creaking. You weren’t sure if the thrumming in your eardrums was your heartbeat or your headboard hitting the wall, but the thought of the latter rolled your eyes into the back of your head. Dabi angles his hips just right and smacks his cock into that oh-so-special spot within your soft cunt, and the jolt of pleasure and utter bliss that results brings you back to reality momentarily - yet still somehow throwing you out of your mind.

“Right there! Dabi! Oh, fuck!” You sob with a slur, your hands grasping and clawing at his back desperately. Incoherent garbling follows thereafter, and Dabi doesn’t even try to decipher it even if it is silk against his ears.

The fingers gripping onto your hips are so tightly embedded into your skin, Dabi’s sure they will leave round little bruises in their wake and he relishes in the idea, but the sting they bring you feels so damned good, you welcome it, too. The tension that builds within your cunt keeps building and building, your hot walls clenching around Dabi as you near carnal release. You’re close, so fucking close to the height of true bliss, your moans getting higher and higher in pitch as your back lifts off the mattress without you willing it. You feel that familiar tingle before-

It stops.

You sob at the utter emptiness and lack of release, your head spinning.

The ancient bastard denied you of your orgasm.

Chest heaving up and down in your panting, your wordless whine and protest at the emptiness you can feel is seemingly ignored by Dabi. The lack of warmth at your pulsating core is almost... cold. So cold.

“Wh-why...?” you whine.

The demon lets out a breathy groan. You can feel him dip his lips to your collarbone and smirk. “Just ‘cause.”

Quickly the demon sits back on his haunches and your arms droop off his shoulders. Dabi blinks at you with his hand holding your ankle to his shoulder, all the while staring you down with an intensity that has you feeling small, like an ant before an elephant. You’re so vulnerable and naked under his unwavering gaze, it’s nearly frightening. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before. It’s soft but it’s predatory. He drinks in the sight of you leisurely.

You know damn good and well blood is rushing to your face, your hot breaths leaving you in weak puffs.

“Aren’t you precious?” you hear him remark with a toothy smirk. “Just for me. Right?”

You nod.

Demonically slitted eyes narrow at you darkly. “Say it, then,” he demands.

“Just...” you pant, “for you.”

Dabi’s hand pulls your ankle off him and puts your foot flat against the bedding next to his knee as he looks down at you. The moonlight striking the vibrant color of Dabi’s eyes is breathtaking, if your breath could be knocked out of your lungs further. It almost forced you to liken the sight with tinted ice, with icy waters off Iceland or perhaps glacier-dwelling seas of the Antarctic. And yet, you knew better.

The sight before Dabi was more than he’d expected, albeit just as sinful. Seeing you splashed out in bed, sweating and panting and dripping in your own essence just for him drove him wild. You were so adamant against fucking him, about retaining your innocence and saving it for the “right” person, in the beginning. And yet now, you let him do as he pleases and he didn’t doubt it would be the first time. He knew better.

“Get on your hands and knees, love.”

That was a first. “Love?” You like it more than the several others. It was smoky and gravelly and breathy all once.

Without your knowing your eyes soften and you grin the tiniest grin at the demon, knowing he won’t return the favor and be as gentle and sweet with you. He’s quick to quirk a brow at you, but you turn on your side to maneuver your body around and comply with Dabi’s command. Your breath has evened out by now, as you prop yourself on your elbows with your ass pointing out to Dabi, weeping cunt ready to be filled. It was embarrassing being on display like this again. You glance back at him with curious eyes, only to be met with silence and what felt like a dark presence. He’d gone cold on you.

You feel a hot hand on the nape of your neck and swear on whatever god you used to believe that your skin sizzled for a bit, while another lands on your left hip as his cock presses up against your folds and slithers through between your legs a couple times, gathering the slick of your essence - as if it needed to! - before he delves into your pussy once again. You croon in front of him, and the moan that comes out of Dabi has you clenching around his cock for the countless time. He mutters something untranslatable to you and pushes down on your nape, easing you face-first into the mattress. Your bedding was so soft and warm from your own body heat. Maybe it was leakage from the demon’s body temperature, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was a mix of both, intermingling like perfectly-cut pieces of a puzzle.

With a sharp moan, Dabi bottoms out in you, your mewls being swallowed by the bedding pressing against your cheek. You sigh into plush warmth, but the soft and gooeyness you feel is quickly torn away by a harsh snap of Dabi’s hips. Your gasp is cut through by a squeak from your throat, only urging him further as you already feel that coil tightening and readying to snap. You feel him shift a little against you, and you try to glance at him as much as you can before he begins thrusting into you again. That hard but slow pace makes its appearance for a short while, and hot damn is it heavenly. You moan and whine completely unabashedly. The walls of your apartment were thin and cheap, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It was just an effect he had on you.

So what if your neighbors knew your were getting railed by a demonic being from ages past?

He certainly wanted them to know.

Dabi’s pace picks up again and you already feel the ripples of pleasure soaring through your body from your clenching cunt, your grip on the fabric underneath you tightening as you fight back the urge to bite into it. Even the lewd slaps of his hips against your ass are louder and quicker, and fuck aren’t they wetter. Dabi himself seems proud of this.

Your breathing quickens and your lungs almost burn like the hand on the back of your neck, your keening and sobbing getting higher in pitch and filled with rushed air. His thrusts only seem to get deeper and harder, if it were possible, and your eyes close shut tightly as your body trembles. Dabi adjusts his hips and continuously hits that oh-so-sweet spot that makes your head cloud over totally, his head falling back at the way your pussy hugs him tight.

“Dabi!” you sob. “Don’t stop, please!” Your wording is heavily slurred and slightly hushed from the impact of his fucking your nerves and your cheek being pushed into the bed, but you manage, nonetheless. You can’t fight back the drool that droops out the corner of your mouth.

The demon chuckles. Dabi could hear you say his name like that for a thousand years straight and it wouldn’t be enough. “S’pose you’ve been a good girl, babydoll. Go on, I’ll let you cum.”

The hand on your neck moves to your shoulder and soon enough, your chest and face are removed from the sheets, albeit you’re still on all fours as he fucks into you. Thereafter you feel the piping heat of his chest against your back, a crude reminder of the seven layers of arson Dabi’s capable. His hand holds you still while he continues to wrack your body with thrusts into your wet heat. You feel his fingers rub and circle your clit after a torrid hand snakes around your ribs and down your navel, and the pace of Dabi’s fingers is almost in beautiful tandem with his fucking as he hits that special spot over and over and over again. You can feel your essence flowing down the insides of your thighs like you thought wasn’t even possible, pussy dripping onto your bedding.

Ah, fuck.

With a lustful shriek, your spongy walls convulse around his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm, your vision going white as your eyes roll into the back of your head and your body rocks back and forth, legs twitching and torso shuddering. It takes almost everything Dabi has not to cum then and there, his hiss and loud growl being evidence of that. You just feel so good, why wouldn’t he want to cum now? But no, that would be a treat for you later.

Your clutch on the bedding underneath is as tight as you’re fully capable, and your knuckles turn white while you revel in your own personal bliss, courtesy of whatever the hell Dabi is. The intensity of it all has your head spinning and body pulsating. Poor body beginning to come down from the fierce high, you wondered if Dabi would stop and let you bliss out - but nay; he continues to fuck you like an animal and abuse your clit while you cry it all out. You were drenched in sweat, your cheeks flooded with tears you didn’t know were there until now.

“Too much, too much,” you squeak quietly, so quiet you’re not even sure he could hear you. But maybe it was incoherent. Maybe you were babbling and drooling like a fucked out hole at this point. Was it getting overwhelming? Yes. Did it feel ungodly good? Fuck yes.

“You’re so fuckin’... wet, though,” he pants, before slowing down slightly. “I think you’re playing innocent. You like this, ah, don’t you?” Dabi groans as you continue to flutter, sensitively, around him. “You want me to fuck you stupid, to fuck you until you can’t take it anymore, right?”

Dabi chuckles at your lack of response and continues to ram into your soaking heat with your cries and squeaks only urging him further. An attempt to glance at Dabi is mostly thwarted by the pace he’s taken on, or maybe it’s because everything’s spinning - or is it the tears flooding from your eyelids - you manage to meet his icy, slitted eyes once, which prompts him to poke kisses at your nape and behind your ear. You feel that familiar warmth in your entire pelvis, you cunt clenching down on his cock as the waves of pleasure intensify.

“Dabi, I- nnn, it’s too mu-much,” you whine. “Please.”

“Nah, you’re okay, babydoll,” he drawls cockily, voice gravelly and breathy enough to make you cum on command. “I think you’ve got a few more for me, don’t you? C’mon.” He makes a point to hit your g-spot harder than before after he’s done talking, and goddamn does it take the air out of your lungs. You choke on your own spit when you feel that piping hot hand patted against your asscheek repeatedly.

Your shriek and wet slopping fills the room as you cum yet again, albeit this time the pressure on your nerves feels different - smoother, warmer - and the tingle in your belly is intense as your scream feels like it claws at your throat until it bleeds. Your thighs are drenched in your juices, cunt twitching and clenching in the aftermath of your mind-splitting pleasure. You mumble and whimper as he finally slows down and gives you a sliver of mercy, both of his hands now holding you up by your hips when your torso slowly droops down like it was before. Dabi chuckles behind you quietly as he comes to a halt.

“You good, doll?”

He’s definitely not sincere.

Your eyes squeeze shut and you heave and pant, the fabric in your fingers wrinkling in their grasp.

“Oi, you can’t quit on me now,” he demands. “I haven’t cum yet and I gotta make you squirt again.”

Trying to get a whole, solid word out was a struggle as a result of your heavy breathing and the overstimulation. Your head was fuzzy and the room was spinning like a damn typhoon, and for a split moment you thought you’d fallen unconscious. What spills out is garbled nonsense.

The demon hums that inquisitive hum again, urging you to speak.

You lift your cheek off the bed slightly, as you’re able. “Will...”

You’re not sure why, but the thought of Dabi skipping off after taking your virginity so unceremoniously rang into your thoughts, giving you a sense of loneliness and anxiety. Why, though? Why now?

“Huh?” He leans in so close, his horn bobs off the side of your head when he arches over you to put an ear to your lips. “Try again, love. Go on.” He sounds quite intrigued, probably the most you’ve heard him.

“Will you... hah, leave... me?”

The grin against your neck is dark.

“Whaddya mean, little mouse?”

His voice was downright excited. You were worth the wait. How long had it been since he’d had a human so obedient, so innocent yet so easily corrupted? You were his, now - whether you liked it or not was irrelevant. But he knew you would. Dabi had grown on you far more than you’d ever admit, he knew that for a fact. You were clearly enjoying yourself now, anyway. And it didn’t take magic to do all of this, save for one here and there to coax you to enjoy yourself and to bring out subconscious feelings. Like right now. You felt these things, he just amplified them to an unbearable extent. Whoops. You poor thing.

“Don’t go.”

Eyes half-lidded and droopy, you turn your head to look back at the demon, only to be met with sharp teeth shown off in a naughty grin. You blink once and you could’ve sworn you saw an image of a black, smoky aura surrounding him.

“If you can handle me, dear.”

You nod against the bed slowly before trying to push your ass against him with what little stability you have. Even if his cock was still buried in you, without any movement you felt empty and... alone.

“I thought it was too much?” he quips, hand rubbing at your reddened ass cheek in a way you have to describe as soothing. It felt so silky and mellow. Yet you knew he was far from that. “Well? I thought you were bitchin’ out on me like the virgin you are.”

“In... insi... inside,” you sputter shyly, mental clarity not quite returning, albeit you manage enough to think of that at least. You want him to cum inside, to know what it feels like to be stuffed full of his cum, to feel his cock twitching inside after his release. “C-um.”

You never would’ve thought about that before you met him. Why would you feel this way?

“Aw, what is it?” The hum that results from his scarred throat is dark. “You want me to cum inside right now? I’m not sure you’ve earned that yet.” His voice is bastardly and maybe even a little teasing, and he sighs almost happily at your squirming. “Asking me to cum inside like that the first time you get fucked - such a whore. Have I fucked you stupid already, doll? Shame, I thought you’d hold out better than that.” Dabi clicked his tongue and shook his head, though you can’t see. “Broken so early. Guess there’s no point in me stickin’ around after all, huh?”

A noise sounds from the back of your throat in protest and nearly unbeknownst to you, drool slithers out the corner of your mouth. Dabi seems to ignore your noises as his hands adjust your hips, giving you enough friction to elicit a whine from your lips. You can’t register this at the moment, but Dabi was a victim to his own whims and could be a mix of soft and downright mean in the bedroom, and there’s no telling which will arise. Sometimes he’ll want skin against skin, tongue lashing against yours, fiery pleasure; sometimes he wants to insult you and lash his hand across your ass cheek, leaving bruises or drawing blood wherever he can.

“I was gonna make you convince me,” he breathes, slowly thrusting. “But considering you’re still conscious, I think that’s enough.” Dabi chuckles behind you. Well, you were only conscious as per his meddling. He was the one keeping your consciousness pulled to the surface, preventing you from letting go of reality and passing out. “You’re most welcome to cry and beg, though, babydoll.”

Hell, that list was half-checked off. Tears stained your cheeks and blurred your vision already, and the more he fucked into you, the more they fluttered out. Your lungs burned at this point, a searing heat cutting through your chest. Anything you try to say comes out incoherently, a sputtered and garbled mess, when it’s not a pitiful sob.

You push your hips back against him in an attempt to fuck yourself on his cock while Dabi fucks your puffy cunt, drawing a condescending chuckle from him. The jolt of overstimulation beckoned you to crawl away and relieve yourself of him, but the need to have him thrusting and cumming inside you overcame it. His release and what it would feel like to have his cum mixing with your juices and dripping out of you was all you could think about, as if entranced in a spell that bound your consciousness to that one thing. The rest of your thoughts were jumbled and incoherent even to you, the drool trickling out your mouth and the rolling of your eyes into the back of your head representative of that.

As Dabi watched your pussy envelop him, he couldn’t help but envision his name carved into your asscheeks with a sharpened claw of his. Ah, the squeals and squeaks that crawl out of you would be divine in the most sinful way possible, and the threads of blood that would trickle down your skin would taste head-spinningly beautiful. Maybe next time. Dabi’s jaw clenched at the throb of his cock within your sputtering, velvety walls, the tightness in his abdomen building. Just one more...

“Fuck, little one...!”

As the demon drags sharp claws up your thigh and asscheek, it leaves red ribbons in its wake and the squeeze of your cunt and pitiful squeal tells him well that you’re enjoying it far more than you ever thought you would.

“Such a good fucking human... good fuckin’ hole,” he grunts, voice strained. His hand plants on the middle of your back and pushes hard, bowing your poor back as his other hand keeps your hips up, his cock ramming into you at a faster pace. Dabi lets out a loud groan when he sees the blissed out, tear-stained, drool-covered face of yours before his thrusting loses rhythm and he suddenly feels your pussy flutter around him hard in orgasm again, soaking him in your slick again. Finally he allows himself to find the release you’d internally begged for, fucking into you at a less than rhythmic pace as his own mind begins to become overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Ah, shit. Fuck, fuck, motherfucking-!”

Dabi soon finds his teeth embedded into your flesh and gripping it hard enough to leave a bruise or even cut into the skin as his hips move entirely on their own against you. With a strained moan he cums, thick, warm ropes of cum painting your fluttering, sensitive, and overstimulated walls as you literally cry and sob underneath him, his hips still involuntarily thrusting into you as your cunt milks him for all he’s worth.

“Fucking hell,” he bites out, body relaxing against yours as he comes down from the high, yet he doesn’t pull out. “I missed this.” His voice is breathy and littered with pants against your neck. Dabi leaves a few wet kisses to it before leaning back and slowly pulling out with a groan, leaving you empty and dripping before him. He watches as his cum begins to trickle out but is quick to gather it with his fingers and push it roughly back into your pulsating cunt.

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

Your poor head spins and you don’t know up from down, so Dabi ushers you to lay down and before he knows it, you’re passed out asleep. Eh, he’ll consider aftercare next time maybe. With a yawn that’s more out of sudden boredom than it is exhaustion, Dabi lays down next to you and props his head up with his hand, leaning against his elbow as he watches you sleep peacefully, a complete contrast to a few mere minutes ago. With a smirk he wipes the tears off your cheeks. Those cheeks...

“I oughta answer sacrifices more often.”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi x reader smut #dabi #mha #bnha #blue hour.#*throws candy* happy halloween have some mediocre smut!

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

VALERIE - Part IV. (Harry Styles)

hello loves!! thank you so much for the feedbacks on the previous part, i love to see your thoughts at reactions so please keep them coming for the upcoming parts as well! i was informed that the posts weren’t showing up under the hashtags bc i had an extrernal link to the spotify playlist, so that won’t be available in the next parts, but you’ll always be able to find it in the masterpost if you’d like to give it a listen! those were the songs i listened to while writing the story! now, i dont want to keep you up any longer, here is part 4, one of my personal favs, and im excitedly waiting for your feedbacks on the post! have a wonderful reading!

word count: 4.5k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Valerie is curiously watching her dad work on the portable bed they’ve brought over for the night, her little hands clutching onto Rosa’s shirt as she is telling you all about the list she has made for you. It’s not a long one, but you try to focus on every word she says, making sure you won’t mess anything up.

“I put an X behind the important ones,” she explains pointing at the paper and you nod, eyes roaming down on the few X’s on the list. “The other ones are just suggestions, things I thought you should know.

“Got it,” you nod again, biting into your bottom lip. Bath time, feeding, sleep time, everything is covered in the list and you’re happy she even mentioned the smallest details. Some things might be natural for her as she’s been doing it for months, but it’s your first time completely alone with a baby. You surely don’t want to mess this up, especially because you want her to trust you and let you look after Valerie more often. They deserve a break now and then.

Steven finishes the bed and backs out a few stuffed animals along with two blankets into it, making it look cozy and familiar for Val.

“But most importantly,” Rosa starts and you look her in the eyes. “Call us anytime if you need help or want us to take her home, and I mean it.”

“Not gonna happen,” you shake your head, earning a sigh from your sister.

“Y/N, I’m serious. We are thankful for the help, but it’s not your duty, alright? Just call us anytime, really.”

Nodding your head you flash a smile at her, knowing well nothing on Earth is gonna make you call them tonight. Okay, maybe there are some cases when you would call, but those are quite unlikely to happen.

She hands Valerie over who curiously eyes you before grabbing a handful of your shirt and making herself busy with the fabric.

“It’s gonna be fine. Have a great night, you deserve it,” you smile at them. Steven straightens up and curls an arm around Rosa’s waist as they watch Val in awe, clearly a little worried they are gonna spend an entire night without her, but you can tell they also can’t wait for some alone time.

“Alright, we should get going,” Rosa sighs and stepping closer she kisses Valerie’s head and then your cheek as well. “Have fun with your aunty! We’ll be back for you in the morning, Sweetie.”

She runs her hand over her little head and Valerie smiles at her happily, completely oblivious to what’s really happening. The joys of being just a baby!

Steven says goodbye to her as well and you all head to the door.

“So, we’ll be here around eight, she is usually up by six. Do you want us to pick her up sooner?” Rosa asks standing at the front door.

“Sooner? I was about to tell you to sleep a little longer, you don’t have to come so early.”

“But we don’t want to take away your whole day, you need to rest too,” Steven explains, worry all over his face.

“Stop worrying about me, I’ll be fine. Just enjoy your night off! Come on, I’m throwing you guys out, time for the sleepover to start,” you tell them, shushing them out the door.

It takes some time to finally get them to leave, but they eventually do. Then it’s just the two of you, alone for the first time.

“Ready for your first sleepover, Val?” you ask her, standing in the hallway of your apartment. She just stares back at you, saliva drooling from her mouth but even that looks cute on her. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You braced yourself for the worst. Thought about all the possibilities how the evening would go, but you hoped they wouldn't become reality. Unfortunately, baby Valerie had different plans for the two of you.

The first hour goes by fine. You feed her, have a little play time, reading her favorite book to her, but slowly, you notice her losing interest in anything and everything. Soon enough, you see her face distort into a grimace and a few moments later she starts crying and it’s straight downhill from there.

Nothing can get her to stop. No food, no toy, absolutely nothing. You clown around, trying everything that pops into your mind that would calm her down, but it doesn’t seem like she is about to stop anytime soon.

You start to panic. Rosa told you how fussy she is because of her teeth coming, but you didn’t think it would be this bad. When she’s been crying for an entire hour straight, for a split second, you think about calling Rosa.

“No, not gonna do that,” you say, while Val is still screaming in your arms. “Valerie, what do you want? Tell me and I’ll give it to you, I promise! Just please stop crying!” you whine desperately, but, no surprise, no answer comes from the screaming babe in your arms, just more tears, puffy eyes and red cheeks from all the crying she’s been doing.

Trying to rock her into calmness you are moving around in the apartment when you hear your phone ringing. You instantly think it’s gonna be Rosa, wanting to check in on you, but how are you gonna answer the call when Valeries is screaming from the top of her lungs? She’ll come to pick her up straight away, no doubt about that.

Rushing into the kitchen you are relieved to see that it’s just Harry calling you.

“It’s not the best of times, Styles,” you sigh as you answer the call and put him on the speaker, leaving the phone on the countertop, so you have both your hands free for Valerie.

“Hey, I was just-- what the fuck is happening?” he asks hearing the deadly cries of Val through the line. “Is that Valerie?”

“It is! I’m looking after her so Rosa and Steven can celebrate their anniversary, but she just wouldn’t stop crying! I don’t know what to do!”

You’re absolutely desperate. It’s so bad you can feel your throat closing up, nearing the edge of your patience, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, but you tell yourself only one of you can cry at a time and Val has taken that spot quite some time ago, not even giving you a moment to let loose.

“Text me your address, I’m leaving now,” he orders and you snap your head towards the phone.

“What? No, Harry--”

“Just text me the damn address, Y/N!” he barks and the line cuts off right away.

Your desperation pairs with shock now, not knowing what to think about this short, but quite eventful conversation you just had with him. It takes you a few moments to collect your thoughts, but you end up sending him your address.

Nothing changes in the twenty minutes while you are waiting to hear anything from Harry following your text to him. Valerie keeps crying with three seconds of pauses when she takes a few deep breaths only to start screaming once again. Aside from the headache she is causing you, it’s becoming pretty impressive how long she’s been doing it. You probably would have fainted by now, but it seems like Valerie is running on an endless battery.

“You are really making it hard for me to be a cool aunt, Val,” you mumble, the baby still in your arms as the tears keep rolling down her face. Your light grey shirt is now soaking wet, both from her tears and your sweat from the anxiety she is giving you, mixed with some other things you choose to ignore where they came from.

The doorbell makes you jump, but Valerie doesn’t even bat an eye at the sound, she just keeps going.

“You need to teach me how to have this much energy,” you mumble under your breath as you walk over to the door.

Opening it you find yourself staring up at Harry who is wearing a brown coat, dark jeans and a black hoodie. If you had to guess what he was doing on this weekend evening you would have said he was out with friends somewhere, picking up girls, but he surely doesn’t look like he was anywhere else than his home, the clothes are hanging messily on his frame, like he just threw them on in a rush.

His green eyes look straight at you at first before moving over to the crying child in your arms. You fully expect him to say something along the lines of “this is the kind of effect you have on others” comment, but it seems like he notices the fear and despair in your eyes and he keeps his mouth shut.

“I honestly have no idea what to do,” you choke out and the tears start flowing from your eyes as well, making Harry have to deal with now two crying human beings.

“Oh my, please don’t cry, I can’t take two crying women at once,” Harry begs as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Turning to face you he reaches for Valerie, you hand her over to him, hoping she would magically stop the crying, but she clearly couldn’t care less.

