#i love like?? how ??? hazy(?) it is?? how muted(?) it is?? it's so pretty

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚! — 𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒓𝒊 𝒚𝒖𝒖𝒋𝒊. ˒ ⊹

me and my roommate get drunk one night and end up fucking!!!! oh my god, this is so awkward…

୨ৎ syn. it’s your final year of uni—after midterms come to a close, you decide to celebrate by getting absolutely SMASHED with your roommate, itadori yuuji. much to your chagrin, this decision comes with a boatload of consequences. how do you navigate the awkward morning after with your golden retriever of a roommate!? (4.8k)

୨ৎ pairing. itadori yuuji x f!reader

୨ৎ cw. modern au, fem!reader, both yuuji and reader are in their final year of uni and are implied to be 21+, alcohol mentions, drunk sex, dubious consent (read prev warning), pet names used (baby, pretty, angel), oral (f!receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, dealing w/ the repercussions of fucking your roommate the morning after (but it ended up alot more fluffier and romantic than i intended because i love him), minors + ageless blogs dni! 18+ content under the cut!!

୨ৎ love, oak! oh christ almighty. i like itadori yuuji a normal amount. i just really really think he'd make the perfect boyfriend ever. first time writing for him so hoping and praying he isn’t incredibly ooc but regardless,, hope u guys like this i wrote it with my entire clit :3 crossposted to ao3 here!

[ main m.list! ┊coming soon... ]

“Yuu~ji!”

Your lilting voice carries through the shared living space of your apartment. Shuffling in through the entryway, the door clicks shut behind you as you peer around the corner of the entrance hallway.

“You there? Yu?”

You hear a muted groan come from the couch in response.

Toeing off your shoes with a giggle and setting them onto the shoe-rack (the same shoe-rack you constantly have to pester Yuuji about—”Yu, don’t just leave your shoes on the floor! The rack is right there!”—every other day), you peek over the back of the fluffy couch in the living area and find Yuuji sprawled on his stomach over it, face shoved in a pillow.

“How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Like I’m dying,” comes his muffled reply.

You reach a hand down to tousle his already messy bubblegum pink hair. He weakly bats a hand at you.

“Surely you can live a little longer for a night out with your favorite roommate?”

With a grunt, Yuuji flips over, lying on his back. He blinks once, twice. Then he grins; that familiar, radiant grin that makes your heart speed up a little in your chest. You can feel your own smile widen in response.

“I think I can do that,” he says, propping himself up on his elbows. He tilts his head at you. “You’re not gonna pass out on me again though, are you?”

Your eyes narrow slightly in challenge. Bringing your face closer to his by leaning over the couch, you reply snarkily, “and you’re not gonna force me to shoulder you the whole way home again, are you?”

Yuuji’s eyes widen at the new proximity, a faint rosiness rising to his cheeks that makes you giddy. His throat bobs before he replies, “No, promise I won’t.”

You think you see his eyes flick down momentarily—towards the swell of your chest, exposed by the low-cut top you had chosen to wear today—causing a smug sense of satisfaction to pool in your tummy. You lean further, the urge to be a tease winning out over your usual sense: over the notion that you shouldn’t be flirting with the guy you live with. It's entirely a bad idea (and yet here you are, doing it anyways).

Yuuji’s lips part slightly; when he meets your gaze again, there’s hunger shining in his big brown eyes, hazy and diluted by conflict. You can see the inner strife going on in his head already: he shouldn’t be feeling this way about his roommate. He shouldn’t be a perv.

You shouldn’t be feeling this way about him either, but you just can’t help yourself. Something about the way he’s looking at you fills you with a streak of confidence that throws all common sense out of the window.

“Good. Be ready at 7?” Your tone has noticeably lowered, nearly a purr even as you smile innocently down at him.

Yuuji swallows again, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Sure—okay. Sounds good!” He babbles nervously.

It’s cute. He’s cute.

“Cool. ‘m gonna get a nap in then.”

He nods his head slowly. The tension hovers in the air between you, so palpable you could cut it with a knife. Slowly, ever so slowly, you straighten, watching as his eyes never leave your form. You bite your lip and offer Yuuji a softer smile before you turn on your heel and make your way to your bedroom.

You can feel the way his eyes bore holes into your back as you walk away, skirt swishing with every step. You purposefully sway your hips a little more despite yourself and you think you hear him choke slightly, a sound that makes you feel much more smug than it realistically should.

As you close the door to your bedroom, the only thing on your mind isn’t how tired you are from dealing with midterms—it’s how Yuuji looked at you just moments ago, eyes gleaming with raw want, like you were a five star meal served on a silver platter. You clutch your chest as you flop onto your bed.

There’s always been an underlying tension between you and Yuuji. It used to be easier to ignore, something left tucked away in the corners of your mind, leaving you to instead settle for an easy friendship. Something that doesn’t complicate things, especially since you live together. There’s no avoiding any awkward encounters should either of you decide to take that step.

But lately, things have been coming to a boiling point. You’re not sure if it’s the stress of your final year of uni dawning upon you or if its just years of tension finally being pulled taut enough to snap—whatever it is, it has muddled your senses enough to find flirting with Yuuji fun instead of something forbidden. It has you pushing boundaries you never thought you would push with him before.

Oh, well. If there was any time for things to make some bad decisions and get a little complicated with your incredibly handsome roommate, your last year of uni might just be perfect. Screw the consequences.

“Yuu,” you moan, drunkenly stumbling into a wall of muscle.

Thankfully, that wall of muscle happens to be Itadori Yuuji. He wraps a strong arm around your waist, a hiccup bubbling from his lips as he grins down at you.

“Hey there,” Yuuji laughs. “You okay?”

“Yeeeeaaahhh,” you slur. “Are we home yet?”

“Almost there. Hang on a little bit more for me, okay?”

The night air is crisp and cooling against your balmy skin, a welcome relief after spending hours in a bar packed with sweaty bodies and bass thrumming through your veins. It’s breezy, fallen leaves rustling across the ground as the wind scatters them along the sidewalk. A particularly stronger gust has you pressing closer to Yuuji, your little top and skirt doing little to protect you against the autumnal weather.

Yuuji pauses, making sure you’re steady before he shrugs off his jacket.

“Here, put this on,” he says, gently maneuvering your arms into the warm sleeves. His cologne wraps around you in its embrace, warm and musky and tinged just a little bit with alcohol. You smile.

Megumi and Nobara have already made their separate ways home, the former grabbing an uber while Nobara hitched a ride home with Maki. You can’t help the way you giggle and stumble as Yuuji ushers you forward again. “Nobaraaa’s gonna geeet iiiiit,” you snicker, latching onto the hard muscle of Yuuji’s bicep to steady yourself. “Did you see the way Maki w’s lookin’ at her? I wish someone looked at me that way.”

Yuuji is probably about equally as blasted as you are (you went shot for shot, after all), but he manages to carry himself in a more sober manner than you. He lets you latch onto him like a koala as he guides you through the doors of your apartment building.

He’s quiet. Uncharacteristically so—he’s usually a chatterbox when drunk.

“Yuuji? Did’ya even hear me?” you push.

“I heard ya,” Yuuji hums, pulling you into the elevator with him. As the machinery moves up to your floor, it makes your stomach lurch—forcing you to grab onto Yuuji tighter and bury your face in his shoulder.

“Are we there yet?” You grumble into his arm, clutching him tight.

“Almost,” he replies softly. You think you feel a gentle kiss being pressed to the crown of your head, but with the way everything is spinning, you can’t be entirely sure.

Between some time and the next, you’re finally ambling into your apartment, clutching Yuuji’s jacket tight around you. As the door clicks shut, you spin to face him—

—and end up nearly face planting, if not for the way Yuuji surges forward to catch you in his arms. “Woah there,” he mumbles. “Steady. Don’t move too fast, or you’ll fall.”

Despite his words, he has to lean against the now shut door to keep himself upright, you can feel that much. You grasp the fabric of his shirt in balled fists, pressed against the sturdy surface of his chest. You can feel the way his muscles flex and roll as he shifts with the way you’re pressed up against him.

When you look up at him, doe-eyes wide, you’re met with brown eyes glimmering with want. Lust.

“Yuu… ji?” Your lips part slightly as you suck in a breath. He inhales in sync, his hands dropping to curl around your waist. He holds you gently, like a porcelain teacup on the verge of breaking.

It's quiet. There's a dazed look in his eyes as he stares at you.

“Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his lips softly—but with the silence of the apartment, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, it’s earth shattering. His eyes drop down to your glossy lips, his tongue darting out to wet his own.

You’re not in your right mind. This is a bad idea. You know this.

You don’t care.

Pulling at the collar of his shirt, you tug him down to you, lips meeting in a clash of teeth and tongue. It’s electrifying, everything you’ve ever wanted and needed in this one moment, warmth exploding in your chest like a dying star.

Fuck. You were kissing Itadori Yuuji—and it’s everything you dreamt it would be.

He pants your name amidst kisses but it’s hard to hear with your heart roaring in your ears, a drum beating an unsteady rhythm that throws you off balance in your very core. You stumble into the shoe-rack trying to hastily drag him over to the couch. Shoes clatter to the floor as you tumble into him, a moan falling from your lips as he paws at you while your hands tangle in his hair.

“I was lookin’ at you like that, you know?” Yuuji groans as the two of you fall back onto the couch. He holds you on top of him, letting you get comfy as you straddle his lap before he continues. “You haven’t noticed?”

His voice is heavy, dragging drunkenly as you stare down at him. In this position, with Yuuji laid back on the couch, you feel like you’re towering over him—giving you some semblance of control, even though you know perfectly well that Yuuji can flip you over and take you just like that. You dip your hands under his shirt, nails gently scratching against the velvet wrapped steel planes of his abs. Pushing the fabric up, you reveal the faint happy trail that begins at his navel, disappearing teasingly under the waistband of his jeans. You bite your lip.

“Hey,”—your name falls from his lips in the form of a plea, desperate and sweet—”Look at me.”

Big hands squeezing your hips force your attention back to him. You finally listen and meet his gaze, finding that his eyes are heavily eclipsed by dilated pupils, leaving a faint ring of hazel in its wake. It’s like a dark sun, or perhaps a black hole threatening to pull you into him, consumed by everything that is Itadori Yuuji.

You think you wouldn’t mind that one bit.

“Are you sure this is okay?” He’s worried, something that makes your heart warm fondly, giving you a moment of clarity amidst the fog of lust that addles your brain. The guys you typically went home with sometimes never found it in themselves to care too much about you. But Yuuji… he’s different. He does care. Yuuji continues, a touch softer, “We’re both drunk… what if we regret it in the morning?”

You slowly reach down to cradle his face in your hands. When you speak, it’s with a bold certainty that Yuuji cannot argue with: “I know I won’t regret it.”

Yuuji nods his head. With that anxiety out of the way, he surges up to kiss you with renewed vigor, tugging his jacket off of you and pulling the hem of your top over your chest to reveal your tits. When he pulls back, his eyes widen slightly as he takes in the pretty lace bra you had opted to wear out tonight.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuji says softly. A groan catches in his throat as you roll your hips down against his, delicious friction against his erection that has you mewling for more.

“Yu,” you sigh out as he unhooks your bra with clumsy fingers, pulling your shirt off as well in one go. The garments flutter to the floor, forgotten.

“I mean it—you really are.” His voice has noticeably deepened, taking on a huskier tone that makes your toes curl. “I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. I never can.”

He presses another kiss to your lips, quick and chaste, drawing a path down your jaw, the slope of your neck. He removes a hand from your waist to palm at your sensitive breast, drawing a whimper from you that has his cock twitching in his pants. “I can’t believe you’ve never noticed. Our friends tease me all the time for it, you know?” He sighs, nearly a whine, words slurring together in a lust-drunk haze as he presses a kiss to your collar. “I could never take another girl home with me because I only want you.”

Yuuji’s drunken confession sends you reeling, thighs tightening together around him as you tilt his chin up towards you. Love and adoration glimmers in your eyes as you respond gently, “I only want you, too.”

He smiles at you then, scooping you up in his arms as he rises. “Don’t wanna ruin the couch,” he murmurs, strong hands grasping at the fat of your ass as he carries you with ease. “Your room or mine?”

“Yu—” you gasp, clutching onto him for dear life, “mine, please.”

Even drunk, he moves with you with a practiced ease—as if you’ve done this your entire lives. As he lays you on your bed, he curls over you, lips pressing together messily as his hands fiddle with the hem of your skirt. There’s a brief moment where he pants, “Can I take them off, pretty? Can I?,” as he nips at your lower lip. You nod your head; immediately he’s sliding them off, leaving you in your lacy undergarments and feeling unfairly naked compared to him. You cross your arms over your chest shyly.

Yuuji smiles sweetly as he kneels, pressing a kiss to your navel.

“Don’t hide from me, baby. I wanna see you..” He trails off as he hooks his fingers under the band of your panties, eyes flicking up to yours in silent question. You can only manage to nod your head—words have entirely escaped you at this point. If you spoke, you weren’t sure what, exactly, would come out.

The way he pulls the fabric off of you is almost reverent, his eyes never leaving your body as he sets your panties to the side. His breath is hot against your skin as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“Baby,” Yuuji starts, the pet name falling from his lips with ease, like something familiar, “tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”

Calloused fingertips press into the sensitive flesh of your thighs as he pushes your legs open, even going as far as hooking a leg over his shoulder as he settles between them. His breath is hot and heavy as he grows closer to your core. It’s embarrassing, and you want to press your legs together, but Yuuji doesn’t allow this. He’s firm in his place, holding your legs wide open, baring you to him.

He starts gentle. A kiss to the apex of your thighs, a gentle finger running along your sensitive, weeping slit. A shiver runs down your spine as he parts you open, eyes raptly on you.

“Don’t stare,” you whine. “It’s embarrassing.”

He murmurs a soft apology, taking one more second for himself before he dives right in: tongue lapping at you voraciously, pulling the sweetest of moans from your lips as he eats you out like a man starved. You try to press your thighs together once more but he holds you open, unyielding in his grip as his tongue dips in your slit, then draws upwards, making circles around your clit.

He’s messy in the way he eats you out. He doesn’t hold back, either: he laps at you like he’s a dehydrated man at last finding an oasis, drinking in your juices like it’s the finest of nectars. Slick covers his chin as he raises his head to look at you, half-lidded eyes meeting yours as he eases a finger into you. It slips in with ease, aided by how wet you’ve gotten on just his tongue alone.

Your back arches as he pumps his finger into you. You need more. “Yuuji,” you plead in a broken moan. “Need more—want your cock inside me, I can take it.”

His eyes widen slightly, but he’s nodding his head like an eager puppy, withdrawing his hand and rising to pull his clothes off. You whine, a soft plea of, “hurry, need you now,” that has Yuuji clumsily fumbling at the button of his jeans. He doesn’t even pull them off fully, letting the fabric pool at his ankles as he takes his dick in his hands and presses his hips to yours. His shaft presses against your messy slit, pulsing and needy.

“Fuck,” he curses, a soft whine sounding deep in his throat as his hips cant against yours. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you take in the sight: Yuuji, desperate, grasping your legs and nearly folding you in half as his cock rests on your pelvis, your navel. He’s big. The thought of someone his size fucking into you should be scary, but you know Yuuji will take care of you—or perhaps that’s the liquor in your brain telling you that you can take it, that you need him inside of you now.

“You’re gonna feel me so deep, baby,” he mumbles, entranced by the sight. You buck your hips slightly, barely moving thanks to the hold he has on you.

“I can take it,” you repeat, your breathing growing heavier with every passing second. “I need it. Give it to me, Yuuji.” Your hands grasp at the sheets beneath you as finally, finally, he slides the tip against your slit, catching a few times against your clit (”Yuuji, stop teasing me!”) before he finally eases into you, his fat tip breaching your weeping cunt. The stretch burns, but the sensation is not an unwelcome one.

Your mouth drops open in a silent moan as Yuuji hunches over you, pressing further into your pussy. It feels like it should almost be fucking impossible how deep he reaches inside you like this.

“Baby, baby,” Yuuji whines against the shell of your ear, breath hot and wet. You can feel his chest heave against yours as he struggles to regain his bearings. “You’re so tight—don’t think I can pull out, you feel s’good…”

As he bottoms out, you think you might die like this. His cock fills you so perfectly, pulsing and twitching inside you as he forces himself to still—to give you time to adjust.

You don’t want time, though. You really will fucking die if he doesn’t move soon.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him down to you to messily slot your lips against his, moaning into his mouth as his hips buck into yours. “Yuuji,” you breathe out against his lips. “Fuck me.”

“Okay, baby.” He nods, pressing his sweat slick forehead to yours as he moves his hips. He starts slower, long strokes that force you to feel all of him, deep and all-consuming and overwhelming your senses with him, strong arms caging you against the bed as he fucks into you again and again and again.

Yuuji’s pace picks up, your moans a sweet melody in his ears that spurs him on, making him lose all ration in his brain—it’s evident, in the way he growls almost animalistically, hips starting to rut into yours with reckless abandon. His balls slap against your ass, accompanied by a lewd squelch with every thrust into your messy cunt.

“Yu, fuck—please,” you sob with every thrust. He angles his hips a little differently until he finds the perfect spot—that sensitive little part of your cunt that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. Once he finds it, he narrows his focus on it, bullying his cock relentlessly into your pussy until you’re sobbing.

Your nails scratch along his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake. Yuuji groans and buries his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing and biting at the sensitive flesh as his hips pound into you.

“G’nna cum, don’t stop, ohhhh god,” you gasp out as Yuuji nips at the flesh of your collar. You claw at his back, toes curling in the air when you feel him slide a hand between your slick bodies to thumb at your clit, adding to the orchestra of sensations that are driving you mad with pleasure.

“Cum for me, angel,” Yuuji urges you breathlessly, fucking you with a renewed fervor. His hips are starting to stutter, and his large hands are grasping your thighs in a bruising grip as you convulse around him. His voice alone is enough to tip you over the edge; you’re falling into him, into oblivion, orgasming so hard your vision goes dark for a moment.

A long moan of his name falling from your lips is enough to push him over with you, white hot ropes of his cum coating your pulsing heat. You feel utterly breathless, boneless, as Yuuji slowly eases your legs down. The ache is pleasant.

“Baby,” Yuuji pants softly, breaking the pleasant silence as he brushes his fingers across your forehead. “I’m still… can I..?”

Oh, god. He is still rock hard inside of you. Your pussy is still fluttering with the world-shattering orgasm he had just given you—you’re not sure if you can take more.

But Yuuji looks at you with pleading eyes, your name falling from his lips with such desperation that you’re nodding your head, opening your arms for him. He smiles down at you, and as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his hips slowly start to rut into yours again.

You’re not sure how many rounds you go with Yuuji—the rest of the night is a blur of moans and groans, of him making you cum again and again and again, as many times as you can possibly take.

You wake up with a pounding headache and a foreign weight slung over your chest.

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss quietly to yourself, voice raspy with remnants of sleep. “How much did I drink last night?”

Blinking open bleary eyes, you squint against the light that filters into the room—your room, which doesn’t make any sense because you never bring home your one night stands. Your hand brushes against the strong arm slung over you, and that’s when you hear an all-too-familiar snore.

“Oh, fuck.” You repeat, dread creeping into your groggy voice.

That was Itadori Yuuji in bed with you. That was your fucking roommate, naked in bed with you. You’re wearing his overly large t-shirt, and there’s an ache between your thighs that explains exactly what had transpired when you returned home with him last night.

You don’t remember too much, typical of nights where you have a little too much to drink. What you can grasp—mere wisps in the back of your mind—are fleeting moments of mind-numbing pleasure, or of sweet-nothings being whispered into your ear. Whatever scraps of memory you do have are enough to make you want to scream into a pillow out of sheer embarrassment.

You feel the arm around you tighten as Yuuji pulls you into his chest and you squeak.

Oh, that’s just fucking mortifying.

“Mmh… huh?” Yuuji mumbles sleepily. He slowly blinks, eyes focusing on you after a few moments. “What are you doing in my bed..?”

Your eyes widen as you scramble to sit up, grasping at the sheets to keep your lower body covered as you do so. Your mouth opens and closes as you look for the right words to say.

Yuuji’s eyebrows furrow. He seems to have come to a realization without you having to say it out loud.

“Oh. This isn’t...” Yuuji frowns. He’s calm in a way that confuses you—why isn’t he freaking out like you are? “We got really hammered last night, huh?”

You slowly nod your head in agreement. “Do you… remember anything?”

Your attention is drawn to his lips when he bites his lower one in thought, then drifts downards when you catch the blooming hickeys on his neck in your peripherals. Oh, god, did you leave those? What were you thinking?

All too slowly, Yuuji’s eyes meet yours. The way he looks at you is almost unbearable. There’s a sinking sensation in your chest: you think he might apologize, or tell you that last night was a mistake. That he won’t let it happen again. Quickly, you blurt, “You don’t have to say it. I get it.”

Yuuji tilts his head, his train of thought forgotten. “Say what?”

“I get that you regret it.” The words start tumbling out of your mouth and there’s little you can do to stop it. “It’s okay, you won’t hurt my feelings. I know you’re too kind to just say it outright like that—“

Yuuji opens his mouth to say something, but you barrel onwards, looking down at your lap. You’re too mortified to look at him directly.

“—And I understand if you maybe want to avoid me for awhile? I know things will be awkward, so seriously, take whatever time you need—“

Your onslaught of words is cut off by Yuuji cupping your face in his hands as he leans forward to kiss you. It’s gentle, and while it only lasts for a heartbeat, to you it feels like it lasts a lifetime.

Stunned, you lift a hand to your lips, ghosting your fingers over them as you stare at him. You’re absolutely dumbfounded.

“Sorry,” Yuuji starts softly, his thumb brushing your cheek gently. “I didn’t know how else to stop you.”

You blink at him, making a noise in the back of your throat. It’s an exhale of breath, of one you didn’t even know you were holding until just now.

“I don’t regret it. And I really hope you don’t, too.” Yuuji sighs gently. When his eyes meet yours, he looks unsure, but he continues, “I meant everything I said last night. You’re beautiful, and you’re all I’ve ever wanted. Have been, for awhile now.”

“Oh,” is all you can manage. You think your heart might explode in your chest. It beats an uneven rhythm, pulsing against your ribcage as if it’s bound to break out any moment now.

“I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship, yanno? But now that, uh...” He clears his throat. “Last night happened… I might as well come out with it.”

You nod your head as his words sink in. Yuuji visibly gets more distressed with every second that passes in tense silence, so you say, “Okay. I see.”

He swallows—you know what he wants to ask: ‘Do you like me like that, too?’ but he doesn’t voice it out loud. It hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive. You carefully deliberate your next words.

“Will you take me on a date, Yuuji?” you ask bluntly.

“What?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I heard what you said.” His eyes widen slightly, stark relief visible in his irises. “Are you sure? I mean—I’d love to. Yes. I’ll take you wherever you want to go, angel. You name it.”

You smile fondly at Yuuji—you think if he had a tail, it would be wagging ferociously right about now. “First, you can get me a glass of water and some ibuprofen. Then we’ll talk about date plans, ‘kay?”

Yuuji nods his head fervently. He rises out of bed—and quickly realizes that he’s still naked. “Oh—shit, don’t look,” he stammers, lunging for his boxers that were conveniently laid out on the floor as he blushes. Once he’s got those pulled on, he turns towards you. You’ve politely averted your eyes.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he murmurs, grabbing your attention by gently grasping your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Anything else I should grab ya?”

You feel your face warm up at the affection as you shake your head. With a smile, Yuuji shuffles out of your room to go fetch your requested items.