“Why, can you take one?” you ask with a bitter chuckle as you wipe your cheeks.

“Not really,” he admits, making you smile. “So what have you tried?” he asks as he starts swaying and rocking Valerie in hopes of getting her to stop, but not even Harry’s charm stands a chance with her right now. Deep down you’re happy you weren’t the reason she got so fussy and upset, would have been pretty awkward if she stopped the moment Harry took her into his arms.

“Literally everything,” you huff, shoulders falling forward. “I went over the list Rosa gave me, tried everything, but she wouldn’t stop. She’s teething, but this is… It seems like there might be something else maybe?” you tell him worried that something serious might be behind her behavior. You really don’t want to call and bother Rosa, but you are nearing the point where you’ll give up and ask for help.

“Maybe she needs to be changed?” Harry suggests holding her up, giving her butt a sniff, but you roll your eyes at him.

“You don’t think that was one of the first things I did? She is as clean as she could be. Maybe I should just call Rosa,” you sigh in defeat reaching for your phone but Harry snaps at you.

“No! Don’t, we can figure this out. Steven has been so excited to have a night off, we can’t ruin this for them. Come on, we have to have the slightest parenting skills and solve this without them.”

Nodding you agree with him, but you’ve completely run out of ideas.

“So what do you suggest?”

You can see the gears turning in Harry’s head as he is trying to come up with a plan, but it’s not like either of you have any experience with babies. The idea of calling Rosa is starting to burn in the back of your head, fear of failing this challenge taking over your thoughts.

Then Harry looks at you with a look that screams that he has an idea. You’re just about to ask what came into his mind when all of a sudden he starts to sing.

“Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water, and I think of all the things what you’re doing and in my head I paint a picture…”

You instantly recognize Amy Whinehouse’s iconic song, the one that’s also behind Valerie’s name, you know that for sure. Rosa was obsessed with the song growing up, she would sing it on the way to school, in the shower or while making dinner. You weren’t surprised she chose this name for her first daughter.

What surprises you that Harry sings like a literal angel. He hits the notes perfectly, nailing the lines like not many can and you listen to him with parted lips, eyebrows raised. This was the last thing you expected from him, but then again, it’s not the first time Harry has surprised you through the years of knowing him.

Valerie stops for a moment, her hiccups shaking through her body as her tear-filled eyes look up to Harry, and you both think this is gonna be the moment when she finally calms down, but he doesn’t even reach the chorus before she starts crying again, a defeated sigh erupting from him.

“Maybe she wants it instrumental,” you suggest and Harry gives you one of those ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ looks as you leave to run down the hallway, right into your bedroom.

“How am I supposed to make it instru-- what the hell, Y/N?!” He gives you a weirded out look when you return with a guitar in your hands. “Since when do you play the guitar?”

“Since like… eighth grade,” you tell him as you sit on the couch and holding the guitar on your lap you try to find the right accords. “I told you, you know nothing about me.”

Harry nods with a surprised but amazed look on his face as your fingers strum against the chords. It takes a few minutes but you figure it out and glancing up you give a questioning look to Harry.

“From the start?” you ask and he nods his head, continuously bouncing up and down to try to calm Val down.

You start playing the song and soon enough Harry joins you with the singing, the two of you perfectly nailing it even without any practice.

“Stop makin’ a fool out of me, why don’t you come on over, Valerie?”

Maybe it’s the guitar, maybe it’s the singing or maybe the fact that the song has her name in it, but by the time you reach the halfway point in the song Valerie’s crying slowly starts to fade. You instantly share a look with Harry, but don’t stop, fearing that she might start again if the music stops.

Her tear soaked cheeks smooth out as she is not screaming anymore and you can actually see her irises finally, her long lashes are sticking together from the salty tears and you know it’s gonna take some time for her to regain her normal state, but at least the crying has stopped.

“‘Cause since I’ve come on home, well, my body’s been a mess. And I’ve missed your ginger hair and the way you like to dress…”

You tear your eyes off Valerie for a second, letting yourself wander over Harry’s features as he sings. He slightly furrows his eyebrows focusing on the lines, so his forehead has a few creases on it. His lips form the words so clearly and elegantly, you wonder how often he sings. Is it something he only does when he is on his own or he likes to perform as well?

The only time when you heard him sing was at the bar when the two of you slayed the karaoke machine with that Avril Lavigne song. You were smashed by then, you remember that he had a nice voice but it was the last thing you paid attention to. Besides, he was kind of equally drunk as you, it was all for just fun, but now is a completely different situation.

It’s no surprise Valerie finds his voice soothing, you’d probably stop whatever you were doing if you heard him sing. There are people with a good voice and then there are the ones that not just have a good voice but also that small something, that extra magic in them that makes you melt as their voice caress your ears. Harry is definitely the second case, for a moment you forget where you are or why he is there singing. It’s just his voice and the gentle strumming of your fingers on the chords.

At the end of the song he starts repeating Valerie as the song slowly fades into nothing and you both stare at the little girl in his arms, clearly afraid she might start crying again. Unfortunately, your reservations become valid when you see the corners of her mouth curls down and you and Harry share a shocked look immediately.

“What else can you play?” he urges as Val whimpers in his arms, letting you know she does not appreciate that the singing has stopped.

“Shit, shit! Um, something from ABBA?” you propose and Harry nods quickly, not even asking which song you know, so you take it as a sign that he probably knows all of them.

The first song that comes to your mind is Andante, Andante and you don’t hesitate to start playing again, just in time. Valerie was just about to start crying again, but as soon as the melody hit her little ears she calmed down and listened to it with tired looking eyes.

“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze…” Harry sings the words and you can’t hold a smile back as he, once again, hits the notes just perfectly without missing a beat.

You’re convinced there’s not one person on Earth who has never heard a single Abba song, most of the population knows them by heart, but somehow you couldn’t really imagine Harry to be a person who knows the lyrics to the songs as well. But he does and sings it without messing it up even just once. It’s hard to imagine a younger version of Harry singing ABBA songs when they come on the radio, but the more you think about it the more the picture paints itself in your mind.

Valerie lays her head to Harry’s chest, stuffing her thumb into her mouth as she listens to the performance. She is probably enjoying the vibrance of his voice shaking through his chest and maybe this is what brings her the peace she’s been looking for all this time. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of them.

Harry glances at you, eyes so soft you melt under his gaze. However nerve wrecking it was to have Valerie scream for hours, she is still the cutest little thing ever as she rests her head on his chest, her long blinks giving it away she has definitely lost most of her energy.

You don’t dare to stop the singing and playing. When you near the end of a song you quickly think of something else and whisper it over to Harry, who then gives his feedback on it with either a nod or a shake of his head. Most of the time he knows the songs you suggest so the show continues without a stop.

Half an hour passes by when you see her eyes slowly closing. You still don’t stop though, only when Harry tries to listen to her breathing and he realizes that it was completely slowed down. She is out.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out quietly, your fingers feeling numb from the playing. You haven’t had a guitar in your hands for this long in a while, probably for years. Harry shares your relief, his throat has completely dried out and he is happy to finally breathe evenly, not just sneak a few breaths in between lines.

“And now what?” he mouths as he is still gently swaying around with the sleeping Valerie in his arms. You put the guitar aside and check if she is for real asleep. Her long lashes are spread out on her puffy cheeks, gently snoozing into Harry’s chest as if she weren’t screaming for dear life just an hour ago.

“Let’s put her down,” you whisper and nod at him to follow you.

Reaching your bedroom you only switch your bedside lamp on so the light doesn’t wake her up. Pushing the stuffed animals to the side you grab the blankets and let Harry do the critical job. Leaning down he oh so slowly starts to pull her away from his chest, careful not to move too suddenly, it all feels like in those action movies when they are trying to get through the lasers without triggering the alarm. One bad move and the screaming threatens to start again and that’s the last thing you want, after all you’ve done to calm her down.

You don’t even realize it but as you watch her little head reach the mattress you hold your breath, almost wincing upon seeing Harry’s hands slide out from under her sleeping frame. As if you wait for something to go wrong, both of you freeze for a moment, expecting her to start moving around and wake up, but she stays still.

Eyes snapping up to Harry, you exchange a look and then you both head to the door, careful not to make any noise that can possibly shake Valerie up from her dreams.

“This was more tiring than running a marathon,” he huffs, throwing himself to the couch and you do the same next to him.

“Have you ever run a marathon?”

“No,” he confidently answers and you look over at him with a puzzled look. “But I can imagine how tiring it is.”

You let out a chuckle, letting your eyes close for just a little bit. You haven’t even had the chance to realize how much this whole struggle with Val sucked the energy out of you, but now that you’re half lying on the couch it hits you all at once.

“I should get going,” you hear Harry mumble, clearly just as tired as you are, but he doesn’t move.

“Mhm,” you hum, feeling yourself drift to sleep.

Neither of you moves and it doesn’t take a whole five minutes for the both of you to completely doze off.

The next time you wake up you feel an arm curled around your waist and someone is definitely pressed up against you while your back is against the back of the couch. It takes you a couple of moments and some blinking to realize it’s Harry you are all snuggled up to and the reason why you woke up is because Valerie is crying again.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself, mind still groggy from the sleep as you push yourself up on the couch. Just moments later Harry’s eyes flush open and you’re not sure it’s because of the crying or because you moved next to him. His arm slides off you as he looks around a little confused about his surroundings.

You don’t have the chance to think about how the two of you ended up cuddling on the couch, though it lingers in the back of your mind. Basically crawling over Harry you rush into your bedroom where Valerie is lying in her bed crying. It’s a different kind of cry, not like the one you were stuck with for hours before and you know she must be hungry.

“Ah, come on, little girl. It’s alright,” you coo at her scooping her into your arms. She immediately cuddles to your chest hiccupping against it, her little hands fisting your shirt. You leave to go to the kitchen and feed her, but just as you’re about to step out of the room you bump into Harry.

You bounce back from his chest, but his hand immediately reaches for you and grabs your arm, holding you in case you might fall back.

“Sorry,” you breathe out, thoughts still foggy a little. “She’s… hungry,” you explain, but he is standing so close to you, you can feel his body’s warmth and it instantly ignites the memory of being pressed against his side on the couch just moments ago and you can’t stop yourself from inhaling a shaky breath.

“Let me help,” he croaks out and the two of you walk into the kitchen. Putting on her bib you hand her over to Harry who sits with her on his lap on a stoop as you get the baby food, warm it a little before joining the two of them and you slowly start feeding her.

“What time is it?” you ask realizing you have no idea how long you two have been asleep on the couch.

“It’s three am,” Harry answers before smiling down at Val. “Good job, Val!” he hums watching her take the spoon into her mouth.

You finish up feeding her, then give a try at burping her even though Rosa said it’s not necessary anymore. She just hums to herself so you head back to the bedroom, her eyes already threatening to close. By the time you put her back to the bed she is out again, so no private show is needed this time.

Walking out of the room you see Harry putting on his shoes and coat. For a split second you feel disappointed that he is leaving, but then your rational side puts you to your place. Of course he is leaving! Val is fine now, there’s no other reason for him to stay, right?

“Harry,” you softly say and he looks at you. “Can you please not tell Rosa and Steven that I needed help with Val?” you quietly ask, though there’s no doubt your eyes are practically begging him.

“No way I’ll ever admit to Steven that I sang ABBA to his child, so don’t worry about it,” he chuckles making you smile as well.

“Thank you. And for helping me as well. I was really close to giving it up,” you admit folding your arms on your chest as Harry stands at the front door, hand on the door knob as he is looking back at you.

“No problem. Now you owe me one,” he smirks and you can’t hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

“Sure,” you say with an airy chuckle. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he smiles at you sweetly before opening the door and walking out.

You take his place at the door and watch him walk down the eerily quiet hallway. He turns back to you one last time waving in your way and you nod back smiling before he disappears around the corner.

Closing the door you lean your back against it, taking a deep breath. Your eyes wander over to the couch where you and Harry were sleeping not so long ago. The feeling of his arm around you is still burned into your mind and you breathe in shakily as a memory snaps into your head of the exact same thing, only years earlier.

You lied almost exactly like that in his hotel room that night. His strong arms wrapped around you as you had your head laid on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was slightly faster than the normal. Though you were still quite drunk, this feeling imprinted into your memories, because you felt so safe with him. Like nothing could ever hurt you if he was there with you.

Unfortunately, that feeling faded into nothing when you woke up in the morning quite fast. But this time, instead of disappointment and disgust, the only thing you still feel is the emptiness at the lack of his touch.

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jimlingss · 3 years

Note

Hi! I hope you are doing well ☺️ I have a request!

With Jimin, mainly fluff, a tiny angst and a smudge of smut if you are comfortable, I was thinking in frenemies2l au 😅 you know like they are friends but there is tension, but the good kind and feelings and witty banter and maybe some misunderstanding

“Can I at least tell my side of the story?”

“I can’t keep playing pretend.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

“You should probably go home.” “But I’m already home.”

Love your writing btw!! ❣️

Anonymous said: jimin x fluff/crack humour x “Is the cat in a onesie?” “Uh, no? (optional!) x someone contracts Black Cat Flu: a disease that causes chronic bad luck and has to be under quarantine. method of cure? up to you!

↳ Black Cat Flu

2.9k || 98% Fluff, 2% Angst || Park Jimin || Magic!AU, Frenemies!AU

Every night, you answer house calls.

It’s a tough job from time to time, especially when patients are difficult or the problem itself is complex. One thing’s for sure — there’s never a shortage of issues. Plenty of witches and wizards like to be irresponsible with magic. But you enjoy the job. It’s worth it when you can leave with a sound heart that your patient is on their way to recovering. It’s worth staying up past dusk and dawn when you know you’ve eased a family and saved them from unnecessary grief.

But what you don’t expect is answering a house call for Park Jimin.

You’re standing in front of his townhouse with a long sigh, gripping your first aid kit in one hand and your wand in the other. In spite of the sharp black gate and the pointed edges of his roof that gives off an eerie feeling, he’s decorated the front windows with goofy, flashing pumpkin stickers and charmed fireflies to twinkle and light up the stair railing. That was Jimin for you.

You knock on the door.

Immediately, you hear thumps that follow, a muffled curse and then the door opens.

On the other side, Jimin is disheveled. His brown hair is sticking in all directions, his navy shorts are covered in soot and short enough to be boxers, and there’s a tear in his black and white long sleeve. You try to not to stare at the skin of his tummy. It’s not too hard to resist when his brown eyes are perfectly rounded and he’s staring into your soul with a distressed expression.

The door knob falls into his hand.

“Y/N! Thank god, it’s you!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything!”

Your brow lifts. “Like usual?”

Jimin hangs his head. “It’s even worse.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. What did you do this time?”

You step inside the house and notice the thick smoke billowing out from one of the rooms. Jimin barely manages to shove the door shut behind you. “I was experimenting and something happened and now everything around me keeps breaking.”

His black cat, Seokjin, scurries across the floor of the living room. He turns his head to hiss at you and then disappears down the hall. You look at Jimin. “Is the cat in a onesie?”

“Uh, no?”

You don’t prod and pry more than you have to. You’ve been friends with Jimin long enough to know better than to ask what goes on in that brain of his. You’ll never understand him. Nor do you want to.

Instead, you follow after him.

Jimin’s always been clumsy, so it’s no surprise when he trips on the hall rug. But it’s never been this bad — arms flailing, body like jelly, feet slipping. “Woah!” You step back and he manages to grasp onto the door frame for balance before he can eat shit. But it breaks in his hand.

Part of the door frame crumbles off and into his hand. He curses and looks at you. “See what I mean?”

You peek into the room. The cauldron is still steaming. It smells like catnip.

“What were you trying to make?”

“A sweet potion.”

From your fuzzy knowledge of potions class years ago, you recall it being the weaker counterpart to the infamous love potion. Some might dub it as a liking potion.

You hum curiously. You thought Jimin had no problems trying to make friends.

Jimin grabs a bottle off his shelf and the moment it’s in his palm, the glass bursts in his hand. He looks at you. You’re expressionless. “Go lay down.”

“If you lay with me,” Jimin says while he tries to shake the glass off. You whirl your wand and every fragment and shard floats in the air before showering down to the ground.

You give him a lazy glare and lift your first aid kit up. “I’m going to toss this at you.”

The boy grins. “That’s not really my kink, but if it’s you, I might be into it.”

Yet in spite of Jimin’s mouthiness, he still listens to you and makes his way to his room.

On the way, he turns slightly. “Have you been busy tonight?”

“Not reall— Jimin!”

Your shout is too late. He collides with his own decorative flower vase and it shatters around his feet into a million bits. Jimin deflates, shoulders slugging, looking down at what was once his favourite vase that he got from his late grandma. “Shit.”

“Don’t move,” you warn him. But yet again, it’s too late.

As the words are coming out of your mouth and before your wand can whirl again, he’s stepping back. Right onto a mountain of sharp glass fragments. Jimin winces. You groan. He bleeds all over the place.

You barely manage to get him into bed and his feet bandaged.

“Say ah.”

“Ah.”

You look into his mouth with the light from the tip of your wand and a popsicle stick pressed against his tongue. Then you hum and move to shine the light in each of his eyes to look at his pupils.

“I think I need mouth-to-mouth,” Jimin says.

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” you mutter.

He grins and you step back, finished with the examination. “Am I dying, doctor?”

“No. It’s much worse,” you deadpan and Jimin looks genuinely taken aback. A second later, you snort with a smile. “I’m kidding.”

Jimin sighs in exasperation. “You shouldn’t play with my heart like that. There’s only so much I can take when you’re already this hot.”

He wiggles his brows and scans your figure up and down, but you’re not so sure what there is to look at when you’re tired, sweaty, and covered from head to toe, dressed in black and just a white doctor’s coat. “You contracted Black Cat Disease. Looks like a bad case too. A bad case of bad luck.”

You open the first aid kit and spray yourself with disinfect ten times over, making sure to get every inch of your body. Then you’re putting on a mask and gloves. Magic can only do so much — personal protective equipment will do the rest.

“Aw, this means I really can’t kiss you tonight, can I?”

You ignore him. “You have to be under quarantine for the time being.”

“What’s the cure?”

“True love’s kiss.” Silence. The corner of your lip tugs. “Kidding. Rest and sleep. All flus past that way.”

You come over and push Jimin’s shoulder so he’s no longer sitting up and his back hits the mattress, head against the pillows. You tug the blanket up over his body and he pouts.

“This sucks.”

“Sure does. Now rest. I’ll make a tonic for you.” You shift on your feet and get to your kit without a moment’s rest. You want to treat Jimin as quickly as possible.

But before you get out the door, his soft voice stops you—

“Thanks, Y/N. I mean it.”

You peek over your shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know I’d do anything for you.” There’s a strangely intimate pause as Jimin gazes at you with a tender smile. It makes you sweat and you hastily add, “Plus, this is my job.”

...

You’ve nursed a lot of people before. But Jimin is not on your list of people you want to offer your expertise to. He’s your friend, yes, but lately, you’ve been more distant. He can just be a bit too much sometimes. Especially now.

“What the hell are you doing.”

He’s up. Standing by his bedroom cobblestone fireplace. Wrapped in his blankets. And the corner of said blanket is on fire. Jimin manages to stomp it out before it can light up the entire goddamn thing and burn his body as well. There’s definitely no cure for that.

He sulks. “I was just trying to start the fireplace. I’m cold!”

“Go back to bed before I knock you out.”

With your monotone and dead stare, Jimin knows not to mess around. He doesn’t banter or add unnecessary comments. “Yes, ma’am.”

You sigh and as he gets settled down again, you place the tonic down on his bedside.

As much as you want to answer another house call and escape this place, you can’t leave him be. Jimin almost set himself and the house on fire, and knowing him, he’d somehow hurt himself again and you’d have to come back anyway. There’s no one else to take care of him. At least not here.

“When you get better, you should probably go home.” You look down to see his chubby fingers gripping the edge of the blanket that he’s brought to the bridge of his nose. The only features of Jimin revealed are his eyes and his soft locks of hair against the pillow. He looks both dumb and cute. You can’t decide which. “To your parents.”

Jimin’s eyes crinkle and you know he’s smiling. “But I’m already home.”

For the briefest of moments, a mere millisecond, your brows furrow.

You quickly turn away, but Jimin caught your expression all too easily. His smile falls.

There’s an undeniable tension to the air ever since you stepped foot inside this house. Every bantering remark from you has had more of a vicious bite to it than usual. And you know you’ve been shutting down his playful teasing each time when you used to entertain it more. But it’s all been subtle. No one should notice the change.

Too bad Jimin’s too perceptive for his own good.

He can tell you’re not comfortable, that your shoulders are tense, that you’re trying to get out of here….

And sensing a confrontation, you make an escape. “I have to grab something from—”

The blanket is thrown off. Jimin lurches forward. His hand wraps around your wrist before you’re too far away.

“I can’t keep playing pretend,” he murmurs in a velvet voice, mischievous side tucked away in favour of something more serious. “Pretend that everything’s okay. That we’re okay.”

You control your expression, turn to face him and you play dumb. “What do you mean?”

“You’re mad.”

You scoff and something inside you snaps. He just has to force a confrontation when you clearly don’t want one, doesn’t he? But why are you surprised. What Jimin wants, Jimin gets.

“Why would I be mad? That you dated Jungkook when you knew I had it bad for him?” Your sarcasm is venomous and it’s spat from your lips. “Of course not! I’m over it.”

You never expected your friend would become your love rival. You know Jimin’s ass is nice — it’s clear to see. But you never knew it would be weaponized against you.

He winces and lets go of you. “Can I at least tell my side of the story?”

“What could your side possibly be, Jimin? What’s your excuse this time?”

“It’s not an excuse.”

“You knew I liked Jungkook! I told you about it. I confided in you. But you went ahead and dated him anyway!”

Jimin sputters. “It’s not my fault he liked me!”

The hand gripping your wand quivers but in your anger, you still know better than to use an offensive spell against him. “You were giving him signals!”

Jimin slumps. It’s an admission of guilt.

Yet he still has the audacity to blurt, “I just didn’t want him to go out with you!”

“Why?! Because you’d be jealous?!” you shout and he pales. You know you’ve hit bullseye, so you keep going, “You don’t want to be the only lonely one? You’d rather us both not date?”

Jimin sighs out of frustration. “It’s not like that, Y/N.”

There’s a burning in your eyes. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you got infected with the Black Cat Disease, but you realize it’s tears. Which is even worse.

“It was a shitting thing to do,” you seethe in a sharp whisper. “And you didn’t even like him. You dumped him after three days.”

“I had to.”

But by then, you don’t want to hear him anymore. You can’t take it anymore.

You twist on your heel and leave the room, eyes stinging at the betrayal of your friend. You don’t know why he has to confront you now when you’re supposed to be working. He’s always catching you off guard, always caring more for himself. Jimin has no regard for you whatsoever.

You have half a mind to realize Jimin’s chasing after you, limping on his bandaged foot.

“Will you just wait? Where are you going?! Y/N!” The floorboard in the hall cracks. Jimin’s other foot falls through and becomes lodged into the ground. He curses aloud, physically stuck in place. But you don’t turn around. He’s not your problem anymore. He should’ve never been—

“I can’t date him when I’m in love with you!”

You freeze. And turn around. “What?”

“I know. I fucked up. I just….I didn’t want Jungkook to go out with you. So I started to flirt with him and the next thing I know, he’s asking me out. I didn’t know you’d be so hurt, that you liked him so much.” Jimin’s downcast eyes search the floor in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

“What did you just say?”

He looks up at you. “I’m sorry.”

“No, before that.”

“I...didn’t want Jungkook to go out with you..?”