As you sit in the quiet of your bedroom, listening to Yuuji rustle through the bathroom, you think that maybe fucking your roommate wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#☆ oakie writes #jjk smut #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x reader #itadori yuji smut #yuji itadori smut #yuuji itadori smut #itadori yuuji smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #cw alcohol #dividers by cafekitsune

[selarina]

Gojo Satoru x fem!reader

Content Warnings: oral sex(f!receiving), exhibitionism Minors DNI

You’re resting your back uncomfortably against the bed. Your hair was mussed and your eyes droopy. Shoko almost feels bad for waking you up, but business is business.

“Hey,” Shoko walks in, a shadow against the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. “Have you seen Satoru around?”

“Nope,” your voice, parched as your throat was, comes out hoarse and high pitched as you reshuffle the thick blanket over your legs. “Why would I know where he is?”

“Well,” she ventured as her fingers grazed the slope of her nose. “You two have been hanging out a lot recently.”

“We’ve all been hanging out a lot recently,” you murmured.

“Right,” she said, a hesitant nod punctuating her response. “In any case, if you do see him — tell him Yaga wants to see him sometime today. So he needs to stop ignoring him and answer his phone.”

"Understood," you managed, just about muffling a yelp.

“Also,” she say, contemplatively. You wish she would just leave soon. It was your fault for prolonging the conversation this far in the first place. Why’d you have to ask her questions?

“I’m only saying this because I don’t think I'll live long enough to see this play out but I’m pretty sure Satoru is in love with you.”

Your form stills, eyes widening, as a myriad of questions wait on the edge of your lips, waiting to just tremble their way right out. How do you know? How long have you known? Why? Did he tell you? Why?

But you think there’s no point if the man will refute the accusation just as quickly as they slipped out of her mouth.

“Make of that what you will,” she concluded plainly as she made her exit.

At the sound of the door hitting close, the weight beneath you starts to shuffle, causing you to let out a soft repressed moan.

"Satoru," you whimpered. "How can you just continue—"

“Weren’t you just begging me to make you come?” He looks up, his eyes alight, his lips glistening with the residue of spit and come.

"I never— Ugh. Did you not hear what she just said?"

“What about it?” he inquired, nonchalant, as he continued his ministrations unabated, peppering soft kisses ticklish kisses onto your stomach and your thighs.

You stared back, incredulous as he goes on and on, licking into your cunt. And he’s messy with it too, despite your many protests.

He never half asses sex, he had exclaimed with a grin, to which you often retorted — I wish you wouldn’t half ass the fucking dishes. You found an odd sense of joy in saying that, you thought you sounded like one of those old married couples, like you knew him for a millenniums.

“What do you mean ‘What about it’?” you asked, though the words trembled as you spoke. Were you even prepared to face the end of his response? "Are you...?"

“Am I what?” He looks back up again, his eyes a bit hazy as his hand comes up to wipe his lips.

His eyes flip back to your face, maintaining eye contact. “In love with me?” you ask, and it comes out as a mere whisper.

His response arrives swiftly, devoid of any hesitation. "Of course," he affirms, “You think I like to cut my sleep short just to put you to sleep?”

Your eyes go wide, gulping you speak up. “Yes... ?”

“No, stupid," he chides, his fingers reaching to pinch your thighs, eliciting a muted yelp from you.

He looks back at you now, his eyes droopy and low, his lips curved into a soft smile and his face beautiful, like the moon. He says, "I love you.”

"Really?"

"Yes, really," he chuckles. "Now, do you want to come or not?”

"Uh, yes. Please," you smile. "And Satoru..."

He hums, holding your gaze with an intensity that had been missing for as long as you knew him. And so, you say, "I love you too."

“I love you,” he repeats, and you think the more he says it, the more you can believe him.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader fluff #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut

[wreckedandpolemic]

87 and 57 with matty pls

my kink is karma, part ii - matty healy

(mdni) in which you finally, finally take matty up on his offer. 1392 words.

warnings: mentions of cheating, unprotected sex, mild degradation

You can’t stop fucking thinking about Matty. You’re doomed, damned to hell, every syllable of his name worn smooth like seaglass as you turn it over in your mind. You’ve lost count of how many times your fingers have hovered over his contact, his name in your phone having gone from DO NOT ANSWER!!!! to DO NOT TEXT!!!! to matty in the six months since your birthday.

Picking fights with your boyfriend gets easier and easier, for anything and nothing, your perfect relationship crumbling in your hands; you break everything you touch. Matty, though, is already broken. Maybe the shattered pieces of you will slot together. When Logan finally gives up and leaves you, it’s nothing like your split with Matty. There’s no screaming, no begging, no cruel words you can’t take back. No ache, no hollow regret. Just the quiet click of a door shutting on a chapter of your life you can’t have back.

And the first thing, the first fucking thing you do is call Matty. He picks up on the first ring. “Did you mean it?” you say immediately, low and slightly desperate. “That you’d be waiting?”

Matty laughs disbelievingly. “I haven’t been celibate for the last six months, if that’s what you’re asking,” he scoffs. You sniffle slightly, and he makes a soft, soothing noise, his demeanour instantly changed. “Darling, are you alright?”

“You were right,” you mumble. “I was wrong. I chose wrong. I chose wrong a year ago, and again six months ago. I just want one more chance. One chance to make the right decision this time.”

“Sweet baby,” Matty croons. “Where do you live?” You murmur your address, everything feeling slightly hazy. “I’ll be there in an hour,” he promises.

True to his word, Matty appears on your doorstep an hour later, a bottle of champagne in hand. The same champagne, you realise with a slightly delirious laugh, that he bought for you on your birthday. You let him in, your body a tight mess of feelings you aren’t sure you yet want to untangle. “Hi,” you giggle.

“Hi, baby.” The grin he breaks out in warms your heart as he sets the wine on the kitchen counter. “M’so glad you called, love. Was startin’ to give up hope,” he says, his hands finding your waist and pulling you close. “Was startin’ to think I’d never get to do this again.” His lips meet yours and your blood sings, pressing your body against his and melting under his hands. Matty licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss as you shudder.

“Want you so bad,” you whine against his lips. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you. I started… I almost… I thought about you while he was fucking me,” you confess breathlessly. Matty’s eyes light up. “I— I stayed with him for six months, and I thought about you every time. It was wrong, and I—”

He grins. “Yeah, but he didn’t fuck you the way you deserve to be fucked, did he?” You shake your head mutely. “Missed me, hm? Missed falling apart on your Daddy’s cock?”

“Yes,” you moan, shuddering as Matty kisses his way down your neck.

“Sweet girl,” he says, taking greedy handfuls of your ass. “Let me take you to bed, hm?” You moan eagerly into his mouth, Matty’s fingers nimble and yours clumsy as you tear at each other’s clothes, frenzied. He smirks as you let him into your bedroom, preening in the mirror for a second and grinning widely. “Mm-mm. No,” he says, gesturing down at the floor as you go to lay back on your bed. “Here, in front of the mirror, yeah? Wanna show my girl how pretty she is fallin’ apart for me.”

You nod, sinking to your knees in front of him and tugging his boxers down. Pressing a soft kiss to his hipbone, you wrap a hand around his cock and pump him slowly, his answering moan sending a thrill down your spine. “So eager, baby. Such a good girl. Wanna fuck you first, though, okay?” Matty sits down and pulls you into his lap, meeting your eyes in the mirror, the sight eerily familiar. He dips his head to kiss your neck, sucking bruises into your skin and laving his tongue over the soreness.

Your back arches and you grind in his lap, whimpering as Matty pinches one of your nipples and rolls it between his fingers. “Daddy, stop teasing,” you whine, gasping as he dips his fingers in your cunt, wetness pooling at his touch.

“Oh, darling. C’mon, love, on your hands and knees, yeah? Daddy’s gonna give you what you need.” He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder as you move, stroking over the curve of your ass and murmuring soothingly. “You ready?” he asks, and you grind back against him desperately.

“Yeah, m’ready, Daddy, please, I need—” You cut yourself off with a choked-out whine as Matty fucks into you. Familiar pressure mounts between your thighs, your cunt clenching and whimpers dripping from your lips.

Matty’s fingers dig into your hips, filling you with deep, measured thrusts. “God, I love this cunt so fucking much. We’re not leaving this room for a long time, darling. Gotta make up for lost time,” he promises, something soft and adoring in his eyes as he watches you take him in the mirror. “Did he ever fuck you like this, baby?”

“N-no,” you moan, pleasure dripping down your insides. “He could never. There’s nobody as good as you, Daddy,” you promise, whimpering when Matty’s fingers come up to toy with your clit.

He smirks, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing through the room. “Look at your reflection. Look at how gorgeous you are. So fucking gorgeous when I’m fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only for me,” he moans, your eyes rolling back in your head despite your best efforts to follow direction.

“M’yours. Yours, all yours. Always been yours, Daddy, never stopped,” you babble, whimpering as Matty fucks deep into you, arousal dripping from your cunt.

“This slutty little pussy’s so wet for me, darling. Did you fuck anyone else, huh? Are you a cheating little slut?” he asks, low and vicious in your ear.

An impossible flare of lust coils in your belly, winding tighter and tighter with every circle of Matty’s fingers. “Y-yes,” you gasp. “Found… found guys who looked like you. I never— never called ‘em Daddy,” you hiccup as his thrusts get faster, meaner. “Never compared to you.”

“That’s right, darling,” he coos, pinching your clit cruelly, pleasure jolting up your spine. “M’your Daddy. And you’re my girl, yeah? All mine. Could do whatever I want with you, hm?”

Thick, sticky desire pumps in your veins, your heart beating in overdrive as you whimper and writhe under him. “Anythin’ you want,” you promise. “As long as you make me cum, Daddy, please!” you cry, breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you tip closer and closer to the edge.

“Yeah, darling. Been such a good girl. Cum f’me whenever you’re ready, okay?” Matty says, fucking deep into you and working two fingers in tight circles over your clit. The coiled tension between your thighs stretched to its limit before it finally snaps, your cunt pulsing achingly around him. Ecstasy winds through your bloodstream, a whining moan tearing free of your throat, and you could swear Matty murmurs, “Welcome home,” a split-second before he cums with your name on his lips. You gasp at the feeling of him spilling inside you, gloriously familiar.

“Thank you,” you say quietly as he pulls out, his gaze fixed on your messy, dripping cunt. “Needed that s’bad.” You sink to your elbows, your body limp and liquid.

Matty makes a soft, soothing noise, carefully lifting you into a sitting position. “Oh, baby. Forgot how tired you get after a good fuck. Here, c’mon, up you get,” he says, impossibly gentle as he gets you into bed, pressing soft kisses against your neck and chest.

“I love you,” you rush out as he starts to wander off to the bathroom. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”

“Oh, darling,” he says softly. “I know I didn’t. Always knew we’d end up back here. You’re it for me,” he promises, and your chest warms, everything familiar and finally slotting into place.

#i did Not proofread this sorry #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #writing #smut #request #smut prompt fills

[inkykeiji]

i can taste your skin in my teeth

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: waaaaah finally!!! after working on this piece for nearly two years, it is finally finished!! this piece is the second part of my tag you’re it series and it deals with some pretty dark and heavy subject matter, so please heed the warnings carefully! also, there is a LOT of smut in this, all clumped together relatively close to the beginning so beware of that i guess! | part one | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, power play, blood, physical fighting, verbal fighting, manipulation, toxic relationships, size kink/size difference, rough sex, pussy slapping, dumbification, praise, degradation as a form of emotional release/therapy, thigh riding, dacryphilia, cum feeding/snowballing, minimal prep, the faintest hint of mindbreak, marking, implied car crash/accident, physical abuse + mentions of physical abuse, graphic depictions of drug use and addiction, drugs in general, needles (heroin)

words: 25.6k

synopsis:

It’s incredible, the way his body so readily reacts to your confessions—shoulders curling in a protective shield around your trembling frame, palms grabbing fistfuls of your flesh and tugging, lips brushing yours as he sucks the proclamations from your mouth—an instinctual response he’s hopeless to hold any authority over whatsoever; a natural inclination that had lay dormant, slumbering in his soul, patiently waiting to be awoken by you.

Because he loves you, too.

He tells you as much, in a soft, hushed voice, vulnerable and cracking. It’s been a long time since he’s said those words to anyone, and although they feel rusty on his tongue, creaking under the weight of authenticity, of pure truth, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

Dabi has lost all semblance of time.

He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since you called, going through his transactions blinded with rage, nostrils flared and teeth clenched, your quivering words, stuffed full of tears and terror, ricocheting off the walls of his skull and reverberating against the bone, more and more and more until his ears are ringing and his heart is charred with scalding anger and it’s all he can fucking think about.  

He doesn’t remember how the deal went, doesn’t remember if it went well or if he blew it—not that any of it even matters anymore. There will always be another slimy boss looking to recruit a decent and loyal dealer; they’re a dime a dozen.  

You are not.

He doesn’t remember driving to the house you and your brother share, either, but now, somehow, he’s made it here, standing on the small slab of concrete outside that white front door. Trembling hands rifle through his pockets in search of your house key—the one he had persuaded you into giving him a few weeks ago, for emergencies such as these, for fear of the absolute worst.

It’s all been a hazy, fuzzy blur, like his mind is a camera that’s been knocked out of focus, everything feeling slightly surreal, body running on pure instinct until the click of the lock sliding out of place snaps him back into kilter, everything suddenly sharp, crisp, clear.

Something slams—the muted yet colossal bang! of a brass doorknob making it’s mark in cream drywall, sending gentle tremors through the whole structure—and bounces a few times against the small crater it’s created, mingling with heavy echoes of rubber soles colliding with pristine hardwood.

Keigo crowds his vision in an instant, wildly swinging curled fists in Dabi’s vague direction, so messy and uncoordinated Dabi can’t help but laugh.

It’s a callous little sound, nothing more than a few notes playing at the back of his throat, grim and cruel as broad shoulders roll once.

Bone knocks against cartilage half a second later, sharp knuckles striking soft, pliable tissue hard enough that Keigo stumbles backwards, tripping over his own ankles and landing on his ass, blood cascading over his bitten-raw lips, collecting in his cupid’s bow and trickling down his chin.

A large hand, strong and calloused and unlike his own, tangles nimble fingers adorned with flashes of precious metals and stains of gleaming crimson—gold, not silver, yet much like his own—in his hair and yanks, forcing him to his feet through sheer will and power, impelling him to confront, to be condemned with and cornered by, glowing, glaring sapphire.

“Where is she?”

And despite his heaving chest, rising and falling harshly under his sharp, deep breaths, Dabi’s voice is calm, cold, almost serene.

“Y-You’re not taking her,” Keigo manages to spit through the sticky blood flowing into his mouth, staining the lines of his teeth and the curves of his gums.

A rumble behind a cage of ribs, another punch, square in the jaw this time and hard enough to dislocate it, Dabi’s fingers still threaded securely through tousled gold keeping Keigo standing and steady.

“Like fucking hell I’m not,” Dabi snarls, nostrils flaring, that serene mask already beginning to crack as hot lava boils underneath.

“I wo—” he coughs around the word, sentence drowning in blood. “Won’t let you.”

“Yeah?” Another blow, another breath. “You gonna stop me?”

Short nails sink into the flesh of the hand knotted in Keigo’s hair, a pathetic attempt to claw himself free from its grip. But it’s no use, Dabi’s fingers rooted firmly in shimmering curls, keeping him captive as his knuckles collide with Keigo’s mouth, bottom lip catching on top incisors and splitting the skin.

“Please, you—you can’t,” Keigo nearly whines, a rush of tears flooding his eyes, diluting the steadily pouring blood to a watery pink. “You can’t take her from me, Dabi. I need her.”

“Need,” Dabi snorts out the word, eyes rolling in pitiful disbelief. “You wanna talk about needing something? Huh? Which one do you need more: your baby sister, or heroin?”

“What?”

“Either she comes with me, or you don’t get your fix this week. Your choice.”

“I—You can’t—” Keigo sputters, head shaking in jerky little movements, still trapped in Dabi’s grasp, vying fingers coming to scrape at the other man’s wrist again.

“Oh, but I can, can’t I?” Dabi tilts his head in mock question, eyes twinkling as he stares down at his newest masterpiece, a twisted little smirk crawling onto his face. “Make a decision, Keigo.”

Shame sludges through Keigo’s veins, thick and acidic as his chin trembles and his eyes squeeze shut, jaw clenching with a thick swallow.

But he doesn’t need to say anything; Dabi already knows his answer.

Meanwhile, the sounds of their scuffle seeps through the thick white wood of your bedroom door, muted and muffled, words dulled to caustic, rancid lilts that bear little semblance to what they’re supposed to be, your ears only able to discern their voices, their tones—Dabi’s furious, Keigo’s terrified.

You hasten to pack the last of your belongings, fearing that your boyfriend might truly murder your brother if you don’t appear soon.

And it’s hard. It’s harder than you expected it to be.

It’s hard to leave him, bloodied and bruised and broken, gilded curls matted with sweat and scarlet, stray strands sticking to his salty cheeks.

It’s hard to take your Daddy’s outstretched hand, soiled with the blood of your brother much like your brother’s hands are still stained with that of your own, dried streaks of russet painted across smooth skin, tarnishing the once bright silver of his rings.

It’s hard to walk away without a single glance back, to walk out of that little white house with its white door and white windowsills and white panelled walls while Keigo lays in a crumpled heap on the floor, his hoarse pleads of don’t go, sweetheart, please, don’t go, you’re all I have, and cracked whimpers of your name following you on your way out, words clinging to your skin like a sticky film in permanence, soaking through your flesh to poison your blood and permeate your brain as they fuse to the walls of your skull. 

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

They’re uncontainable, those half-stifled sobs that keep shattering to pieces in your chest as you try to hold them back, to push them down, to keep them restrained just until you get to the safety and solitude of the Eldorado.

Dabi’s got both arms wrapped around you as he walks you hastily towards his car, grip tightening with each shredded cry that wracks your body, lips murmuring sweet nothings into your hair as they press endless kisses to the crown of your head.

Any attempt to deposit you on the passenger seat is immediately abandoned as you cling to him with a sharp whine of protest, dainty fingers twisting almost violently in the fabric of his hoodie.

“Okay, okay,” he’s pacifying, nodding to himself before he tucks you beneath his chin, holding you tightly to his chest as he maneuvers the two of you to the drivers side, fluidly sliding into the vehicle with you still tangled up in his limbs and shuffling you into a straddling position on his thighs.

The steering wheel digs into your spine, grinding against each notch of vertebrae as you wiggle on your Daddy’s lap, attempting to smush yourself closer to him. A large hand is roaming your back at once, pressing you against him in an attempt to protect your backbone while his other hand hastily fiddles with the seat adjustment, thighs tensing beneath you as he uses his feet to push the seat back.

For a moment, everything is nearly silent, the full weight of the situation settling into place, dense and suffocating and padded by Dabi’s jagged breaths and your poorly suppressed sniffles.

And then, it breaks.

And, oh, how you cry, chest stammering sobs that send ripples through your flesh, that shudder your bones and stutter your breath, until your eyes sting and your head pounds and your throat aches and your lips crack.

You cry until you can’t anymore, until the tears turn torrid, leaving behind sticky trails of salt to stain your cheeks.

And throughout it all, Dabi holds you, safe and secure against his vibrating chest, palms pressed to your heaving back and nose buried in your damp hair, softly humming, his strong arms keeping your bones from splintering under the weight of your agony.

“Hey,” he whispers after your weeping has calmed to hiccups, leaning back a little and shrugging a shoulder to nudge your face from his chest. “Look at me, precious.”

His features twist into a wince as you obey, peeking up at him from your sanctuary, eyes swollen and lips licked raw.

Calloused palms cup your jaw, more tender than anyone’s ever touched you before, as if you’re physically delicate—one careless action and you might smash to pieces—and tip your head further upward, rough skin contradicting the gentleness of his actions.

Tilting your face to the right, Dabi reveals your injured cheek, a sharp hiss sucked through his teeth at the full, unadulterated sight of it, his grimace deepening.

You can feel it below you, the way tremors of fury course through his veins, can see it in the air around him, the way it pops and crackles with potent energy, ebbing and flowing with the blazing sapphire of his eyes.

“That fucking bastard,” he chokes out, voice fading to a snarl.

It’s obvious he has more to say, the methodical flexing of his jaw and violent bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he repeatedly shoves the words back down his throat serving as a testament to this fact.

And although he doesn’t vocalize them, you can hear them, rattling around rancorously in your head, ghosts of sentiments he’s expressed before—I told you I’d fucking kill him if he put his goddamn hands on you again, baby, and I fucking meant it. I’m gonna fucking slaughter him, gut him from groin to sternum and watch all his insides spill out; a slow, tortuous death for what he’s done to you…

But you’re thankful he refrains from speaking such notions anyway, sparing you the gory, grotesque details of everything he wishes to do to your older brother; now is hardly the appropriate time for such vile things.

Instead, he clears his throat, scrambles the letters around and exhales a singular, shaky breath from his nose.

“Look, I…” he begins, then falters, eyes intently searching your face before they dart away, his front teeth nibbling at the thin skin of his bottom lip. “I wish I could take you hundreds of thousands of miles away from here, so far that this all becomes nothing more than a distant, hazy nightmare. I—I can’t do that right now, because I just don’t—I just don’t have the money yet, but…”

He halts again, sounding truly regretful, gazing at you through his lashes almost as if he’s embarrassed, as if he’s worried it won’t be enough, or it’ll be too silly. A hand, small and gentle, finds its dutiful place on his cheek, cupping his strong jaw; a silent plea to continue. His chest rises with an inhale, and he nods once before continuing, powering through the words.

“But I can offer you an escape, even if it’s just for a little while.” A thumb skims across your unmarred cheekbone, then over your bottom lip, azure eyes tracing his actions before finding your gaze. “Will you let me do that for you, baby girl?”

Yes, your nodding your head in his loose grasp, a fresh wave of tears lacquering your eyes. Yes, of course you will, you always will.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The sun has retreated below the horizon by the time Dabi pulls into the nearly empty parking lot, a healthy slice of moon bathing the indigo sky in flares of silver, beams distorted by a veil of clouds.

The Mint Motel stands crumbling and cracked on the other side of the city—far away from that small white house with it’s little white fixtures, far away from Dabi’s dingy little bachelor apartment three floors above the convenience store.

Fog diffuses the flickering neon sign, casting a haloed glow around the bright blue VACANCY, soft and surreal as you both walk back from the front office, the Honeymoon Suite key pressed tightly to Dabi’s palm. The wet, warped asphalt beneath your feet shimmers in the dim light, pitch black catching the waning fluorescent rays.  

The suite’s bathroom—all gleaming black ceramic and shining red acrylic—has you gasping in surprised delight, eyes glittering as they catch on the heart-shaped jacuzzi tub sitting lonely and empty in the corner, encased in a rectangle of black tile and surrounded by mirror-panelled walls.

Your soft noise garners Dabi’s attention, hands halting their rummaging through the cabinets and throwing a glance over his shoulder, a smirk spreading across his lips as he realizes what has you so enamoured.

“We’ll use that later, baby,” he promises as he turns back to his task, pulling a small first-aid kit from the bowels of the cupboard and tossing it on the counter. “But right now,” he begins, grunting a little as he pushes on his knees and stands. “Daddy needs to get you all cleaned up.”

Strong hands snake under your armpits, hefting you up and placing you on the edge of the countertop, sharp hipbones nudging your thighs open wider as he stands between them. A damp, soapy wad of gauze presses gently against your swollen cheek, sending little thorns of pain searing through your flesh, and a low whine catches in your throat, face jerking away instinctually.

“Shh, I know, I know,” Dabi murmurs as his free hand comes to cup the back of your head, holding you in place as he dabs at the wounds again. “It hurts, baby, Daddy knows. But it has to be done.”

The impact of Keigo’s rings has left two large, deep gashes across your right cheekbone, blood crusting around the wounds in ugly, uneven mounds. The bleeding has mostly stopped by this point, dried strokes of rust and crimson smeared across your cheeks and jaw, Dabi being mindful not to displace the scabs as his hands work.

Dark sapphire eyes, turbulent with a storm of fury and contempt raging in their irises, stay diligently trained on his task, angular jaw clenching as molars gnash together behind his lips, grinding all of the hateful words he wishes to speak to dust and exhaling them in sharp breaths out his nose.

But despite the terrifying malice blazing in his gaze, the thumb on the back of your head is tender, loving, rhythmically petting your hair as the other cleans, a small but appreciated comfort.

The pungent stench of alcohol stings your nose a few moments later, after Dabi has completed his initial cleansing, features contorted into a wince as you cower away from the smell.

Such a reaction has Dabi laughing a little—nothing more than a short chuckle, yet still enough to break through the hard emotion coating his face.

“This is going to burn,” he tells you honestly, though there are still glimmers of mirth playing in his eyes, voice morphing into that tooth-rotting condescension you’ve come to know so well. “But I want you to be a big girl and sit still for me, yeah?”

“No promises,” you grumble through a pout, eliciting a snort from your boyfriend.

“Dramatic little brat,” he huffs out through a grin.

Taking your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, Dabi holds you firmly in place, inhibiting you from squirming away as he begins his second round of cleansing.

He’s careful to only apply it to the cuts themselves, avoiding the surrounding sensitive skin while explaining that this isn’t technically necessary—the water and soap should’ve been enough to adequately clean the wounds—but he wants to be safe, he wants to be sure an infection won’t occur.  

Responding coos fall from his lips while he continues with his duty, each an acknowledgement of the small pained whimpers vibrating in your chest, procured by the waves of pinpricks that sprout through the wound with each blot of alcohol.

“Almost done, almost done,” he placates, throwing the soiled gauze on the counter next to your thigh. “Just a little bit longer, princess. You’re doing so well.”

Rough fingertips, pads stained pink with your diluted blood, slather glops of Polysporin over your cheek, glazing the lesions with the substance before taping thick bandages over them.

“There,” he says softly, eyes scanning over his handiwork, that storm dulled to a drizzle as he soaks it all in. Knuckles brush back strands of hair from your temples before skimming the curve of your cheek, gaze following their slow trajectory, their touch featherlight. He swallows thickly, voice coarse when he speaks again. “Good as new.”

This is the gentlest he’s ever been with you—this is the gentlest anyone has ever been with you—and something buried deep and dark inside of you breaks, fractures into sharp shards that pierce your organs, a dense ache radiating throughout your chest.

For the first time in your life, you are the one having your wounds tended to, taken care of, instead of the other way around.

You try to tell him this, but the words materialize into splintered sobs before they reach your lips, nothing more than an incomprehensible jumble of letters on your tongue.

But you don’t need to vocalize it—he knows.  

He knows, because he can see it: in the way appreciation gleams behind a thick shield of tears, in the way your fingers are tangling in his t-shirt, twisting in the fabric and tugging him closer, needing him closer, in the way your ankles are hooking around the backs of his thighs, clinging to him in every sense of the word.

Calloused palms cradle your jaw, heedful of your injured cheek as they drag your lips towards his own, mouths slotting together.  

Despite his tender actions, his kisses are anything but, saliva-soaked lips bruising in their fervour, mouths messily slotting together as they slip and slide, drool oozing from the corners to lacquer your chins and cheeks with shimmering spit. Nimble fingers dig into the back of your scalp, tugging you closer, closer, closer, noses mashed against one another as your tongues grind, hickory and Marlboros staining your flesh.  

You kiss him back just as voraciously, suddenly insatiable for his touch and his tongue, an urgent yearning to submerge yourself in him completely igniting at the core of your body, desperate to feel him surrounding you, intoxicating you, numbing you.

One set of fingers tangles in the tufts at the base of his neck as the other set, already knotted in the fabric of his t-shirt, give a harsh yank. Your teeth suck his bottom lip between their edges and sink into the plush flesh, savouring the groan that rumbles from his mouth into yours, a shiver creeping up the notches of his spine as he drags his lips free of its sharp captors, the ridges of your teeth scraping against it in the process.

The thighs cushioning his hips flex as you attempt to pull him closer, the ankles clasped around his legs tightening, heels digging into firm muscle.

He’s just as desperate to give you everything you’re craving, just as desperate to take away the anguish that has been instilled in you; to suck it from your mouth and soul in the form of precious little gasps and broken little whines, to store it safely in the depths of his lungs and the pit of his stomach and take the strain of its immense weight off your body, to share the burden of carrying it.

“I want this off,” he murmurs against your lips, hands pulling at the hoodie your body is currently drowning in—his hoodie, used to hide your marred face from the motel clerk at the front desk, since you had refused to wait for Dabi in the car, refused to be away from him for even a moment.

You obey immediately, retreating and lifting your arms, allowing Dabi to rid you of the garment, cautious of your injuries.

Taking your face between his palms again, sapphire eyes sweep across your face, gaze trailing after the crystalline tears that continue to drip down your cheeks, watching as they collect in small puddles along the edge of your jaw.

And, for once, Dabi does not find them agonizingly beautiful.

Not when they aren’t solely conjured up by him.

His tongue laves across your jaw in wide, sticky strokes, the muscle pressed flat to the bone as it mops up the salty little dewdrops, swallowing down ounces of your pain.

The repetitive rubbing of denim chafes the smooth skin of your inner thigh as Dabi ruts against it, action almost involuntary while he paints your neck in glistening saliva and blooms of violet, hard cock straining, hot and throbbing, against its confines.

A dainty hand snakes between your bodies to pick at his thick belt buckle, whining softly as nails scrabble against silver.

“What is it, baby?” he asks, a hint of teasing tinging his tone, though his voice holds none of its usual derision, the question soft and sincere. “You want something?”

“Daddy,” you cough around the word, stuttered breath slicing it to pieces. It’s all your able to manage: one word, two syllables, pitched high and full of cracks.

But that’s okay, because Dabi knows, just like he always does.

“I’m here, baby, I’m here,” he whispers, nosing along your jaw. “Daddy’s gonna make the pain go away, okay?”

“Please,” you whimper, and your voice sounds so small, so raw with uncut emotion that it has Dabi nodding in an almost frantic manner, eager to rid you of such distress.

Calloused hands slip beneath your dress, kneading your supple flesh as they travel up, up, up, until fingertips brush silk and lace, delicately clinging to your skin. They trace the trim, following it around the curves of your thighs and along your hips until they locate the waistband, toying with the cute satin bow before hooked thumbs dip into the material and tug.

But you refuse to unlock your legs from his own, unwilling to part with his warmth or his touch for a single second, and Dabi laughs, huffing out something about how fucking greedy you are, the words doused in adoration.

Looks like you leave him no choice, he’s saying as his fingers tear through the lace as effortless as fire licking through a spiderweb, yanking the ruined garment from your skin in one swift motion.

It flutters to the floor in a dainty heap of white—Agent Provocateur, two hundred and forty dollars, destroyed in mere moments—but you can’t seem to find it in yourself to care at all, too preoccupied with shoving Dabi’s jeans down his thighs, the balls of your feet aiding his hands, then locking him in place again, ankles hooked together behind his back, heels digging into those sweet little dimples that frame the base of his spine.

His cock bumps against your inner thigh, drooling sticky pre-cum across your skin, another whine, impatient and needy, hiccuped in your throat.

Dabi’s muttering something, low and pacifying as he lines his cock up with your unprepared hole, allowing an impressive dollop of spit to drip from his lips, haphazardly slathering it around his shaft. His eyes stay fixed on the apex of your thighs as he pushes into you slowly, steadily, watching his movements with a sort of fascinated awe as your body stretches and struggles, sensitive skin splitting open for him, welcoming him home.

The pain is immaculate, a sharp hiss slithering from between your clenched teeth, throbbing little spikes searing through your thighs, flesh trembling in their wake.

But it feels so right, being stuffed full of him. It feels so safe, bodies encased in a protective bubble of affection, where nothing can get to you.

“Please, Daddy,”

One final plead, quiet and broken, thick tears dazzling your eyes, continuously escaping the corners like clockwork—two at a time, twin diamonds streaking your flesh, others embellishing your lashes, tiny jewels sewn into fluttering lace.

One final plead is all it takes to have his hips drawing back, charged with dutiful intent, then snapping forward, hard and rough and fast as he builds up a rhythm, one hand braced on the counter, the other pressed against the mirror, fingertips leaving smudges with each thrust.

The consistent bang! of his heavy belt buckle against the edge of the counter acts as a crude metronome, keeping time for the breathtaking symphony of your moans—airy little mewls and pretty little whines, garnished with his own guttural groans and growls.

Every tear that falls, every sob he fucks out of you, every slam of his cockhead against your cervix melding delirious pleasure with delicious pain all diminish the suffocating ache in your chest bit by bit, relieving a deep sorrow knotted at the core of your body.

Together you create something beautiful, something safe, something yours, an ephemeral masterpiece that ebbs and flows and grows and crests before it explodes in tandem with you both, clutching and clinging to one another, bodies shuddering and hips stuttering with the clench and pulse of gushing juices and thick cum, drenching him and filling you.

And, God, you love him. You love him so much, love him more than anything on this planet or any others, love him so tremendously it physically hurts, organs expanding with the sheer density of it, bones straining beneath the immensity, whole body seeming to swell with it, threaded through your blood and brain and barreling up your throat until it’s spilling out your mouth in a single continuous, seemingly uncontrollable stream.

Dabi isn’t even sure if you’re fully conscious of what you’re saying, fucked so good your brain has melted, body pliant and sagging, but he knows it’s true nonetheless, struck by the sincerity in your voice, the urgency in your grappling fingers, pawing at him senselessly.

It’s incredible, the way his body so readily reacts to your confessions—shoulders curling in a protective shield around your trembling frame, palms grabbing fistfuls of your flesh and tugging, lips brushing yours as he sucks the proclamations from your mouth—an instinctual response he’s hopeless to hold any authority over whatsoever; a natural inclination that had lay dormant, slumbering in his soul, patiently waiting to be awoken by you.

Because he loves you, too.

He tells you as much, in a soft, hushed voice, vulnerable and cracking. It’s been a long time since he’s said those words to anyone, and although they feel rusty on his tongue, creaking under the weight of authenticity, of pure truth, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

    ✰          ✰          ✰        

You wake somewhere between Friday and Saturday, the sky still dark and void, the dim motel room blinking in time with the screen of the small television, the only other source of light pooling around a bedside lamp.

Dabi sits next to the puddled yellow glow with his back propped against the wooden headboard, a book held open with one hand and a steadily burning cigarette wreathed between the fingers of the other.

“What are you reading?” you croak, wincing at how raw your voice sounds.

He turns the book towards you, showing you the cover—Brave New World—eyes flicking up to meet yours, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Found it in my car,” he says with a single shoulder shrug.

“You’ve read it before,” you say, not an accusation but merely an observation, gaze scanning the worn, veiny back cover, noting the laminated library sticker plastered around the bottom of the spine.

He nods. “I have, but I don’t mind reading it again.”  

Accepting his answer, you flop onto your back, staring up at the stuccoed ceiling. It’s hard, in the muted silence, to keep those recent memories at bay, the most gruesome events of the past twenty-four hours flickering through your mind—the flash of silver, the sting of the slap, gold matted with crimson and salt, sticking to flushed skin that begs you not to leave—a crudely stitched together montage playing torturously on loop, screened on the walls of your skull.

And the harder you try to force them away, the more vivid they become, binding themselves to the tissues of your brain and ensuring they’ll never be forgotten.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Dabi’s placing his book face down on the nightstand and drawing you into his arms, murmuring out comforts into your hair as he squeezes you tightly, a smothered sob scrabbling at your sternum.

Anger flares in his chest again, bright burning flames of carmine licking up his throat, but he swallows them back down, douses them in his love for you—in your love for him—extinguishing the blaze to a dull smoulder.

Now is not the time for such things, for such hatred and fury. But he will save this fire, keep it kindling deep within the core of his body until he can finally release it to ravage that fucker.

The most important thing at this moment is eradicating all of that pain, all of that suffering and sadness from your soul and replacing it with love, with warmth, with him.

“Oh baby, oh baby,” he’s saying as he cradles you to his chest, bodies rocking back and forth slightly, legs entwined. “Let Daddy make it better, yeah? Do you want Daddy to make it better?”

You’re nodding against his shoulder, a little hiccup stammering the breath in your throat, sweet jumbled pleads spilling from your lips.

“Okay,” Dabi says softly, rolling your tangled bodies so you’re trapped between the mattress and his chest, those jutting hipbones snuggling between your thighs. “I’m gonna take the pain away, princess.”

You’re mewling out little affirmatives beneath him, legs folding on either side of his torso as your feet find his hips, pushing his briefs down his legs as far as you can.

A soft chuckle wafts across your face and he kicks the garment off the rest of the way, ending up in a small heap of fabric near the foot of the bed.

Leaning back on his haunches, he hooks one of your legs over each of his thighs, spreading you wide and bare, vulnerable beneath his stare. Sapphire eyes watch in an almost trance-like state as nimble fingers skim across your skin, outlining all of your curves and all of your contours: the hills of your breasts, the peaks of your nipples, the bends and ridges and slopes of your stomach, down, down, down until they hit the apex of your thighs, thumb brushing against your clit.

It’s beautiful, he’s telling you, still enchanted by your body, how easily you react to him, how readily you react to him, two pads of his fingers pressing down hard on the little nub to accentuate his point, observing with an almost morbid fascination the way it sends jolts zipping through your body, flesh rippling with the force.

His cock is already hard, pink and perfect and leaking against his pelvis, and your hole constricts around nothing, hungry and raring for something to stuff it full.

A gentle laugh, embellished with just a hint of patronization, falls from his lips, index finger tracing the outlines of your pussy—hood, lips, circling your hole—before finally pushing inside, breath exhaled in short pants as you greedily suck him in.

He teases you a little, pumping that singular finger in and out, crooking it at just the right time and pressing a knuckle into that plush spot until the digit is slippery with slick, until your hips are wiggling and whines keep crumbling in your throat, back arching a little in impatience.

It’s not enough, the ache of your cheek beginning to permeate the haze of lust Dabi had veiled over your mind, and you need something else, you need something stronger, you need more.

“Need you, Daddy,” you drool out, words lazy and full of spit. “Need you right now.”

A sharp slap to your cunt with the back of his hand has all of your pain radiating to the core of your body, the sound sticky and wet as it rings out among the room, Dabi speaking over your pitchy cry, strong thighs keeping your legs from instinctively snapping shut.

“There’s never any excuse to be rude to Daddy,” he says, another slap sending pinpricks tingling throughout your inner thighs. “Where are your manners?”

“Please,” you gasp out, lashes fluttering against a torrent of tears, desperate to keep them locked behind your lash line. “Please, please, Daddy,”

“Please what?” His knuckles collide with your cunt a third time, a faint glint of malice glittering in his eyes. “Tell Daddy what you want, sweetheart.”

“Please, your cock!” The words rush from your mouth in a singular huff of breath, tongue nearly tripping over itself in your haste to clarify. “Want you to fuck me with your cock, Daddy, please, want it so bad!”

A coo vibrates at the back of his throat, fingers turned gentle again as they caress your slit.

“That’s better,” he murmurs over the stream of pleads still oozing from your lips. “Okay, baby, okay, hush now, Daddy will give you what you need.”

The stretch is incredible—not that you’ve come to expect any less—delicate skin ripping itself wide to take him, the little sutures created in the bathroom opening again, gleefully, willfully, needing him.

But the pain is welcomed, the pain is familiar, the pain is good, because it numbs your mind, takes your focus off the emotional wound festering in your chest and the intermittent stinging burrowing through your cheek and renders you incapable of concentrating on anything else except for him, him, him.

His hips gyrate for a moment, cockhead grinding little circles into your bruised cervix, inducing a dull ache to take root at the very core of your body. A palm flattens between your hipbones, pressed tightly against your body, softly moaning Dabi’s name as you feel his motions nudging through your flesh.

“I’m gonna fuck you until all you can feel, all you can think about is my cock,” Dabi vows, hips drawing back, unhurried yet purposeful. “I’m gonna fuck you until you go stupid from my cum, baby.”

“Want it, w-wan’it,” you babble out, sentence fragmented by his cock as it slams back into you. “Want it, D-Daddy, please.”

And, fuck, he can’t deny you a single goddamn thing, not when you’re like this, staring up at him with those glazed, starry eyes, glistening chock full with your love for him; not when his name and his title are tangling on your tongue, his cock fucking the most beautiful rhapsody out of you, shards of words infused with sounds of pleasure, sentiments routinely smashed to bits with each pound into you.

So he gives you what you want, thighs straining as he balances on his knees, creasing your legs and crushing them to your chest, using your shins to keep him steady as his hips snap relentlessly.

Tears are seeping through your clamped shut lids, streaking your face with gleaming paths of salt as they roll down the sides of your face. Thick lashes trap a few, shimmering dewdrops that cling to dainty feathers, sparkling in the weak golden lamplight.

“Yeah,” he pants out. “That’s it, baby, cry for me. Cry for me, let it all out, c’mon.”

It’s all so overwhelming, the pain and the pleasure and Dabi, Dabi, Dabi—sweet hickory and spicy nicotine enveloping you, his aura like a thick haze of smoke, candied and intoxicating, burning as it rushes down your throat to ferment in your lungs.

Every stuttered inhale is a shot of novocain to your brain, numbing those memories, numbing your consciousness, every harsh thrust forcing thorns of pleasure searing through your gut, little spikes that melt together in the pit of your stomach, forming a heavy, fluttering ball of blue fire.

It’s all so overwhelming, yet it’s all so fucking good, simultaneously too much and not enough.

“Da-Daddy,” you’re sobbing, little fingers groping at his biceps, trying to grip him, to bring him closer, to find comfort. “Daddy, it’s so much, it—it’s too much!”

You’re really wailing now, whole body juddering with the force of it, nose puffy and twitching with harsh sniffles, a vain attempt to keep it from leaking, spit collecting in the vacuities of your mouth, so much that your words drown in it, coming out mangled and soaking.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, leaning down so his chest is pressed flush to your folded legs, cupping your face between his palms as his hips slow to uneven rutting, dimming the sphere of fire roiling in your tummy.

“Hey, look at me.”

Your damp lids lift, dislodging some of the teardrops that had been caught by your lashes as sapphire searches your salt-stained face, a glimmer of condescending concern in his irises.

“You can take it for Daddy, though, can’t you?” A rough thumb caresses your uninjured cheekbone, calloused skin contradicting such a tender action. “I know how good you are, princess, I know you can take Daddy’s cock for him, right?”

Your head is nodding before you’ve given it permission to, pathetic little mewls of yes, Daddy and of course, Daddy tumbling mindlessly from your lips, desperately vying for his praise, desperately vying for the mind-numbing high that comes packaged with it.

“Good,” he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before he starts fucking into you again, rapidly gaining speed with each jackhammer of his hips and surpassing his previous pace.

The prettiest whimpers are spilling from your throat, gentle little things that break and fade into wispy little whines, each one pushed from your lips in time with his brutal thrusts.

“How’s that, baby?” he breathes, eyes voracious as they sweep across your face, desperate to devour every little change in expression. “Go on, don’t be shy, tell Daddy how his cock’s making you feel.”

Good, good, so fucking good, every drag of his cock against that plush spot buried deep within you sending another flare of scalding sapphire flames licking through your veins, adding to the blaze coiling at your core.

So good, in fact, that you can’t seem to stitch the simple words together, letters turning to ash in your throat, wheezed out as bastardized versions of what they were originally supposed to be.

And Dabi can’t help but huff out a little laugh, strained with pleasure, murmuring something about how fucking cute you are when you get like this, all dumb and fucked out with hedonistic bliss.

“Yeah, yeah, just think about Daddy’s cock, princess, s’all that matters right now,” he rasps, stringy strands of ink, clumped together with sweat, hanging in his eyes. “God, look at you,” he nearly keens, gaze flitting to where you’re conjoined. “Such a perfect little whore I’ve got, taking my whole cock like that, such a—f-fuck—such a good, good girl for me,”

That sphere of fire is curling in on itself, tighter and tighter and tighter with each pump of his hips until finally it explodes in a shower of sapphire sparks, singeing into your flesh and steeped in your blood, lighting your entire body ablaze as your cunt spasms, floods of heat gushing at the apex of your thighs.

“Yeah, baby, c’mon, cream all over my cock,” Dabi says, voice hoarse with passion.

You’re still cumming when he does, only a few pistons later, muscles pulled taut as his cock pulses, spurt after spurt of hot cum stuffing you to the brim, your name cracking in his throat.

He collapses on you a moment later, a heavy heaving mess of sticky skin, cock still buried inside you, twitching with the corollary of his orgasm. You can feel his cum oozing out of you, thick and cooling as it trickles down your skin, thighs tensing as you attempt to keep it inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimper, the name nothing more than a warped mess on your tongue, weighted with spit. “Daddy.”

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles into your shoulder, noncommittal, breath still coming in short puffs.

“Daddy, your cum,” your hips squirm beneath him, shoving upwards, trying to use his cock as a plug.

“What about it?”

“S’leaking outta me.”

Dabi pulls back to look at you, eyebrows slightly wrinkled. “So?”

“I don’t want it to,” you whine. “Want it to stay in me forever.”

With a laugh, he shakes his head. “That’s cute, princess,” he says. “But there’s nothing Daddy can do to make sure it stays in you forever.”

Another whine, pitchy and petulant, vibrates in your throat, hips rocking again. “My mouth,” you say. “Feed it to me. Put it in my belly where it’ll stay forever.”

A piece of him, seeping into the floor of your stomach, mouth watering with the thought.

Crystal eyes search your face for a moment, darkening with the sincerity of your expression. You look as though you may cry if he denies you, staring up at him with lust-blown lidded pupils and a spit-shined mouth, high mewls spilling from your throat.

He doesn’t say anything as he disentangles his limbs from your own, body sliding down the mattress to hook your legs over his shoulders, arms crooked around your thighs, big hands splayed on your hips, pushing them down and keeping them still.

Unblinking, his eyes hold yours as his head dips, tongue unfolding from its cavern, tip hooked as it licks into you, gathering glops of his cum. He laps as much of it as he can from your abused cunt, slow and methodical with each lave, each delve into your soaking hole, filling his mouth with his own essence until you’ve been sucked clean.

Only then does he release the grip he has on your flesh, crawling back over you and using a hand to squeeze the hinges of your jaw, popping it open. His tongue sprawls from his mouth, drenched in thick cream, and hangs enticingly above your own, threads of cum diluted with saliva dripping in slow, large dollops directly into your throat.  

You swallow them readily, greedily, both hands clawed around his wrist as your back arches, starved for more. He laughs at you again, after he’s emptied all the viscous substance from his mouth, telling you in sugary condescension that there’s no more, that you’ve eaten it all up, like the good, greedy little girl you are.

The thought makes you giggle, sends a rush of tingling spikes through your veins, whole body buzzing as you nod along to his sentiment, his cum a warm comfort in your tummy.

Placing a kiss on the tip of your nose, Dabi pushes himself up from the mattress, sauntering into the bathroom. You watch as he goes, stretching your sore limbs out across the sheets, catlike, before you roll over, floundering a little until your toes sink into plush carpet.  