“No, you idiot! You’re in love with me?”

“Yeah.” Jimin shifts and realizes his foot is still stuck in the floor. He winces. “Fuck, Y/N. My feet really hurt. I need to sit down.”

You immediately move, putting his arm around your shoulder and hoisting him up. The both of you are silent as you guide him back into bed. His house is practically destroyed from his bad luck — door knobs gone, door frames chipped off, glass shards everywhere, smoke in the living room and now a giant hole in the hallway. But you know there’s nothing a wand can’t fix, so you push it all aside.

There’s more important matters to deal with.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” you whisper, unable to believe it.

Jimin, lying on his bed, turns his head towards you and the corners of his mouth draw meekly. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but guess I did that anyway.” After a beat, he reveals, “I was….I was making that potion for you. I wanted you to like me again.”

“Why? Did you think I hated you or something?”

“Seemed like it.” He smiles more genuinely. “Especially after all that, how could I not?”

“I was just mad. Still kind of am.” You scoff lightly, unable to fathom how everything spiraled out of control from one event. You’ll truly never understand how Jimin’s brain works and how he managed to make such a mess. He’s stupid. Endearingly stupid. “I’d kiss you if you weren’t sick.”

All at once, Jimin’s eyes light up. “You...you don’t hate me for being in love with you?”

“No, you idiot.”

“Then…..do you feel the same way?”

“It’s just a lot to take in,” you admit, feeling your face warm. This was a different kind of confrontation that you didn’t expect to happen tonight and you’re not sure you hate it. “But...when you get better, take me on a proper date and I’ll tell you then.”

Jimin grins, getting settled into his sheets. “I’m feeling better already.”

....

epilogue.

((Jimin, in fact, does not feel better. He wakes up worse and you end up having to deliver him into the clinic where he’s looked after for the next two weeks. It’s one of the worst Black Cat Disease cases that the witch doctors have ever seen. His entire house ends up being taped off for being a biohazard and the potion in the cauldron is taken as a biochemical weapon. It’ll apparently be two months until he can move back in, so he’s rendered homeless.

When he’s discharged from the clinic, you take him in.

And that date doesn’t happen for a while considering his feet take much longer to recover and he’s practically limping everywhere. Apparently the glass really got lodged in there and his floorboards are super sharp once they’ve been punctured. But he still tries to take you for a midnight broom ride. You stop him when his bandages are soaked with blood. That one attempt doubled his recovery time.

It turns out his cat, Seokjin, was stuck in a onesie because it was Jimin’s way of dealing with the fleas on his cat. As if covering the issue would make it go away. And by the time you realized this, your house had an entire flea infestation.

When Jimin’s healthy again, you’re this close to kicking him out. But with every mistake he makes, he fixes each of them. Sort of. And he really does manage to sweep you off your feet on that date. As stupid as Jimin can be, he has his own charms and he bewitches you under the stars and moonlight.

But by then, it’s not like it really matters.

You’ve been living with the guy. Sleeping together, in both meanings. And you argue a healthy amount. Just like a married couple.))

#bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #jimin fluff #bts scenario #jimin reader insert #jimin x reader #jimin fanfiction #Anonymous

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nonbinarytoga · 4 years

Text

Radioactive Izuku au from @polarspaz au that they’ve allowed me to write (I asked on anon but it was me dw). Please support them and their art!

Title: 200,000 Rads

Chapter 1: Chance Encounter

Word Count: 2,852

"I'll be back soon, Mom," Izuku called weakly as he peeked into his mother's bedroom. She was curled up in her futon, her face a bright red as she sweated through her fever. Izuku clutched his mother's wallet in his hands nervously, inching towards the front door. He almost wished that his mother would get up, that her fever would magically be cured and that he wouldn't have to leave the safe haven he called home.

But his mother remained still, her eyes bleary with sickness. Izuku licked his lips, tasting the sour tang of radiation on his tastebuds and swallowed roughly. He steeled himself and turned around, walking to the front door and yanking it open before his anxiety could make him stop.

He stood, breathless, in the doorway for a couple of seconds as terror climbed up his throat. Spit pooled into his mouth, the taste of radiation filling his senses, almost choking him on the cloying taste. He swallowed harshly, wincing at the taste. Later, he would have to use a few rounds of mouthwash to clear him of the taste.

He wanted nothing more than to turn back around and hide under his covers. No! His mother was counting on him! It was an easy task, he just had to get some medicine, some cold compresses, and then he could come home! He slowly stepped out of their little apartment door, closed it and locked it behind him and then stepped out into the world.

It had been a little while since he had been outside since he was exposed to everyone out in the open. It was terrifying. He shuffled through, his hands stuffed into his pockets with little to no skin showing as he slithered down the hallway and towards the street. It was later in the day, most people were either getting home from work and school or just going out to enjoy the coming night.

Izuku quickly made his way down the road, practically running down the sidewalk and further into the city. He could feel people looking at him from all over, probably confused as to why he was wearing such heavy clothing. A heavy and cushioned jacket with a fur-coated hood, thick ski goggles, a pair of black sweatpants, black boots, and a face mask to top it off. People shuffled away from him, clearing the area as he trudged through. There were some people who had lived in the area long enough to know who he was. They didn't know too much about him, just that he was the daughter of Inko and had some sort of terrible quirk.

People who Izuku used to see daily when he was young sent him small nods or waves, but they knew that Izuku wouldn't respond. Izuku didn't have time for them anyway, and it was better to get in and get out without getting too attached to them. The memories of the person that he was before his quirk were hazy, but he could remember enough. They were incredibly bittersweet, but the deeper he went the more horrific the memories became.

Izuku slowed down to a jog as he reached the store, pushing open the door and slipping inside. There weren't many people inside the store, thankfully, and Izuku found himself quietly searching the shelves with pursed lips. Searching them with a critical eye, his fingers brushed up against boxes and bottles of medical supplies. The hum of some pop song on the radio had Izuku softly tapping his toe against the tile as he reached for the box of fever medicine for his mother.

As his fingers touched the box, another hand brushed against his. He squeaked and flinched back, startled as he looked up to see who had touched him. A tall blonde man with startling green eyes looked down at him. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and he had a thin mustache that was separated into two halves on his upper lip.

"Oops! Sorry 'bout that, little listener!" Present Mic chirped, "go ahead."

"A-ah, no," Izuku flushed, waving his hands around in a nervous twitch, "please, take it, um, Mr. Present Mic."

Present Mic snorted, "please, Mr.Present Mic was my father. Just call me Mic, okay?" He grinned, "and I mean it. You look a little under the weather yourself," he gave Izuku an easygoing smile and handed him the box of medicine, "next time, though, how about you go out before you get sick, yeah?"

"M-me? But I'm not," Izuku trailed off, realizing that Mic thought that he was the one who was sick. He nodded instead of explaining himself, "yes, thank you very much!" He gave Mic a low bow and shuffled away, leaving Mic to get whatever else he needed to get.

Behind his mask, a giddy smile rose onto Izuku's face. He met a pro hero! Present Mic was one of his all-time favourite heroes, with his incredibly popular radio show and incredibly kind demeanour, it was no wonder why so many people took a liking towards him and Izuku was no different.

Oh, Mom was gonna be so jealous once she heard! Izuku was practically squealing with delight, but he kept it in long enough to get to the front counter. A teen looking to be a few years older than Izuku stood there, chewing quietly on a piece of gum and looking at him with a blank face. She scanned his items, he paid, and then he was out of there.

His high from meeting Present Mic was still coiling within his chest, so much so that he decided to go on a small walk before he went home. He grinned behind his mask, knowing that his mother would be incredibly proud of him for getting out. He had become a bit of a home-body since the accident.

He hummed quietly to himself as he walked the streets, taking in the fresh night air. He felt lighter than usual. Happier since one of his long-time idols. As he strolled deeper into the city, however, the sound of a battle reached his ears. His legs began to move on their own, an aching curiosity curling in his chest as he speed-walked over to where the noise was coming from.

He peeked around the corner and then flinched back with a gasp.

Izuku's throat felt like it was closing up. He was pushed against the cold wall of a dark alleyway, staring into the heart of a battlefield. Three people took up the dim area, two boys who looked to be around Izuku's age and one adult that even the dumbest person could point out to be Stain. The Hero Killer. Izuku gripped the grocery bag he had picked up for his mother, watching with bated breath as the villain spouted some sort of nonsense about hating heroes and how those at UA were choosing to become corrupt.

"You hero students are all the same!" Stain hissed, wielding his dual swords as he slashed at the two students with reckless abandon, "you follow All Might blindly and never think about those who have been hurt by heroes!"

Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a yelp as Stain's sword slashed against the boy with two-toned hair. Blood splattered on the dark pavement as the boy lept away, throwing out his arm to send a sheet of ice towards Stain that the villain easily dodged. His long tongue flicked out to lave at the sharp metal and the boy dropped like a rock. Izuku started to tremble in horror, tears building in his eyes that glowed an eerie green. He was going to die! Stain was going to kill him!

"You almost killed my brother!" The other boy, dressed in a sort of knights outfit, roared as he sprinted for Stain, "I won't let you kill my friends!" He grabbed at Stain, flinging him against the wall and slamming his arms into Stain's chest to pin him. The force made rubble tumble lazily off of the roof of the building, missing the fighting men by a few feet.

Stain cackled from where he was pinned, giddy as can be, "you're his brat brother, eh?" He hissed, one hand still gripping his main sword tightly, "how lovely it will be, taking down TWO Indegniums in such a short period of time!"

He raised his sword and brought it down, catching the tender skin that was exposed between panels of metal, spraying more blood into the air. Stain's tongue lashed out and lapped up the blood, causing the boy to slump uselessly to the ground. Stain laughed again, kicking the boy harshly in the side where he was unguarded.

"How pathetic," he spat, "you'll be fun to kill, you wanna-be hero." He raised his sword, taking it in two hands and resting it above where Indegnium's heart was, lifted up and-

"NO!" Izuku shouted, throwing off his puffy jacket and knocking Stain off of Indegnium, sending the two of them sprawling onto the ground. Stain recovered faster than Izuku could, snarling in fury.

"Who the hell are you, kid?" Stain spat, raising his sword, "another hero brat?! My lucky day!"

Izuku scrambled back, letting out a terrified squeak as Stain's sword came down. A searing pain curled on his face and he screamed, his hands flying up to his face. Blood poured messily down his face, getting into his mouth and soaking into his clothes. Izuku looked through the blood and his tears to see Stain standing still above him, staring at his sword. Izuku's blood caked his sword and was glowing horrible neon green.

"Interesting," Stain growled, sticking out his tongue to lick over the blood.

"No, don't!" Izuku yelled, "it's not safe!"

It was too late, Stain's tongue curled over Izuku's blood. Izuku wilted, slumping against the ground. He could see Stain, unable to move his head and watched in horror as Stain's face fell. Literally.

Stain howled in pain, gripping at his face and dropping his weapon as his face began to melt off. His tongue, long and slick, began to char and fell off in a meaty clump as Izuku's blood coursed through his face. Stain's skin sloughed off like wet newspaper, his blood and muscles twitching as they boiled from the strength of Izuku's radiation. Izuku gagged at the sight, his breath picking up quickly as his own blood slowly crawled over the ground, shining like paint under blacklight. It crawled sluggishly across, most of it soaking into Izuku's clothes, burning larges holes into his shirt and pants, while Stain gurgled messily on his own blood.

Stain was still screaming as he went down, his eyes starting to melt right out of his head. They rolled out of his head and splattered on the ground like pudding while more blood gushed from his wounds. His nose, or what was left of it, melted away to expose blood. His cheeks started to burn off, the smell of scorched flesh filling the air as more muscle and skin melted away, his teeth literally falling out of his head and falling to the ground like mints.

Izuku was crying, wailing out into the night to match Stain's own gargled howls of agony until the radiation reached his throat and melted away his vocal cords. Stain gave a few more chokes, and then vomited and in a horrifying display of regurgitation, vomited up his own stomach. Izuku closed his eyes tight as feeling slow came back to him as Stain finally died. He scrambled up, unable to get up past his knees as he gagged and vomited up his dinner. He coughed loudly, openly sobbing and wailing both in pain in terror.

He could hear police sirens getting closer as he started to pant, his breath coming in faster and faster until he was barely breathing at all. A hand touched his back and Izuku howled, scrambling up and away from whoever touched him only to fall onto his ass. Looking up, one of the boys who had been fighting Stain stood above him, staring at him with open eyes in shock. He took a step forward and Izuku scooted back, uncaring that he was smearing around his own sick and radiation, shaking his head.

"No, no, no, no, no, don't get close to me!" He shouted hoarsely, "please! I-I can't hurt anyone else, please!"

The boy paused and took a few steps back, blinking a few times and shaking his head as if to clear away whatever he was thinking. He returned to his partner and began to tend to his wounds with a medical kid strapped to his side. Izuku sobbed quietly as he pressed up to the wall, covering his face with his hands and shaking.

The sirens got louder and louder until the skid of tires on the pavement reached their location. The sound of multiple pairs of footsteps made Izuku looked up, and he melted when he saw who was there. Some police officers, a man in a long tan coat, and the pro heroes Thirteen and Present Mic.

Present Mic was speaking in low tones to the man in the tan coat but went silent when he saw Izuku. His face dropped, his eyes flickering over the scene of gore that surrounded and covered Izuku, and then to the radioactively green sludge that covered him. He took a step forward, but Thirteen beat him to it.

"Stay here," they said firmly, patting Present Mic's chest. They stepped forward and crouched down in front of Izuku, putting their palms out in a placating motion. "You're safe now," they said softly, "are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

Izuku coughed, wiping the blood away from his mouth and shook his head, "J-just my face," he stammered, "I, um, my quirk," he sniffled, hands shaking in fear.

Thirteen hummed and nodded slowly, "what is this stuff made out of?" They motioned towards Izuku's blood on the floor.

"It's radioactive," Izuku replied, "don't touch it. It," he looked towards Stain's body which was little more than a clump of flesh and bones on the ground. Looking at it had him bursting into tears once more, molten green trailing down his cheeks as he began to wail.

Thirteen was quiet, and then carefully grasped Izuku's hands to pull them towards their own, "it's going to be okay," they said, "you're not in trouble. I'm pretty sure I can clean stuff up, but then we need to get you to UA. Who's your doctor?"

Izuku whimpered, throwing himself into Thirteen's arms and crying quietly. The hero rubbed his back in slow circles in a soothing manner. As Izuku's tears began to dry, he noticed that Present Mic was inching closer to them. Thirteen noticed as well, they sighed and waved him over quietly.

Izuku told her the name of the agency that the Hero Commission assigned to him when he was born, as well as the name of his personal doctor while Thirteen uncapped one of their fingers and sucked up the radioactive sludge on the ground, sans the stuff that used to be Stain.

"What's your quirk, dear?" Thirteen asked as they capped their finger, allowing the EMT's and other heroes to approach while a separate group attended to the two UA students. Izuku sniffled, wiping his clothes with his bright green blood and tears.

"Radiation," he replied in a croaky voice, "it comes out when I get stressed."

Thirteen nodded their head, turning to Present Mic who had been put into a radiation suit just in case, his hair making his head lumpy underneath the bright yellow suit. He squatted down in front of Izuku, looking at him through the face shield.

"It was very brave of what you did, little listener," Present Mic said seriously, "you saved Shouto and Indegnium's lives tonight-if you weren't here they could have been seriously injured or worse."

Izuku nodded, flinching when one of the EMT's tried to touch his face, "those bandages won't work," he croaked, "you have to use the special ones."

The EMT looked a little irked but pulled away all the same. Thirteen gently massaged at Izuku's shoulder, their touch was grounding to Izuku.

"We have to take you to UA," they said, "so your doctor can patch you up. Eraserhead will be there and he can stop your quirk. Is that alright with you?"

"That's fine," Izuku said softly, and with Thirteen's help, he slowly got to his feet. His body felt numb and shaky as he followed the two heroes out of the alleyway and towards a familiar vehicle. It was a circular pod with a radiation symbol on the front, strapped to a truck. Izuku broke away from the heroes and climbed into the pod without fuss, looking out the thick glass windows as the pod lit up green with his light. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the warm metal as his radiation warmed it up, and wished he was at home.

#writing #z's writing #bnha #mha #Izuku midoriya #deku

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rosy-cheekx · 3 years

Note

Aesthetic prompt- song: "in hell i'll be in good company" by the dead south; vibe: steam off a warm drink, heavy rain on windows; color: cool gray, bronze, red :)

Took me long enough! This fic is months in the making, but I am so excited to finally be able to answer this prompt. This is chapter 1 of probably 3!

A Phoenix Razed

Chapter 1- Rebirth

---

3 days since Great Yarmouth

Tim’s hands encircled the paper cup in his lap. The cup was small, he noted; he could clasp his fingers together easily. Or maybe his hands were just big. The tea was dark, way over-steeped, and the herbal scent bloomed out in waves alongside the rising steam. There was no sugar, no milk, none of the usual accoutrement Tim used to take tea. Just harsh, bitter, black.

It’s what you deserve.

Tim rolled his eyes at his internal monologue, drama queen, and sipped the beverage. Agh, still hot? He sucked in air through his teeth, startling Martin, who he’d forgotten was beside him.

“Tim?” He snapped his eyes up from where they had been resting on the book, lips moving to form words Tim hadn’t been listening to. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, burnt my tongue.” Tim’s words sounded like a shrug, slumped and uninterested, now out of his reverie.

Silence stretched between him and Martin. Or, Tim wished it was silence. The only sound was the low static of the EEG, a rainbow of wires between the machine and Jonathan Sims’ scalp, shaved to accommodate the electrodes. What Tim wouldn’t give for any level of sound other than what they experienced right now. Any less, and there would be an answer to the question, “Will Jon ever wake up?”, and more would mean his heart was working, or lungs, or any other number of body parts to which machines were attached, waiting for any sign of response.

It’s your fault he’s like this.

It should have been you.

Tim exhaled and sipped the tea again, more careful this time. It was still hot—he was pretty sure the burn on his tongue made it feel even hotter—but he tempered his expectations and swallowed a sip of the bitter liquid, letting the raw flavor coat his throat.

“-there’s not much point to this, huh?” Martin asked, slipping a tattered bookmark between the pages of the book he had been reading—he was hoping to annoy Jon with poetry into waking up with Tennyson’s Ulysses—and letting it slip from his lap to the bed, green cover stark against the yellowish-white of the thin blanket.

“I don’t know, Marto, doctors said he might be able to hear us. Maybe dear Alfie will bore Jon back to life,” but Tim’s words lacked the bite and humor that was meant to be there.

“Don’t-” Martin warned softly, shaking his head and pushing his reading glasses through his fringe of curls. “He’s not…he’s still alive. He’s just lost.”

“You’re right,” Tim nodded, placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder lightly before pulling it away as he felt the round of Martin’s shoulder twinge under his touch. “You know what I mean.” He rubbed at the bandages that wound around his abdomen, letting himself indulge in the ache of raw skin and muscle and fat, the hiss of pain atonement for his sins.

Martin sighed, a slow, burdensome sound. “Yeah, I do.” At his words, Martin’s phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID before shoving the phone deep in his pocket, ignoring the call as he did so. “Listen, Tim, you know I’d stay longer if I could-”

“No, I get it, Martin.” Tim stood as Martin did, grabbing the IV bag by his chair for support. “Duty calls. I must away, my love.”

Martin scoffed, the pale sound muffled and diminished by the emptiness of the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to go on without me.” His voice dropped the light in it as he placed a hand on Tim’s. His hands were freezing, Jesus. “Seriously, Tim, if you need me…”

“I’ll call.” Tim waggled the phone in the pockets of the linen pants the hospital had provided. “Promise.”

“I hear the Great Grimaldi’s in town.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

He wished the moments after were fuzzy. He wished he could chalk his memories up to delirium or carbon monoxide poisoning. There was the detonator, small and squat in his hands. There was Grimaldi, or Nikola, or whatever that thing was. And there was Jon, kneeling, eyes piercing him in a way he had never experienced before. A moment of true lucidity amongst the madness of the Unknowing.

Tim had pressed the button, resigning this to be his final image, his final memory. The things in the world he hated most, all splayed out in front of him, with the promise of all the things he loved waiting for him. A win-win, really. Go out with a bang, leave a mark on the Stranger, cause some errant destruction, and finally see Danny again. The Stranger would never forget the Stoker brothers, that would have been for sure.

But the combustion and the flames had swept over him like a hot wind. He felt the flames lick the sides of his face, felt smoke choke his lungs, felt impossibly hot ash and air swirl around him in a tango. The building had crumbled around him and Tim had been unable to move, forced to witness every last nanosecond of the chaos he had caused.

And he reveled in it. He had won; he had beaten the Stranger. To know he had avenged the deaths of Danny and Sasha was prize enough.

None of it made any sense. He shouldn’t have survived.

How had he survived?

5 Days After Great Yarmouth

“Tim.”

Basira was in Tim’s room, wheelchair parked in the corner and sitting in a visitor’s chair. Her body was tense and still, reminiscent of a panther in some documentary he had watched with Jon. Ready to strike? Or run?

“Basira.” Tim’s voice was careful. “Martin said you weren’t up for visitors today. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Save it.” Basira’s hands were fisted in her robe, the white and yellow one matching Tim’s, declaring them both as patients under observation. Tim frowned, pulling his IV behind him to sit on his bed, wincing as he bent and adjusted himself. “Daisy’s gone, Jon is…whatever he is. I survived because I was smart.”

Her voice was low and sharp, accusing him of…something. Tim felt blood boiling under his skin, as he waffled somewhere between furious and confused. “Excuse me?” He said pointedly, voice measured, squeezing tight the paper cup of tea in his hand.

“Tim, how are you not dead?” Basira gestured with her hand. “Your burns were all superficial. You broke your arm in the collapse, but you managed to survive the fire.” She shook her head and smoothed the fabric that lay there with her hand. “You and I both know you shouldn’t be alive right now.”

Tim took a steadying breath, though it did little to conceal his frustration. “So what, you think I’m fucking magical or something?” He could feel the heat and pitch rise in his voice. “You think I’m like...like those freaks we read about in the statements? Like-like Jon or Elias or like fucking Nikola?”

Basira opened her mouth to speak but Tim cut her off. “You know why I was there, Basira. For Danny. For Sasha. You bloody well know none of this was supposed to happen.” He gestured in the general direction of where Jon lay, dead to the world. “The audacity to assume I-”

“Tim!” Basira cut in, interrupting his increasingly desperate tone. “Look!” She pointed down. Following her gaze, Tim saw the paper cup he was holding. The cup of tea was steaming. No, it was boiling. He could hear the roil of the water, see the bubbles blossoming on the surface. On instinct, he yelped, tossing the cup of bitter black tea across the room, hitting the sink on the far side of the wall squarely. He winced as the liquid splashed across the mirror, the cup rolling to a stop in the basin.

“What the fuck?” He wiped his hands on his robe. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Did it burn you?” Basira asked, eyes passing over him studiously.

“Ah…” Tim turned his right hand over, checking for any splash marks or blisters on his palm. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Basira asked, raising her eyebrow. At Tim’s irritated roll of his eyes, she folded her fingers together.

“You know that’s not normal, right?” It wasn’t a question.

Tim nodded, voice stolen from him as he processed her words. “Are you trying to say I’m fireproof or something?”

Basira shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds weird enough to be right. I’d say ask Jon about it, but obviously…that’s not happening quite yet.”

“This is so fucked,” Tim mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion. “I hate this job.”

Tim was walking in a black room. Kind of. It wasn’t black, really, nor a room—just the concept of space, devoid of color or light.

Tim was somewhere and it was dark.