Standing in front of the gilded mirror, your eyes skim over your own body. There are traces of Dabi all over your skin, your flesh a map of the past twenty-four hours, of where he’s been and what he’s done, impermanent little artworks that’ll fade by next week—sketches of his teeth, all thirty-two of them, tinctures of their thin red edges etched into your flesh; dark swirling blotches of deep violet and navy-grey, scattered along your neck and collarbone; tiny starbursts of fingerprints pressed into your thighs, hips, ass, periwinkle speckled with scarlet—and it is all so magnificent, physical declarations of your love.  

Eyes drifting back up, your gaze lands on the ugly patch of gauze, the hints of a bruise—lilac, tinged pink around the blotchy, uneven edges—encasing the pads of white bandages plastered across your face.

Dabi joins you then, strong arms wrapping around you from behind, lips pressing sweet kisses to your neck as sapphire eyes catch your own through the reflection.

“You look so beautiful covered in me, baby,” he murmurs into your shoulder, eyes fanned by black lashes. “I think this is the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.”

You smile a little in response, stare breaking from his to find your injured cheek again, grin deflating. Dabi follows your trajectory, the light dimming from his eyes, replaced by something hard, something hateful.

“The bruise will take a few days to show up,” Dabi says pragmatically, as if he speaks from experience. “The deeper the trauma, the longer it takes to show.”

You nod your understanding, hesitant fingertips prodding at the swollen flesh—marks of Keigo, evidence of your big brother and his hands on you, patched up, hidden away behind thick ivory bandages and paper tape.

“Don’t touch it,” Dabi chides halfheartedly, stepping back and latching onto your elbow with a gentle tug. “Here, come. Let Daddy redress the wounds for you.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The sun is hanging high in the sky by the time you rouse on Saturday afternoon, filtering in through the moth eaten chiffon curtains and painting strips of gold across the room, sparkling motes playing between the shadows.

Dabi’s sitting in one of two leather armchairs positioned near the small wooden table, eyes fixed on the flickering tube television murmuring out a staticky version of True Romance to itself.

He looks ethereal, ivory of his bare torso almost glowing in the afternoon rays, the colourful ink sketched into his skin stark and striking, coming alive with each of his gentle breaths, rippling with the rise and fall of his chest.

The sunlight haloes him, encompassing his body in its glowing embrace and outlining all of his sharp edges and contours—the slope of his nose and curve of his cheekbones, the ridges of smooth muscle blanketing his upper body and the prominent hill of his Adam’s apple.

The rustling of sheets alerts him to your wakefulness, gaze snapping to your form immediately, a small grin spreading across his lips.

“G’morning, princess,” he teases, but his eyes are soft, scared, worry etched into the lines of his forehead and the downward curve of his mouth as he observes your form, the skin of your cheeks taut and glazed with dry salt, strands of hair crusted to your face, lids sticky and puffy. Large hands pat his thighs enticingly, his head quirking to the left in indication. “C’mere.”

You’re scampering across the mattress before the word has fully left his lips, already yearning for his embrace and all the comfort and protection that comes along with it, a quiet chuckle vibrating in his throat as you straddle his lap, one of his thighs slotted comfortably between your own.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck as a form of explanation.

He snorts, a palm coming to pet your back. “Did you now?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, eyes slipping shut again as you snuggle against his collarbone, haze of drowsiness still dousing your brain. “Were gone for too long.”

“I’ve only been awake for about an hour, princess.”

“Too long,” you assert with a pout.

“Alright, alright,” he soothes, laughing a little around the words. “Are you hungry?”

Shaking your head, you hum in dissent.

“Okay, but you’re gonna eat something a little later for Daddy, yeah?”

His voice is kept light, pleasant in tone as his fingers continue to stroke your spine, a sugared demand folded into his words.

“Of course, Daddy,” you breathe out dreamily.

“That’s my good girl.”

The next hour passes in a fragmented daze as you flit between states of consciousness, Christian Slater’s fuzzy voice twirling through the recesses of your mind, twined with the occasional rumble of your Daddy’s laughter.

But it isn’t long before you begin to grow restless, tormented by sharp splinters of memories once again—sticky scarlet smeared across metal, shimmering topaz lacquered with tears, the tangle of deep, angry, terrified voices growling out muddled words—slashing through any semblance of peace your semi-sentient state had brought you, suddenly desperate for your twisted guardian angel to dissipate the pain, to distract, to push those harsh, hard, hurtful realities back outside that sky-blue motel door and locked away for just a little bit longer.

You squirm a little in Dabi’s lap, clit catching on the ragged denim of his jeans, weak shocks cackling along your spine. A sharp intake of breath stings your throat, teeth sucking your bottom lip between their edges and biting as your pelvis involuntarily wiggles again, pressing down harder this time, grinding the swelling bud into clothed flesh.

“Having trouble getting comfy, baby?” Dabi questions after the third time you shift your hips, bare cunt pressed flush to his thigh. “Or,” his muscles flex, firm and strong between your legs. “Is there something else on your mind?”

The drop in his voice, the way it fades to a rough whisper as his lips caress your ear, has scalding heat unfurling in the pit of your tummy, thick and sticky as it seeps through the floor of the organ, leaking into your gut.

A low whine slips from your lips, embarrassment scorching your cheeks and eyes shutting tightly as you mash your face against his collarbone, answering with a single rock of your hips.

Dark laughter vibrates against your cheek, a large palm connecting with your bare thigh half a moment later, the shock and the sting of the impact forcing your head from its hiding place as Dabi speaks clearly over your resounding yelp.

“When Daddy asks you a question,” he begins, lithe fingers digging into sore flesh and squeezing, gathering a healthy handful in his palm. “He expects an answer, sweetheart.”

His eyes practically glow as they search your face, slow and purposeful, as if they’re trying to singe the sentiment into your flesh.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whimper, nails scraping against his biceps as you cling to him, resisting the urge to bury your face again, wide eyes holding his. “I—I was just—M’horny, Daddy,”

He knows there’s more to it than that, knows you’re using him as a distraction, an escape, from whatever thoughts and memories are currently poisoning your mind, but he accepts your response as satisfactory anyway. Because he’s honoured to be your preferred escape, your favourite escape, ready and willing to do his duty to his baby, to help and protect and take it all away, even if it’s just for a short while.

“Yeah?” he breathes, calloused hands slipping beneath the hem of his t-shirt and curling around your hips. “You wanna use Daddy’s thigh to help get you off?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you squeak, head moving in slow, lethargic little motions against his shoulder as it falls forward again, limp and pliant in his arms. “Want it s’bad,”

“Okay, baby,” his fingers twitch against your skin in anticipation. “Go on, then, hump my leg.”

Pricks of humiliation erupt across your skin at his candidness, but your hips begin moving immediately, snapped into action by a direct order.

It’s slow at first, the rock of your pelvis granting featherlight touches to your already swollen clit, a sudden shyness cascading over you, evoked by his pure, undivided attention.

It isn’t sufficient, of course, these shallow motions only working to frustrate you more, dull flares of the heat in your tummy not nearly enough to ignite the inferno you crave, your thighs clenching around the one wedged between them as annoyed little sounds spill from your mouth, huffed out against his neck.  

But Daddy knows.

And Daddy knows just what to say, too.

“Aw come on, princess, you can do better than that, can’t you?” Dabi’s tongue tuts, as if he’s disappointed in you. “Or are you embarrassed, hmm? Acting like such a shameful little slut, so needy for her Daddy that she’s willing to take whatever he’ll give her, even if that’s just a thigh to hump?”

Usually, such a scathing remark would have lit a fierce fire in your chest, fuelled solely by your stubborn desire to prove that you can do it!, determined to demonstrate that you’re capable and worthy of his praise. But today, those insulting words are exactly what you need.

Because they open up a space where you can be vulnerable, granting you permission to be a fucking baby, to cry and whine and cling and want, to be pathetic.

You’re nodding again, forehead pressed tightly to his collarbone as eyes squeeze shut against the familiar nip of tears, half-coherent affirmations bubbling past your lips. Yes, Daddy, can’t do it on my own, Daddy, need you, Daddy.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, syrupy words dripping off a razor, the normally sharp blade dulled by true emotion, fondness. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here, Daddy will help you make it feel good, since you’re too stupid to do it by yourself.”

Although the words are harsh, his voice isn’t, insults cracked open and oozing melted sugar, soaked in a sort of playful admiration.

Lithe fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he forces the rolling of your hips to accelerate, blunt nails branding violet crescents into your skin, a low whimper tickling the back of your tongue.

The denim of his jeans is coarse against your sensitive cunt, fucked open and raw from the night before, each grind against the tough material sending little spikes of agony tingling through your gut, promptly devoured by sparks of pleasure.

The pain fades quickly, though, the rutting of your hips morphing into a more sensual grinding expertly guided by Dabi’s hands, sweet little cunt steadily gushing slick all over his leg, fabric rendered sleek and slippery, aiding each glide of your pussy over the strong muscle.

“You’re soaking me, baby,” he nearly whines out, the words airy and infused with awe. “All the way through my fucking jeans; I can feel how wet you are.”

His grasp has gone lax around you now, fingertips merely resting on your skin as he encourages you to keep rubbing and riding, motivating praise panted out in hot breaths, curling around the shell of your ear.

That’s it, baby, that’s it, and There you go, you’re doing perfect, and Look at you, baby, being so good for me; each set of praise that falls from his lips merely inspiring you to go faster, grind harder, do better.

“Keep going, princess, keep going,” his cock strains against his jeans, eager and impatient as it throbs against your waist, each rut of your hips brushing up against it teasingly.  “Yeah, yeah, just like that, use Daddy’s thigh to get yourself off.”

You mewl into his chest, hips beginning to gyrate in purposeful circles, chasing his validation, a high just as potent as an orgasm itself. Flame-charred fingers tweak a nipple through the thin material of his t-shirt, forcing a yelp from your throat, a patronizing chuckle syrupy on his tongue.

Beneath you, his knee begins to bounce, hard, fast little motions that reverberate against your clit, a loud moan escaping your lips. Each vibration sends another flurry of cinders to collect in your gut, torching a flame that burns bright and beautiful, a fire that cleanses, that blazes those memories to ash and whisks them away, replaced with addictive adoration.

“C’mon, baby, stop hiding,” a shoulder nudges your head. “Daddy wants to see that pretty face of yours.”

Your face lifts, forehead knocking against his, exhaling little cries into his waiting mouth—precious sounds that melt like maple sugar on his tongue, sweet and saturating. Azure glitters in the late afternoon sun as half-lidded eyes watch your expressions, ravenous for every little crinkle of pain that flattens to unadulterated pleasure, his breath wafting across your skin as he speaks.

Laughing, a palm cups your cheek, locking you in place. “That feel good?”

An indiscernible noise of pleasure tumbles from your lips in response, head bobbing clumsily, nose bumping against his own.

“Use your words,” he chastises.

“Y-Yes, Daddy,”

“You gonna cum soon for me, huh? Gonna show me how fucking gorgeous you look, creaming all over my thigh?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you nod vigorously against him.

“Yeah? Then make a mess, baby. Make a mess all over Daddy.”

So you do, staining charcoal denim with your cream, a groaned curse falling from his lips, pitched high and cracked with love as he feels your gushing cunt clench and flutter around nothing, his thigh pressed hard into your core, and that’s so hot, that’s so fucking hot, baby.

You’re still in the throes of a post-orgasmic haze, body shivering with sweat and bolts of overstimulation quivering through your veins as he carries you towards the bed, laying you gently on the edge before shoving his jeans down, cock gorgeous and glistening with desire and pre-cum.

The excess of slick and cum, now smeared all over your inner thighs and still steadily leaking from your cute cunt, enables him to slam into you in one swift thrust, cock buried deep inside of you, balls pressed to your ass.

It still stings despite the aid of your wetness, sweet little hole barely stretched out at all now gorging on his thick cock, flesh quavering as it tears into little fissures to accommodate him, an instinctual wail drowning in your throat.

“What?” he pants out, the question embedded in a laugh. “You think you can—can just ride Daddy’s thigh without him needing to fuck you after?”

No, of course not.  

He finishes quick, though, pumping your womb full of burning, sticky cum, a vicious tremor coursing through his whole body as he crumples next to you, cradling your body with his, and he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.  

Later that night, as you lay awake in bed, tummies stuffed full of blueberry pancakes and cinnamon buns, you ask him to tell you a secret.

He wavers for a moment, body turned to ice and then thawed in the blaze of your love, voice low and throaty as he speaks.

He tells you about his mother, a woman with snow for hair and slate for eyes, a woman he hasn’t seen for several years now, a woman he misses deeply. He tells you about his siblings—Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shouto—their likes and dislikes, hobbies and interests, fears and flaws, laughing wetly to himself about how much he still remembers, wondering aloud if any of those things have stayed the same, or if they’ve changed since he left, and how much so.

He tells you about Touya, the boy he killed when he was only a teenager, the boy who was spirited and ambitious and longed for nothing more than his father’s approval, the boy who only exists in memories now, hazy and desolate, nothing more than a ghost of smoke and ash.

He tells you about his father, about his father’s penchant for hitting women and smacking children—his most cowardly habit, according to Dabi—about his father’s precarious favouritism that changed with the wind.

And he tells you about the accident—his father’s fault, as always—tells you about the melting metal and burning leather and scorched skin, the feeling of the flames licking at his body, the heat of the crash, the cries of his baby brother, the firemen who pulled him from the jaws of the car and saved his life, the father who did nothing but stand and watch.  

And by the time the sun begins to rise, his throat is raw from the past, his nose blotchy and his eyes swollen, and you hold him tight to your bosom, dainty little fingers cradling the shards of his old life, placing them piece by painstaking piece back in their proper places.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The inevitability of Monday casts a deep shadow over Sunday night, the inescapable threat of reality looming in the near future, but Dabi holds it at bay for a little bit longer, the bubble of your own private utopia kept intact with clementine suds and whirling jets, calloused hands and soft kisses and an old heart-shaped tub.  

His hands are tender, unhurried as they lather soap across your skin, almost lazy in how they clean you, appreciating the way every dip and curve, edge and contour converge to create the masterpiece that is your body.

It’s as if he’s in some state of wonder, sapphire glittering in the low light as it follows after his movements, outlining their trajectory and branding it into his consciousness, admiring the way your flesh yields to him as he pinches and kneads and rolls it between his palms.

“I love you,” he says finally, stare drifting back to yours. “I’m in love with you.”

You giggle a little, suddenly feeling bashful, body curling towards his. “I’m in love with you, too.”

“I’m so lucky you are.”

“I’m the lucky one here.”

“Don’t fight me on this, baby,” he warns. “You know you’ll lose.”

“Alright, alright,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “But it’s my turn to wash you, now, Daddy,” you murmur through a smirk, crawling towards him to straddle his thighs.

He mutters out a few weak protests about how you don’t need to, princess and he can do it himself, but you insist, already pouring out a syrupy dollop of body wash into your palm.

Breaths of chuckles escape his parted lips, eyes gone soft as they watch your delicate fingers trace out trails of suds across the koi fish swimming up his forearms, tiny white bubbles crudely illustrating the art inked into his skin.

You speak as you work, musing softly about which of his tattoos are your favourites.

“Why did you decide on koi fish?” you ask as your fingers wander up his arms.

“Because they persevere. They swim against the current and prosper, no matter how strong the waves are,” he shrugs a little, eyes sweeping across his body. Your gaze follows suit, noticing for the first time that all of the fish swimming up his arms are swimming against tumultuous waves, chaotic and dangerous as they crash into white caps.

“They’re like you.”

He nods, keeping his gaze averted. “And they’re—Well, they’re supposed to symbolize good fortune or whatever, so I figured…” he trails off, and you wait, allowing him a moment to sift through his thoughts, thumbs idly stroking his biceps. “I figured it couldn’t hurt, to carry them everywhere with me.” He looks up suddenly, blue eyes so clear you swear you can see into the depths of his soul, shimmering with bright love for you. “Maybe one day I can get one that reminds me of you, so I can carry you everywhere with me, too.”

“I—I’d be honoured, Daddy,” a rush of admiration, of appreciation, surges through your chest, leaving behind a swell of warmth, fingertips reaching up to draw out his features—his strong brow, the bow of his lips, the jut of his jaw.

He’s so fucking gorgeous it kicks the breath from you, onyx hair slicked back from his face in streamlined rows separated by the grooves left behind by his fingers, a few stray strands falling forward and curling to frame his eyes.

“I’d love to have you—a constant reminder of you—permanently stained into my skin,” he whispers, arms encircling your hips, pressing you flush against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll get one, too,” you whimper, tapering off into a gasp as his hard cock nudges your hole.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, why not? Make sure everyone knows I belong to you.”

He groans in response, nodding as you sink down on him, eyes dark with the thought of branding you as his, forever.

It’s sweet, slow and sensual, each roll of his hips, each rock of your own, dainty hands clasped behind his neck, fingers twining in the wet tufts of hair at the base of his skull, foreheads pressed tightly together.

Lips suck sweltering breaths from each other’s mouths while tongues suck on the sounds that spill from one throat into another, greedily swallowing them down to add to the collections each of you carries within your hearts; slivers of your lover, your soulmate, buried safely in pulsating flesh, never to be removed.

Your movements increase in force, Dabi’s cock pounding against your sore cervix with each pump of his hips, but the pace remains deliberately unhurried, every moment savoured, every moment sacred, almost as if you’re both terrified one vigorous motion—something too brutal, too harsh—will shatter your manufactured peace a little too early.

Blue flames lave over your organs, blazing stronger and stronger, growing larger and larger, until it engulfs you both in its inferno, bright and burning, licks of sapphire rushing through your veins as your cunt clenches around his cock, as his cock stuffs you full of cum, bodies stilling and nails gorging on flesh, clinging to one another like lifelines.

And as you come down from your conjoined high, unclamping your fingers and dislodging your nails, you feel something shift, change, the air suddenly denser, heavier, more substantial than it’s ever been before.

“I don’t know what I’d ever do without you,” you whimper, words loose and languid, the unapproved confession dribbling from your lips.

“Neither do I, baby,” Dabi whispers, hand emerging from the water—fluffy bubbles dissipated to a flat froth that lines the rippling surface—his thumb brushing baby hairs back from your forehead. His eyes glint in the feeble light. “Neither do I.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Finally, Monday comes, bringing with it a slew of texts from your brother, anxious and eager to know when you’ll be returning home.

Dabi laughs, harsh and rancorous, when you timidly ask if he’ll be bringing you back to that little white house with its little white fixtures, shaking his head with audacity, sharp twinkle in his eyes reflected in his gleaming teeth.

“I’m not allowing you to go back to that junkie psychopath!” he says, words infused with an incredulous chuckle, as if he can’t believe you’re even asking at all. “He’s dangerous, and I’d be an utter fool to let you live with him again.”

“But—But then, where will I—”

“You’re coming home with me,” he says, though the humour has faded from his features, replaced with a heavy set brow and slightly narrowed eyes. “I thought I made this clear already.”

He hadn’t—not explicitly, anyway—though you had had a feeling this may be the case.

“Dabi,” you begin slowly. “I don’t think—I mean, do you think me just abandoning Keigo like this is really the right choice?”

“Princess,” he says, the pet name full of condescension. “He hurt you. What man in their right mind would allow their baby to go back to such a monster?”

“It was only one time, though—”

“For now,” Dabi spits. “But it won’t be only once if you go back to him, I can promise you that.”  

“But he—He can’t—I’m not sure how he’ll survive without me…”

“Look,” he sighs, large hands wrapping around your shoulders and forcing you to stare up at him. “You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. But I don’t see how this will help—”

“Keigo needs to lose everything—most importantly, you—because of his addiction before he’ll even start thinking about kicking the habit.”

You shrink into Dabi’s palms, voice small. “He can’t do it alone, though.”

“Actually,” Dabi says. “He can only do it alone.” At your confused look, he continues. “It has to be his choice and his choice only, if he is to seek help and get better.” You begin to protest, but he speaks over you, voice clear and certain. “No one can do it for him, no matter how badly they wish to. This will only ever work if he wants it to.”

“Shouldn’t I at least go home to check on him?”

“He’s texting you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then he is very clearly fine. He’s an adult, he should have the basic capabilities to take care of himself when left to his own devices.” he pauses, eyes scanning your face thoroughly. “Despite what he’d have you believe, it is not your job to take care of him.”

“We’re family, of course it’s my job to—”

“There is a fine line between helping out family and being taken advantage of by an addict.” Dabi says sharply. “Never forget that.”  

His tone, firm and resolute and chock with experience, startles you, and you look down at your feet, fingers twisted into an unsure knot in front of you.  

“I know it might be difficult for you to understand, sweetheart,” Dabi murmurs, casting your gaze back to him. “But I need you to trust me on this. You know I’d never lead you astray, right?”

Yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Your days with Dabi are vastly different than your days with Keigo were, and you fall into a routine quickly, easily, effortlessly.

Gentle forehead kisses and lips caressing your ear rouse you from sleep each morning, flame-hardened fingertips tracing your facial features and brushing back strands of stray hair as your Daddy murmurs that it’s time to wake up.

While you dress and pack your things for your day at university, Dabi prepares you some sort of standard breakfast: cereal and milk, fried eggs and toast, steamed rice and egg yolks, or an omelette. He rarely eats breakfast himself, opting for a single cup of black coffee, but he’s always sure to keep you fed, even if the meals are basic and cheap—it’s all he can afford, at the moment.

You appreciate the gesture anyway, despite the fact that you often go against his wishes, sneaking out to the nearest grocery market during the rare moments when Dabi leaves you alone, armed with one of those pretty platinum credit cards your foster father gave you and arriving home with armloads of expensive meats, fruits, and cheeses. It’s important that he eats, too, you say to him.

Soon you won’t have to do that, he tells you one night, voice soft. He’s moving up the ranks, he says, climbing the corrupt corporate ladder within the underworld. Soon he’ll have his own group of lackeys, he promises. Soon he’ll be able to buy you all of the food and items your heart desires, with his own hard earned cash.

It’s hard to understand why Dabi has such an aversion to you lavishing him with your father’s wealth, even if it’s only in the form of good, fresh food, but you can imagine it has to do with some deep-seated need to care for, to provide for, to protect and nourish and own.

As you munch on whatever breakfast he’s made for you that morning, Dabi busies himself with constructing sweet little lunch boxes for you every day you have class; little snacks to bring along to your lectures, to keep you sated throughout your day, claiming your mind will absorb more knowledge if you aren’t hungry, if you are properly fuelled.

It sounds like something a father would tell their picky child in an effort to entice them to eat their school lunches, but you humour him anyway, being sure to consume every piece of food he packs you, never allowing any of it to go to waste.

He attempts to make the boxes cute and aesthetic, like the bentos you had showed him on Pinterest before, but his hands are too large, his fingers too clumsy, rendering the finished product a grotesque edition of the picturesque meals, grumbling to himself that it doesn’t matter, it’s all going to be chewed up anyway.

But it’s the thought that counts, and you love it all the same.

Some things stay unchanged. You still go to that stupid little run-down drive-in theatre you love so much, still go on your weekly breakfast diner dates every Saturday, still go on those joyrides with him, his little partner in crime.

He takes you with him everywhere he can, actually; everywhere he deems safe. Just like the joyrides, it’s nice to be a part of his life, to be included in some way.

You meet his closest friends—people he never spoke of before, but people he is evidently quite close with nonetheless: people he shares Zippo flames with, two hands cupping the precious little fire with cigarettes secured between sharp teeth, foreheads nearly bumping as they lean forward to light the entwined ends; people whom he can hold entire conversations with through side-eyed glances and quirked heads and private smirks; people that seem to know him—his wants and desires, his fears and traumas, his extended personal history—a hell of a lot better than you do.