He picked a direction and walked. The space he was in was hot, a dry stale heat pressing in on him from all sides. It was like that prickling heat from being too close to a campfire, where the heat should singe your leg hairs. It should have been painful. He should have been sweating. But he felt…good. Great, even. He felt alive and awake and ready.

He walked for what felt like hours in this dreamscape, not knowing where he was going. He had realized he was dreaming around the point where he noticed he was more floating than walking, being guided like a character in a low-res video game. There was something in the back of his mind nudging him forward, coaxing him along some predetermined route.

Suddenly, he stopped. There was something in front of him, maybe four meters away. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it. This spot in space was the source of all the heat in this room, the warmth surrounding him that was more accosting than comforting. The feeling surrounding him was all-consuming and it made him feel…all sorts of things. Righteousness, anger, betrayal, pain. They were all the emotions he had been feeling at Great Yarmouth, built up upon each other, each idolized in their own way. They were the feelings he had chosen to worship when Jon had stopped being his friend and started being his enemy, when Sasha had been discovered to have never been, when he had looked Nikola in its eyeless face and pressed the detonator. It all felt good to feel.

All of a sudden Tim was struck with a sudden knowledge. If he accepted this heat, this painful destruction, he would never need to worry about being hurt again. He could protect himself, the loved ones he had left (if he still had any), and burn the hearts out of anyone who dared hurt him or his ilk. No one would ever leave him again except on his terms. He understood what the Lightless Flame meant, what it promised, what it could give him in return. He would be able to live on the destruction of those he deemed unworthy of the love of the pyre, those who had so much to lose. Like he had had, once. Like Danny had had. Like Sasha. They had had the world before them, and it was stripped away. The Stranger had the potential to take over the world and he had destroyed every last bit of success it had. And it felt good. He could chase that feeling again and again and again with a family that knew what it was like to love and lose and destroy.

All he had to do was take it in.

7 Days After Great Yarmouth

Tim woke up gasping for air. He could feel an icy hand on the back of his neck, colder than anything he knew, dragging him back into reality. He opened his eyes, wincing at the harsh light of his hospital room and yes, he was in his hospital room, not a great expanse of nothing nothing nothing, searching for answers. He reached a hand to the back of his head and felt a frozen rag, dripping icy water down the back of his neck, down his spine.

A nurse was at his bedside, a thin woman with dark blonde hair, checking his vitals with a delicate hand. “Welcome back, Mr. Stoker. You gave us a scare, there.”

“Wha-”

“Your monitor was beeping like mad last night. Said you had a fever of 42, but the machine was probably broken. Thermometer put you more at 40, but still, concerningly high. Gave you some fever reducers and a cool rag, kept an eye on you. Are you feeling any better?”

Tim rolled his neck, hearing his joints crack as he did so. “Uh-” He took stock of his faculties. He felt great, actually. No pain, no stiffness, just a tingling warmth spread throughout his body. Something about that felt...right. But he wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, fine.” He pulled the rag out from under his neck and noticed, for the first time, he was naked.

“Sorry,” she smiled apologetically at the flush that spread across his face and neck. “First rule of fevers: tight clothing comes off. It seemed to have done its job though. You were out for a whole day. According to our thermometers, your temperature’s gone back to normal, but we’d like to keep an eye on you a bit longer, especially with your injuries. They don't seem to be infected, so the fever might have been a latent trauma response to the explosion.” The woman shrugged, her smile light. “Our bodies do crazy things to keep us safe. Even when it hurts.”

“A-apparently so,” Tim nodded softly, squeezing his hands into fists, feeling the nails dig into his palms. At least this wasn’t a dream. He rested his head against the pillows propped behind him and sighed heavily.

The nurse left eventually, when there were no more monitors to check and Tim had promised eight ways to Sunday to press his call button if he needed anything. He settled back into his pillow, listening to the steady beep of his heart amplified on the monitor. The TV droned low in the background, newscasters revisiting today’s tragedies. Had they been on the news when it happened? Tim huffed and shook his head. Not if Elias had a say in it. Probably chalked it up to a gas main.

He grabbed the remote strapped to his bed, and flipped through the channels aimlessly, looking for something interesting…or at least to lull him back to sleep. Kids programming, soap operas, more news, interior design—wait. Tim flipped back to the news channel. Demolition of an old primary school. The reporter spoke to a heated young woman, round cheeks framed by wild curls, who spoke to the camera about the memories and traditions the school represented, how unfair it was to lose such an important monument to the history of her town.

“A shame, isn’t it?”

Tim started at the voice, whipping his head to the door, gripping the remote tight in his hand. The woman standing in the doorway of his room was short and wide, hair cropped close. She wore a grey tank top and black shorts, revealing tattoos of flames licking up the backs and sides of her calves. Something about her face was odd. A little too smooth? The grin on her face seemed wider than normal smiles were meant to be, drooping a little too low.

“Pardon?” Tim managed, grip on the call button tight, even if there was…something keeping him from pressing it.

“About the school.” She pointed to the television as she crossed the threshold, crossing her legs as she sat in the cushy visitor’s chair next to his bed. “So many childhood memories, so many job opportunities, so many opportunities for self-improvement-” She spat the word with malice. “Truly some of my favorite forms of destruction.”

Tim stared at her dumbly. “Do…am I supposed to know who you are?” Her returned chuckle burned him from the inside.

“Oh,” she crooned, more to herself than to Tim. “For keepers of the Eye, you are all so stupid. I am Jude Perry and I serve the Lightless Flame. And, if I’m right, you do too.”

#fanfic to a tea #tim stoker #martin blackwood #desolation tim #lonely martin #jude perry #the desolation #the unknowing #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fic #tma season 3

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phoebe-delia · 3 years

Note

darling feel free to ignore but i just thought of the word ‘neck’ and now here i am in your ask box 🤣👀 any rating will do. love you.

— @starlitsilvereyes

Oooohhh interesting! I thought of a lyric to a song by the Music Industry herself, Taylor Swift. Specifically, "Your necklace hanging from my neck/the night we couldn't quite forget/when we were trying/to move the furniture so we could dance/baby like we stood a chance" And it is with that in mind that I offer you this. Love you, hope you enjoy!! <3

Harry was sweating through his suit. He probably smelled horrid. He cast a freshening charm; it wasn't quite as good as a shower, but there wasn't time. Draco would be there any minute.

He did a sweep of the room. All of the furniture had been pushed toward the walls, leaving the middle open and empty. He could've used magic, but the evening would've been ruined if he'd harmed one of Draco's "special antiques," and he trusted his own physical strength more than his wand aim.

Their dinner--homemade spaghetti and meatballs--sat under a stasis charm, ready and waiting for them whenever they wanted it. He'd set the record player to play a beautiful, soft romantic song. Despite his earlier panic, everything was ready.

As if on cue, the door opened, and Harry's breath caught.

Draco swept into the room, immediately talking and hanging his coat. "Hi love, sorry I'm late, work was insane. How ar--" Draco stopped talking when he took in the sight of Harry in his suit, the furniture, and the dinner in the kitchen.

"H-Harry?" Draco stammered. "What's going on?"

Harry smiled. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," a slow grin took over Draco's face. "But why are you in a suit? You hate stuffy clothes."

"I know, but you love them. And tonight is a special occasion."

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh, Merlin, did I miss our anniversary? No, I couldn't have, it's in October, and--"

Harry chuckled. "No, love, you haven't missed anything. This is, well...This is for you. But first I have something for you."

Draco nodded, walking on slightly shaky legs toward Harry, who knelt down, pulling out a long rectangular box. Draco gasped.

"Draco, I was going to wait until the end of the night to do this, but then you walked in and in one instant I was reminded of how much I love you. I couldn't let another moment pass by without starting the rest of our lives together. So, Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?"

"Yes!" Draco let out a choked sob, and Harry grinned, standing up to kiss him.

When they broke apart, Harry opened the box to reveal a small simple gold band attached to a chain, and Draco looked at him in surprise.

"I know you can't wear rings as a Healer, so I thought...But we can change it, if you want! I was thinking I could get a necklace, too, but I definitely don't have to and we can be more traditional I just thought--"

Draco took Harry's face in his hands. "Harry, it's perfect. So thoughtful of you. I love you."

Harry grinned, "I love you too." He took his wand from his pocket and waved it at the record player to turn up the volume. "I made us dinner, but first, will you dance with me?"

Draco let Harry wrap his arms around his waist, linking his own hands behind Harry's neck. "I'd love to."

Outside their window, the world was still, the night black and cool and silent. But inside, they swayed together, a white blonde head tucked against a tanned neck; they were two people pressed against each other, content to move to the rhythm of their own music and the beat of their hearts as one.

#i know you love angst #but man #this is fluffy as hell #drarry #draco and harry #draco malfoy #harry potter #holy shit this is fluffy #each fic ive written has been fluffier than the last

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mmvalentine · 3 years

Note

Ik this is not an entirely feysand centric one but could you please write something about the time when Rhys came back to the Night Court after UTM and meet IC and about how things would have been for the next three months until he crashed Feyre's wedding? Like there are a few fics about this but they all focus just on the moment when Rhys comes back and tells Mor that Feyre's his mate. I would really like to read the bat boys' reaction on seeing each other and Amren's and all of them discussing everything and them just being there for Rhys, because actually no one really talks about this and Rhys went through so damn much and he deserves all the love and care and attention.

Aw man look I can’t spend too long on this because it breaks my heart. I love Rhys so much and I just want him to be happy, and my favourite way to do this is to give him a Feyre!! But hmm let’s give it a go, I don’t know about three months but I think I could do one...

Rhys winnowed.

It had been fifty years since he had set foot in the Night Court, and over the years he actually had tried not to think about it too much. Not when it caused a gaping hole in his chest to picture home. Not when the years under Aramantha’s heel stretched before him like the open maw of the Middengard Wyrm, and to consider anything else was a dream too savage to bear.

So when everything was over, he didn’t pause to recommence hoping. He just winnowed. And landed in the town house, folding space but when he landed, blinking on the familiar pattered rug, it felt more like he had folded time.

Especially when he looked up, and four pairs of familiar eyes stared back at him like he was a ghost.

On reflection, Rhys supposed he probably was a ghost, to them. Too pale, too thin, too long gone. It suddenly occurred to him that they may have wanted some warning, before he appeared here in the house and in their lives. He clamped down on the rolling nausea that rose up his throat.

"Honeys, I’m home,” he said, trying for nonchalance.

For a second they just continued gaping at him, and then the horrible thought arose, that maybe after fifty years of desertion, they didn’t want him here at all.

Cassian broke first. He launched himself at Rhys, his thick arms encircling him and half-choking him as he sobbed into his brother’s neck. The sound was alarmingly loud in Rhys’ ear. Then Azriel clamped a hand down on his shoulder, and next Mor was wrapping her arms around all three of them. He met her eyes, bright with wordless tears, and didn’t know what to say.

“It’s been too long, High Lord,” was all Amren said, as she watched the group hug from her seat at the table.

Relief hit Rhys like a sledge hammer then, and his knees buckled. His family held him up.

After the initial shock had subsided, everyone spent the afternoon fussing over Rhys. He was fed, patted, and wrapped in blankets, and the feeling of being coddled was at once deeply uncomfortable and startlingly nice. He felt like crying, and that in itself was strange. Rhys hadn’t cried in three hundred years. So when it got very late and Amren announced that they all needed some sleep, he was somewhat glad to be away from them for a while. And somewhat dreading it.

Of course, in the end he wasn’t away from them at all. Everyone agreed with Amren, and had trudged upstairs with him. Piled into Rhys’ bed, widened it with magic and slept around him like they wanted to be sure he wasn’t going anywhere. Cassian and Azriel shoved in next to him just like when they were in the camp barrcks. Mor was not far away, just behind Cass. Even Amren curled up in the chair in the corner, her silver eyes glowing like a cat.

Rhys wouldn’t tell them, but he didn’t sleep a wink that night. Just stared at the ceiling of his own bedroom, listening to the deep and varied patterns of everyone’s breathing, and wondered at the tears that finally tumbled down his face in the dark.

Over the next few weeks, the inner circle tried to go back to normal. It was as much as Rhys had asked, at breakfast that first morning. But of course, things weren’t normal. Not for him and not for Velaris.

Everyone found excuses to be around Rhys. Cassian needed a sparring partner who didn’t piss him off as much as Azriel. Azriel had serious concerns about the Nightmare Court and what Mor’s family were doing in his absence. Mor needed Rhys’ advice on how to deal with Amren when she got stubborn. And Amren was sick of them all and had a list of requests that Rhys enact starting with firing the entire inner circle and appointing herself as sole advisor. All in all, Rhys was not left alone for one minute that first month he was there, and although it grated at first after so many months of isolation Under the Mountain, he realised he needed to catch up on time with his family as much as they needed to be around him.

It wasn’t that nobody asked him what had happened Under the Mountain. It was more that Rhys didn’t volunteer the information, and his friends were concerned but never pushed too hard. With all the wars they had each been through, they had come to an understanding that sometimes, what one needed was the comfort of routine and the constant stability of friends. Sometimes, words came slower and needed to arrive in their own time. And Rhys appreciated this. He wouldn’t know where to start.

Walking around Velaris was another thing that shocked him. He had been hoping and praying that his people would not have felt abandoned by him. But when he stepped out onto the streets for the first time, he was swamped in adoration. And he was entirely unprepared for it.

People clasped his hands, kissed his fingers, bowed low to the ground. Everyone was so grateful to him for shielding them from Aramantha, and Rhys was floored. He had assumed no one knew where he was. Certainly he would have not chosen to tell them himself, but somehow word had gotten around that he was the one keeping them safe. The admiration was overwhelming, and soon Rhys found himself stripping off his coat and sitting down with people rather than passing through like some kind of saint. That was too much.

So instead, he spent time with people. Shared meals, played games of chess, kicked a ball with a group of children. And all the while his friends stuck near him- Amren beat everyone at chess. Cassian helped serve food. Azriel played goalie. Mor laughed at people’s jokes. And by the time he got home, his heart was so full.

Until he climbed into bed.

After four weeks, he made everyone else go back to their own rooms. He never quite managed to sleep while they were there. Once, he had dozed off, but fitted awake with terror cold around his throat. He had been convinced he was waking from a dream that he had returned, and would find himself back in Aramantha’s bedroom. So when he saw his friends around him, he was relieved, at first. Then he worried about what would happen if his dreams got out of control and he lashed out or screamed or woke them all up. So with some effort, he convinced them to all go back to their own houses. When he found out they had all moved into the townhouse the day he was taken and stayed waiting for him, he felt doubly as bad and shooed them all of. As an order.

That night he relaxed into his bed, glad of a bit of space and privacy.

And woke, drenched in sweat and fighting for breath.

Rhys opened his eyes in a fog of swirling darkness, that seemed to be leaking from his own pores. For awful minutes, he didn’t know which way was up, fell through black smoke and clutched at his throat trying to find air. Eventually, he fell off the bed and thudded hard enough onto his back that his body was shocked, and was able to drag in lungfuls of oxygen. The blackness fell away and he lay panting on the floor for a half hour before climbing wearily back into bed.

But nightmares were nothing new to him. Not since sleeping Under the Mountain.

In the morning, Rhys sat in his bathtub with his eyes closed. He wondered if he was ever going to be able to wash away the film of filth that Aramantha’s fingers had trailed over his skin. Some days, he’d scrub and scrub and not be able to get rid of the slime. It was only the distraction of being around the inner circle that made him forget about it.

Today, he just sat, and let it be. Let his mind wander. Until he realised it was being tugged in one specific direction, and observed with curiosity as his thoughts floated to the Spring Court. To the little Cursebreaker, who, now that he thought about it, was about due for her first visit.

Now, in his mind she appeared. Tiny slip of a thing, rolling around in Tamlin’s garden. Different now that she was fae, and yet familiar to him as his own dreams. The bargain they had struck would itself round his wrist and Rhys chuckled to himself. One little tug and she’d be right here, in his bathroom. Bargains were funny things.

And then there was that thing under the bargain- that sliver of gold, that curious thread that bound them together. Mating bond. Rhys shoved away from the thought. It was not worth considering, not worth torturing himself. What were the odds- that he’d find his mate at five hundred years old, only for her to be in love with someone else.

Still, he’d seen the mating bond go wrong. It had destroyed his mother, and there was no way he’d ever inflict that on a female himself. So he turned away from her. Was never planning on actually calling in that bargain they had made, but despite himself still rather enjoyed the thought of it being marked on her skin.

Rhys hauled himself out of the bathtub, shaking his head. He pulled the walls of his mental shield down tightly, not giving into the temptation to peek into Feyre’s mind. He would behave. He would keep those shields firm.

But not before one single thought slipped under. Almost nothing. Just a sigh. Just his name, in Feyre’s husky, vanilla flavoured voice.

Rhys.

Rhys froze. Stood perfectly still for another minute, but nothing more came his way. So he towelled off, put on his clothes, and went to meet his family for breakfast. He had managed to get them to all sleep in their own beds- but they still arrived promptly every morning at his breakfast table.

****

Was that okay?! Sorry it’s not usually my thing... haha you guys are challenging me with these prompts! But also it’s been fun interacting with you all, keep sending them my way :D

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist (sorry guys if you don’t want to be tagged in the prompts do let me know)

MASTERLIST

#asks #prompt #prompt fill #feysand sort of?#acotar #mine

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lesetoilesfous · 3 years

Note

For DWC: "These chains never leave me, I keep dragging them around" from the Florence prompt list for Anders/Fenris?

Ah I had so much fun with this, thank you! I hope I did it justice!!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical graphic depictions of violence, Anders was right, anti-chantry, graphic reference to infanticide, Tevinter is awful, graphic reference to abortion, oblique reference to sexual assault, self-hatred, mention of self-harm, suicidal ideation. Basically post-Danarius, and all that entails. Characters dealing with trauma, PTSD and survivor’s guilt.

Rating: Mature

It’s been one week, two days and three hours since Fenris killed Danarius. He is sitting with Hawke and her friends in her mansion, because he had not been able to conceal his discomfort when they’d visited The Hanged Man, unable to remove from his recent memory the stain of blood on the floorboards and the sting of his sister’s betrayal. Corff had, at least, worked a miracle with the former. As far as the latter was concerned - Fenris did not think that Isabela was the only one who’d noticed him startling in the Lowtown crowd at the sight of every redheaded elf. The trait was, blessedly, a rare one. There was that, at least.

In the beautiful marble fireplace, Hawke’s fire roars loud and red, crackling with heat that licks gold light over the sandy, muscular back of her mabari, half asleep on the wine purple rug laid over the stone. Sandal is humming somewhere in one of the rooms nearby, and occasionally, under the loud sound of Hawke’s voice and her companions’ laughter, Fenris can make out the soft sound of Bodahn talking to his son. Orana, of course, is inaudible. She knows better.

Fenris bites the inside of his cheek, hard, and drinks deeply from his cup. The wine in it is thick and rich and velvet. Fenris can feel Marian’s eyes on him, but he can also see, from the corner of his eye, the way that her muscular arm is looped casually around Isabela’s shoulders. As he lowers his cup, he catches the way that Isabela tilts her head back, thick black hair falling over Marian’s tunic as she brushes her lips against her ear. He can see the way Marian flushes.

Fenris gets to his feet, and by the fireplace Dog raises her great sandy head. He gives her a small, calming gesture, and next to the low table onto which they’ve scattered their cards, Marian frowns at him. “Fenris?”

Fenris motions vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. “I need some water.” He tries to ignore the eyes of his companions on him as he goes. Instead, he leaves the warm, firelit parlour and walks into the cold, empty rooms not baked gold by fireplaces. Fenris feels his shoulders lower as soon as he gets to the second room, standing in the grey and black dusty shadow of an utterly deserted music room. Through the narrow stone windows of the Amell Estate, he can see the deep black sky of Kirkwall, scattered with stars. Houses fall like broken marble down towards the sea, which crashes with a distant roar against the cliffs. At the edge of the horizon, moonlight races silver across the waves. Fenris stares at it, and thinks about being a younger man, on an island, thinking that it would be the last thing he ever saw.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

Fenris whirls on instinct, limbs moving with muscle memory as the lyrium sewn into his skin sets his nerve endings on fire and he plunges his hand into the intruder’s chest. In the dark, Anders’ blonde hair is grey and silver. If he’s bothered by the pain about which Fenris’ victims had so often complained to him before their grisly demise, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he raises his eyebrows at Fenris over the wrist plunged into his chest. Fenris squeezes his fingers, and feels the frantic, shuddering jerk of Anders’ heart in his palm, the warm, wet sensation of it dulled by the distance of the Fade.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

Anders breathes out, a long, shuddering breath that belies his calm demeanour. Fenris had not previously thought him capable of such a poker face. His heart beats in Fenris’ hand like a bird, struggling. “I don’t know.” Anders meets his eyes, and in the dark his are almost black, but his blonde eyelashes are gilded silver by the moon. “I guess I trust you.”

Fenris’ fingers uncurl around Anders’ heart, and the mage’s shoulders lower from where they’d been scraping his ears. Fenris’ gaze falls to his long, crooked fingers, but there’s no telltale spark of magic there. Slowly, Fenris withdraws his hand, watching it fade through the frayed fabric of Anders’ coat as he tries to ignore the burn of a hot, embarrassed flush pushing up into his cheeks.

Outside the mansion, on the streets of Kirkwall, a pair of mabari start barking, great bellowing things that echo against the stone buildings. A cat yowls, and far off there’s the sound of people shouting. Fenris stares at his bare feet on the stone floor of Hawke’s mansion and hates the fact that his eyes are burning as he tries to untangle his tongue, and dispel the impression that Anders will do something awful to him for his trespass. (Hadriana’s smile flickers behind his eyelids every time he blinks. Her fingers curl, wreathed in green light. His own screams echo in his ears long before the pain hits.)

“Are you alright?”

Anders’ voice is rough and soft, and Fenris jerks his head up, falling back on the easy confidence of anger and letting it buoy him up out of his despair.

“What do you care, mage?”

As Fenris speaks he surges forward, feeling his lips curl back from his teeth in a sneer. Anders doesn’t back away, and it leaves their faces mere inches apart. Anders is looking at him oddly, and abruptly Fenris wishes for more light: knowing the man well enough by now after almost a decade to be able to read the spiderweb cracks of wrinkles in his face as the giveaway they tended to be.

“You haven’t been yourself since -” Anders hesitates, and Fenris hates him for it, and abruptly cannot look at him. So instead he turns away, throwing his hands into the empty air as if that will satisfy his urge to hit something.

“Since what? Since I killed him. Tell me, mage, what is my ‘self’? What am I?” Fenris means it as a challenge, but his voice cracks, and when he turns back to Anders, chest heaving, he’s horrified to realise that tears are running down his cheeks. He glances at the open door, leading into the dark and deeper into the mansion. He takes a step in the direction of the doorframe.

“Brave.” Anders says the word quickly, and Fenris stops, unable to force himself to turn around but unable to leave either as some stupid, childish part of him that he had long since thought irreparably ruined rises in delight. “Funny. And you know it, though you pretend you don’t.” It’s getting hard to breathe. Fenris stares into the thick shadows of the next room, where Orana’s drawn the curtains across the window. Elsewhere in the mansion, there’s a cheer and a crow of triumph from Isabela as the rest of their friends laugh.

“Smartest man I’ve ever met, probably.” Anders goes on, but doesn’t move. “Fucking stubborn. Annoying. Terrifying, with a greatsword. And without one.” Anders hesitates, and Fenris hears the catch of his breath as clear as a bell struck at daybreak. “My friend.”

Fenris clenches his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt, and shuts his eyes. More tears fall down his cheeks, tickling his chin as they go.