There is a special type of intimacy that permeates the air around them when they’re together; something electric, something that snaps and crackles with their loud laughs and sharp quips, yet something that is cozy, homey, almost, akin to the warmth of affection that drapes itself over your heart like a protective blanket, the kind that fills your lungs and seeps through your ribs and into your bloodstream, setting your whole body pleasantly ablaze.

It’s a cherished type of intimacy, a rare and exceptional type of intimacy, forged through the lifelong building of friendships and the bonds of trauma.

Out of the three who are, undoubtedly, the most important to him, Tomura was the one who caught your eye first, who catches your eye often, still.

They were a pair to be seen—sapphire and ruby, a combined force to be reckoned with: Dabi with his vintage Cadillac, all electric blue and shimmering chrome; Tomura with his Mercedes Maybach, all glossy crimson and white leather—parked perpendicular to each other in the diner parking lot, owners perched on their respective hoods with glowing cigarettes wrapped up in their lips, huffing out clouds of smoke towards one another as they conversed.

Tomura is handsome in an unconventional sense, with striking, stark features—a sharp, angular jaw, pronounced cheekbones, glowing scarlet eyes—that often knock the breath from anyone he speaks to.

The air around him seems to be infused with a peculiar type of superiority, despite the fact that he is astonishingly apathetic, almost bored looking, toward practically every aspect of his life. When he talks, his voice nearly leaks from his lips, a smooth and unhurried drawl, the words occasionally huffed out in a dismissive drone, or drooled out from his mouth like thick, spoiled syrup.

Nonetheless, you like him, bonding over your shared love of ostentatious banana splits, doused in too much caramel and chocolate and encrusted with stale sprinkles.

“That looks like vomit,” Dabi had once sneered, face screwed up in disgust as he glowered at the colourful concoction shared between the two of you, his comment prompting both you and Tomura to spitefully shovel absurd spoonfuls of mountainous ice cream into your mouths in retaliation.

Yet, irregardless of his clever tongue and his lethargic indifference, he seems, in some way, delicate, with slim wrists and bony fingers and a protruding collarbone, expensive trousers hanging off his jutting, sharp hipbones.

A deep melancholy sometimes shimmers in his eyes, a small sparkle of it glimmering beneath waves of carmine, only revealing itself when Dabi’s voice drops to that low, guttural muttering, so quiet it’s difficult to understand, a raw, vulnerable edge tinging his tone; or when Himiko’s chipper chattering cuts off, sharp and sudden, gasp murdering the sentence in her throat, chopped to pieces so the words that do make it to her tongue and past her lips are stuttered and scrambled and scared; or when Jin makes a remark, then shuts his eyes tightly, face screwed up in psychological pain, a contradictory retort tumbling from his mouth in a seemingly uncontrollable, almost automatic manner, followed by his own paradoxical rebuttal, rushed and breathless as if attempting to suck his previous statement back in past his lips and down his throat and into his stomach.

Himiko—whom you had already been acquainted with at the diner—is lovely, if not a little eccentric, and you admire her dedication, her determination, to hold true to herself. The strength and commitment to wholeheartedly embrace and defend her beliefs and values, regardless of how morally dubious the rest of society considers them to be, is almost inspiring in a way, and you secretly long to covet her carefree confidence and courageous nature.  

The saccharine scent of toffee and tiger lilies clings softly to her skin, mouthwateringly sweet and surprisingly dainty, and she leaves a residual trail of it anywhere she goes, a hazy mist of it hanging dreamily in the air long after she’s gone, ready to daze and entice any who may wander through it.

The owner of the small, shabby convenience store on the ground floor of Dabi’s apartment complex, Jin is the one you see most frequently.  

Kind-natured yet brutally honest, with a large, gouged scar splitting the center of his forehead, Jin spends his days packaging the drugs and frying up fresh homemade donuts, encrusted with sparkling cinnamon sugar.

Best coffee in the Goddamn world, your Daddy had told you one day while depositing you by the front counter, as he often did when he deemed a job too serious, scary, important or dangerous for you to tag along. No one brews it better than Bubaigawara.

You don’t mind spending time with Jin—quite the opposite, actually, with the man frequently frying up your very own batch of mini donuts to snack on as you await Daddy’s return, pages of your homework stained with cinnamon and oil—but you hate watching Dabi go, features coated with a forlorn despondency as he pauses in the doorway, balancing a large paper bag on his hip and patting his pockets in search of that pretty silver gun, the one he had allowed you to adorn with glittery pink hearts, so every time he took it out he’d be reminded of you, reminded of why he does what he does, and who he does it for.

Still, Jin does a fairly good job at keeping you occupied while Dabi works, permitting you to sit crosslegged on the front counter with a knee pressed flush to the old chrome register, a textbook cradled in your lap and a pink, fluffy pen dangling daintily from your fingers, some sort of sweet—donuts or chocolate or lollipops—beside your hip.

As it turns out, he has a very difficult time saying no to you, an issue which often lands him in hot water with your Daddy, sheepishly accepting Dabi’s ruthless scoldings about your sugar consumption yet never making any slight effort to change his ways.

“You spoil her,” you had caught Dabi muttering once, a begrudged grin fighting its way onto his lips.

“I enjoy doing so,” Jin had responded simply, as if he didn’t see any sort of problem, as if the answer was clear as day and he didn’t understand why Dabi couldn’t grasp it.

Himiko visits the shop often, strolling in well past midnight in her impeccable waitressing dress, all pristine white lace and red piping, a cute little cap pinned haphazardly to her blonde curls, with Tomura occasionally in tow.

He doesn’t seem to like the place much, it appears, glowering pretentiously at the shelves surrounding him as two lithe fingers tug at the folded turtleneck of his black cashmere sweater.

This never seems to deter him from stealing bits of whatever sweet Jin has gifted you with that day, though, bony hands plucking a half-sucked lollipop gleaming with your spit from the crinkled wrapper it lay on, or cradling a few of those cute tiny donuts in a large palm and dusting his flesh with warm cinnamon, or snapping off a couple squares of stale chocolate from the bar half-eaten and discarded beside your thigh, always delighting in your sweet squeals of protest with a smug quirk up of scarred lips.

“I like your friends,” you had told Dabi one night, soft and sweet, as you handed him a dish for drying.

“Yeah?” he had smirked, casting you a glance from the corner of his eye, his mouth curving into a lopsided crescent. “We’re a bit of a motley crew,”

“Yeah, but that’s kind of the endearment of it all. You still fit like perfect puzzle pieces, even if you’re all from difference boxes. It’s…nice.”

“Who’s you’re favourite?”

“Trick question. You’re my favourite.”

Dabi had laughed, deep and fond, tossing the dishtowel on the counter and turning towards you, damp palms wrapping around your hips, tugging you to his chest, sapphire glittering with adoration as he gazed down at you.  

“That’s my girl.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The group had an almost ritualistic schedule, routinely and rigidly adhered to, and Thursdays, you found out, are incredibly sacred.

Every Thursday, they gather—you included, Dabi’s protective paranoia already too strong to handle leaving you on your own for a few measly hours—at The League, crammed together in a singular red booth or huddled around the bar, legs swinging off the glittering, cracked stools as they speak in hushed voices and shuffle around crumpled papers, with fraying edges and folded veins.

It’s difficult for you to keep up with their conversations, something you assume they do purposefully, and you find yourself constantly drowning in a sea of numbers—weights and dollars—and foreign language; keys and eightballs, freebasing and black tar.

You’re rarely allowed in the cellar—the lab—but you don’t really mind, much happier to ignorantly munch away on a cookie or lick at a melting sundae, far from the harsh chemical smell and the chalky bricks and the soft mountains of powder.

These meetings span several hours, and often consist of Jin or Himiko periodically checking up on you, delivering a Daddy-approved meal—some sort of soup or salad or satayed meat with steamed rice and seasonal veggies—about halfway through the night.

It is during these moments, when you are finally, truly and completely alone, that you find yourself most frequently texting your brother.

Dabi knows, of course, because Dabi knows everything, has caught you more than once, not only at the diner, but at home too, snuggled up in his bed with your phone pressed to your face, or in his car, with your knees pressed to your chest and the device cradled in your palms.

Truthfully, you hadn’t even tried to hide it from him. In your mind, there really wasn’t a reason to.

Sure, Keigo had lost control and hit you, and yes, Keigo’s addiction has been spiralling into unrestrained depths, but he’s still your brother—still all you have, all each other has—and you thought Dabi would understand that, at least in some capacity.

You’re not sure how you could’ve ever been so stupid.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

The first time he brings it up is after one of your frequent moviegoing excursions at the drive-in—a double feature of Sunset Boulevard + A Fistful of Dollars this time, the pungent scent of buttersalt popcorn still steeped in the fabric of your dress, mouths smudged with a purple tint—an amalgamation of interspersed saliva infused with candied blue and pink dyes, respectively—your phone screen flooded with messages from Keigo; questions about your opinion on the stupid western you had barely paid any attention to, and suggestions that you come see a movie with him, too, sometime soon.

“I just—I don’t get it,” you’re mumbling through a pout as Dabi guides you through the apartment door, a stifled sigh heavy in his lungs.

You’ve been going in circles the entire car ride home, and you can tell he’s beginning to get irritated, shoulders tight and pinched, voice wavering under the strain of keeping calm.

“It isn’t a difficult concept to grasp, princess.”

“But—I—I’m not living there anymore, anyway,” you attempt to reason, the fact coming out as more of a whiny protest. “Why can’t I at least meet up with him?”

“You seriously don’t get it?” Dabi’s asking, though his voice is soft, large hands finding your shoulders and squeezing, thumbs rubbing lopsided circles into your skin.

Shaking your head, your pout deepens, puckering your chin and crinkling your brow.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice turned sickly sweet, drenched in condescension and encrusted with sugar. “It’s for his own good, and yours.”

“How?” you cry, frantic eyes darting across his face, searching for the answers in his glinting eyes and twitching grin. “How is me just—just ignoring him and forcing him to fend for himself good for either of us?”

With a short chuckle, Dabi shakes his head, pressing down on your shoulders and perching you on the edge of his—your—bed.

“You answered your own question, baby.”

“I’m serious, Dabi.”

“So am I,” he responds curtly, smile melting from his face as his eyes narrow slightly. “I don’t understand why this is so hard for your pretty little head to comprehend. I told you already; Keigo needs to hit rock bottom before he can begin getting better. You want him to get better, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you breathe out instantly, head nodding in short quick motions.

Of course you do; you want Keigo to be healthy, you want Keigo to be ridded of this demon hollowing out his organs and filling his veins with poison, you want to go home, to the only home you’ve ever known, the only home you’ve ever had, warm and golden and bright like the sun.

“Then you have to let him do this on his own. By giving into his demands—any of his demands, even the seemingly innocuous ones, like seeing you for an hour or two to watch a film or have dinner—you are continuing to enable him; you are continuing to give him what he wants,” pausing, sapphire sweeps across your face slowly, allowing your brain to absorb his words. “You are continuing to tell him that it’s okay, that you’ll still be here even after all he’s done to you, even if he doesn’t change or make amends. But, baby,” a rough palm cups your cheek, thumb hooked firmly behind your jaw, inhibiting your gaze from straying from his. “He will never hit true rock bottom if you continue to give him access to you.”

“But—But he—” A hiccup cuts you off, sharp and vicious and startling your body as it hitches in your chest. “He probably isn’t eating, you know. He probably isn’t—isn’t cleaning his track marks, or drinking enough water, either.”

“He probably isn’t,” Dabi agrees simply. “Because you used to do all of those things for him.”

Salt stings your eyes, vision going blurry with thick tears. Sticky guilt, dense and suffocating, unfurls in your chest, engulfing your heart in its tarry embrace and squeezing.

Is that true? Have you been enabling him this entire time by simply taking care of him? Allowing him to live in relative comfort as you cooked and cleaned, nagged and negotiated?

“En—Enabling him?” your face twists, features screwed up and sour, despite the rapidly sinking barbed panic in your stomach. “But—No! I was just trying to help!”

Dabi barks out a short laugh, loud and absurd.

“No, sweetheart,” he begins, his voice turned caustic. “No. Helping would’ve been telling your parents about his rapidly raging addition. Helping would’ve been bringing this to the University’s attention and stripping him of all his false achievements and awards. Helping would’ve been working in tandem with all these authorities to enrol him in a program. Helping would’ve been leaving him, the moment he began to take advantage of you.”

A beat of silence grows, stretches, wavers, hanging heavy in the air between you, Dabi’s eyes following a tear streaming down your cheek with a sort of pitiful apathy, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance as your head shakes to indicate that you don’t understand, or don’t agree, face puckered in defiant confusion.

“Cooking his meals, fucking spoon-feeding him, cleaning his track marks, doing his laundry, keeping the house spotless—including the paraphernalia I’m sure he left lying around—and covering for him by verifying his lies to your parents about where those massive sums of money keep disappearing off to…None of that was helping. At least, not in the way you thought it was.”

Bitter remorse churns in your stomach, crawls up your throat and claws at the back of your tongue, confusion melting into horror as you realize that he’s right.  

Because that’s not all; Dabi doesn’t even know the half of it. Dabi doesn’t know about the papers and assignments you completed for him when he was too high to finish them himself, out of fear of him losing that precious scholarship, or tarnishing his sterling reputation with late work.

Dabi doesn’t know about the money you used to give him, taken from your own monthly allowance when his own ran out a little too early—Just this once, princess, promise I’ll pay you back; though it was never ‘just this once’, and he never did pay you back—when he hadn’t budgeted his habit properly and you were too terrified of the inevitable withdrawal looming in the murky distance, sick with dread at the mere thought of him having to go through that.

Dabi doesn’t know about the times you skipped class to sit in his bed with his head in your lap, feeding him teaspoons of water in an attempt to keep him hydrated on those rare occasions where he did slip into that hellish withdrawal.

“He needs me,” you argue weakly, voice small and shattered, sentiment slathered with spit.

“Clearly, he needs heroin more.”

And that hurts, because it’s true. Because no matter what you say or what you do, no matter how much you shout and scream and cry and threaten, Keigo seems to prefer heroin, every time.

“He has chosen heroin over you many times,” Dabi continues, words echoing your thoughts, calloused palm smoothing your hair back from your forehead, voice snapped back to the Perfect Boyfriend edition, soft and soothing. “Because you continued to stay anyway; because he knew he could get away with it. But now, now it’s different; now you’re gone, and he’s all alone with his prized addiction.”

“I’m so scared, Daddy, I’m so, so scared. What if he—”

“If you truly love him, you’ll let him do this on his own,” Dabi whispers, both palms pressed to your cheeks now, forcing your trembling head still, holding your stare captive.

Something flashes in his eyes, a melancholic glimmer of knowledge that catches in the dim yellow light, vanishing a mere moment later, drowned in a sea of tumultuous sapphire.

Really, you suppose Dabi’s right, suppose what he’s saying makes sense, but it’s still difficult to accept, lodged like a hard, stubborn lump of lead in your throat.

Even if what Dabi says is true, you can’t seem to eradicate the terror that bubbles deep in your tummy at the thought of leaving him to fend for himself and survive on his own, fragments of the most grotesque scenarios slashing through your mind; Keigo bloated and blue with a needle stuck in his arm, Keigo face down in a pool of his own vomit, Keigo pale and cold and hard to the touch, dressed in his best suit and encased in varnished rosewood, surrounded by wreaths of flowers with those topaz eyes closed, never to be bright again.

Nausea swells, boiling up your esophagus, but you shove it back down, coughing around a wrecked little sob that rips itself to pieces in your throat. Dabi clicks his tongue in a sort of patronizing sympathy, strong arms encompassing your form and pulling you onto his lap, cradling you to his chest.

“This is his punishment,” Dabi speaks clearly over your crying, chest vibrating against your ear. “He needs to hit an all-time-low and seek help on his own; you can’t do this for him, no matter how badly you wish you could.”

“Why can’t you just stop giving it to him,” you weep into his neck, fingers tangling in the cotton of his t-shirt, his feigned gasp startling you slightly.

“That would be worse,” he pulls back to look at you, azure eyes serious. “Baby, that would be worse.”

“How?” you whisper, the question wobbling with your bottom lip, the teardrops clinging to your clumped lashes glittering as you blink them away.

“Because my shit’s pure, you know? My shit’s the best. Think about it: if I stop supplying to him, he’s just going to go look for it somewhere else, isn’t he? Would you rather he turn to some unknown dealer? Someone who probably cuts their shit with massive unregulated amounts of fentanyl?”

No, you suppose you wouldn’t.

“That could be so dangerous,” he continues in that same placating lilt, fingers rhythmically climbing the notches of your spine as your face snuggles back against his collarbone. “And besides, I gotta eat too, don’t I?”

You’re pretty sure losing a single client wouldn’t be detrimental to his business, but you don’t know just how much Keigo spends on drugs, so you keep quiet, nodding again.

“At any rate, it’d probably be best to limit your contact with him as much as possible. It does more harm than good, making this whole nightmare more messy and harder on everyone than it has to be, yeah?”

You don’t say anything, can’t say anything, that thick guilt devouring your insides, swallowing down your lungs and heart in its glutinous voracity, acrid as it sludges up your throat.

Is that true, too? Are you inconsiderate for wanting to talk to him, to be in contact with him, to check up on him? Is it wrong to do these things? To continue to allow him access and attention? Does it really just make it all worse for everyone, Keigo especially? Does it inhibit his potential to get better?

“This is what’s best for both of you, princess,” Dabi murmurs, tender voice pulling you from your sea of thoughts, his familiar voice eliciting an automatic, mindless nod from you. “I promise.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Sitting on that small slab of concrete porch wedged in front of that tiny white house, dismal topaz eyes watch as small rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado, the large car grumbling to a stop with a shudder. Silence. Then: the slam of a car door, the jingling of boot buckles, footsteps stalking, almost catlike, up the paved driveway, coming to a stop a few meters away.

Finally, Keigo stands, gazing at Dabi from beneath grease-matted curls, thumbs hooked in the edges of his denim pockets, waiting.

“Christ,” Dabi snorts around a cigarette, lips curled into a smirk as he scans Kegio’s form. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Keigo says with a half shrug, a hand floundering aimlessly.

He knows he looks terrible; sunken pools of patchy violet encasing his eyes, hair so dirty it hurts at the roots, grime framing his fingernails in a grotesque grey-green.

His coaches comment on it all, at least once a week or so, and can always manage to coax him into showering at the gym while delivering lecture after lecture about why he can’t let himself slip like this, and how he has to stop being so Goddamn obvious now, but Keigo is finding it increasingly more difficult to care. What’s the point, if you’re not here? Why keep up any semblance of normalcy, why put any effort into the facade at all, if you’re not here to see it?  

Dabi’s still talking, he realizes dully, jabbering on in that infuriatingly apathetic drawl, though there’s something else there, something razored and sharp glinting just beneath the surface, the unmistakable blade of personal offence.

“—Though I suppose it’s what you deserve,” Dabi’s saying, Keigo’s ears finally tuning into his frequency. “Y’know, being a fucking abusive asshole and all that.”

“I’m not—” Keigo begins, then he exhales, eyes closing briefly. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Oh? But you meant to slap her, yes?”

“No, I—I didn’t mean to do any of it at all.”

Dabi laughs, a booming echo that bounces off the cars and the house and reverberates in Keigo’s bones, harsh and brutal and unforgiving. The sapphire flames flickering in his eyes flare, glimmering with hatred.

“What are you talking about, you didn’t mean to do any of it? How the fuck do you manage to accidentally backhand someone so hard you leave scars?”

Scars? Keigo’s forehead crinkles. Had he really hit you with that much force? Were his rings, in that moment of rage and self loathing ringing tinny in his ears, sharp enough to have cut you that deeply? With a frown, Keigo shakes his head a little, swallowing weakly against the thick, slimy saliva that has pooled at the back of his tongue.  

“Listen. I—I messed up, alright? I messed up,” a large hand cards roughly through golden curls, glinting dimly under the overcast sky. “I messed up,” he repeats, quieter. It’s silent for a moment, then his head snaps up, topaz eyes blazing. “It was only one time, goddamn it. You—You can’t tell me you haven’t fucked up before, too, Dabi,”

“One time? One time?” Dabi throws his half-finished cigarette to the ground. “Oh yeah? And those finger-shaped marks encircling her wrist, were those only one time too? The Keigo-sized handprint on her back, was that only one time as well? What about the bruises on her hips, or the blotches on her thighs? The fingerprints on her arms? Were they all just one time? How many one times have you had, exactly, Keigo?”

Keigo’s mouth drops open, closed, then open again, a pathetic, hurt little sound strangling itself in his throat, aggression melting into guilt-soaked shame, humbling the ugly crease between his brows.

Thunder roils in the distance, faint yet menacing, a warning growl of what’s to come.

“And I would never hit her, you bastard,” Dabi continues, his voice sharp and sure, calm and confident. “I would never lay my fucking hands on her precious skin.”

“No, no of course not,” he sneers bitterly. “No, you’re fine with simple emotional manipulation.”

“Better than physical abuse.”

”Is it?” Keigo questions, amber eyes suddenly bright, burning. “Will she still love you as much when she finds out what you’ve been doing? How you’ve been treating me? Treating her? Ping-ponging us around like this, using each other as bait for your sick little game? Because she will find out, Dabi.”

“I mean, she still loves you, doesn’t she?” Dabi retorts, the sentiment soiling his mouth, face screwed up in abhorrence.

A sharp exhale escapes flared nostrils and Keigo looks away, jaw clenching hard as he tries in vain to swallow his words, to suppress his vulnerability, to not hand Dabi yet another weapon to shred and stab and brand him with.

Except, irregardless of his desperate attempt, he can’t seem to keep that ambition locked safe and secure behind a cage of bone, the words prying their way past clenched teeth and pressed lips as if they need to be spoken, as if they need to be heard.

“I hope,” he mutters, so quietly Dabi nearly misses it.

He scoffs with a humorless laugh, appraising eyes raking over Keigo’s hunched form in a way that makes Keigo feel exposed, Dabi’s razor glare tearing him open, slicing through flesh and bone and bearing his soul to the man in front of him.

“She does,” he finally spits in an almost begrudging manner, like he’s upset about it, like the words have bitten his tongue and forced their way out licked-raw lips. “Trust me,”

A reprehensible little spark ignites in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, and he does his best not to douse it in hopeful gasoline.  

Carefully, as if navigating a field of land mines, Keigo speaks, aiming to keep his voice placid, that despicable little tremor sewn into his tone imbuing his words with a certain type of pleading.

“Listen, I—I need her back, Dabi,”

“Oh, need, huh? It’s a need now, is it?”

“It’s always been a need.”

“No,” Dabi shakes his head with a tut of his tongue, a sinister smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “No, it hasn’t. It’s always been a want; heroin has always been the need here, Keigo. Don’t kid yourself.”

“I—” his voice splinters, and he clears his throat, hacking up the words. “I need her, too,”

“Not badly enough to quit, you don’t.”

An eyebrow raises in mocking question, daring Keigo to refute his statement, but his azure eyes look bored, as if they’ve been through this a million times already, as if Keigo’s some stupid child who just can’t seem to grasp a simple concept.

Maybe he is.

“It’s more complicated than that and you fucking know it.”

It’s supposed to come out strong, firm in it’s conviction, but the sentence wavers, a mirage in the desert, translucent and unstable.