“A good man. That’s what you are, Fenris.” Anders delivers the proclamation with the same certainty with which he insists on his desperate, hopeless, flawed revolution.

Fenris whirls on him. “And what do you know of good men?” Fenris means it cruelly, and he tries to take satisfaction in the way that Anders flinches. But then the stupid, stubborn, ridiculous man lifts his chin.

“Enough to know one when I see one. And know when he’s being an ass.”

“You know nothing of me!” Fenris almost bellows, and cowers when the words echo. For a moment, both he and Anders hold their breath as they wait for one of Hawke’s servants - or worse - their friends, to come and investigate. But a minute passes, tense as a knife edge, and no one does. Fenris goes on, and tries to ignore the prickling in his sweating hands. “You don’t know what I am. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

Dust motes dance silver in the starlight as they fall onto the piano. Anders purses his lips. “Alright, I don’t. But I know that you dress up as Fen’harel for the kids in the alienage every Wintersend. I know you win more often at cards than you say you do, and that you let Merrill win. I know you’re a little bit in love with Isabela, and a little bit in love with Hawke, and it kills you that they chose each other because it kills me too. I know that you have more reason than any bastard I’ve ever met to hurt me until I forget how to breathe and you’re one of very few people who never has. I know that I’ve known you for a decade and you haven’t killed me yet.”

“I might.” It’s not a threat. Fenris doesn’t look at Anders when he says it, staring dully instead at the painting on the wall: some rainy Fereldan landscape, the details of which he can’t make out in the dark.

“But you haven’t.” Anders steps forward, and Fenris steps back, and feels dizzily as if they’re dancing. The moonlight catches on Anders’ chin, and Fenris can make out the faint tooth of a scar just below his bottom lip, hair thin in his stubble. Anders swallows, and breaks Fenris’ gaze, eyes tracing over a lute hanging on the wall. “You know mages don’t get to keep their kids.”

The subject change is so abrupt that Fenris feels as if he’s been physically thrown off kilter. “What?” He’s been standing here long enough to feel the cold, now, and taste the wood polish in the air. Anders goes on, still not looking at him, massaging one hand with the other as his fingers flex.

“They take them away. Can’t abort them, not under Chantry law. I’m a Spirit Healer.”

Fenris’ frown deepens, the back of his head already aching with the dull constant stress of the last fortnight and the sleeplessness that came with it. “I know.” He tries not to make his frustration obvious. Judging by the small grin Anders gives him, he doesn’t succeed.

“I started working with the Circle Healer when I was 17. Day after I was Harrowed. First day wasn’t so bad. A couple lashings. Attempted suicide. Self-harmer. Some kid who said he walked into a wall.” Anders rolls his eyes, huffing a laugh as his hands move to massage his wrists. Fenris watches him carefully. “Second day. There was this girl. Fifteen, Templar father, obviously. I helped deliver that baby.” Anders’ expression shutters. “She wasn’t allowed to see it. I did. I got to hold it, give it to some lieutenant who held it like it was contagious. I don’t even know if it made out of Kinloch. But she begged me to let her hold it and all I could say was that it was already gone.”

“That -” Fenris picks his words as carefully as he would navigate a floor covered in broken glass. “I do not think that you were the one at fault, there.”

“I know.” Anders says the words simply, and reaches up into his hair to pull the tie loose, scratching the tangled waves that fall around his head as he does so. “My point is, when you’re a prisoner, most of the time, the burden is on your gaolor. And you aren’t Danarius’ crimes.”

“It is not the same.” Fenris grinds the words between his teeth as his fingers tighten into fists hard enough to hurt. “I was - the things I did - I did not take babies. I killed them. I broke their skulls on his altars. I aborted them from their mothers before I killed them, too. I cannot - there are not words for the marks that what I have done, what I did, has left on my soul, and I do not know if I will do them again, and I fear them and I fear him, and I fear myself, and I hate them and I hate him and I hate myself, and every hour of every day I live with these cursed chains on my body that I cannot shake no matter how far I run and I do not know how to make it stop.” Once Fenris starts speaking, he can’t slow down, the words falling from his tongue with the tears that run thick and fast down his cheeks as he tears at his arms hard enough to make them bleed. Anders startles forward, and Fenris jerks backward, thrusting his burning hands into the air between them. “I would tear it from my skin. I would rip myself apart piece by piece if I did not know that killing myself would only be a mercy that I have never deserved.” Fenris breathes, and it splinters in his chest. He finishes in a hoarse whisper. “You know nothing of what I am, or what I have been, or what I have suffered, or what I have done. You never have.”

Behind Fenris, through the window, the sound of the ocean beats incessantly against the land. Elsewhere in the mansion, their companions are quiet, and the sound of Sandal’s singing has ceased. Fenris can feel his blood roaring in his ears, and doesn’t bother to brush the tears from his cheeks. Standing in the middle of the room, Anders stares at him, his tall thin figure swaying like a sapling in a breeze.

Then he says, “You’re right. There’s a lot about you that I don’t know or understand and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’m kind of an asshole sometimes. But, Fenris? I need you to know this.” Anders steps forward and gets, stiffly, to his knees, one leg bending more slowly than the other. Fenris stares at him, bewildered, and steps backward until his head bumps softly against the wall. “Forgive the melodrama but uh, I don’t get on my knees for just anyone.” Fenris doesn’t think he has ever seen Anders on his knees, and he realises abruptly that he had never wanted to. Anders gives him a small, nervous smile, and takes a deep breath, swallowing before he speaks. “Fenris. From a mage, on his knees, asking you to listen to him. You deserve to live.”

The sob that works its way out of Fenris’ chest is a living thing, and Fenris chokes on it, sliding down the wall as he begins to cry in earnest. Anders, mercifully, doesn’t move. Fenris doesn’t know how long he cries, only that at the end of it his throat aches and his eyes burn and his head is pounding. But when he opens his eyes, Anders is still there, silver in the dark on his knees next to the piano. Fenris stares at him, and tries to clear his throat.

“You’re a very strange man.”

Anders shrugs, and moves with a visible wince to take the weight off his left knee, leaning against the piano stool as he gingerly unfolds his leg. “I’ve been called worse.”

Slowly, he reaches out into the space between them, scarred, crooked, calloused hand palm upwards, fingers outstretched. Anders looks at him, and his brown eyes are almost black in the dark. Slowly, fighting the sensation that this must be some kind of trap, Fenris reaches out and takes it. Anders’ fingers are cool against his, and his knuckles are bumpy and uneven. But he squeezes Fenris’ hand so hard it’s almost painful, and Fenris feels more tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

For a moment, they sit like that, peaceful in the quiet. Then there’s a soft knock on the doorframe, and Bodahn ducks his head in, face lit by a candle in a brass dish. “Sorry to interrupt messeres, but Mistress Hawke wanted to know if you’d like some libation to keep you company?”

Fenris glances at Anders, half moving to pull his hand back. But Anders’ hand tightens on his, and instead, feeling strangely childish, he nods at Bodahn. “Yes, please. That would be appreciated.”

Bodahn gives him a small, kind smile and ducks his head. “Very good, messere.” He turns, and leaves, and Fenris watches Anders as he shuts his eyes and leans his head back against the barstool, hair fanning out around him like some Orlesian princess.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” It’s not an accusation, motivated more by curiosity than anything.

Anders’ lips curl, and he opens one eye to look at Fenris, fingers tightening in his. “For you? I’ll make an exception. It’s been a long week.”

#dadwc #my fic #fenders #da2 #fenris #anders #tsuraiwrites

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

Text

Awkwardly In Love | Mingi (ATEEZ)

Volleyball player! Mingi can’t seem to take his eyes off the girl on the bleachers whose got her nose stuck in her book.

Genre: FLUFF AND CUTE AWKWARD MINGI SBGKJDGJ I CAN’T HE RUINS ME.

Word count: you just gotta know that it iz quite a long ride. I apologize for that.

----

She's always got her nose buried in her book.

That's what catches Mingi's attention at first.

See, he's not one to read. Nor does he have any interest in reading and books and the things that come with it. Growing up in a household full of children involved in physical sport, books had counted for nothing but a minimal afterthought. That, and the fact that their financial struggles made it so that they didn't spend on books if it could be helped.

So seeing her always carrying around piles and piles of books has Mingi wonder how much extra cash does she have to spend on all this imaginary stories.

When he realizes that the reason she's always on the same spot on the bleachers is due to her cousin being in the same volleyball team as he is, he can't help but start asking questions.

"Yeah she's my mother's sister's daughter," Hongjoong says with a small affectionate smile, "we basically grew up in the same household so she waits for me after classes."

"You guys close then?" Mingi asks in a forced nonchalant tone. He keeps his eyes on the ball being served on the other side, palms already closed and upturned at the ready.

"Ready?" His teammate calls.

"Yeah!" They both holler.

He serves. The ball swoops in a beautiful arc and Mingi steels himself before receiving the ball with trained precision.

Pack!

"Closer than siblings," Hongjoong answers as the ball flies over the net, "why do you ask?"

Mingi is about to answer when he spots the ball. Hongjoong sweeps in, steering his legs to tap the ball high in the air.

Tap!

Mingi's head swivels up, catches the ball to throw it back at Hongjoong.

Pack!

"In!" The referree calls to signal that they've marked the final point to the game. The pair allow sighs to leave their lips as they slowly make their way out of the court.

"Uhm," Mingi's chest heaves up and down with effort. Sweat dots his forehead as he racks for an excuse, "just curious I guess."

"Want me to introduce you?"

"Uh-- I--That's not--necessary--"

It's too late though, for Hongjoong is already calling out her name, "Y/N!"

Her head lifts from where it's been buried in her book.

Her cousin motions for her to come forward and no sooner is she stepping down from the bleachers that Mingi's neck flushes bright red, and he knows deep down it's not from the fact that he's just exercised.

"Y/N, meet Mingi my teammate," Hongjoong's grin is definitely one that is suggestive, which does nothing for Mingi's confidence.

"Hi," she sends him a warm smile, extending a hand. Mingi shakes it and can't help but notice how tiny her fingers are in comparison.

Delicate fingers, so breakable. Cute.

"H-Hi, I'm Mingi," Oh god, he hopes he doesn't sound like an idiot.

"Mingi's always been on the team. He's the ace after all," adds Hongjoong.

"Ah, that's cool," Y/N nods.

That's how it starts really. At every practice, Mingi makes it a must to talk to her, even if it's juet a tiny greeting, or a slight wave of his shy hand whenever he's already on the court when she stumbles in with her pile of books tucked under her arm. There's just something about her, something that pulls him in like an invisible string even though he can barely make his way through one sentence when he's gazing straight into her eyes.

Once, he musters up the courage to ask her about the book in her lap and the amount of joy flushing up her cheeks makes it so palpable that he feels giddy from her own excitement.

"I'm currently reading Peony in Love," holding up the book so he can see, she continues, "it's a historical novel about this Chinese girl that falls in love with someone who isn't her betrothed, then dies only to realize that this someone is actually her betrothed."

"That's actually really heartbreaking."

"Yeah well, so are most romance stories," she shrugs, "like the titanic."

"I've never actually watched it."

"What?! You're kidding me?"

He shakes his head, ducking his head in embarrassment as he wonders whether she thinks of him as a loser because of his apparent lack of intellectual knowledge.

But instead, he is faced with her enthusiasm, "we should watch it someday! It's like a classic, you'll love it if you like dramatic endings."

"You--" he feels his chest tighten in excitement, "you're serious?"

"Of course I am! I'll let Hongjoong know."

His heart does drop a little at Y/N's cousin's name. He'd hoped that they'd be alone, just the two of them.

Nevertheless, he makes his way over to Hongjoong's flat on the said night and is surprised to find not just the pair of cousins But an entire group of familiar individuals that he's seen hanging around the corridors and classrooms.

"Hey you came!" Hongjoong claps Mingi's back as he steps into the doorway, "I invited some of my close friends too. You probably know them."

As Mingi greets the rest of the group whe exchanging soft pleasantries, he finally catches sight of Y/N's figure darting between tall frames before she emerges, grinning, "hi, Mingi right?"

He can't help but blush right down to his toes, "h-hey, what's up?"

"Sorry for all the noise. The guys just wanted to crash here. Told them we were watching titanic and they promised they wouldn't make running commentaries."

"It's alright. I know them all a little. We're in the same class."

"Ah cool. You guys all in the same major then?"

Mingi scratches the back of his head, "nah I'm in Psych. But since they're all in the sciences like Hongjoong we do have same classes."

"Cool. I wish I could've taken Psych," she puffs up her cheeks into a pout and Mingi's fingers itch to pinch her cheeks.

She can't be that cute. She just can't be.

"So are we starting the movie or what?!" One of the guys --his name is Yunho, Mingi guesses -- calls out.

"The way you're talking Yunho, it's almost like you're the one who really wants to watch it," Hongjoong replies sassily while throwing both arms around Y/N and Mingi respectively before guiding them to the tv room. He dips his head towards Mingi's ear as the group settles in, "don't worry bro, I'll make sure you sit next to her."

Blushing furiously at the older boy's comment, the latter doesn't even have time to defend himself when he is being pushed onto the couch right next to Y/N's figure.

"You a big tears kind of guy?" The girl murmured, popcorn in lap. She extends it out to Mingi, who shyly grabs a handful.

"I guess it depends," Mingi murmurs, "are there animals in there?"

"Oh so you're that kind of guy."

He flushes. What kind of guy is she referring to?

The movie starts with the narration of an old lady gazing at a sapphire necklace, bedore the screen gives way to a shot of the ship itself in all its splendour, glistening a bold black and white in the midday sun.

Mingi knows he should be concentrating on the movie. And it's true, he really should, especially when Y/N had asked him to because it is clearly a classic he can't possibly miss out on. But alas, his eyes keep dashing back and forth between the screen and Y/N's face, stealing looks whenever she is not looking. It's almost like a magnetic pull tugging his gaze back to her no matter how hard he forces his eyes away; flitting over her eyes focused in attention, eyebrows furrowed at the middle with her mouth hanging open like a child amazed with naked wonder.

What can she possibly be thinking? What is going on inside that imaginative mind of hers?

What magical dimension is she traveling to without his knowledge?

It's only when the romance between the two protagonists start blossoming that he finally tears his eyes away to focus on the movie itself, all the while sensing Y/N's heat permeating from her body to his in a way that causes a permanent flush in the back of his neck.

The movie ends all too soon, with tears in Y/N's eyes and some of the other guys as they debate over the ending and how stupid Rose was for not giving Jack some space on the wooden board.

"Well to be fair, he would've probably sunk the entire board," Seonghwa argues. He's the pretty boy that everyone knows of, the one whom every girl has been crushing on since his admittance to their college.

"If I were Rose, I wouldn't want to keep living without the love of my life," Y/N points out, "I would've drowned myself with him."

"Jesus Y/N, that's terrifying," Hongjoong says.

"It's true though!"

The look in her eyes whenever she spoke of movies was a look of naked excitement. Like now, Mingi spots the familiar fire burning through her gaze, a gaze he finds alluring on her. It's like it breathes life into her face. It's similar to the one she wears whenever she's reading.

A few days later on campus, he bumps into her hurrying out of the library as he walks in, almost sending her flying before his arm snatches out to hold her shoulder.

"Sorry," he says hastily while putting her back on her feet and releasing her like she's just burnt him.

"S'okay," Y/N sends him a reassuring smile, "where you going?"

"Assignments. I'm late on my research paper because of practice," Mingi scratches his head. He nods towards her books, "what caught your interest this week?"

"Oh I'm just re-reading A Darker Shade of Magic," she grins like a little child being caught. Something in Mingi's heart softens like butter.

"What's it about?"

"It's so cool, it's like this guy with a super cool coat that has hundreds over coats inside it. And he's a magician and there are parallel worlds that have different wavelengths of magic. So he can travel through the different worlds and--" she stops abruptly then before her cheeks colour in shades of pink, "sorry. I'm rambling again--"

"No no no," Mingi cuts her off, causing her to blink, wide-eyed, "please...continue. I--I like it when you talk about your books. You--You always seem so alive and excited."

"Oh," her face flushes even more as another troop of butterflies tickle Mingi's stomach. She's so damn cute! "Thanks...Mingi."

He tries to analyze the flickering expressions on her face, though he guesses it is close to feeling embarrassed.

"A--Anyway I--I'll get going," Mingi hurriedly says, moving past her with flaming red ears upon realizing what he has just said, only to feel her hand clamp down on his.

He turns to see her, averted gaze and all, little fingers clamped onto his shirt, "do you--do you want to...go see a movie sometime?"

----------

Hongjoong had threatened Mingi with a multitude of ways of killing him in case he broke Y/N's heart, albeit the fact that the taller man stated that no, they weren't going on a date,.and anyway flirting had never been Mingi's strongest points anyway.

"Sure. If it's not a date, what is it then?" Hongjoong had asked with a roll of his eyes.

"It's just two people hanging out," Mingi had protested through red ears and scarlet tinged cheeks.

As per the said man's suggestion, the pair decides to meet up at the cinema entrance to choose the movie of their choice. Y/N is decked in a simple white t-shirt, loose cut-off jeans with red sneakers, and as Mingi silently admires her sense of simple fashion the heat that rises through the back of his neck is enough to make him avert his gaze bashfully.

They settle on a romantic comedy and he volunteers to buy the popcorn so that she can find some decent seats. As he settles into the cinema room and the lights dim into darkness, he places the popcorn box into her hands, waving her off upon her rising protests.

"But you--"

"I'll share it with you, don't-- don't worry," he replies, hand scratching the back of his neck.

Don't sweat it, he says to himself. It's fine. It's not a date. It's just two friends enjoying each other's presence.

Halfway through the movie, Mingi reaches for the popcorn only for their hands to collide. He retracts it like he just burnt himself, causing the said girl to chuckle softly. She reaches over then, with a handful of popcorn, before plopping it straight into his mouth without warning.

Mingi blinks. Heat goes straight to his ears.

When his eyes find hers, she only graces him with a timid smile, before returning back to the movie, totally unaware that his heart is now practically galloping out of his chest.

Jesus, what she does to his heart.

Mingi has never been so whipped in his life, but right now, he's pretty certain that he doesn't mind if that means she can accept his heart.

"Well that was fun," Y/N says the moment they step out of the cinema hall, "wasn't expecting it to be so lovey dovey though."

His head ducks, "I'm sorry," he mutters, "I didn't know you weren't into--"

"Oh no no! Not at all! We both chose it. You have nothing to feel bad about!"

"I'm not that into movies," comes his mumble.

"What?" Y/N stops in the middle of the road as she blinks up at him in shock, "you should've told me!"

"I wasn't interested in seeing the movie, I just wanted to see--" he hesitates slightly, "you."

What the fuck Mingi, he feels like choking himself foe his stupidity. Why was he acting like a total turd? This was ridiculous! She's just a girl, a cute one sure, but still! It's almost like he's lost all ability to make conversation.

He tries once more, "I'm--I'm sorry I shouldn't have--“

“No, I“m the one who's sorry. Here, let me treat you. Ice cream?” and then, her eyes widen, "you do like ice cream right?"

That'a enough for his lips to tilt up into a smile, "I'd love ice cream."

---

Once they settle on a bench at the nearby park, it seems like all nervousness suddenly ease from Mingi's consciousness and slowly, he starts opening up to the said girl as they lick at their ice cream cones. The sun sets over the horizon, turning the blue sky in scarlet hues that reminds him of summer days that last forever.

"Architecture's tough but honestly, that was the only thing my parents would let me study," Y/N says, empty ice-cream stick in hand as her gaze sweeps over the park and its passerbys.

"I guess it makes sense, considering our economy recently," Mingi agrees.

"And you? Why Psych?"

He lifts his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, "I guess I just like analyzing people. It's intriguing, knowing how people think, how they act around others."

"You want to be a therapist?"

"I don't know if I'm strong enough to help people get out of their problems when I can't even help myself."

He feels her eyes on him and finds interest in the way the wind blows across the grass blades.

Her voice is soft when she says, "you don't have to be that kind of hero, if you don't want to."

His heart swells with warmth and sudden affection, though he says nothing but nods in agreement.

It's easily past ten when they trudge back to Y/N's house, with nervousness swimming through Mingi's stomach in apprehension to Hongjoong's earlier threats, though Y/N reassures him that Hongjoong is mostly all talk and no action. That reassures the tall man slightly, until his feet start bristling upon spotting her front porch.

"Thanks for keeping me company today," Y/N tilts her head up, her profile bathed in the backlight of her house, "next time, let's not go to the movies."

Mingi's heart skips, "I didn't mind it."

"I know, but I want to do things that you like too," she grins.

A surge of courage rises through his chest as he tells her that he'd like that a lot too.

Except the thing that falls out of his mouth instead is, "I like you too."

She blinks.

He blinks back, realization settling in like a dull ache in his stomach.

Horror sweeps through him. Oh no.

It hadn't been in his plan to expose himself like this, exposing himself like a dog who wants a tummy rub, but then again there's no sign of rejection that flickers across Y/N's face, which he takes as a good sign as he fumbles for the right words, "uhm, I-- I mean, I didn't mean--"

"You didn't mean that?"

"What?" His eyes widen, "no no! Of course I mean it, I just--"

He gasps at his own words, cupping a hand over his mouth as the girl before him explodes into an uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Oh my gosh," her eyes crinkle up into those adorable crescents of hers, "you're so cute."

Scarlet pink blossoms across his cheeks. Averting his eyes, he wishes that the floor can just come and swallow him up right there and then.

"Right," clearing his throat, one hand reaches up to scratch his ear, "well, I-I'll just go--"

He's halfway turning around when Y/N's hand trickles through his, as gentle as water flowing through his fingertips.

"Wait," she murmurs.

His breath stalls. Inhaling a soft breath, he slowly shuffles back, not daring to meet her gaze when he feels like he's just put his heart on the table for her to do with as she pleases.

Her voice is a gentle breath of a whisper, "don't go."

And then, she's up on her tippy toes and pressing a light kiss to his cheek. Mingi's skin practically lights on fire as another round of butterflies erupt in his chest at her touch, and he can't help but stare down at her, jaw slack, as she gives him the shyest smile he's ever seen.

Cute! His mind screams. Cute cute cute!

"So," Mingi's mind comes back into focus upon hearing her voice, eyes finding her biting down onto her lower lip, “Well, uh--I guess--I guess this means I--I like you, or something.”

"uhm,” his ears are so hot with heat he feels they might fall off as he forces himself not to gawk at her, though it’s proving to be quite difficult as he’s trying to muster the courage to come out with a reasonable answer.

“I--well, uh--how does this--I don't know--do you want to...uh possibly,” he swallows thickly, before exhaling the words in a rush,”...goouttodinnerwithme?"

Y/N blinks in confusion, "I'm sorry?"

Come on, Mingi! He thinks to himself in growing desperation. Don't be such a wimp!

"Do you... want to...go out with me? S--Sometime?" His throat is clogged with so much embarrassment he fear he might choke.

But when he feels soft fingers trace his chin, he looks up, right into her dark brown eyes sparkling with a tinge of playfulness, excitement and naked joy brimming at the corners.

"I'd love that," she whispers.

And she lifts herself up once more to land a kiss on his mouth, softly, shyly, a mere brushing her mouth against his.

Mingi stumbles upon impact, hands unconsciously grasping her waist as his back comes in contact with the railing lining her porch.

His eyes are wide when she pulls away, biting her lower lip like she can't help but feel nervous from this bold action that has taken him by surprise.

"What--" Mingi chokes on his words, lapses into silence while staring down at her.

The girl merely glances down. A blush taints her cheeks and even though his fingers are shaking and he feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest at the mere prospect of their closeness, his body moves before his brain does.

Closing the gap between them, it's his turn to press a kiss now, a chaste one that tells her that he reciprocates these feelings wholeheartedly. And Y/N responds by wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him closer so that their chests touch, mouths moving slowly in harmony as they chase each other and mold together in a way that leaves Mingi breathless and his heart stuttering like he's just won a race.

If it is, then it's the most importance race of his life.

It is only when they pull apart, breathing into each other with barely millimetres separating their mouths, that he can't help but laugh at the realization that this girl in his arms is his.

"What?" She says while smiling up at him. So gorgeous, so breathtaking. And she's his.

"Nothing," he can sense the heat flooding his cheeks once more, "I just-- I'm just...happy."

And there it is, that same smile that he loves so much. The smile that holds magical words and countless secrets to the amazing mind she beholds. He can't want to delve into her thoughts and pick at her brain, knowing that all of them are going to be precious memories he'll hold dear to his heart.

That smile.

Hongjoong's voice suddenly erupts out of nowhere like a nightmare, "don't think I didn't see you guys kissing out there!"

---

I’m so whipped for Mingi and he’s like 2 years younger so I feel like such an old noona *sighs*.

Anyway, let me know if you’d like more Ateez content! <3 Stay safe guys, and thanks for reading!

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stanknotstark · 3 years

Text

Astral Pt. 15 (Loki x Reader)

Honestly I’m not sure where the fun bit came from, it kind of just naturally happened so enjoy yourself and Loki just being kids since yall didn’t have the most unrestricted childhoods and i think you both deserve some fun XD this probably should have been a .1 chapter but fuck it i reasoned that you relearning magic could be plot pushing considering you’re gonna have to use it in 2 days for something drastic >:)

It’s two days before your departure to find Madonna and you haven’t even began working on your magic. So when you wake up with Loki you ask if you can practice your magic for a few hours. Loki agrees but says you need a full breakfast before anything.

You both enjoy practically a feast because Steve is teaching Thor how to cook and they made enough to fill the entire team ten times over.

After breakfast you change into some leggings and a t-shirt while Loki sports some black sweats and a dark green hoodie. You’re both standing apart from each other in the training room that is devoid of any equipment. It’s basically a padded room that has a single terminal in it to start up the holographic enemies. Instead of using the A.I. though Loki says it’ll work fine for what you’re about to attempt.

For your first attempt at magic Loki has you make a ball of contained fire in your hand. Loki himself makes a ball of fire in his hand to show you. It sounds easy enough but when you do it the fire flares high enough to nearly touch the ceiling, which isn’t that low, causing you to yelp and shake your hand.

When you look at Loki he is smiling sympathetically.

“This shall be fun.” Is all he remarks before telling you to try again.

You take a deep breath and hold your hand out. As you breath you can feel the power of your magic flowing through your blood. It’s almost invigorating to feel that much power flow through you.

“Focus on your magic and make it feel balanced. Don’t let it overwhelm you.” You hear Loki say.

So, you focus. The magic that made you feel powerful resides and you feel at peace. At this feeling you open your eyes and see a small ball of fire in your hand. You smile at Loki.

“Maybe this won’t be too bad.”

“We’ve yet to try any attacks while under stress. You won’t always be able to calm yourself like this.” Loki says. “However, I believe you’ll get it down in no time. You’re smart and adapt to situations without hesitation.”

Next Loki commands you to practically play catch with him with the ball of fire you’ve produced.

You’re a little hesitant because you don’t want to hurt Loki but he insists. So you try tossing the ball and watch as it flies into the air fine before expanding and exploding into sparks causing you to wince.

“Sorry.” You say. You make another ball and focus on your magic. When you toss the ball up into the air this time you feel like a string is pulled taught to your gut. When the string starts to loosen you focus and try your best to keep it taught. The ball of fire lands in Loki’s hands, while it’s a little bigger than you originally made it, it is safe.

“Good girl.” Loki says throwing the ball from hand to hand.

At those words your ball of fire turns purple but before it can combust Loki throws it across the room.

You wince when it explodes midair and look at Loki.

“That was your fault.” You say with crossed arms.

Loki chuckles and comes to you. He lifts your chin and kisses your pout.

“You like when I call you a good girl?” Loki asks, looking into your eyes.

You feel your cheeks heat up but answer, “Maybe, just a little bit, caught me off guard.”

Loki smiles, kisses you again, then backs off again.

You both practice tossing a ball of fire between each other for a bit more, introducing moving while doing it. Loki then makes the ball disappear and orders you to stand in front of him. You do as he commands and he tells you to get into a fighting stance.

“We’re going to try a simple attack. You can do concussive blasts, correct?” Loki asks, looking over your fighting form as he talks, pushing and pulling at your position.

“Yes.”

“Ok, don’t try anything too powerful right now, just a small blast that would knock the enemy a foot or two.”

You nod then prepare yourself. You bring your right foot forwards and as you step punch out your right arm and push out a concussive blast. What you don’t expect is to be thrown back into Loki’s arms.

You thank Loki for catching you and stand up right. With a sigh you rub a hand over your face, frustrated.

“Magic wasn’t this hard the first time I learned.” You say looking at Loki.

“A simple learning curve I’m sure you can handle. Don’t give up.” Loki says, his hands coming up to rub at your shoulders then lets go and stands back. “Again.”

You both spend a few hours practicing simple attacks. Much to your dismay you never get a spell down correctly the first time but feel ok about it because Loki is nothing but supportive and patient with you.

By the time you’re finished with today’s lesson you’re exhausted and starving. You thank Steve for teaching Thor to cook today because you have a wide variety of leftovers to pick from and scarf down like you haven’t seen food in a week.

“Slow down sweetheart, you’re going to get a stomach ache if you keep eating that fast.” Loki says holding your hand that holds your fork of food, his face concerned.

You sulk but listen to Loki and slow down. When you glance up at Loki from your food you see him smirking.

“Good girl.”

You blush and throw a piece of food at Loki’s face. When it slops onto his cheek you giggle. Loki glares at you but what you don’t expect is him to throw food at you. You gasp as his food slides down your face. Loki is now outright laughing at you.

You growl and say fuck it, you can magic the mess away. Completely forgetting your exhaustion and filling with excitement you stand and walk over to the refrigerator and grab a big bowl of Thor’s dressing. You turn to look at Loki who is still lightly laughing at you enough to not realize what you’re about to do. You stick a hand in, relishing in the goopy sound it makes, and throw a handful of dressing at the god.

Loki yelps indignantly as the dressing coats his nice hair and quickly stands to grab a pan of green beans laying on the counter nearby. You both start throwing food at each other with small shouts and lots of laughing.

By the end of your food war the entire kitchen and dining room are covering in various foods. All of Thor and Steve’s hard work slides down the walls and your bodies. Empty pans and bowls litter the kitchen floor.

Loki is holding you and kissing you in intervals as you both laugh with each other, slowly turning in circles in place as you do, in the free space between the kitchen and dining room.

That’s when Tony walks into the doorway. You gasp and look at him with Loki and watch his reaction.

Tony’s face starts as a frown then turns to unadulterated horror as he looks over the two rooms. His eyes are wide and his mouth hangs open which causes you to let slip a giggle. Your body shakes as you try to hold in your laughter. Snorts escape you though. Loki snickers and tries to shush you in between his little laughs but it doesn’t work, it just makes you start laughing harder.

“I’m not paid enough for this shit.” Tony says lowly, looking at you two disappointed then leaves.

Pt. 14.1/Pt. 15/?

Tag list: @justfangirlthingies @emelieh99 @high-functioning-lokipath @loveableasshole @mp0625

#astral #astral pt.15 #loki x reader #loki #reader insert #my writing #loki odinson #just imagining loki letting himself go and having a food fight fills my heart with so much joy #like as i wrote this i was giggling and my heart was so full of love #XD #i just love it when my characters are happy man #sorry it's so short #my adderall isnt working the best today so i was very distracted #probably because i havent had my coffee yet that always helps me focus #imma go make some sweet sweet coffee #have fun!

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adelheidvonschicksal · 4 years

Text

Heat | Bakugo x Dragon!Reader

Synopsis: Due to black magic, you’re slowly turning into a mindless dragon. Bakugo has to help care for you until a cure is available and that includes dealing with your new sexual appetite. [request]

Content warning: NOT SFW, Fantasy!AU, Interspecies, rough sex

“I hate sleeping outside!”

You complained and threw another branch of dry wood onto the fire pit that centered your little camp for the night. Katsuki scoffed at your grievances as you paced in circles around the campfire.

“Well, we could have stayed in town if someone didn’t decide to steal from the fucking merchants’ guild.”

You stopped your pacing and your eyes narrowed at him. “I couldn’t help it! You know that,” you grumbled.

It wasn’t entirely your fault that you found yourself attracted to things like shiny rocks, gold, and jewels lately. When you saw such things, you couldn’t help but collect it. You told yourself it was to sell for money, but that was nowhere near the case as you kept them for yourself. You were starting to accumulate (read: hoard) quite a little treasure pile in your satchel actually. The trinket you stole wasn’t an exception.

“Besides you think he got that talisman through legal means--give me a freaking break.”

“It doesn’t matter! You don’t take it.”

You huffed and sat down in a clear spot that you finally thought good enough to settle and turned on your side. “It’s not like I want to be this way.”

With those words, Katsuki finally stopped grumbling and went to completely ignoring you. As the air filled with silence, you sighed at your unusual predicament and curled your tail around yourself.

Katsuki and you were all you’ve known ever since you were children. Orphaned by the civil war, the two of you had to rely on one another. Being forced to flee your village after another battle made that true now more than ever. When Katsuki’s new goal became to take over the country himself by following his own rule of “whoever survives makes the rules”, you knew there would be hardships, but you also knew he’d get himself killed or worse without your help.

That almost turned true when you had your first scuffle with the King’s royal enchanter. Katsuki almost ended up on the end of a spell that would chain his mind to the body of a beast had you not pushed him out the way. The asshole didn’t even say “thank you” but yelled at you for getting in the way. Thus, your adventure to take over the country sidetracked into a side quest to turn you back into a human before you completely transformed into one of the giant reptiles known as a dragon. The quicker the better, too.

Your head kept hurting with every small sound that you could never hear as a human now that your ears turned to elf-like points and your skin itched with layers of blue scales lining the front of your forearms and going up the side and back of your neck. You didn’t really mind the tiny wings fluttering at your back as much as the beginning of a slowly thickening whip-like tail and the pure white horns sticking out at your temples and curling to the back of your head like a mountain goat, the weight of which hurt your neck no matter how much you tried to whittle them down against tree trunks. Though, the worst is the strain on your and Bakugo’s relationship as he gets angrier with each passing day and added appendage you grow. He doesn’t know how much pain you’re in every time your scales spread or your teeth sharpen. You made sure to keep it a secret to keep him from worrying.

You turned back to him, already asleep with his same resting bitch face and arms crossed. Well, you hoped he was at least a little worried under all the aggression and annoyance.

You weren’t really sure what you wanted to do with your life yet since all you had focused on before was survival, but you couldn’t imagine not spending it without him once everything settled down, no matter how much you fight. He was kind when his mood was calm, and he would often show care for you and protect you. Plus, you’re sure he wouldn’t make such a bad father. You had taken care of the younger orphans before, so you were already like a mom and dad back then.

You paused, wondering where that thought came from. You squirmed, feeling warm as you thought deeper on the subject without real direction since you’re not entirely sure why you suddenly thought about that now. You only ever gave little thought to having children, but you couldn’t break the chain of knowledge that he’d probably give you handsome children, strong ones too, and it’s not like you haven’t thought about taking a spin on his cock a few times. You sat on your hands and knees, crawling as quietly as you could over to him.

Perfectly pleased you were when you gazed at him. Muscles ripping and free to gaze at thanks to his open fur cloak, fine blond spikes scattered and framing a smooth jawline and pouted pink lips. You took the dive and listened to everything that told you to touch him.

Katsuki jolted from his sleep with a groan and a hoarse curse leaving his parched throat. His moan escalated with the intense pressure on his hardened cock, and the situation made him snap his eyes open when the weight felt too real to be a dream. The sight of spiked teeth and unnaturally goldened eyes peering down on him almost earned you a punch to the throat if he hadn’t stopped his instincts from taking over. You had almost fooled him into thinking a dragon got him, the saving grace being your remaining human features calling out to him and his dick as you jerk your hips and your hooked ivory claws dig and pierce into his shoulder to draw blood.

Katsuki shoved his hand to your forehead and roughly attempted to push you away. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Get off me, (Name)!’

“Katsuki,” you huffed, frayed layers of smoke following your words, as your face sweats and creases with another weak moan. You dropped your hands and frantically go for one of his many twisting and crossing belts and cords. “I-I need to feel your cum inside me.”

His face lit red, and you felt yourself flung off in an instant, but that didn’t deter you before you hopped back into a kneeling position and attempted to climb back on top of him like an animal who tried despite their owner demanding them to stop. “I’m not about to fuck you!” Katsuki growled and shook you off again before forcing you onto your stomach and pushing his knee on your back. You whimpered with the bone digging between your shoulder blades, and Katsuki didn’t want to be rough but you kept squirming and trying to buck him back off with snarls of disapproval. “Calm down, damn it.”

Katsuki unhooked the cord around his waist and quickly used it to tie your hands together behind your back before getting off of you. You whined, violently kicking in debris as tears began to stream down your face. You heaved, wailed out, and flipped side to side like a fish out of water. Finally, you got too exhausted to keep up your violent thrashing but not before popping a few scales, breaking the tip off one of your horns, and coating yourself in red dirt and small bleeding scratches from tiny branches and rocks under you.

Katsuki gripped at his hair, panting as he watched the end of your sudden distress. He had no idea what just happened, but it was clear you needed to speed up your trip to the healer. He tied off your items to his waist and heaved you up to journey through the night.

Another four days had passed with you having your little spouts of desperate pleading for him to come over and ravage you senseless and breed with you and tantrums of aggression and violence towards him when he’d reject. He couldn’t say he wouldn’t mind being able to have sex with you; but in that state, it wasn’t anytime likely that he was going to stick his dick in you so you could revenge murder him in his sleep once you’re healed and coherent.

Katsuki finally reached the edge of your old village where he had known the healer to live when you were younger. The old healer had long passed away, but his apprentice still lived there. Any healer was better than none no matter how many times the finicky half-elf made Katsuki roll his eyes.

“Amajiki!”

There was a yelp immediately followed by the crashing of a potion vial to the floor as Katsuki kicked the door open and hauled your sleeping body onto the nearest chair. Finally, the healer turned around, tired eyes falling on Katsuki. He sighed, scratching his head through blue hair.

“Oh, it’s only you two again,” he monotonously drawled, and Katsuki glared. Then, dark eyes widened upon noticing you in the corner, and he moved to you with a speed Katsuki had never seen the halfling move. “What did you do?”

“We got into a fight with that damned Shigaraki, and it was for, never mind! It doesn’t matter,” Katsuki exhaled deeply. “I fucked up all right. Just…please fix her.”

“You don’t need to beg,” Amajiki mumbled, beginning to undo your restraints before moving you to rest on top of his work station. “How long has she been like this?”

“Almost two weeks, she was fine mentally for the first week, but lately she’s been going crazy, and I can’t get her to fucking snap out of it.”

“She’s closer to dragon than human, right now. You’re lucky she has high magic tolerance, or she would’ve turned by now,” Amajiki explained, looking over the progression of your metamorphosis.

Katsuki grimaced. He always knew he had a lack of magical ability or tolerance, not like you who used magic like it was child's play.

“Can’t you do anything for her?”

He nodded and turned to Katsuki. “I’ll give her something to slow down her change until I can make something to remove the curse, but it’s going to take a few week-ah—”

Amajiki gasped as you suddenly lifted up and pulled him down against you. Your lips immediately went to his neck, nipping and biting with a satisfied growl. Bakugo was quick to let his protectiveness and jealousy take over. “What do you think you’re doing? Don’t touch her, bastard!”

“It’s not me!” Tamaki whined and tried to push you away as you passionately pressed your lips to blushing cheeks. “Please, please, g-get her off of me!”

Katsuki moved to yank you off. It was unnecessary since you instantly changed your target once you noticed Katsuki was there. You threw the healer onto the floor without a second thought and bolted yourself to Katsuki’s arm. “Katsuki,” you half cooed and half growled into his ear.

“Son of a—why the hell is she like this,” he scowled as you wrapped your arms around him and tried to hold him against your own body.

Tamaki smoothed out his clothes and wobbly stood back on to his feet. “Mating season started, and she’s in heat right now. I can give her something to calm her down a little, but you…well…someone needs to take “care” of it soon.”

Katsuki scoffed, tossing that idea. “Just tell her to do it herself,” he demanded as he held you at arm’s length.

“She’s not really in a state of mind right now. Dragons need to be induced or they stay in heat like ferrets. If her heat is extended too long, it can kill her before I finish the recipe.”

Dropping his arm, Katsuki’s lips trembled into a scowl, then he asked you, “Do you really need me to fuck you that badly?” You seemed to pick up on the idea, clung him tighter, and seductively crooned at him with a lightly rumbling purr. “Then, just don’t be pissed at me afterward!”

You blinked at him and nod flippantly.

“I’ll get started in here, you can use the room in the back,” Amajiki offered, inwardly drowning in the despair at the thought of having to burn the sheets afterward.

Katsuki dragged you to the room in question the entire way repeating, “Just for healing…just for healing…” Fuck. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding. He didn’t know if it was because he really wanted to have sex with you or because he suspected you would avoid him after. Probably both.

When you got in the room, you pushed him down on the bed without any restraint. Your lips instantly melded to his in a sloppily passionate kiss that made him groan from deep in his throat at you mounted on top of him. Sharp teeth pulled at the delicate curves of his lips, drawing blood that you happily slid your tongue over to taste before moving to his neck with as much fervor and need highlighting every kiss over his bobbing Adam’s apple. He tilted his head up, letting you have free reign to mark and litter his skin with deep purpling bruises as he wrapped his arms around the small of your back.

Despite the scales lining around your back, your stomach and underbelly remained fairly soft and fleshy, leaving your breasts softly hugging to his own firm chest, but it was the eager grinding on his lap that had him moaning.

“Damn, you’re already this excited,” he choked out as you pressed down on his budding boner. Katsuki was beginning to wonder how much of this was you because you didn’t nearly go after Amajiki this compulsively. You seemed extra obsessed on attaching to him. “You really want me to breed you, huh?” You moaned in agreement, a smile drawing against him. Suddenly, he grasped onto your horns and pulled your head back towards your back as he sat up. “You ready to take my cock, aren’t ya? You’ve been begging for it all damn week, but you wanted it before then, haven’t you?”

Katsuki yanked your head back and kissed your collar with rough lips and down the center of your upper chest, stopping only where your clothes didn’t allow him to feel the warmth of your skin. He released your horns and grasped your neck with both hands, dragging his palms down.

“Katsuki, hah, hah,” you whined as your scales prickled and pulled with the strokes of his fingers over the tiny edges. “inside, it’s hot,” you barely strung together the words, but he could pick up on what you meant as you whimpered for his cum to douse the heat built inside you.

“My cock is loaded with cum for you. It’s more than enough to fill your womb.”

Katsuki pulled at his belts, never breaking eye contact with you as you hungrily waited for him to get undressed while snatching off your own robes. Smallclothes were already out for you because of your tail, so you were completely bare and ready as your impatiently watched him finally tug down his pants and his thick cock sprung free, ready and dripping with the first beginning of fresh precum dripping down his rounded head.

“If you want it, you’ll get on your hands and knees," he said to reduce the chance of you clawing him and nudged you to flip you over. He shoved your tail up and out of the way and cup your engorged pussy. He could feel the intense heat radiating from you. He slid his fingers inside your, curling them along your slick saturated inner walls. His fingers nearly slipped out at first go with how wet you were, and a waterfall of wetness oozed out and down his hand as he stretched his fingers inside of you. Katsuki added a third and fourth then begins to move his palm inside you, stopping at the junction of his thumb and pointer fingers, and you take it all with a pleased growl as he twisted his palm in your needy core.

Katsuki moves his hand, replacing it with his cock. He slid his tip against your opening, and you jerked back towards him, desperate to have it inside of you and spraying your insides with his seed.

He chuckled at your whine. “I’ll give it to you, just wait,” he teased and stroked his head in and out of your entrance, teasing the nerves around it with the plump tip of his member.

“Katsuki, ngh, put it in,” you grumbled, smoke coming from your mouth, and he swallowed hard before giving in to your demands before you really got pissed.

He thrusted into you once then pulled all the way out and thrusted again. Katsuki held in his moan as your velvet walls slid around him and enveloped him. Your body was on fire, more so than anything he’s felt. He gripped your waist, thrusting into you with increased speed, his lap bouncing against your rounded ass.

Your nail dugs into the mattress, ripping through the fabric and revealing fluffy down and strands of cloth as your body jerked with his pumps and the room filled with wet slaps and your own growls and low blowing of tiny flickering flames and smoke from your mouth with each pant. It wasn’t until Katsuki gripped your horns, pulled your head and pumped into your innermost wall with an aggressive rut of his hips that you roared in complete pleasure and pain as the pain echoed through your head with the straining of your neck and scalp.

Your tail kept swooping, hitting on the side of his hip, and he hissed with the sting of scales slapping his skin and leaving red welts along his muscular thighs. Katsuki returned your hits with a sharp upward thrust that made you whine and your pussy clench.

It was with a loud mewl that you came around his cock, your fluids escaping in droves down your legs and staining the sheets with the ever-rushed drive of throbbing meat taking your body. It was when he released inside, and his semen coated you inside and out that coolness finally rushed through you, and you dropped your head to the pillow as he stilled deep inside of you before pulling out with a slime trail of cum seeping from your cunt.

You collapsed onto your side with a drawn out, “mm” before cuddling into ripped sheets and piles of cotton. Katsuki shook his head and petted your own. “Feeling better?”

Opening your eyes, you turned to face Katsuki and tackled him to the bed again.

“Fuck, wait damn it, it’s not ready!” he griped as you straddled him and clawed at his chest. You wrapped your hand around his cock and your mouth around his nipple.

With the growl you released, he knew you didn’t particularly care and that he wasn’t leaving any time soon.

—————————extended ending————————

Katsuki hissed as Tamaki slathered his back wounds with healing salve. You had dug all the way into his shoulders and dragged your hands down to the small of his back this time around. They left zigzagging patterns down his back and flared bright red like a beacon on his back, and now it kept hurting every time he stood straight.

“Why hasn’t she changed back yet?” Katsuki demanded to know because at this rate you were going to bleed him dead if not make his dick fall off from soreness and chafing. It had been another two weeks, and Tamaki had given you the potion over two days ago.

“The potion only strips the curse. It doesn’t reverse what’s already happened. She’s going to look like that from now on, but you won’t have to worry about her turning into a dragon completely. Other than having some behaviours like what you’ve seen, she’ll be fine,” Amajiki explained as he finished patching Katsuki’s wounds.

Katsuki sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned to face the healer. “When is this heat going to end then so I can tell her?”

Amajiki paused, quirking his head. “I already told her, she said it’s fine.”

Katsuki scowled.

“What are you talking about? Have you not seen these fucking claw marks! She’s still loopy as hell.”

Amajiki shook his head. “Mating season ended a few days ago, and she seemed coherent when I talked to her the other day.”

Katsuki blinked owlishly at him before scrunching his face with annoyance. You heard the echoes of his scream from your comfortable, relaxed position in bed, and your eyes widened with the knowledge you were caught. “(Name), you fucking faker!”