“There’s absolutely nothing complicated about it,” Dabi snorts, and although there’s mirth playing in his eyes, sapphire shimmering with amusement, his features are anything but, his brows lifted ever-so-slightly and his mouth set in a slant as he digs through his coat pocket. “You love her, right?”

“Of course,”

“More than heroin?”

“More than anything,” Keigo says instantly.

“Prove it.”

Tugging his hand free from the depths of his jacket, Dabi’s fist unfurls, long fingers stretching out to reveal a bulging baggie stuffed with white powder, sitting prim and perfect in his palm.

China white.

Keigo hasn’t used China white in a long time—it’s purer, as pure as it comes, really, as pure as you can get it on the street, and a hell of a lot more expensive because of it. It’s the fucking best, the warmest, safest paradise he’s ever had the pleasure of experiencing, but Keigo’s had to resort to the sugary brown smack when his father had noticed the large sums disappearing from Keigo’s bank account a little too frequently, his suspicion growing when he discovered Keigo didn’t actually own any of the expensive sports equipment he had claimed to spend it on.

The blood in his veins itches, having sprouted tiny little thorns at the sight of his beloved, eager to scratch their way through the capillaries, to puncture tiny little holes and welcome an old friend home.

“What—” he begins, swallowing stickily, his throat dry. “What are you—”

“Prove it,” Dabi repeats, irritation bleeding into his tone, fingers wiggling a little in enticement. “I’ll give you this entire bag, free of charge, if you want it.” A pause, a moment for Keigo to digest the offer. “Or,” he continues in an amicable nonchalance. “You can choose to have your sister return home.”

Blinking several times, Keigo shakes his head as if he doesn’t understand, a frown toying with the corners of his lips. “You’re—You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not,” Dabi assures him, shuffling his palm a little, the baggie jiggling happily.

The head shaking has become more vigorous now, his dirty golden tufts bouncing with the motion. “Bullshit,” he says, but his voice is weak, wobbling with the quiver snuggling into his chin. “There’s no way you’re giving that up for free. That’s—”

“I am,” Dabi cuts him off, impatient. “Make a decision. Dope, or your baby sister. You can’t have both, Keigo.”

Unblinking honeyed eyes stare at the bag, his nose twitching twice, large hands curled into tight, trembling fists. The fragment of a memory slashes through his mind—this same situation, this same offer, this same mistake, the afternoon Dabi took you, cautious sun hiding behind misty clouds.

But it’s beautiful, white as powdered sugar and infinitely sweeter, its plastic housing glinting in the grey light, comforting and familiar. Its allure envelopes him, soft caresses like a precious old friend, whispering enchanting promises of the most potent bliss, phantom as it twines itself through his blood, rushes through his body and sets it all at ease, makes it all alright, devouring all of his problems like the most delicious corrosive, melting his brain to a euphoric mush.

Finally, his glassy gaze meets Dabi’s, eyes shielded thickly with salt water, balancing precariously on his lash line.

He doesn’t speak.

He doesn’t need to.

It’s only when Keigo’s walking away, hand cupped protectively around the large bag in his pocket, shoulders caving in as they shudder with half-swallowed sobs, that Dabi calls out to him.

“Hey, Keigo, don’t shoot your regular amount, yeah? That shit’s more potent than what your body is accustomed to.”

His steps falter at the sound of Dabi’s voice, the soft mud molding to the soles of his sneakers, the smooth muscles of his back tensing as he listens. It’s difficult to tell whether Dabi’s concern is genuine or mocking, his tone seeming to fall somewhere between the two, wavering on the line of distinction and blurring it significantly.

After a moment of hesitation, he nods, just once, wordlessly and without a glance back.

Keigo knows how to fucking use it.

A jaded flush of revulsion courses through his body, hands trembling with the enticement of a fix: beautiful, breathtaking, jumping daintily just out of his reach, calling to him with a soft smile and pretty eyes, come catch me, come catch me, I’m here, I’m yours.

He feels fucking disgusting.

He feels disgusting as he shuts the door on Dabi, disgusting as he collapses on the couch with his little wooden box of paraphernalia, disgusting as he holds a warped, blackened spoon over a tiny flame, substance bubbling delicately.

He feels disgusting, but it’s okay, his true love vowing to make it go away, to take the pain and turn it into pleasure tenfold, to wipe his mind free of anything other than a sick paradise.

He can hear his own breath, shaky and urgent, echoing around him, eyes intent on his methodical actions. Anticipation rises in his chest as he draws the liquid into the syringe. Rubber cuts into his flesh, tied tight, tighter, veins popped and prominent, inner elbow embellished with pinpricks of red. The welcomed sting of the needle puncturing skin—press, push, pull—a gush of warmth surging through his veins a mere moment later.

And everything’s fine, everything’s fine, everything’s fine.  

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Irregardless of your Daddy’s stern warning, and how you, for the most part, agree with it, you struggle to find the strength, the conviction, to fully cut ties with your brother. It’s too much, too scary to lose contact with the only person who shares your blood, to purposefully allow him to aimlessly flounder on his own without an anchor. You’ve drawn back drastically, of course, taking care to text him only every few days, just to check in on him, to make sure he’s still breathing, and to reassure him that you are safe.

But you hadn’t truly realized the severity of your actions, and how much it genuinely upset Dabi, until one dreary night in October, with the constant drizzle of rain from an impossibly cloudless sky, deep navy and glowing with the silver light of a nearly full moon.

The steady drool of raindrops paint the whole atmosphere in a sort of dreamy haze, softening edges and blurring lines until its all kind of melted into one another, the void sky dripping into the neon city line dripping into the muralled concrete.

It’s wistful in a way, and it makes you ache for home, for your brother and his stupid buddy-cop films and 1950s westerns, and the roar of your antique fireplace, harmonizing with the splash of rain against stone.

Swallowing past the dazed memory that has lodged itself in your throat, you pull your phone from your bag, thumb hovering over Keigo’s name.

You know it’s wrong, you know you shouldn’t, you know Dabi would be absolutely furious if you did, but you can’t quell the deep, dull pulsating twinge burrowing in your chest, a specific type of gnawing that isn’t sharp or quick but prolonged and painful, a tender pang that seems to grow with each passing second until it engulfs you entirely, until your whole body hurts, and you want nothing more than to be back in the haven of that small white house, back in the safety of your brothers arms.

As it turns out, though, he saves you from having to make that difficult decision, just as he always does, just as big brothers are supposed to, the gentle vibrations of your phone jolting through your palm.

You fumble in your haste to answer, his name flashing in large white letters across the screen procuring a rush of thick tears to flood your eyes, his honorific a jumbled mess of letters on your tongue.

He breathes your name into the receiver, and it’s so heavy you swear you can feel his breath caressing your ear.

How long has it been since you’ve heard him say your name? Since you’ve heard him say anything at all?

That ache digging through your chest finally hits your core and cracks it wide open, clean in two, releasing a sob so ferocious it rattles your ribs and shreds your throat, your free hand slapping over your mouth in a pitiful attempt to muffle it.

The torrent of tears is so dense now you can barely see at all, the watery shield rendering your vision nothing more than an incoherent blur, and you blink rapidly in an attempt to clear it, crystalline drops streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Keigo is saying, his voice cracking on the other line, full of static and emotion. “I’m so sorry. I know I shouldn’t be calling, but I—”

“I miss you so much,” you inadvertently finish his sentence, the words weeped out. “I miss you so, so much, Kei,”

“I miss you too, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you can almost see him with his eyes squeezed shut, with his phone clutched tightly to his head. “The rain made me think of you.”

The sentiment conjures up a wet laugh, and you brush more tears from your eyes, little droplets clinging to your lashes and clumping them together in large spikes.

“It made me think of you, too,” you admit. “And your dumb cowboy movies,”

“They aren’t dumb,” he shoots back, semi-defensively. “I know you secretly love them,”

“In your dreams! They bore me to death,”  

“And yet, you still watch them with me,” he hums in mock contemplation.

“Yeah, because I love you, stupid,”

Your laughter twines together, sharp thorns of longing stabbing at your lungs. For a moment, you can almost trick yourself into thinking everything is okay, everything is back to normal—that you’re just out on a date with Dabi and will be home to your peppermint pink room and loving nii-san before the night is over—the effortless banter the two of you settle into lulling you into a second of complacency before reality tears through it, with sharp claws and gnashing teeth.

“How are you?” You ask, your tone suddenly more urgent, the words flying from your mouth at a rapid pace. “Have you been eating? Have you been—Have you been cleaning them?”

The heaviness of the situation seems to weigh on Keigo, too, and he clears his throat roughly.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he coughs around the words. “‘Course I am,”

“I’ve known you my whole life, Keigo. Don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying?”

The line goes silent, embellished with the occasional pop or hiss of static, and your tongue withers in your mouth, saliva gone pungent and sour.

“I’m trying,” he finally responds, his voice tiny and tired. “I’m doing the best I can. It’s hard when…” his voice fades into nothing, but you know what he was going to say.

It’s hard when you aren’t here.

“Hey,” he begins after several prolonged minutes of silence, in that soft, sweet, coaxing voice you know so well. “Why don’t you come back home, yeah? I promise I’ll—” his voice cuts off abruptly.

He promises he’ll what? He’ll stop? He’ll get help? He’ll get better? Get clean?

If there’s one thing you know for certain about your brother, it’s that he never makes a promise he can’t keep.

The thought inspires a flash of sharp, scalding anger to slice through your chest, but you stuff it down, contain it in the recesses of your belly, to smoulder and simmer, teeth grinding together as you exhale a slow breath and try to keep your voice from trembling.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

The question is whiny and petulant, and that fury blazes in your stomach, another deep, controlled breath shoving it down again.

“I can’t, Keigo,” you repeat, this time stronger, this time firmer, the words searing your tongue, red hot from that bubbling rage blistering your insides. “I-I won’t. I won’t sit there and watch you kill yourself,”

“No,” he spits bitterly, so harshly the word bites your ear. “No, you’ll just leave me to die, and let your boyfriend do it,”

The accusation, and the fierce brutality of it, stuffed full of venomous hatred, causes you to sputter for a moment, an indignant noise catching on the back of your tongue.

He isn’t pushing that needle in your vein! You want to scream, the words turning to vaporized ghosts in your throat, murdered on sight by Dabi’s sudden emergence from the cellar.

“Who are you talking to?” Dabi asks, his voice calm and cold, the blood roaring in your ears simulating alarm bells.

You don’t even need to say it.

Frost coats your veins, extinguishing your anger and freezing your blood, rendering your body immobile save for the gentle quivering of your puckered chin, the sweet trembling of your jutted bottom lip, the infinitesimal shake of your head.

With a heavy sigh, one that heaves his chest and rolls his eyes, Dabi stalks towards you, rubber soles of his boots colliding with the tiled floors echoing the throbbing in your head, and pries your phone from your fingers.

Keigo’s talking, you think, just an unintelligible mumble of his voice flowing through your speakers, but you can’t make out what he’s trying to say, his stream of words cut off bluntly as Dabi’s thumb jabs the red END button.

He places the device on the table in front of you, eyes cold as concrete, actions slow and deliberate, before turning, almost mechanically, to continue his discussion with his friends.

You aren’t sure how much longer you stay at The League, brain nearly comatose with the situation that just occurred, limbs feeling numb and stiff as your watery eyes stare at the speckled table top, not daring to touch the incessantly vibrating device until it’s time to leave.

Finally Dabi’s hoisting you up, one large hand wrapped tightly around your elbow, and dragging you out towards his car, your feet stumbling as your toes trip over the shining asphalt.

The rain feels refreshing on your skin, the sensation restoring some calm to you, but it is a short-lived relief, strong calloused hands shoving you into the passengers seat only a moment later before slamming the door so hard the entire car shakes.

The drive home is terse with silence, sharp and suffocating, your breathing laboured yet soft, as if you’re afraid that too large, too loud a breath may shatter the thin veil of serenity cast across his face.

You steal glances at him as he navigates the city streets, unblinking eyes glaring at the road, jaw methodically flexing and unflexing, undoubtedly flowing with his thoughts.

He doesn’t speak as he hauls you from the car, doesn’t speak as he drags you up four flights of stairs, doesn’t speak as he pushes you into the apartment, exhaling a slow, controlled breath as the door bangs shut behind him.

And then, he begins.

The air around him has changed, dense with anger. You can feel it radiating off him in thick, cresting waves, fumes of fury that lave over your body with pinpricks of terror.

“Alright.” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his forefinger. “Give me your phone.”

“What?” you breathe, clutching the device to your chest.

“You heard me,” Voice icy with a stony resolute, Dabi holds out his palm expectantly, fingers crooking in enticement when you don’t immediately obey. “Give it to me.”

“Why?”  

“Why?” he repeats in disbelief, eyes widening, as if it’s astonishing that you are this stupid. “Because you are still giving him fucking access to you!”

“Dabi!” you cry, phone cradled tightly in both palms, the screen digging into your collarbone. “I can’t just—I can’t just give up on him! I can’t just cut him off entirely! What if he needs me? What if it’s an emergency!”

“You’re fucking ridiculous, y’know that?” Huffing out an incredulous laugh through a sharp smile, he shakes his head, as if he cannot believe your audacity right now. “No wonder he chose heroin again. It’s because you won’t fucking leave him—it’s because he knows you won’t fucking leave him; he’ll never actually lose you, so why bother giving up his true love, right?”

His voice is so mean, so vicious and dripping with venom, acidic words that burn holes through the atmosphere before they sink into your skin and erode.

“You just—You don’t get it,”

“I don’t get it?” Calloused fingers press to his chest, accentuating himself. “I don’t get it? Really?”

“Yeah, you don’t! You—You could never understand what this feels like, what it’s like to have—”

“My mother was an addict,” he cuts you off calmly, and you choke on your own words, slathered in spit and tears. “Yeah, didn’t know that one, did you,” he snaps. “My father drove her to do it—merciless brute of a man—looking for any sort of escape she could grasp. Except that didn’t work so well, because then she got reliant, needed higher and higher doses to function, to feel okay, and then the psychosis kicked in, and she poured a kettle-worth of boiling water on her youngest child.”

“I—” blinking in quick succession, your head shakes in short little motions, apologies evaporating in your throat. “Dabi, I—”

“The day she left—the day they took her—was the day I ran,” he tells you, voice strong. “The moment she was gone, there was nothing left to tether me to that family.”

His voice holds its conviction, but something flickers in the sapphire of his eyes, a dash of quicksilver, a puff of white.

It’s gone before you can inquire, blinked away with a willful forgetfulness, and then he’s continuing.

“The only one who doesn’t get it is you, sweetheart,” he seethes. “But, I mean, hey, you wanna continue to enable him? Be my fucking guest. You’re only accelerating his date with the reaper,”

“I—I just—” the words hiccup in your throat, thick with emotion. “I just don’t understand why it’s necessary to cease all communication with him!” Your head throbs, eyes shut tight against overwhelming confusion. “I get why I can’t see him, but—but can’t I leave just a thread of communication open? The thinnest, slimmest little line? Just so we can check up on each other every once in a while; just so I can make sure he’s still alive!”

“But that’s exactly the problem! He hasn’t truly lost you if you’re still bothering with him, if you’re still showing him you care!” He shakes his head, irritated. “Look. I’m not going to explain it to you again. I really don’t know how much clearer I can make it; I can’t fucking understand it for you. You are the only thing he has to—”

His voice stops suddenly, a clean cut, the type that occurs when a new thought, a better thought, slices through the previous one. Annoyance melts from his features, revealing something cold, something calculating beneath.

“Actually, that’s not exactly true, is it? You may be the most important thing he stands to lose, but you aren’t the only thing he has to lose, are you?”

Keigo’s scholarship.

Your head begins to shake—a small, automatic motion—as you blink furiously, watching as Dabi paces.

“They hide it pretty well for him, don’t they? My father, all those coaches and trainers and doctors.” He says this casually enough, but you can hear it, that sharp malicious edge of a threat buried beneath his amicable tone. “He must be making them a helluva lot of money, huh. Only a matter of time until someone slips up, though. Only a matter of time until the truth comes out.”

Sapphire glints with the implied threat, blood turned frigid in your veins.

“You wouldn’t.” You say, and although the words are supposed to be strong, assured, but they come out brittle and quivering.

“Oh, but wouldn’t I? He has to lose everything, remember? Don’t you think that includes his cherished sports scholarship?” Blinking, his head tilts, as if he’s expecting an actual answer. “Honestly, it’s a miracle he can even perform in such a condition.”

“Well—He only shoots just enough to keep from being sick on race days,” you mumble, eyes fleeing his blazing stare, nails ruthlessly picking at your cuticles. To be honest, you had wondered the same thing, several times in the past. “And I think…The coaches, they give him something. Something else; little tablets. Uh, orange.”

A look of recognition glazes Dabi’s features, smirk curling in on itself.

“Interesting. So he’s got a whole system set up and figured out, does he?” Dabi shrugs. “Well, it’s just a matter of time anyway. No addict can keep up the facade of normalcy forever. I mean, wouldn’t I be doing him a favour? Ripping that bandaid off hard and fast, forcing him to—”

“No, Dabi, please,” you breathe, head snapping up. “Not—Anything but the scholarship. Anything. I—Racing is so important to him.”

“All the more reason to—”

“Please,” you hiccup, glassy eyes pleading with him. “Don’t take this from him.”

Racing is the last—albeit light—anchor that’s keeping Keigo from floating away entirely. The thought of Dabi ripping it out from under him all because you were too selfish, all because you refused to give up the luxury of being able to contact him, hurts more than you can bear.

Dabi’s smirk turns sinister, creeping out from edges of his expertly crafted mask of concern. “Give me your fucking phone, then.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Over the next few weeks, you only see your phone once—despite knowing Dabi keeps it on his person at all times—in the subdued twilight of the autumn nights, fuchsia haze painted across Dabi’s walls diluted by the pollution of the city, Dabi’s shadowy figure crossing through it as he fishes the tirelessly vibrating device from his pocket.

“Hello?” he had answered, calm, composed. “No, she can’t come to the phone right now…No, she won’t be able to come to the phone for a long while; I think it’d be best if you’d stop calling.”

Tap, click, silence.

And, just like that, the vibrating ceases.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

“You’re a fucking bastard, y’know that?” Keigo’s growling the moment Dabi’s Cadillac pulls into the empty high school parking lot, soles of his sneakers stomping across the cracked concrete, the slaps echoing among the vast, empty space, pinched face illuminated by Dabi’s headlights. “A deranged fucking psycho,”

“Oh yeah?” Dabi questions, voice calm and flat as he climbs out of his car. “And why’s that?”  

“Taking her fucking phone away, as if you have any authority at all to do such a thing,” he spits, features twisted in abhorrence, acid dripping off his tongue. “That’s her only line of communication—”

“To you. I know.” He taps out a cigarette from a veiny Marlboro box. “That’s why I had to confiscate it; she’s made it very clear to me that she cannot handle having access to it.”

“Cannot handle having access to it—what the fuck?”

Dabi fixes him with an unimpressed glare, face blank. “She doesn’t know how to obey simple rules. Seems like the two of you have that in common.”

“You better give it back.”

Finally, Dabi cracks a smile, half-stifled snort scrunching his nose. “Oh? Or else, what?”

“I’ll get my father involved.”

A scornful laugh twines around the cigarette perched between his teeth, Dabi nodding as he cups the flame of his zippo, words slightly muddled. “You’re a comedian tonight, aren’t you,”

“I’m serious,” Keigo snarls, but his voice tremors ever-so-slightly, and Keigo can practically see Dabi’s ears perk up, eyebrows raised a trifle in falsified surprise.

“Oh?” he asks, question exhaled with a puff of smoke, Dabi squinting at the blonde through the cloud. “Are you? And then, what? You think you’ll get off scot-free just because you’re the Chief’s son?” With a tsk, Dabi shakes his head in mock sympathy. “Nah, nah, nah, pretty boy. It doesn’t work that way. You’re just as guilty as I am, and I’m sure your sterling father would be devastated to discover he has such a pathetic junkie for a son.”

“Maybe I don’t mind sacrificing myself, too, if it puts you behind bars,” Keigo growls, eyes flashing with topaz sparks.

“Don’t be stupid, Keigo. You do something like that and I might just do something equally as idiotic: I might just replace those pretty pink pills she takes every day—you know the ones, taken at the same time each day—with a pack of sugar pills, because Christ, wouldn’t she look so beautiful with a cute round tummy stuffed full of my spawn?”

“You wouldn’t,” Keigo says, though he doesn’t feel nearly as confident as he sounds.

“Why not? Our baby would be gorgeous, don’t you think?” Dabi muses, almost wistfully, sapphire eyes turned to mist. “My eyes, her hair; my nose, her lips…Perfection.”

“You’d ruin the rest of your life with a kid,” he hisses, words sharp but raspy with desperation.

“Ruin?” Dabi questions, and he sounds genuinely surprised, blinking twice. “How would having a child with the love of my life—and binding her to me for at least the next eighteen years—ruin anything at all?”

Keigo’s breath is coming quicker now, harsh and uneven as it rushes down his raw throat, vision beginning to blur with stinging salt. Dabi’s calm is infuriating, head quirked to the side as if he had asked Keigo a sincere question that demands a sincere answer, eyes glinting smugly, something like arrogant satisfaction tugging at a corner of his lips.

A half-baked response sputters on the back of his tongue, lead sinking toxic and heavy in his stomach as he realizes that he cannot win this game against Dabi, whole resolve crumbling to ash.

“I just—Please, Dabi, for God’s sake, I just want to talk to my sister,” the words are whiny and cracked, not a request but a plead.

“You can,” Dabi responds with a shrug of indifference, juxtaposed by the rapidly growing grin on his face. “It’s simple, really. All you have to do is stop being a fucking addict. But you can’t even do that, huh? Not even for your precious princess of a baby sister. Pathetic, that’s what you are.”

A forceful exhale, sharp and strong, halts the twitching of Keigo’s nose, his chin puckered with the trembling of his bottom lip, jaw flexing as he swallows down the excess saliva collecting on his tongue.

The world has turned into a quivering, blurry haze, objects turned to abstract, avant-grade versions of their former selves, with wiggling lines and blurred edges, lights diffused to massless, shapeless entities.  

He refuses to blink, determined to keep the tears obstructing his vision safely behind his lashes, though every word that falls from Dabi’s lips drives that stake of disgust further into his soul.

Because regardless of whatever personal qualms Keigo has with Dabi and Dabi has with Keigo, he’s right. It’s true, it’s all true, and why can’t Keigo quit already? Why is he having so much trouble with this? Everything has always come so easy for Keigo, why isn’t this the same? Why can’t he quit?

“You clearly love heroin a hell of a lot more than you love her,” Dabi continues in that same insouciant lilt, though sadistic amusement sparkles in his eyes. “If you didn’t you would’ve already quit by now, right?”

Keigo shakes his head, choking on his own tears. “I’m trying.”

“Are you? Then why’d you meet me tonight? Why’d you call me two days ago, asking for another two fucking grams?”  

Why? Why is Keigo in love with such poison? Why can’t Keigo kick the habit? Get help? Be better? Why can’t Keigo find the strength, the motivation, the willpower to go through with it for good? Why does the thought of never shooting up again fucking terrify him, crack his heart in two and devour the pieces in a bottomless black hole?

“Do you know how much she cries over you?” Dabi spits, eyes narrowed, throwing his cigarette at Keigo’s feet. “Do you know how much fucking pain you put my baby through? Why do you want to see her, when all you do is upset her?”

“I need to see her,” Keigo croaks, the words mechanical at this point, tears streaming down his face.

“Why would I ever allow you access to her again? Why would I subject her to that? She doesn’t deserve that, does she?”

So many whys, all echoing through his head, all in your voice. Why did he do it? Why did he start? Why didn’t he quit when it was early, when he was ahead? Why can’t he quit now? Why can’t he switch to something else, something less lethal, something more controlled (as if such a thing has ever existed for a drug addict)? Why does he still want to do this, when it’s destroying his body, destroying his life?

“Does she?” Dabi presses, sharp.

“No,” he weeps. “No, she deserves a good, sober big brother,”

“Exactly,” Dabi seethes. “But her big brother only cares about this.”

He pulls from his car a large ziplock bag, full of small white squares.

Forty little baggies, prim and pretty and perfect, the headlights of Dabi’s car casting a sick, haloed glow around them.

“I took the liberty of separating it into dime bags for you,” Dabi says, though his sounds revolted, face screwed up in bitter disdain, as if his own kindness has left a horrid flavour on his tongue. “So you don’t shoot too much at once and fucking kill yourself.”

Voice evaporating to smoke in his throat, Keigo blanches, gaze glued to the plastic clutched in Dabi’s fist.

It’s hard to believe Dabi’s done such a thing, hard to believe Dabi’s capable of thinking about anyone but himself at all. Keigo’s always thought all of this—this whole act he charades, about caring for you, about caring for Keigo, in some backwards sense—as something for Dabi’s own selfish benefit, some sort of twisted game he’s been playing with some sort of goal or gain in mind. He never thought Dabi actually meant anything he said—the man known to be a stellar actor when he wants to be, not unlike Keigo himself—never thought there was any sort of true emotion or feeling behind those sentiments.

But this—this is something else, this is something different. This is action, effort, separate from mere words.

He coughs on his shock, stuttering out sticky words of thanks, but Dabi merely rolls his eyes, shoving the bag into Keigo’s chest so hard he nearly falls over.

“Don’t fucking thank me,” Dabi snaps, not bothering to look back as he walks towards his car, keys jingling in his palm, fidgety, nervous. “You’re dancing on glass, Keigo, and it’s starting to crack. This shit will kill you one day; there’s no way around it.”

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

Christmas comes and goes, your foster parents’ impromptu trip to the Bahamas saving you from having to explain why your boyfriend will not allow you to attend the family Christmas Dinner this year. We’ll have a celebration and exchange gifts in the new year, they promise, but you know it will never come, expensive presents wrapped in luxurious golds and reds doomed to lay in wait for a whole extra twelve months, collecting a fine film of dust in your parents’ basement.

New Years comes and goes, too, the eve of the next year spent surrounded by Dabi’s friends, with the lifeline to your kin held safe and secure in your boyfriend’s pockets.

Idly, you wonder what Keigo might be doing for New Years—he had always taken you and your friends out with him to one of those extravagant parties he always seems to be invited to; will he be going this year, alone for the first time in how many years?

Probably not.

Don’t kid yourself, Tomura had told you, in his special blunt nature, the words somehow simultaneously soothing and stinging. He’s getting high like every other year. Only this time, he’s doing it without you.

He’s probably right.

The thought makes your chest ache, wavering images of your big brother blissfully fucked up on opium, head thrown back against the couch as lidded eyes flit and flutter delicately, a needle still stuck in his arm slithering through your mind. Is he feeling as miserable as you are, right now? Is he feeling as alone, as lonely, as hopeless as you do? Does he miss you nearly as much as you miss him?

These questions grow louder and heavier with each passing day, weighing on your conscious until, finally, something breaks.

It was inevitable. You had both known it was. It was only ever just a matter of time; a matter of when, of how, but never of why.

Everyone knew why.

It’s been building for a while now, chipped bricks stacking atop one another in some sort of sick, precarious game of Tetris, another added with each freedom snatched from you, another added with every panged memory of Keigo.

It’s something innocuous that does it, that finally sends those decaying bricks tumbling down in a heap of dust and rubble, shattering to pieces upon impact and releasing the monster it had housed.

Dabi’s old television flickers idly, murmuring softly to itself as you sit cross-legged on his bed, a textbook between your thighs and a highlighter cap between your teeth. It bathes the small bachelor apartment in faded blues and washed out purples, casting long shadows across the warped wooden floorboards.

You’re barely paying attention, the screen set on some borderline decrepit channel that cycles through old game shows and sitcoms from the 90s, but you’d know that jingle anywhere.

The first few cheerful notes leak through the television’s weak speakers, distorted with the hiss of static, and your head snaps up, a razored little gasp slicing your throat.

It’s a commercial for some sort of gummy fruit snack—a snack that you and Keigo were, admittedly, not usually allowed to have, though your foster mother indulged the two of you on select occasions: when you had been exceptionally well-behaved, or when you had managed to ambush her in the snack aisle at the grocery store, a bright box clutched tightly to your chest as Keigo expertly listed all of the reasons the both of you should be allowed such a treat.

But despite how desperately you wanted to indulge in the treat, the advertisement had mortified you as a child; a sort of grotesque scene consisting of children’s heads exploding into a variety of terrifying fruits subsequent to ingesting the snack. Keigo had teased you about it at first, remarking that someone would have to be a real idiot to think that such a ridiculous thing would actually happen in real life.

Right, you had agreed with a shaky nod, desperate to be as smart and brave as your big brother. Of course, how silly. You were just kidding about being scared, duh.

It wasn’t until he finally got a packet in his palm for the very first time—something he had managed to sweet talk another student into giving him—that he realized how afraid you truly were.

Hey, he had said, golden eyes rippling with worry, such an expression much too serious for a child of his age. It’s alright, it won’t actually happen, he pinky swears.

You had given a small, uneasy nod in response, unable to banish the weariness from your features as you gazed at the colourful little candies.

Look, he plucked one of the gems from his hand, holding it carefully between his thumb and forefinger. I’ll go first, okay?

When nothing happened after he swallowed, his head keeping its normal, human shape, he pushed his palm towards you, gently urging you to try one next.

It’s a sweet memory, one that stings your eyes and burns your throat, fragments of the two of you later joking about the stupid commercial spearing through your mind, Keigo earnestly asking you which fruit you’d want your head to turn into (a strawberry, you had said), this little game becoming increasingly absurd as time went on, answers morphing from strawberries and lemons to gigantic watermelons, too big for your necks to hold.

You glance towards the bathroom door, rendered nothing more than a bleary, wavering rectangle of taupe wood parallel to your spot on the bed.

The shower’s still running, the uneven spray from the old, rusting head hissing against the limestone tiles, symphonic stream interrupted by Dabi’s body as he moves beneath it.

His jeans lay crumpled and abandoned near the foot of the bed, a small mountain of creased black denim on the floor, his trademark white t-shirt curled around them like an ivory reservoir.

Fingers curling in the sheets, you swallow thickly, unblinking gaze trained on the pile of clothing.

You know it’s there, buried deep within the fabric. You know you shouldn’t touch it, know that even if you miraculously manage to get away with using it that he’ll know in an instant, that he’ll be able to tell it’s been moved simply by the way you place it back in it’s cocoon of denim.

But the need to hear Keigo’s voice, even if just for a second or two, is too strong a pull, overriding any sense of judgement or risk assessment.

Your hands tremble while your fingers sift through the jeans, fumbling and unsteady as they dive into the material, finding your phone, at last, in the back right pocket. The screen awakens as you lift it to your face, bright white light straining your eyes.

Quick little pants escape your lips as your thumbs work, hastily scrolling through your contacts until you find his honorific and jab at it three times, rushing blood and ragged breath leaving your ears deaf, muting everything except for the drone that echoes through the phone’s speaker.

It’s halfway through the second ring that the bathroom door swings open and he emerges, steam clinging to his bare chest in crystalline beads, a ratty white towel hanging low on his hips, bones jutting out from beneath the fabric.

Shards of ice form in your veins, sharp and prickly, eyes not leaving his as you wrench the device away from your ear and slam down on the red END button, silencing the voice that was just beginning to answer.

For a moment, everything is still, stiff, silent, your breath held dense and stagnant in your lungs as you wait.

He breaks it with a rancorous little chuckle and a roll of his eyes, scoff dripping with incredulity as he turns towards the small bedside table and pulls open a drawer, rooting around for a pair of clean briefs.

“Whatcha got there, baby?”

He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but you can see the thorny smirk etched into his face, the corners of his lips twitching with fury. To the untrained ear, his voice would sound painfully indifferent, almost patronizing in a way, as if the current predicament you’ve found yourself in is entirely insignificant. But you can hear it, the notes of anger infused in his tone, boiling just beneath the surface.  

You must take too long to answer, response morphing to frost in your throat, because then he’s turning towards you, flames of sapphire raging in his eyes, his glare scathing your skin.

“When Daddy asks you a question, he expects a fucking answer.”

The fire blazing in his eyes thaws your voice and you sputter, choking on the words in your haste to spit them from your mouth.

“I just—I wanted—It’s not, I mean, I wasn’t—”

Head cocking in mock confusion, he frowns and furrows his brow, the inferno in his stare still scalding.

“You just, what?”

The soles of his bare feet slap against the hardwood as he prowls towards you, each movement slow, steady, calculated.

“You wanted, what?”

The sound echoes out among the small apartment, sick and sharp, and he shrugs, eyebrows raising as if enticing an answer from you.

“You weren’t, what?”

Finally, he reaches you, his thighs mere inches from your face, azure glowering down the slope of his nose.

“Huh?”

“I—I miss him, Daddy,” you nearly wail, harsh sniffles sandwiched between your words. “I just wanted to—to hear his voice, just for a moment, I swear, I didn’t mean to break the rules, I don’t—I’m not trying to be bad, I promise, there was just this commercial, and—”

“Excuses,” Dabi spits, features warped with aversion, squinted eyes and a screwed up mouth. “You know, I do so much for you. I do so much for you, and all I ask is that you obey a few simple ground rules, so I can keep you fucking safe,” a pause, a harsh breath, “and what do you do? You continue to treat me with this—this blatant disrespect: you spit in my face, you sneak around behind my back, you lie to me—”

“I’m not lying!” you squeal, free hand pawing at his denim-clad thigh. “I promise you on my life, on Keigo’s life—”

“Well that’s not worth much,”

“—that I’m telling you the honest truth!” your voice cracks with earnest, and Dabi scoffs, stepping back from your vying fingers as if he’s downright disgusted. The sudden lack of support has your whole body crumpling, shoulders curling in on themselves, ribs rattling with the irregular stretch and compress of heaving sobs.

“The honest truth,” he snorts to himself. “You really expect me to believe that bullshit? After all you’ve shown me time and again is how fucking selfish you are?”

“Sel—” Selfish?

“Yeah, that’s right,” he sneers, twisted triumph infused in his smirk. “Selfish. You’re greedy, craving the artificial comfort familiarity bears, not caring whether or not your brother gets better, not allowing him to truly hit rock bottom and instead teasing him with flitting interaction, like a cat with a string.”

“I—I—” Incoherent static, the fuzz of confusion, permeates your brain, razored little breaths exhaled harsh and uneven as your vision wavers, fat tears racing down your cheeks. “What are you talking about?” Your voice is shattered to fragments, raw in your throat. “Dabi, I can’t just abandon him entirely. He’s the only family I have!”

“Not anymore!” Dabi roars, but the flames flickering in his eyes are full of fear, of hurt. “I’m your family now, too. Aren’t I?”  

Even through your thick tears you can see the heartbreak on his face. It dribbles through that expertly crafted mask he always puts on at times like this; when he wants to hide his truths—feelings and thoughts—from anyone who might be capable of deciphering them.  

It’s in his voice, in the way it wavers on certain words, in the way it fades nearly to a whisper, soft and shattered, before it restores itself to a bellowing roar as his fury overtakes his pity yet again.

“God, if you’d just—just leave him alone, if you’d just let him be to realize that there is something important at stake here and it is worth getting better for then maybe he’d already be in a rehab program.” A hand cards roughly through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands. “But you only keep popping up, reminding him that you’re still there for him, you still care for him, that you’re not going anywhere no matter what he does, even if that thing is killing himself, slowly.”

It still makes no sense to you, how merely checking in on your brother equals any sort of enabling, but you can’t seem to stitch the question together, words welded with spit, emotion overriding your brain.

“I want my brother,” you whimper brokenly, crumpling in on yourself, desperate for Keigo’s arms, Keigo’s warmth, that special type of comfort only a big brother can provide. “I want my big brother.”

“Sorry,” Dabi snarls. “Niisan’s too busy being a Goddamn junkie to give a shit about you. When are you going to realize that he loves that drug more than he’s ever loved you!”

“M’sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry,” you’re weeping, nails digging into the flesh of your knees, clutching your legs to your chest, each sob sending violent shivers rippling through your body. “I don—I don’t know what to do, I dunno how to help! It all feels…” Wrong. It all feels wrong. No matter what you do, or what you say, it all feels so wrong, like nothing will ever truly be enough.

Dabi stares at you for a moment, crystal eyes hard and assessing, before finally he sighs, chest heavy with it, and drops to his knees in front of you.

Slim fingers work to uncurl your own, loose and uncommitted, removing the device from your palms. He doesn’t have to use force, doesn’t have to pry it from your fingers or tear it from your grasp as trembling hands offer it up to him, your head bowed, terrified to meet the diluted hell in his gaze.  

He pulls you into his lap a moment later, after the phone is safe and secure on his person, hugging you to his chest as he murmurs out indistinct comforts into your hair.

The words don’t register, voice nothing more than a soothing vibration against you cheek, and you cling to him tighter, desperate for someone to gather up all of your shards and keep you put together—keep you from falling to pieces entirely—his love the only force keeping you here, real, whole.

You have nothing and no one left but him.

Or so it seems.

    ✰          ✰          ✰      

It’s an unassuming Tuesday, when it finally happens.

It’s as if the circumstances had been perfectly tailored by fate himself: your final afternoon class ends just over a whole hour early on this particular Tuesday, following an unfortunate mishap between your professor’s laptop and his coffee, leaving you with nothing to do but time to kill.

Dabi usually converges with his suppliers on Tuesdays—his busiest day of the week by far, comprised of meetings and testings, inventory and accounting—which means Tomura more often than not picks you up from class.

The sky is a blistering blue, the unrestrained sun beaming down on glittering waves of undisturbed snow. It’s blinding, but it’s welcomed; a nice break from the monotonous grey you have come to expect cementing the sky.

Yet, despite the bright sun unhindered by clouds, the day is cold, full of sharp winds and frosty air that gobbles up your clouds of breath nearly as quickly as they form.

You shield your eyes from the harsh light as you step out into the frigid atmosphere, squinted eyes scanning the campus idly, a glint of gold snapping your gaze to the left.

You’d know that head of unruly curls anywhere.

For a moment you’re unable to move, feet frozen to the ground as your lungs fill with ice, each stuttered breath like icicles ripping through your throat, leaving the flesh stinging and raw.

He doesn’t see you—not at first, anyway—jogging around the well-maintained track outfitted in black spandex and red shorts, bounding along to whatever song is currently playing through his headphones.

Even from your distance, you can tell that he’s lost weight, the spandex that used to cling to him like second skin gone sagging and slack, baggy shorts hanging lower on his hips than they used to.

Tears flood your eyes, thickly blurring your vision and you blink rapidly, two mittened hands moving to swipe viciously at them, scratchy wool rough against the skin of your cheeks. A hiccuped sob catches painfully in your chest, heavy and stuffed full of saliva as it tangles on your sternum.

That’s when he notices.

Feet skid to a stop on the track, kicking up a thin cloud of dust from the frozen floor, his shoulders heaving as his body stills, straight as a rod.

Time slows, just for a short instant, seconds dripping by sticky and sedated as the universe allows you a moment to process this, to savour it, before it kicks your body into gear, thawing your limbs and clearing your mind, your legs snapping into action and immediately taking off in the direction of your big brother.

You hurdle into his chest with such force it nearly knocks him off balance, heels teetering a little as he catches you in his arms and crushes you to his body. Delicate hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to pull him impossibly closer, gripping him so tightly it feels as though your knuckles are going to slice right through your skin, stretched taut and firm over the bones.

Lithe fingers flex too hard on your waist as he holds you just as firmly, murmured apologies spilling from his lips into your hair.

You can barely make out his words, too slurred with spit and muffled with tears to be properly legible, but it doesn’t matter—you already know what he’s trying to say.

Burning salt leaks from your eyes and you burrow your face into his bony chest, a vicious sob shredding through your torso with such vigour it sends tremors throughout your bones.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, niisan is here, niisan has you,” you feel his voice vibrate against your scalp, but it’s gruff, hoarse, weighed with such heavy sadness it sounds like it’s about to split apart.

“What—What are you—?”

“My training schedule has shifted a little for the new year,” he explains with a wet laugh, squeezing you to his chest again.

Cold fingertips press into jutting bones as your hands roam his back; the knobby vertebrae at the nape of his neck, the sharp shoulder blades in his upper back, the bumpy ribs at the dip of his waist.

He hasn’t been eating.  

Of course he hasn’t; you haven’t been there to make him, to check up—check in—on him, to cook him his favourite meals and coax him into having at least a few bites while he’s higher than heaven.

You aren’t spared a minute to inquire about it, though, Keigo pulling back and cradling your salt-stained face between his palms, peppering you with kisses—your forehead and your cheeks and your nose—as garbled sentiments spill from his lips; God, it’s been months now, hasn’t it? and He never got to give you your Christmas present this year and How are you? How is Dabi treating you? Has he hurt you? and Christ, he misses you so fucking much he can’t stand it, each tumbling from his tongue at such a fast pace the words collide and clash, as if he’s worried you’re suddenly going to disappear, going to be snatched from his very palms before he’s able to get it all out.

“Keigo, Keigo, Keigo,” you’re nearly weeping, fingers aching from the strength of their grip on his shirt. “Please, please, I miss you so much, I’m so —I’m so lonely.”

“I’m here, songbird, I’m here.”

In the distance, someone hollers his name, followed by an order, too muddled by the blood surging in your ears for you to comprehend.

Cursing under his breath, Keigo looks down at you, regret tugging at his mouth. “I have —I have to get back to training now—”

“No!” you gasp, dainty hands tightening in the fabric. “No, Kei-nii, please, I don’t want you to go.”

“I know,” he says softly, nose twitching with the threat of tears. “But it’s okay, alright?” Gloved thumbs run across your cheekbones, mopping up drops of crystals. “It’s okay, because you and I, we’re going to make a plan.”

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x smut #dabi #takami keigo #tw toxic relationship #tw drugs #tw minimal prep

[vodika-vibes]

Could I please request a smutty reaction scenario for Sev x female reader where he unintentionally makes her squirt all over him for the first time. (I imagine he'd have the most happy, smug, dreamy eyed look on his face for days after lol.)

First Time

Pairing: Clone Commando Sev x F!Reader

Word Count: 560

Warnings: Smut. Very Smut.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I'm sorry if this is trash. Words don't want to word today, but this is the closest I came to being able to write anything today.

“So pretty,” Sev coos as he drags his hands roughly down his cyare’s sides and then back up again to roll his thumbs across her nipples. “So, so pretty.” He repeats, as he looks down at her.

Her hair is spread across his pillow, her chest heaving as she comes down from her orgasm, tears pricking the corner of her eyes as she slowly comes back to herself. 

This is orgasm number…three? Or maybe four.

Sev can’t remember. 

Whatever the number is, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. 

What a cruel galaxy he lives in that he can’t spend the rest of his life in bed with his pretty cyare, making her fall apart for him. 

He pinches her nipple teasingly, pulling a hoarse whine from her throat, before he drags his fingers down her body, over her stomach and down her pelvis, until he’s able to press his fingers against her clit. 

“Can you give me another one, cyare?” He asks, his gaze locked on her face as her hips jolt up to meet his hand, “Give me another orgasm, baby.”

“S-Sev-,” His name sounds like music on her lips, and he can’t stop himself from sliding up her body to catch her lips with his own in a deep, tender kiss. 

“Just one more, cyare.” He murmurs against her lips as he slowly eases his fingers inside her wet heat, sliding in with ease from just how aroused she is. “Stars, look at how well you take me.” Sev murmurs, “So eager-”

She whimpers and writhes under him, her head turning to press against his forearm.

“You’re being so good.” Sev praises, not taking his eyes off of her face, “Such a good girl. Taking me so well. Once more on my fingers and then you can have my cock. Is that what you want?”

She nods mutely, a whimpering moan falling from her.

“I know it is. You’ve been so good for me, so obedient.” He breathes as he slides in a third finger and curls his fingers to brush against that spot that never fails to make her see stars.

She clenches around his fingers hard, her eyes squeezing shut and a quiet sobbing moan falling from her lips. 

He loves watching her fall apart, he could spend the rest of his life watching her fall apart and never get tired of it.

Sev tears his gaze off of her pretty face when he feels liquid splash against his forearm and lower stomach. His gaze lingers on her pussy, drenched with her own arousal, and he feels a surge of pleased delight.

“Oh, cyare,” He coos as he slides back up her body and kisses her gently, pulling her gaze to him, “Look at how much you came.”

Her hazy eyes flicker to his lower stomach, and then whines and presses her hands against her face, “‘m sorry, I made a mess-”

Sev pulls her hands away from her face and pins them to the bed over her head, “Don’t apologize, cyare.” He breathes out, “Do it for me again.”

All in all, Sev makes her squirt for him twice more, once on his fingers and once on his cock. And he spends the entire next day with a look of smug bliss on his face. One that he won’t explain to anyone who asks.

#star wars #tcw #clone commando sev x reader #sev x reader #18+ fic #clone thirsting #nsft #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

[ink-sinner]

velvet

— cinnabar x chief

genre : fluff, smut

tags : body worship, oral sex, vaginal fingering

wordcount : 3,227

summary : your kisses wash her clean.

the city's neon lights are muted tonight, hung low by dim clouds and a misty fog set beneath the thunder and flecks of lightning peeking across the grey sky. in its wake, the moon shines brighter from within the gaps in the clouds, casting shadows on the tiled floor and winking where it reflects on the sweat glinting off cinnabar's flushed skin.

she's already squirming beneath you, her fingers trembling as she bunches the bed sheets in her fist and grasps the dip of your waist while you straddle her hips.

you haven't even started yet.

you lean down, brace your weight with one hand on the mattress, and trace swirling patterns across her collarbone with the other. she shivers at your touch, lashes fluttering as her breath hitches. she's exquisite and sensitive, and you drink her reactions like intoxicating wine, fingers splaying across the ridges of the scars tattooed on her skin.

"you have a scar here, too."

your lips replace your fingers at the hollow of her throat, dragging your mouth over the thin, silvery scar across her neck. you taste the salt on her skin, a faint, bitter feeling over the old wound, something normally hidden by her choker. there's a certain sort of exhilaration here, at the sudden thought, how bare she is before you.

cinnabar lets out a soft breath, head tipping back to give you access to her neck. you oblige her quiet plea with a soft nip over the place where her pulse hammers madly against her skin, teeth and lips and tongue and your wandering fingers mapping the dip of her collarbone, down to the valley of her breasts.

"i remember that one," she says, quietly, fingers fluttering over your hair, brushing your bangs behind your ear. she is watching you when you look up, something inscrutable in her lilac eyes, a mellow mix of sadness and contemplative, melancholic as your fingers stroke the sharp line of the scar. "a gang fight in syndicate. i couldn't react fast enough."

"seems like you reacted just in time," you say. it’s too close, you don’t say. you kiss the scar again, and cinnabar lets out a hum.

“yeah,” she says, and squeeze your waist. her smile is lovely as ever, the moonlight painting her in ethereal silver as shadows shift across her skin with her every move. you chase the abstract shapes with your mouth, etching a path across her skin to the soft swell of her breast, contained by the sheer mesh of her bra.

you linger by the edges of her bra with your mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and your tongue soothing the faint marks left behind. cinnabar’s breath catches, slowly descending into ragged grasps and whimpers that send sparks down your spine as she arches into your kisses almost instinctively.