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #adelssmut #fantasy au #bakugo x reader

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

Note

Bechloe Apocalypse AU? I know it's been done before, but damn, do I love a good trope.

[A/N: This prompt has been in my inbox for a long time and I’m just now getting to it. But the main idea is from @auideas]

Read on AO3 | Request Prompts here

Beca was always the first to stir in the morning. It wasn’t by the light that streamed through the blinds, but her own biological clock that did it. A seven am on the dot, she would wake and stretch and feel her fingers met with the cold of the house. The blinds were drawn and a little slit of yellow, or sometimes gray depending on the weather, mapped itself on the wooden floor.

They hadn’t done much to the old Victorian manor at the edge of town. It came furnished and the only thing they bothered changing was the sheets on the four-post bed and the towels in the closet. They smelled so thickly of must that Beca made the begrudging trip into town for supplies.

Beca would pad down to the kitchen on the creaky wooden stairs and flicked on the coffee maker. She reveled in the darkness, in the cool relief from the South Carolina air. They kept the central unit on high and thick curtains over nearly every pane of glass in the house.

Chloe would stir an hour after her wife.

Maybe it was the absence of heat or her own lungs filling with dark roast. She followed the scent and grasped at the paper set on the kitchen table. She would skip to the sports section first but would always return to the front page for whatever story they deemed import enough.

“Ah, a firefighter with a cat.” She creased the paper “Charming and quaint.”

Beca grunted as she stood on her toes to grasp two mugs. They also came with the house, covered in dust until she scrubbed them. A cartoonish illustration of teddy bears dawned the front and she couldn’t bring herself to read the cheesy sayings past their first week in the Victorian.

She didn’t’ want to get to know the people in town. It was small enough that she got questioning stares from the gas station clerk whenever they ran out of allergy medication or on the rare occasion, milk. He bit his tongue but studied her face. Doveport South Carolina. Not even on the map.

Chloe figured that this is where people went to disappear. Not when they had fresh blood on their palms and dirt under their nails, but when the dust had settled, and they needed a place to ride out the storm. People lived on boats and deep in the swampy woods. They bought foreclosed homes with cash. They barely went outside, and hell- the air was too stiff.

“Did he pull it from a tree?” Beca asked.

“A storm drain, actually,” Chloe said.

The shorter of the two set down a steaming cup in front of her wife. It was loaded with French vanilla creamer and too much sugar for Beca to stomach. She swallowed two gulps of black coffee and cupped her hands around it to keep in the warmth. The house had to be cold. Though, her nose suffered the most from the stark temperature.

Chloe hummed into the steam rising from her drink “Coleman is supposed to drop of the sample today.”

“Coleman is s douche.”

“A douche with a sample. And besides, he won’t even come into the house. The light is too much for anyone to handle, much less the test slides. He’ll drop it by the greenhouse and be on his way.”

“I don’t even want him in my vicinity, Chlo. His male testosterone permeates the air.”

Chloe didn’t’ dignify Beca’s dramatics with a response. It reminded her of the days when she would run around on playgrounds, crunching over mulch and trying to get away from the boys with cooties. But then she had become a biochemist and even well before that, knew that that’s not how things spread.

Not cooties anyway. Maybe the flu or a common cold, but the only thing men were good for in this century was transporting what they needed. People in Doveport never gave a man a second look. Not when they dawned a hat and had grease on their hands. They wouldn’t question his duffel bag or the scent of gunpowder.

Beca went to take another sip of her coffee but stopped mid gulp when the familiar hum of the central cooling system sputtered to a stop. They had grown so used to the noise and the icy atmosphere. She exchanged a worried look with her wife and lowered the cup. “Well shit.”

“Was it supposed to storm today?”

“No. I checked.” Beca tapped the paper absently before pulling herself from the kitchen table. They didn’t’ have much time before their backup generators would kick on. But those hadn’t either. Not yet. Why hadn’t they? Fuck.

Chloe must have had the same thought. Worry crossed her features before she padded across the kitchen and pulled the door to the basement open. She creaked down the steps and was instantly overwhelmed by the heat that had already begun to fill the sod-coated room.

There weren’t basements in the south. Not usually but they had chosen the old Victorian because it had one in the first place. She walked towards the line of tables that were usually lit by a bluish-purple light. Those had gone off too.

In the stumbling darkness she grasped the samples carefully and placed them in the large freezer under the stairs. The ice that incrusted it wouldn’t’ last long but hopefully this power outage wouldn’t either. She sealed it. She prayed about it too but wouldn’t’ let Beca know about that.

Science was magic and magic was science and religion fell somewhere in between but it eased her mind to speak to a higher power regardless.

“Chlo! I think you should see this!”

She didn’t waste any time sprinting up the slotted stairs and leaving the musty basement behind. Sweat had formed against her cheeks and made her skin tight when it hit whatever cold air was left in the nearly empty living room. Beca had peeled the blackout curtain back and the light stung her eyes.

“You opened the window?” Chloe asked.

“I was curious.” Beca Said.

Chloe sighed and squeezed close to her partner before she herself pulled back the dark cloth just an inch. Her heart rushes faster and there was a heat leaking through the windows. She hated the south and the lack of silence that it held onto.

It was the same street that she saw once or twice a month when she ventured from the house. There was another house across the way that had been empty since they arrived. There was a cop that lived next door and a nice family adjacent to them. But right now- there was blood.

The patrol car that usually sat in the driveway was turned on its side and a mass of guts and blood and teeth stirred in the front driveway. She saw fingers flick and smelled fire, or gas, or a mix of both. It made her throat burn.

A stranger, a man in fishing waders had half of his face missing and a dead look behind his yellowed eyes. He limped and groaned tepidly, continuing like he was going on a stroll. His jaw swung back and forth as a clock and Chloe grimaced.

“Well damn.” She let the curtain fall, “This is bullshit we were so close.”

“I know, but someone else was closer.”

Beca walked back towards the kitchen and grasped her now chilled cup of coffee. She finished it off and grabbed the newspaper, looking at the smiling face of the firefighter with a burnt-looking cat in his arms. It was filthy and its fur was matted. She frowned and placed it back on the table.

“Damn government funding. If I could have just gotten my hands on the Amscope.” She grimaced “we’re going to buy you a whole house but you can use a magnifying glass to create a zombie virus.”

“The institution is counting on you, Miss Mitchell.” Chloe mocked.

“Doctor Mitchell, I swear, they always forget that part. You know what we can’t forget? The nine years of our life that we spent getting degrees in science and then another three years held up in this place creating a bioweapon that we didn’t even get to release.”

Chloe lifted her eyebrows and leaned against the adjacent kitchen wall. She had to admit, it was a little disappointing. A letdown after all of this time. But she felt a bit of relief well up inside of her. They would send an extraction team for them at some point and then maybe they would be directed to create a cure. Maybe.

“I think we should get a cat,” Chloe said, picking up the paper and wiggling it towards her wife. “Look at his cute little face.”

“Mm, before or after the apocalypse?” Beca asked.

“During, probably,” Chloe said. “I’d consider a dog.”

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe fic rec #bechloe fanfiction #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #request #apocolypse au

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Maybe You're My Enemy (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

a/n: hey, hi, hello! welcome to the first canon compliant thing i have written since 2017, i am *~ petrified! ~* . i had to write something to fix these two though after the events of episode 8 because i just love them dearly (and the fact in the subsequent episode Lawrence just dropped in the fact they’d shared a bed didn’t help this at all). thank you so much to @purecamp for reading it over and reassuring me it’s not a heap of shit (so if it turns out that it is then just blame her xo). also the song it’s set to is enemy by Charli XCX in case u want to get the immersive vibes!

fic summary: On one side of Scotland, Lawrence disappears from social media. On the other, Ellie reflects.

***

They say, “Keep your friends close”

But you’re closer, I love when you’re here

I’m so far away sometimes, I’m distant, yeah

The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. The stagnant water of the quay is grey, and so’s the metal rail that Ellie’s holding on to as he narrows his eyes, tries to stop the wind from hitting them and making him tear up.

As if the wind would be the only reason.

He brings his gaze into focus on the HMS Unicorn, sat in the water in front of him like some massive whale that’s been planted in a bathtub. It’s a fucking ugly ship; a glorified tugboat on steroids with a big bowsprit sticking out at the front all out of place, but he likes the little bust of the once-white unicorn that sticks out from under it. Ellie remembers getting brought here for a school trip in Primary 3, pointing to the unicorn all excited and getting laughed at by the boys in his class that he knew were going to grow up to be the ones that gave the teachers lip and got suspended in high school.

He remembers that Bryce made up the fact that one of the boys had “said the f word” in the gift shop later that day, just so Ellie could have the satisfaction of watching them get screamed at by their teacher. Ellie still fucking loves him for that.

Ellie thinks the unicorn is out of place in all this grey. He remembers the time he did his unicorn mix when he opened for Willam, how nervous he’d been and messaging Lawrence about it and getting a “this you coming out to me as a furry?” in return which made him laugh and forget why he’d even been nervous in the first place. He can’t help the smile the memory brings to his face even if he wants to.

And he wants to.

Lawrence always could make him smile, get a laugh from him even when he didn’t feel like it. He remembers with a blow to his heart what Lawrence had said on the show- “you’re not terribly funny? Like you don’t have…zinger-y punchlines?” - and how Tia had laughed and Ellie had wanted so much to bite back but didn’t.

Because he always could draw a laugh out of Lawrence. Granted he was usually laughing at him rather than with him, but Ellie could still put a smile on his face by acting dumb, saying things that Lawrence would subsequently repeat in a screech of disbelief that would always make Ellie laugh harder anyway. He’d always self-impose ridiculous dares on himself in front of him: in Hive, “here, what if I did the entire shot rainbow?”, in Nandos, “d’you think I could do the wing roulette by myself?”, in Glasgow on the Subway on the way to a gig, “dare me to get off at Ibrox and I’ll go to the Louden Tavern dressed like this?”. Ellie had been used to being the class clown for Lawrence, the jester for the queen.

Or maybe just a fool.

Ellie’s always hated the colour grey.

You might help me, intimacy

I’ll admit, I’m scared

Maybe, maybe you can reach me, yeah

His surroundings turn to silver as he shoves his hands in his pockets, heads towards the V&A museum that’s still glinting despite the lack of sunlight. He’s stopped by two teenage girls that are polite and shy and squeaky-voiced as they ask for a photo- he supposes that’s what he gets when he goes out wearing the pink and purple fur coat with the hearts on it. Ellie forces a smile and thanks them for supporting him and they tell him he’s their favourite in return.

After they walk away he thinks they must have been lying, but then he feels the frown etch itself onto his face as he shakes his head. The self-doubt is a hangover from filming that he needs to shake off.

He squints at the museum as he walks past, fleetingly thinks about going in and looking at some of the old fashion to cheer him up. A’whora’s promised to go with him when he’s eventually allowed to come up to visit, and Ellie snorts at the idea of the fashion queen of the London scene in Dundee. The thought of A’whora’s reaction to the Wellgate shopping centre- the Credit Union, the B&M, the Jobcentre Plus- puts the first smile on his face he’s had in days.

Lawrence had gone round the museum with him too, when Ellie had dropped him off at the train station the day after a gig and they’d been killing time. It had been weird to just dick about like that together the first few times. Weird the fact there was no makeup, glue and wigs, no alcohol or gay anthems to yell over. Just two boys walking around a museum together. Like a date.

Ellie makes a face before he even realises. Not this.

The first time they did all of it together was weird. Just like everything Lawrence had written. Nandos, cinema, staying at his. That last one especially. Ellie can still remember the way he’d stared up at the bumpy ceiling from his position on Lawrence’s couch in the pitch dark, street lamps from outside casting shadows through the blinds. The room was too cold and the blanket was too small and he hadn’t slept a wink but he’d still do it all over again.

The first time they’d both lain on Lawrence’s bed the morning after the night before, cracking up at Scottish You Laugh You Lose compilations on Youtube and Ellie being unable to help the tears that streamed down his face at Lawrence imitating “big shoe, big shoeeee!”. The way they’d been close and the way their arms had touched and the way Ellie had felt ridiculous for the way his heart was hammering. Just a friend.

The first time they’d found each other under the dark lights of CCs when they’d both been through in Edinburgh to support Alice by chance. The way Ellie’s heart had lit up like a firework when he saw him. The way they’d laced their fingers together without even having to ask permission first, the way everything just seemed to be as simple as tequila rose shots and pink lights and leaning against the wall as they smoked outside.

The way everything else had just happened so easily.

Ellie squeezes his eyes shut before he can realise what he’s doing. The memories have forced their way in, kicked down a door in his head that he’d been sure he’d bolted shut.

He needs to change the locks.

Maybe you’re my enemy

Now I’ve finally let you come a little close to me,

Maybe you’re my enemy

You’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’

Ellie is in the same Stitch onesie he’s been shrugging on since the last episode aired. It stinks. He’s joked to A'whora that he can probably smell him through the phone, and A'whora’s asked if he just sweats out Mango Loco Monster. Ellie makes some joke about wringing out his clothes into a pint glass if he did, which makes A'whora retch on camera.

He’s glad they made up at least. They didn’t have too much of a choice, to be fair. Apart from the way they get on so well, their bond and their friendship, A'whora’s the only other one who knows what it’s like to be in Ellie’s situation.

Except A'whora never stabbed Tayce in the back.

“You should talk to him,” A'whora insists, bringing the whole sorry situation up in a pause where Ellie must have looked as if he was about to make a vodka bleach mixer.

Ellie looks pointedly back at him through the screen. “I’ve been telling you to talk to Tayce for months.”

He watches A'whora pull an awkward face and he’s satisfied he’s hit a nerve. “That’s different though. You and Lawrence don’t live together.”

“Yeah. Least I wasn’t stupid enough to move in with someone I fancied, how’s that going for you?”

A'whora splutters a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Ellie feels guilty all over again. He feels like that’s his default these days. “Sorry, chick, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, I mean. It’s fine. Just have to act as if I’m not in love with the bitch every time I’m around her, it’s not hard,” A'whora deadpans.

Ellie frowns. “You know Tayce feels the same. Everyone knows it.”

“No I don’t,” A'whora says instantly back to him, shaking his head and dissolving momentarily into pixels. “Besides, even if she did, like…it’s easier if she didn’t, y'know? All this…publicity, every move getting analysed. It’s easier to just…not.”

Ellie narrows his eyes. “You’re doing a smashing job making the case for me and Lawrence.”

“You know what I mean! You don’t get people asking where Lawrence is in every live you do. You don’t get people going through the show fucking…frame by frame and then editing every time you breathe around each other together and setting it to a bloody Little Mix song.”

Ellie bursts out laughing and starts singing Black Magic down the phone to him, which makes A'whora look pointedly at him before clearly being unable to hold it for long and instead laughing with him.

Both their laughter dies down and Ellie watches as A'whora smiles sadly, sincerely. “He’s worth the risk, Els.”

“Oh my God, prison. Who the fuck are you, Nicholas Sparks?”

The reference flies over A'whora's head and Ellie starts explaining the plot of the A Walk to Remember, steering the conversation out of the waters it had become marooned in, the captain of his very own HMS Unicorn.

He feels more like he’s aboard the Titanic with every message that goes unread.

Now it’s really clear to me

You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper

“It didn’t get you a badge though, was it worth it?”

Ellie’s asked himself that every day since the episode aired. Since he made the decision, pretty much. Financially? Yes it was. It’s pretty well-known at this point in the grand scheme of Drag Race that with each week you’re on the likelihood of securing more bookings is increased, and now with his slot at Drag Fest he feels as if he’s hit the jackpot.

Everything else? Not so much.

Ellie still feels his stomach drop if he thinks enough about that untucked, which he does all the time. Too much, in fact. The aggression in Lawrence’s voice which Ellie knew all too well was a manifestation of hurt on so many levels. The way Lawrence chose the conflict that Ellie wished he could have avoided. The way Lawrence left his feelings bare while Ellie couldn’t trust himself to do the same in case he said something he might regret.

The fact Lawrence had thought Ellie had set him up to fail was maybe what hurt the most, though. Ellie had wanted to ask him how he thought he’d be able to do that after everything they’d been through together. He’d tried to tell him he didn’t think it was possible for him to fail at something he shines at. He’d wanted to grab Lawrence’s pink fucking headpiece and bash him over the head with it until he realised that he’s Lawrence fucking Chaney, he is the Scottish drag queen. Lawrence is the one who will say something at a gig one week and it’ll be common drag parlance across the country by the next. Lawrence is the one getting booked by the BBC Social to make educational videos. Lawrence is the one on posters across Glasgow, for fuck’s sake.

Ellie might not have been thinking about the worst case scenario in that moment, but only because he genuinely didn’t think there could be one.

After all, he’d had his opportunity to sabotage Lawrence. Ellie remembers the first day when the producers had wanted to set up the Scottish queen rivalry, asked for something shady they could use as a soundbite. The way he’d sought out Lawrence on a smoke break and told him about the situation and reassured him that he hadn’t given them anything, and the way Lawrence had just smiled back at him, softly and genuinely, and told Ellie he’d done the same. The way they’d minutely linked pinkies together before breaking them and walking back inside as if they’d barely shared so much as a glance, neither of them wanting to draw any suspicion their way.

And he could’ve been harsher in that untucked if he’d wanted. Could’ve said how for someone that was meant to care so much about friendship and sisterhood, Lawrence had been doing a great job shitting on him from a great height about his lack of challenge wins and his run on the show.

But he didn’t, because…well. He knows why.

Because the knowledge that he’d hurt Lawrence and lost his trust had done more damage than any joke Lawrence made at his expense could ever do.

Ellie goes live on the Tuesday afternoon. A comment on the chat reads, “are u A’whora and Lawrence still friends???”

“Yeah, me and A’whora are still friends!” Ellie bats the comment away with a fake smile.

He’ll blame his lack of comprehension skills if he’s asked about it.

I feel guilty, I feel nervous, I feel certain now

Maybe, maybe you can reach me

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it.

Maybe it’s when he wakes up on Friday and Lawrence’s Twitter isn’t loading. Maybe it’s when he reads the other Scottish girls condemning the fans, the word fatphobia leaping out, grabbing Ellie’s heart and wrenching it tight.

Surely not this?

Ellie searches Twitter and what he finds makes him feel ill. He doesn’t know what he had expected- he’d known the frantic tweet urging the fans to be kind that he’d typed out before he went to sleep hadn’t exactly been going to create world peace overnight- but he hadn’t expected any of this. Everyone loves Lawrence, surely.

Although perhaps he’s just talking from experience.

Maybe it’s when he shoots Lawrence a message that goes unopened. In all honesty Ellie doesn’t blame him. A flimsy sentiment about hoping he’s okay that clocks in at under 250 characters isn’t going to cut it, and he’s grateful when Bimini, with all their empathy and ability to read a situation as clear as day, texts him and tells him that Lawrence has replied to them and he’s…well, he’s managing.

Maybe it’s when Ellie goes live with A’whora and he manages to mention Lawrence entirely too many times. A cry for attention or an old habit that’s dying hard? He can’t tell. Perhaps it’s both.

It’s definitely got something to do with the Facebook post.

Whatever it is, Ellie finds himself stuffing any old random items of clothing in a backpack and hoping it makes an outfit, shoving the spare key into the soil of the plant pot outside his front door and texting Anne to tell her where it is in case…fuck knows, the flat goes on fire while he’s away or something. He looks up the train times as he’s on his way to the station; a terrible decision, really, as when he’s still fifteen minutes away he discovers there’s one in ten. Somehow he manages to make it to the station with just a minute to spare and his heart lifts to find that the ticket barriers are open, so he dashes through them and hurtles onto the train that’s waiting at the platform. He catches his breath as he slumps into a table seat, having to take his mask off for a couple of seconds just so he can breathe properly. The way his heart is going at the rate the train’s about to isn’t helping.

The chimes of the train announcement cut through his attempts at slowing his heart down, and the little robotic woman’s voice confirms that his ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decision is actually happening.

“This is Dundee. This train is for Glasgow Queen Street.”

Because this is all so last minute, but he needs to see Lawrence. He’s apologised probably ten times by now but he knows he needs to make it eleven. He knows (he hopes) that Lawrence needs that eleventh time too. He knows that Lawrence needs Ellie’s persistence, knows that it’s all just an attempt at self-preservation. Lawrence’s attempts at shutting Ellie out are just inviting him to bring a battering ram. At least, he hopes. But like A’whora had said…he’s worth the risk.

The train starts moving, and even if he wanted to back out now he couldn’t.

So cold at the surface, I’m scared of nothin’

Underneath, I’m nervous

Can you reach me?

Ellie waits for the subway at Buchanan Street and his glazed-over eyes focus on a massive poster of Lawrence on the platform opposite. He briefly considers throwing himself under the next train.

The journey down had passed somehow in the blink of an eye and also agonisingly slowly. Too much time to sit and stare out of the window but not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say. He still doesn’t know. He’d said it all those months ago, he’s said it through texts and DMs. This time feels different, though. This time is different. This time there’s no cameras or runners or pink tables, or distance between them or tension at the fact nothing had aired yet.

It’s going to be the pair of them and Lawrence’s flat. Just like it’s been so many times before.

Ellie thinks he’ll probably just open his mouth, say whatever gets there first and hope it hits the right notes; a terrible decision arrived upon as a result of the lack of any other option. His mind is a messed up ball of television static, a knotted yarn of white noise that he can’t find the end of. He feels as if it’s made of the noise the train makes as it screams into the station, metal on metal and the low whoosh of the wind through the tunnel and the rickety shaking of the doors as they slide open and people stream off.

He picks up his bag and sinks down into the horrifically patterned upholstery of the seats, settling himself in for the journey. The little metal tin can of a train doesn’t take long to fire through the seven stops before Govan and with each one that passes Ellie can feel his nerves spiking and his mouth growing dry.

What if Lawrence isn’t even in? What if it’s all got too much and he’s gone back to Helensburgh for the foreseeable? Ellie could get a train up there, he supposes; he’s already on this side of the country, although he doesn’t know if Lawrence would appreciate the gesture or call the police on him.

Ellie concludes it would be worth it anyway.

He emerges from the Subway and the grey seems to hit him all over again, seeping into his clothes and forcing him to fight through the sadness that hits him like a wave. There’s a little beam of sunshine fighting to escape the clouds though, and Ellie hopes it’s some form of pathetic fallacy. Or whatever that one about the weather matching your feelings was. Fucked if he ever paid attention in Nat 5 English.

The streets of red brick tenements feel like pens of hostility as he passes windows that serve as frames for Union Jacks and Red Hand of Ulster flags. Even being raised in a Christian household doesn’t equip him to identify with this form of religion; where the disciples are football players and the gods are flags and the hymns are about killing Catholics. Ellie has always worried about Lawrence living here, told him as much, but he’s always been met with a bark of a laugh back and some comment about how he’s only saying that because he’s lived such a sheltered little life in Dundee and wouldn’t last five minutes trying to inhabit Glasgow and all its cheerful sectarianism. Lawrence has always had a very blythe attitude to the whole thing, and Ellie remembers when he’d held his hand on the way back from the Subway in full drag after a gig like it was nothing, the way some dick in an orange and blue scarf had shouted at them from across the street and Lawrence had just yelled back with an “awrite, babes?” as if he had a death wish.

Which is what makes this whole thing so grim. The Lawrence who drunkenly and sarcastically greets bigots at three in the morning from across the street doesn’t marry up with the Lawrence that’s holed up in his flat in the face of negativity. Ellie supposes that one homophobic Rangers fan is one homophobic Rangers fan, but Twitter can seem like the whole world’s population, and if Lawrence thinks the world hates him just because he’s reacted to something that was Ellie’s fault…

He feels his gut wrench.

Ellie turns into Lawrence’s street and feels ill. He could always go home. Turn and walk back to the Subway, train back to Queen Street, back to Dundee, back to the flat. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t even consciously made the decision, like it was all a dream.

He sleepwalks to Lawrence’s close door anyway, just like he knew he would.

His hand shakes as he presses the buzzer too hard, and the panic rises in his throat as the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. When there’s a crackle from the intercom, he freezes in fear.

“Hello?”

It’s Kiko’s voice. Of course his flatmate had to be the one to answer, drag out the humiliation of the whole thing. Ellie can hear the shake to his voice as he replies.

“Hey, it’s Ellie.”

“…Ellie?”

He chooses to ignore the disbelief, acts as if it’s normal for him to have travelled across the country to turn up on Lawrence’s doorstep in the middle of a pandemic when there’s a travel ban in place. He’s considering this essential travel anyway.

“Is Lawrence in at all?”

Kiko, for her part, seems to pick up on the way the whole visit is masquerading as routine. In the split second before she replies, Ellie finds himself holding his breath. He steels himself, prepares for a “no, he’s actually…”, to send him back to Dundee like a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into a bin.

So Ellie feels like his throat’s going to close up when Kiko replies down the intercom. “Yeah, two secs. I’ll buzz you up.”

The dread settles in his gut like a weight as the buzzer rings out into the street, harsh and loud and doing nothing for Ellie’s derailed train of thought. He pushes on the door, takes his first step into the close and the echo seems to hit him deep in his chest. He finds himself wishing Lawrence lives four up but he’s only on the first floor, and as Ellie puts his foot on the first step of the staircase he keeps his eyes trained on the stairs because he knows the moment he looks up he’s going to see somebody standing there holding the door open and even though he’s had hours to prepare himself, weeks even, he’s not ready for that in the slightest.

And when he finally brings his gaze onto the front door with four steps to go, he’s not ready for the way the sight of Lawrence almost knocks him straight back down again. He’s slumped against the doorframe and has very clearly not slept- since when, Ellie couldn’t guess. A black hoodie is swamping him and a pair of navy sweatpants are doing the same, making him seem smaller than he already is. The sight of his hair up in that tiny bun hurts Ellie’s heart because it makes him want to smile, reminds him of the Lawrence he’d dick about in the workroom and the smoking area and the hotel corridors with before it all went so wrong. His arms are folded and he’s looking at the tiles on the landing floor until Ellie reaches the doorway, shifts awkwardly.

“Hi.”

Lawrence doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s a minute detail that hurts Ellie more than he would have expected. He doesn’t reply for a second, then seems to relent. “Hey.”

Another pause. The atmosphere makes Ellie wish he’d worn a thicker jacket.

“You’re not meant to be here, you know. Wee Nicky’s probably had snipers trained on you since you got off the train,” Lawrence says, delivering the quip with a bitter, barbed edge that makes Ellie think it’s less of a joke and more wishful thinking.

“Wouldn’t be any less than I deserve, I’m sure,” Ellie smiles sadly, unable to make it meet his eyes. Lawrence’s expression remains unimpressed.

“So why are you here, then,” he not so much as demands an answer but disinterestedly inquires. Ellie bites his bottom lip before he replies, as if he’s forcing himself to make sure his words are perfect.

“I just came down because…well, I wanted to see how you were. I know the past week must have been shit for you.”

Lawrence raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as if to really drive home to Ellie how much of an understatement he already knows he’s made. “Yeah.”

Ellie sighs, wanting desperately to get the next part right. “And I felt like I needed to say I’m sorry. Y’know, in front of you.”

“You said sorry back when we filmed. We’re over it, it’s fine,” Lawrence says flatly, conveying that everything is not fine.

“It’s not fine, though. I wouldn’t have come down if it was fine. Things haven’t been fine since that day, and like…I miss you, Lawrence, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, or as a sister, or as…” Ellie stumbles, looking to the floor as he tries to articulate the other facet of their relationship. “…whatever else we are. Whatever else we were. I’m sorry for fucking everything up.”

There’s a silence in which the pair of them freeze and hold their breath. Time could very well be standing still for all Ellie knows. He immediately regrets bringing up all of…that. He should’ve kept it to friendship, shouldn’t have added anything on. Before he can overthink any more or begin to backtrack, a small sigh from Lawrence makes him look up.

“I thought you hated me,” he says. His voice is small and the words are unexpected. There’s so much Ellie could say in response. He settles on a joke.

“No, I think you’re a cunt. There’s a difference,” Ellie smiles tightly, the joke tentative. The snort it gets from Lawrence makes his smile grow without him being able to help it. “Was that a good one? Thought I was the unfunniest person on the planet?”

“We weren’t talking about your Bake Off improv,” Lawrence raises his eyebrows as he smirks, and Ellie fakes a wounded laugh.

“Shady cow.”

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says out of nowhere, his smile gone all of a sudden.

Ellie tries to drag the joke out a little longer, hold onto the sparks they’ve just created. “Nah, it was shit, you’re right.”

“No, Ellie…” Lawrence shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth a little. “I am sorry.”

Ellie feels the panic wash over him when he clocks the glisten in his eyes. “It’s fine, girl.”

“It’s not fine. I was a dick to you so many times, no fuckin’ wonder I thought you’d set me up. I would too if I had somebody talking down to me like I did to you,” Lawrence says gravely. His gaze is fixed on his floor and just as Ellie is about to speak he catches sight of two tears that fall onto the red carpet, the darkness akin to blood. His horror grows as Lawrence finally snaps his head up, tears shining in his eyes as he sighs helplessly in a shaky voice. “You’re amazing, Ellie, you’re such a talent, and…fuck, I missed you.”

His words mean more to him that Ellie had expected them to. He doesn’t want to let that show, though, because that’s too much, that means too much for the situation just now and he can deal with that realisation at a later date. For now, Ellie points at him in mock-accusation. “Hey listen, I’m the one that got the train down to come and make a big speech to you and say sorry. Buy your own damn train ticket for that.”

Lawrence’s voice is thick with tears as he lets out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“Wee bitch. Always have to make everything about you,” Ellie rolls his eyes, getting another teary laugh out of Lawrence and raising his hopes that maybe they’ll be okay.

And then the banks break and Lawrence makes a little choked-up noise, a sob that’s not fully a sob. His eyes meet Ellie’s and they’re full of so much sadness and regret that just looking at them creates a crack in Ellie’s heart, one that matches the crack in Lawrence’s voice as he speaks again.

“This has all been shit to do without you.”

Ellie doesn’t think before opening his arms out, shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”

When Lawrence immediately opens out his own and they meet each other in the middle and hug tightly, Ellie feels like a balloon that’s been let go and is floating up to the sky.

The clouds aren’t grey.

The way they’re holding each other brings back too many memories. Seeing each other at gigs and feeling butterflies take hold of his stomach. Coming off stage after a number and conveying his pride in him without even having to say a word. Saying goodbye at train stations with disappointment lodging itself in his heart. All the nostalgia makes Ellie want to cry, but he can’t start now. Instead, he breaths a shaky sigh, shakes his head before he speaks.

“You’ve always had me, okay? You’ve always got me. We’ve said sorry now, that’s the end of it. Periodt,” Ellie murmurs against his shoulder, adding on his trademark at the end. The laugh he gets muffled against his chest in return makes him feel lighter.

“I’ve not showered. I definitely stink. You don’t have to keep hugging me, you know.”

“You don’t. I want to,” Ellie says back. He means it.

It’s Lawrence that slides out of the hug first but he’s still standing close as he quickly wipes away his tears, looks Ellie up and down with a smirk on his face. “So where’s your Travelodge, hen?”

Ellie’s sheepish when he makes eye contact with him again, shrugs one strap of the rucksack off before replying. “You know damn well I’ve not booked anywhere.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Right, come on,” Lawrence shakes his head affectionately, stepping back into his hallway and letting Ellie finally cross the threshold to drop his bag like an anchor in the flat. It’s the physical manifestation of the burden finally being lifted off of him, the guilt and the regret melting away in favour of the flutter of his heart and a few small sparks that he wants to put in resin. “I get to choose the film later as reparations. Don’t trust you since you made us watch Cat In The Hat.”

Ellie gives a shocked gasp, genuinely offended. “It’s good!”

“Is it fuck. In fact, just for that I’m going to make you sit through something sci-fi and geeky and you’re gonna hate it,” Lawrence smiles with genuine glee, and Ellie can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. As the pair of them walk through to the living room, Lawrence jumps onto the sofa and fixes Ellie with a look that is clearly meant to be serious but that simultaneously Lawrence can’t commit to and Ellie can’t believe. “You’re sleeping here tonight, by the way.”

Ellie raises his eyebrows as he fakes his agreement, going along with the charade Lawrence is beginning. They both know they’ll end up curled up together on the sofa with neither of them having an explanation for how it’s happened, but at the same time knowing they don’t have to explain themselves. They know that Ellie will end up falling asleep slumped against Lawrence and that he’ll have to gently shake him awake, that he’ll wordlessly offer Ellie a hand to drag him off the couch with and that they’ll go through to Lawrence’s room like always. They know that they’ll wake up tangled together like the sheets and that Ellie will be there for him, that he’ll help Lawrence piece himself back together and they’ll go back to the start. Well, maybe not the start. Perhaps somewhere better.

Ellie keeps his friends close, but Lawrence is something a little bit more. Something a little bit closer.

Baby, you’re my enemy.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #a'whora #uk2 #canon compliant #angst #hurt/comfort #song fic #maybe you're my enemy #ortega

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abizarreyodelingincident · 4 years

Text

Our Nightly Confidant 5

Four steps in my shoes

Four feels strongly.

In general, as a rule, but also in this specific situation, where sweat sticks his hair to his forehead and the pegasus boots chaff from constant overuse. From the slight burn of his arm muscles that nonetheless keep swinging the Four Sword.

Amazingly, the emotion at the forefront of his mind cannot be easily and neatly assigned to one facet of him. Annoyance isn't exclusive to any one side of him, quite the contrary. And the 'you can go die!' disdain is a taaaaad too specific as well.

White paws sweep at him and barely miss the top of his head. Would have hit Ezlo, if this had been his first adventure. The pang of nostalgia doesn't help his focus much.

Small bursts of magic and swings of his boomerang sting enough to keep his enemy on the backfoot. Behind him, a few roots twist enough for an opening beneath the trunk. If he can just...

The paw slams inches away from where he was standing a second earlier.

Urgh. It had to happen after they marched all day in search of civilization, didn't it?

Well, nothing to it, Four adjusts his sword and glares back at the slitted eyes trailed on him.

Which is when the loudest, most thunderous bark he ever heard rips the air in half and hammers in his eardrums. The white monster (cat) yowls in fright, fur straight up in horror, back arched, and it sprints right up a tree.

Wolfie is a familiar sight, and a welcome one at that.

But some instinctive part of him that is more Minish than Hylian can't help grip the Four Sword tighter. From this perspective, Wolfie has more in common with Wild's divine beasts than a regular animal. His claws look about as tall as Four himself. And at the moment, the wolf is displaying a mouth full of fangs that promise a painful death.

He doesn't blame the cat for scampering. He's seen what those fangs can do to a throat. Or a wrist. Or an ankle. Not, really, he thinks the cat shows great wisdom in getting the hell out of Wolfie's range.

But, because he is a Hero of Courage, he flips the sword in his hands, sheathes it and waves his arms.

“Twilight!”

The shift is instantaneous, and a little amazing to witness. The ears perk up, the posture straightens from its crouch, the teeth all disappear behind the black lips. It's a flip of Pacci's cane, a turn on a rupee, and there's the big beast their group loves.

“You okay there, Smithy?” Twilight asked, sniffing him for signs of injuries.

It's strange, hearing Twilight's voice coming through the sort of mental-bond-language of the Minish. Useful though. He's not certain he currently possesses the patience for some games of charades with a wolf.

“No injuries.” He puts a hand on the damp nose even as a burst of hot air washes over him. “Just a bit out of breath.”

“Right.”

It's not a doubtful tone, but there's some Time-patented exasperation in there.

“I would have been fine, you know?” says the part of Four that is a bit younger. “I dealt with lots of monsters even at this size.”

(Not Wolfie size though, that he thinks might be beyond him when shrunk.)

The flat look he receives makes him want to squirm.

He's too controlled for that.

“Yes, yes, I know.” He waves off the implied question. “I thought the innkeeper's cat was still inside.”

“He was. But after he mewled a bit, his owner let him out. And when I didn't see you... I had a feeling.”

Four wants to hit his head against a tree. Animals always were more aware of the scent of Minish magic. Many eyed him curiously when he walked through town. He should have known the cat would want to stalk after him. Probably thinking he knew where a village was hidden. He's going to have internal arguments about this all night.

“Cats are all bastards.”

To Four's amazement, Twilight's tail curls between his legs, his ears drooping. He rather looks more the guilty dog part than the majestic beast he insists he is.

“... But they're so cuddly.”

“When you're bigger than them, maybe,” Four deadpans. “Sneaky little shits.”

Twilight's whine is absolutely ridiculous and enough to make him snicker.

“Fine, fine. I'm not deaf, I hear what they say. Not as bad as cuccos, though.” Twilight's gaze wanders off to a faraway place. “Nothing is as bad as those psychotic birds.”

They lose a moment reliving their trauma over the feathered fiends.

Twilight shakes it off first. He lies down, his body like a hill of dark fur before Four, and hints at his back. Any protest Four might have had before dies in the face of his aching legs. He can fight off monsters at this size, but it's unreasonably more complicated. And he is not in the mood to stab spiders in the face tonight.

The fur is silky under his fingers, which is comforting but also a bit of a pain. Climbing means parting the coat of dark hairs and finding grip against skin. Sometimes, the body under him flinches or trembles, like Twilight is fighting off the urge to roll over. Four imagines it's quite similar to tickling. So he hurries up and makes his way up to the top of Twilight's head. Between the ears and roughly around the markings on his forehead.

Satisfied, Twilight stands, and the whole world blurs like he's still using his pegasus boots. A few more steps are needed before Four's body adjusts to the speed, and then he can relax. Twilight's safe.

And, he notes, not heading straight for the inn.

“We noticed the looks, you know,” Twilight says, because he's one of those busybodies that can't help mother cucco everyone around him till they are 'right as rain over a spring'.

“So?” he replies, even, practiced.

(Zelda had questions, at first, then orders that were swiftly obeyed, when in her sight. He hasn't told her that yet.)

“... How many of them do that?”

Do what? He wants to ask. The inn's owner had been quite polite, very careful in avoiding certain words around Four. Indeed so careful that Four could feel their syllables get more and more defined by the innkeeper's silence.

“Whisper?” he settles for. “A few. I'm weird, I know. Shorter than some kids, but can lift a hammer to forge. Own my business outside Castle Town, only shows up for groceries, talks to myself sometimes and stares at empty spots on shelves. I don't know, I suppose they expected me to apprentice beforehand, but there was a kingdom to save and what did that matter then?”

He punches the ground next to him before remembering too late it is Twilight's head.

The growl doesn't last. But the first few words he says are a bit more bitten out than the tone implies.

“There's a kid in my village. Younger than you. Couldn't lose the baby fat in his face for the longest time.” Twilight snorts, and his tail wags a bit. “And he's smart, really smart, a lot more mature than his older brother too.”

Four has a feeling that's partially due to the older brother's personality, but holds his tongue.

“People whispered behind his back. 'That boy is so creepy.'”

“Fey-touched,” Four says before he can hold back the red in him.

That one hurt. He's picked up habits from the Minish, he's aware. Little things like leaving keystones lying around for other kids or tiptoeing minish rings in the grass. But for those differences to matter so much, he hadn't expected until the first time the words had been floating around him.

“Ah,” Twilight says, followed by a whole lot of nothing.

Crickets around them sing. He can almost see some Minish putting a collar on the bugs to bring them home for a concert. Moving from behind stalks of grass, praying to the moon and the goddesses.

Then, Twilight says: “That takes me back.”

Four stumbles through the fur, his hands grasping on some new strands, but he can't tell if his unbalance is due a jolt in their steps or to the enormity of the idea. Twilight, the stereotypical rancher, seen as an outsider?

He tries, but all his brain conjures up is a much shorter version of Twilight dragging goats by the horns. That and dancing (badly) to the melody of a grass whistle.

Even from his spot atop Twilight's head, the eye roll is obvious despite being out of sight. “The only Hylian in a village of Humans?” he drawls. “Found as a toddler lost in the woods? Hardly able to speak for a while?”

Oh, Four thinks, that'd do it.

“They don't have the right to say that to you,” Twilight growls. “You're their hero.”

He could bask in the warmth. Lets himself lie down on Twilight and forget all about the events of tonight.

Curiosity wins, or well, violet does. “What did you do?”

“Nothing special? Just stayed the same and let them talk.”

Four's eyes bug out. “That's it? Nothing? How does that change anything?”

“When you're you, Four... When you're a good person regardless of rumors and whispers... Idiots don't stop talking, but the ones that are worth it stop listening.” A wolfish grin breaks out on Twilight's face. “Besides, you should have seen their black eyes after Rusl heard them say it to my face. After that... well, they could have called me the King of Evil and it wouldn't have mattered. Knowing you got someone in your corner's better than hollow praise from idiots.”

Four blushes.

He forgot for a bit, and he'll apologize to Zelda when he sees her, but it's true. Whenever he recalls that moment, the guard's words aren't ever the same. The phrasing lost all its power, outshone by the impassioned defense and the sheer anger wielded by his friend.

His back straightens. And he allows himself some childish pride in having the Princess of Hyrule in his corner. What do they have to beat that?

Twilight rumbles a laugh. “So... yeah, ignore them. Put them in their place if you want, the goddesses know you have the strength to do it, but that won't change their minds about anything. If you want some peace of mind, discard the idiots.”

Companionable silence falls between them. Four doesn't feel the need to speak after that bit of reassurance. They circle the woods, avoiding Hylians late on the road and monsters alike. Twilight's seemingly content just taking him on a ride, and Four's loath to admit he wants the moment to last a little longer.

They're not too far back from their starting point when he decides to ask: “About that kid?”

“Malo?”

“Yeah, him, how does he deal with it?”

Twilight does not answer right away. He first jumps over some large, gnarled roots and growls at a fox that seemed a bit too curious about the smell of Minish magic. Four's grateful for the time to calm his pounding heart.

“Well, Malo just stares at them until they get uncomfortable. Then he asks them what they're looking for. It never seems to affect him too much.” – discomfort hits at that, and Four can't tell why – “But, well, it also happened in front of me, you know? And I take after my Pa. So I might have knocked a couple of heads together in Casle Town. Followed by a strong talking to. Not that Malo appreciated that I ran off some of his customers.” A sigh. “That kid, I swear.”

Four grimaces. That type of 'customers'. Will think they bless his forge with their presence, praise him to all ends, then turn around and whisper. “I'm sure he's grateful inside.”

“Eh, I hope so, but it's his call in the end. Can't live his life for him.” Some muscles roll, and Four gets the impression of a shrug. “Speaking of, what do you want to do, Smithy?”

The question takes him by surprise, and it's silly that he didn't expect it.

He knows that Twilight would spend the night outside with him if he asks. They're no strangers to outdoor camping and the woods of his era are less dangerous than most. Wolfie would intimidate most if not all the creatures that live inside it.

But it would be illogical to sleep in the woods when they have more than enough rupees to pay for some rooms in a local inn.

Four is reasonable. It's one of his trademarks as a Hero. Mature for his age. Calm. Collected. It's how he's taken seriously as an adventurer. Why would he shatter an illusion that useful? Over some mild ostracization?

'Serve it cold,' says one quarter of him.

Another sides with Twilight. Their big brother made a good point. They couldn't be bothered by every single ungrateful person out there. They'd always exist, so let them stew in jealousy and paranoia and fear. He has the favor of the Princess, his best friend. What does he need anger for against a countryside shop owner?

But, the blue in him counters with an hammer-like argument: 'No, the best revenge is both.'

The others would be a little mad, he thinks. A little.

He's usually mature enough not to get in trouble. He's due for some insanity and explosions. Wild would back him up here. And it might be his voice in his head that pushes the words out of his mouth.

“So, not that I haven't listened to a word you said, but, hypothetically, if I needed help knocking heads together...”

“How many heads? Wars mentioned an interesting technique he learned from his sparring with some Sheikah general the other night. Though, if you'd rather, I can say, without boasting, that a lot of grown men weep at this form. It's embarrassing for everyone, I tell you.”

Four snorts, struck by mischief. “We're going to need to find a stump. I might have a plan.”

Yes, Four contemplates, the glint of wolf fangs under the moonlight is just as terrifying as he figured it would be. He can't wait.

***

Legend is silently debating with Sky over the right to punch the innkeeper in the face. It's a fierce debate communicated entirely through raised eyebrows, scrunched up nose, muted snarls and meaningful looks.

The others' patience is steadily fraying at the edges. It's especially noticeable with their youngest. There are fireworks going off on Wind's face. The knife cutting his slab of meat to pieces steadily stabs into it every time the innkeeper's mouth opens.

“And where are you fine young men traveling to?” he says with a customer pleaser smile.

'Fine young men'. Ah! There's a thing he didn't say about Four. The fucking nerves of this man.

“Far,” Time replies, his tone even, but his expression thoroughly unimpressed.

“Ah, yes, of course...” the innkeeper says agreeably. “You, huh, you'll be going with the, ahem, with the boy, I imagine?”

How dare he sound hopeful? And 'boy'?! This man's livelihood is owed to the smithy! And he doesn't even have the excuse of mind control!

A hint of shame tickles the back of his mind, when he had first heard the innkeeper talking. He had sounded nothing like the ones from his era, who sometimes refused him entry outright on the basis of old and false accusations.

This current attitude was, technically speaking, a strict improvement over that.

But does the man have to come alive and become so at ease serving them food whilst the Hero of this land take a walk outside? Alone, at night?

Legend grunts into his mug. The rancher left after the smithy, so that ought to solve the 'feelings' question. A bit of a stick-in-the-mud he might be, but Twilight's one of the few he would trust to help navigate difficult feelings. He's got the patience for it, unlike a lot of them who tackle everything the way they do a dungeon, with reckless abandon.

Yet, in the cozy warmth of the fire in the hearth, over the hesitant plucking of the minstrel's chords, a howl suddenly calls to the moon.

They, alone, do not tense.

The howl echoes a second time, much louder. Closer.

The innkeeper shoots them a desperate look, but Legend suddenly realizes that he is blind, and possibly deaf. He has no reason to stand up, much less draw his sword. And, would Farore look at that, his condition is contagious!

The hinges creak as they inch open.

If Legend were not so experienced, he might have been nervous. But he's better than that. He leans back in his seat, places a hand on Hyrule's shoulder, and sips his ale.

There in the doorway, cut in shadows with the moon as backdrop, riding on a large grey wolf, Four raises both arms high in the air.

“Fear my unnatural power,” he says with as ominous a voice he can produce.

Warriors snorts, cheeks reddened by alcohol, and he gives a thumbs-up to their smith, despite the owner's pale complexion.

The mugs left on the table begin to shake. Oh, this is gonna be good.

It starts with a pair of squirrels and a owl, neither obeying their instincts in favor of swooping inside the inn. Followed by a handful of moles, fireflies and stray dogs.

In a flash of white, the inn's cat bolts inside the inn, meowing, till it reaches its owner's legs and climbs onto him. It perches itself on his bald head, seconds before the first deer bounces inside the building.

Epona breaks the first table.

But the three raccoons lunging after his cat are what make the owner scream.

Legend guffaws in his ale.

#Linkeduniverse #Linked Universe #LU Twilight #LU Four #LU Wolfie

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