“here, too.”

you ignore her needy whine, winding her up tighter as you leave her unsated. you pause your wandering hands on her abs, eyes following the latticework of scars that mar the skin on her abdomen, deep and jagged and light and thin and a patchwork of memories embedded into her body. you trace patterns of them, silly constellations, gossamer-light kisses that chase shooting stars on the trails you paint. cinnabar watches you still, eyes half-lidded, pretty lips parted around a shaky breath as you lean down, and kiss a deep scar on her side.

“how’d you get these?”

the shifting clouds and hazy moonlight turn her eyes into stained glass, reflecting fractals of differing hues of violet as she blinks back focus into her gaze. you meet her unfocused eyes, hypnotized by the way her throat bobs with a swallow, the way her pink tongue darts out to wet her reddened lips. the memories resurface in shards, but your light hands keep wrenching the words away from her.

“knife,” she breaths out at last, color blooming in her fair cheeks under your gaze. “i remember, it was my first week in syndicate. i wasn’t so sure how to navigate the streets, and stumbled into a fight.”

you kiss it, and kiss it again, as if you could wash away the memories with your lips. you sigh. “you just get into a lot of fights, don’t you?”

her smile is a bit wry. “some of them were accidental.”

you laugh, or sigh, or both. shaking your head, you lean up to capture her lips in a kiss, nipping at her plush lower lip until she sings for you. when you break away for air, cinnabar looks up at you through thick lashes — and she looks so pretty that you can’t help but draw back in for another searing kiss. 

your knee presses between her thighs, and nudges tighter against her core.

“chief . . .” her breath comes in short gasps that tremble on the way out. trembling, shivering, longing to get away — but she stays still, for you. your hand wanders down the curve of her waist, and her thighs tighten around your knee, but she stays still, for you.

“this one,” you murmur against her skin. another pale, jagged scar runs crooked over her skin, skimming the length of her hip, down to the inside of her thigh, half-hidden by the waistband of her shorts. it looks ghost-white in the moonlight, barely there, washed clean of the ugly memories of pain.

you run your fingers over it, and cinnabar quivers from your touch. “tell me about this one.”

cinnabar turns her face from you, a hand draped over her mouth to hide the deep flush on her cheeks. it barely matters. her burning cheeks, her heaving chest, she is stained red by your touch.

you watch her swallow. “i . . .  i think that was from the broken frontline. a wave of corruptors caught us by surprise, and i took a hit for one of my teammates.”

you trace the edges of the scar, following it down her thigh, and back up. her toes curl. “you have so many scars. it must have hurt a lot.”

she's silent for a while. “it's fine now. as long as no one was seriously hurt, i'm happy.”

you can't help but sigh. it’s as fond and exasperated as you would expect. “as expected of you. you always do a good job.”

cinnabar makes an embarrassed sound at the back of her throat. “i'm just doing what i — chief!”

her words die on her throat, replaced by a breathy moan as you kiss her scar. your lips burn a searing trail down her quivering skin, exploring, claiming every inch of skin within your reach. your tongue dips down to taste her, and she whimpers.

“chief . . .” her voice sounds strained. she's peeking at you from beneath her arm, and when your eyes meet, she lets out a low groan that sends a thrill down your spine.

you watch her, entranced, as her chest heaves up and down frantically, and her hips squirm — away from you, towards you, trapped between need and shyness. her thighs tighten around your leg. every inch of her trembles, flushed scarlet from desire and your wandering hands and mouth.

“is it too much?” you ask.

she shakes her head.

you hoist yourself up and drag yourself to come face-to-face with her. but cinnabar doesn't look at you. she's looking away, eyes pinched shut, and she raises her arm to block your gaze.

“are you sure?”

she nods.

you shift up, and go to straddle her waist, shaking her thighs off your leg. she whimpers painfully at the loss, and you rub her shoulders comfortingly, running your hands down her toned arms and squeezing.

“can you look at me, then?”

cinnabar hesitates for a moment. but she does as you ask. she always does. her cheeks are flushed scarlet, and her lips look swollen and wet from all her biting, temptingly juicy in the moonlight.

you cup her cheek, carefully wiping her sweat-soaked hair away from her face. her gaze is unsteady and hazy, a glassy sheen of unshed tears clinging to her long lashes as she looks up at you with so much need that it makes you knees feel weak.

“cinna,” you murmur. she hums, a bit breathlessly, closing her eyes as she leans to your touch. you lean in, until your noses bump together, until her hot breath falls on your cheeks, until she's all that remains, and brush your lips against hers. “cinna. i love you.”

and she's so beautiful that your heart feels about to burst. she smiles at you, lashes fluttering as she tries, fails to hold back that blooming happiness on her face. if she could go redder, you think she would.

“i love you, too.” her voice is so quiet, firm.

you claim her lips, swallowing her sigh as you trace the seam of her lips with your tongue. cinnabar melts under you, pliant as silk, as you suck and tease her bottom lip, pulling away just as she leans closer, never lingering enough to give her what she wants.

her arms wrap around your neck, cupping the back of your head, tugging you in with a desperation that steals your breath. she pulls you, a needy whimper escaping her swollen lips, and you give in. Her lips part eagerly for you, moans ringing sweetly in the air as you drown in her taste, until you are both lightheaded and dizzy.

her kiss is fevered and hungry. and so, so needy.

parting, you drink in the sight of her. debauched, messy. yours. it makes your heart pound in your ears.

your fingers slip under her bra, grazing the outline of her ribs, the underside of her breast. a shiver dances across her flushed skin, but she keeps her eyes on you, her dark gaze burning bright as heat ignites under your skin.

you lick your lips. “can i take this off?”

she nods, hoists herself up on her elbow to help you take it off, and with a flick of your hand, the clasps come undone. her skin burns under your lips, your tongue, goosebumps rising as you trail kisses down the soft curve of her breast. each sigh that spills from her red lips draws an answering hum from you.

cinnabar has always been so sensitive. your nerves alight at the sinful sounds she makes, as you lock your lips around a perked nipple, laving your tongue over the flushed peak. her back arches, her arms wrap around you — as if you could be any closer than you already are.

you brush your thumb over her neglected bud, feeling her quiver against your body. she's still looking at you, her eyes half-lidded, lower lip caught between her teeth to bite back her sounds — you hollow your cheeks around her nipple, and she tips her head back to groan.

“god, you're so pretty.” the moon glazes over the arch of her neck. you claim her skin, mark her pounding pulse, her collarbone, every inch of skin that you can reach until she can’t forget she’s yours. “cinna. fuck, you're so pretty.”

“chief,” and she's so pretty when she begs, too. her tone carries a note of grievance, barely a whisper among her breathless cries. her hands tighten on your arms, pleading. “please. please. i need . . .”

you brush your lips against hers, kiss the trail of tears from her eyes. she's so cute when she's like this, and you have half a mind to keep teasing her until she's incoherent and crying, moaning broken pleas because she can't say anything else but your name.

but for now, you kiss her temple, and caress her cheek. “it's okay. i got you. i'll take care of you.”

you take one of her hands, squeeze tight, and she laces your fingers together. smiling, you kiss her pale knuckles, and let your intertwined hands rest on the bed.

cute.

cinnabar squirms as you slowly make your way down, her abdomen, kissing over her scars, the ridges of her abs. her hips raise towards you as you linger by the apex of her thighs, grazing the fabric with your teeth just enough to feel her shudder.

she's trying so hard to stay still for you. you can feel the tension on her toned muscles, tightly wound under your wandering hands, powerful and gentle and so, so soft. but tonight, her gaze is half-lidded and hungry, watching your every move with bated breath as you leave feather kisses down her hips, tracing a slow, hot path to the apex of her thighs. she holds your hand so tight that it feels numb.

“you're so needy,” you murmur, as she spreads her legs wide for you. you press a finger against the seam of her shorts, feeling the wet patch against the dark fabric, and cinnabar makes an embarrassed sound, averting her eyes. “you're already so wet.”

with an almost sadistic slowness, you press a finger through her folds, stretching the fabric of her underwear as far as it'd go. seeing her squirm, watching the way she bites her lip, tilting her hips as if trying to guide you where she wants your touch — every bit of her makes you want to ruin her. god. you want to take her. the heat beneath your skin is too overwhelming.

“chief . . .” she mumbles, almost incoherently, slurring the syllables together from need. her free hand claws at the sheets in frustration. “please.”

not yet. not yet. she looks too beautiful, and you're enjoying it too much.

“hm? what is it?” you trace her entrance, brushing over her clit, before doing it again. her legs tighten around your waist, urging you in, but you keep the teasing pace. you press a kiss on her flexed thigh. “tell me what you want, cinna.”

she shoots you a pitiful look. you ignore it, pressing tight circles around her clit before pulling away again.

“please.” you catch hints of a sob in her voice. “chief, please. i want . . . i . . . you — please.”

“but i'm here.” you kiss her thigh again, hiding a smile. “i'm already here.”

“you know what i mean . . .”

for a moment, her hand raises, meekly trying to urge your head back between her legs. but she changes her mind, and brings it to her mouth instead to muffle her sounds.

“i don't.” you squeeze her hand, encouraging. “c'mon. tell me. i want to hear you say it.”

she hesitates, only for a bit. when she speaks, it's in a tiny whisper, burning red like her skin. “please fuck me.”

god.

her needy voice makes you shiver. you hoist yourself up on your arms, and try to meet her embarrassed gaze. “good girl.”

you don't give her time to get even more flustered by that. letting go of her hand, you tug on her shorts, and she raises her hips off the bed eagerly to get it off her. slick stains her thighs, making a mess of the sheets, but you can barely find the motivation to tease her more when she's bucking her hips up reflexively as you trace your fingers over her wet slit.

and when she moans your name, it sounds almost holy.

you run your hand over the curve of her ass, coaxing her to drape her legs over your shoulders. her thighs lock around your neck, shaking, holding you close as she grinds her hips against your face mindlessly. but you take your time despite her frantic mewls, laving your tongue over her sex, lazily teasing her pleasure to a slow peak.

her hand brushes over your hair again. you grab it, and keep it in place before she can pull away again.

“you can pull my hair,” you say, licking your lips. her taste lingers on your tongue, salty and sweet and intoxicating. you want more. you keep wanting more.

cinnabar meets your gaze, teary-eyed. pretty.

“but . . .”

you smile at her. “you won't hurt me. don't worry. i want you to do it, okay?”

hesitantly, she nods. but her touch grazes the back of your head, still gentle in her unspoken plea as you dive back between her thighs. she doesn’t push, doesn’t tug on your hair to get you to go faster — it’s just there, a constant reminder as you stroke her pleasure with your tongue. she arches into each slow lick, growing pliant, insistent, as you wring honeyed moans from her lips.

you seal your mouth around her swollen clit, sucking on the tender bud as two fingers press into her slick entrance. cinnabar clenches tight around you, breath catching sharply, turning to a high groan as you crook them just right, stroking her pulsing walls as you lap at her core.

her hand fists in your hair, tugging you in, that famous control slipping fast. she’s wound tight, already so close, and your lips and fingers work her deep, coaxing whimpers and loud cries as her pleasure crests higher. a moan of your name, a sharp pull of your hair, and she comes, clenching hard around your fingers. you don’t stop, drawing her climax out as she spills on your tongue.

she’s still shaking when you part from her thighs, licking your lips at the mess you’ve made her into. flushed cheeks, hazy eyes, her raven hair draped over the pillow like soft feathers — she looks like an exquisite meal laid out temptingly for you. you drag yourself up to her side, and kiss her cheek.

she shifts, and cuddles to your chest.

you curl up against her, hiding a smile in her hair as you cradle her body. her shivered breaths are warm against your neck, almost stiflingly hot with the thick arousal still simmering in the pit of your stomach.

“you good?” you ask, stroking her hair. she groans against your chest, tired, before she pulls away, and blinks at you with heavy lids. the edges of her eyes are still damp from tears.

“i’m good,” she says softly. “you . . . did i hurt you?”

her touch on your head is gentle again, fixing your hair where she’d pulled on it earlier. you kiss the tip of her nose, and laugh when her lips purse at you.

“i’m good, i’m good,” you say, taking her hand and pressing a kiss over her knuckles. her gaze falls on you, soft and wide, and you can’t help the way your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. you rest her hand against your cheek. “you’re cute.”

she flushes, still. “i didn’t mean to tug on your hair. i'm sorry.”

you pinch her cheek. “i told you to do it, didn't i? so don't apologize. it was kinda hot.”

her embarrassment peaks, and she buries her face in your chest again, groaning. you chuckle, shifting your position to let your chin rest on the top of her head.

“you wanna shower or sleep first?” you ask.

but her answering yawn is enough of an answer. cinnabar mumbles something, a sleepy little answer about cleaning up first — but you are already reaching over to wrap her up in a blanket, holding her close to your chest as you dim the lights to darkness.

maybe tomorrow. she is asleep in your arms already, arms wrapped tight around your waist as if she doesn't want to let go. you kiss her forehead good night, and sigh as you close your eyes.

#path to nowhere #ptn x reader #ptn cinnabar #cinnabar x reader #ptn cinnabar x reader #cinnabar x chief

[zujime]

satiate me ─── eddie m. x f!reader [w.c. 3.7k]

OVERVIEW — you’re laying down and almost drifting to sleep, but eddie comes home with a hunger that never seems to diminish.

CONTENT — slight needy/pleasure dom eddie, kisses, marking, drool play, overstim, cunnilingus, begging, slight dacryphilia, p in v, creampie, consent, pet names used: babe, baby, sweetheart, angel

It was placid for a moment as you dozed on the bed you shared with your beloved partner. Your eyelids are gently sealed, yet you’re still completely cognizant of your surroundings—the faint hum of the air conditioning and how the birds sing outside, the newly washed duvet and how it felt on your skin, warm and comforting, and the clicking of the front door locking before heavy footsteps follow. “Babe…” A familiar voice nasalized as he trudged his way to the room you were in, toeing his boots off by the door before collapsing on the singular layer of blanket shrouding your weariness and evoking an enervated and muffled groan from you. 

“Baby,” he started, letting a crude hand find its slot delicately on the nape of your neck. “I’m hungry…can you get outta your little blanket burrito for me?” Your face scrunches up somewhat at the inquiry. “Eds, there’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” You murmur, hushed by the fluffy padding that'd been the pillow, but he hears. “You know that’s not what I meant.” He snickers, putting all his weight on you as he slides up to peck at your neck and up to the spot behind your ear. 

His soft lips allot silent pleas on your skin, soon coaxing you to shimmy out of your cocoon and turn over on your back to meet his painfully endearing gaze—the gaze you’d kill to peer into all your life. A grin adorns his pretty lips, soft, pink, and begging to be joined with yours.

“I missed your pretty face.” His voice is nothing more than a whisper as he kisses your forehead before drifting down to peck the tip of your nose, and shortly, the fat of your cheek—which is accompanied by a gentle bite until his lips finally ghost yours. His ring-donned hands gingerly go over the skin of your middle, periodically prodding at the strap of your underwear. “Did you miss me too?” The hazy trace of mint gum that’d been outweighed by the smell of cigarettes—which only brought you a sense of contentment whenever it’d come from him. 

All you could breathe out was a “yeah”, far too lost in the universe in his tender brown eyes. “Yeah?” He mocked as his lips honed in on yours, soon capturing yours in an infectious hunger—a disgustingly sweet fervor that trapped you in an eternal state of delirium, drunken from the liquid love he’d just poured into the kiss. It’s almost too much. You’ve done nothing but kiss and your head’s already spiraling. The second he pulls away, you’re aching for more; hands moving to clutch onto his shirt, lips desperately chasing his, and breath ragged. 

“Please,” you gasp.

“What is it, angel?” He coos. “You want more of my kisses? Is that it?” You can’t do anything but nod frantically, voice snagged in your throat. He leans down as if he’s about to give you another honeyed kiss, but he merely kisses the corner of your lips, letting his nose gently graze yours as his feathery soft lashes tickle your cheek as he closes his eyes. “This should be enough, yeah?” The bass of his voice rang in his chest—that’d been cozily laying on you—and felt like mellow tremors on yours. 

You hated how sorely addicting his kisses were—how they always seemed to steal the words you had dwelling in the back of your throat, and how they always left you yearning for more. Your hands tightened their grasp on his shirt, praying that he’d understand your muted plea, yet all he does is chuckle, letting an “aww” ooze onto the skin he loved so dearly—your skin.

“You’re so cute," he leaves one last peck on your lips—lips that’d been kissed swollen and sleek with your exchanged saliva. One of his palms had found purchase on your face, seizing your jaw with a delicate firmness, drumming on the fat of your cheek as his face drifted farther away from yours.

“Open up for me, yeah?” His tone was sickeningly sweet, leaving you in a dizzying daze as you heeded his orders. Your jaw slackened in his clutches as you let your lips part, baring the moist cavern they concealed. “Tongue out, baby, come on.” He coaxed, giving your cheek another light tap. You listen, allowing the wet muscle to loll out past your lower lip, gazing into his lust-filled eyes with expectancy.

He hums before opening his mouth, letting the drool leaking from his tongue fall onto yours, and when he’s done, he’s giving your cheek another tap and uttering a “close and swallow, sweetheart”. You waste no time letting his essence travel down your throat. He acknowledges the look of longing in your eyes, giving your lips a peck as he whispers “I’d give you more, baby, but I can’t wait” into the glossy skin.

The gentle hand he had grasping your jaw slid down to the hem of the oversized shirt you had on—the shirt that happened to be one of his. He inches the bottom of it up your skin—deathly slow—only ceasing at the band of your bra as he began planting marks along the expanse of your neck and jawline.

Your breaths were now shallow pants that’d snag in your throat whenever he pressed the imprint of his cock against your sopping, clothed core. He hovers his face over your chest as he pushes the shirt above them, reveling in the heavenly sight of them before hoisting the band tee up and off of you, flinging it elsewhere in the room, and going back to the plump flesh.

A shuddering sigh falls from his lips—breath burning hot on your skin, causing you to shy away from his heavy gaze, but he doesn’t let you. He keeps you still with a ring-adorned hand that holds you with rigidity, while the other glides up to cup and knead at your gorgeously swollen peaks.

Tender kisses litter the flesh, soon shifting into bites and claret marks. You try to slip your arms out of your bra straps while he’s occupied and you succeed in doing so. His eyes flicker between you and the cups of your bra before he lets his hand slide beneath your back, undoing the—once tricky—clasp with ease. Flinging the bra into the same pile the shirt had been in.

The supple skin molded to fit perfectly in his grasp, nipples growing erect from the coolness in the room that caressed them. He leaves a brisk kiss on both velvety nubs before going over them with a moist sweep, eyes peering fervently into yours as his tongue glides along the bare skin. Your chest heaved shakily with each breath as you watched and wallowed in the feeling of his lips against your mounds—suckling and biting, allotting mark after blossoming mark on your skin. “Eddie,” you breathe out, causing him to detach from the bud he’d been salivating on. “How am I gonna hide all these tomorrow?”

“Why would you need to hide these?” He asks while failing to mask the smirk that’d grown on his pink lips, letting a hand go over the fresh marks. “Because I have work tomorrow. I can’t walk in looking like this.” You giggle, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Then don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t walk in tomorrow. What’s one sick day gonna do?” He mutters into your palm before planting a kiss on it and going back to kissing down your body. “Eddie, I already called in sick this week.” You sigh, still gliding your fingers through his messy head of hair, but he ignores you—shrugging before kissing down the valley of your breasts, coarse hands finding their slot on your hips as he let his thumbs rub at your middle. Every kiss and kitten lick is quickly accompanied by a bite of some kind—bites that are harsh enough to leave marks, but never enough to hurt.

“My offer still stands, babe.” He says between his affections. “My job gave me the day off tomorrow,” he pecks the marks he’d just made with his lips. “And all I’ve been able to think about is spending that day with you,” he rests his cheek against your tummy as he peered back up at you, with eyes he knew you’d never resist. “But it seems like you have other plans…that I happen to not be included in.” He huffs with a pout that makes you cave. A soft silence fills the room as you let a coy smile adorn your lips, eyes rolling as a sigh leaves your lungs.

“You’re a pain in my ass, Munson.” You grumble as you squint at him playfully, causing a smile to plaster itself onto his lips once more. “A pain that you signed up for, sweetheart.” He chuckled, lifting his head off of your belly to resume allotting his love bites. Your abdomen shudders as he nears the juncture of your thighs. His nibbles turn into kisses on the meat of your thighs, drifting his hands down to knead at them, needily, eliciting a shaky breath from your lips as your body twitches and tingles in his soothing hold.

He kisses the spot where your thigh and petal-soft folds connect—that’d been covered by the stitched rim of black panties you wore—before gazing up at you with eyes of uncertainty. “This is okay, right? I—I don’t want to if you don’t.” He stammers, scanning your eyes for any hints of reluctance.

You let a hand cup his cheek with an immeasurable amount of love. Lips pull into a smile as you thumb at his cheek. “This is fine, Eds. Promise.” You feel his body relax seconds before mumbling an “okay” and slowly slipping off your panties—giving you time to opt out, but you never did, letting the corners of your eyes crinkle as you give him a reassuring smile; his green light.

“Thank you.” He whispers into your skin. The panties he’d been peeling off were now with the rest of your clothes. He starts by kissing your inner thighs, nipping the skin before letting his kisses trail up to your warm folds.

He glances at you as he gives your sensitive nub a peck, taking in the honey-sweet scent of your warmth, his hands now snugly grasping your hips, as he kept you still before latching onto your slicken core. A short, sharp gasp is ripped from your lungs, soon unraveling into a muddled blend of whimpers and whines as his tongue slips past your lower lips, leaving no spot untouched as he continued to drink up your sweet juices.

Your hands can’t decide on whether to grip the sheets till your knuckles grew pale or to stay tangled in the curly chaos of Eddie’s hair. Profanities eluded through broken sobs as you approached your high, your body writhing in his grasp, hips arching off of the bed before being forcefully pushed down.

His grip on your hips was now tight enough to bruise as he pulled you closer, his body unconsciously grinding against the sheets in search of any type of friction to relieve the grueling ache in his crotch. He shook his head as he devoured you—stimulating your needy bud with the button of his nose. “Edd—fuuuck!” You shriek, yanking his hair—extracting a guttural groan from him—as you squirmed, tummy convulsing with every breath as your edge grew closer.

“I’m gonna—oh my god—I’m gonna cum!” You cry out mere seconds before your body stills; breathing ceasing and eyes blown wide, mouth stuck in an ‘o’ while your grip on his hair never falters. It’s like time slows when your climax crashes down on you, the feeling was intolerably dizzying. Shallow pants laced with incoherent gibberish were all that could slip past your lips and those noises only raised in pitch as Eddie’s tongue squirmed savagely inside of you.

With every squeak and sob, you try to wiggle away from his iron grip, but with a wild groan, he latches off of your dripping flower, eyes mesmerized by the blend of saliva and your juices that dribbled from your molten hot core as he dragged you close, grip on your hips binding.

“Please don’t run away from me baby,” he pleaded, voice gruff yet honey-smooth all at once. “Just a few more for me…” he trailed off as he dipped back down into the candied warmth between your legs that twitched and quivered from every puff of hot air from his lungs. Your voice is nothing more than a broken weep as you mumble a small “okay”.

You looked utterly pathetic—hands now clawing at the sheets as drool pooled in your mouth and dribbled down the corner of it, tears welling in your glassy eyes, disguised behind heavy lids. The sight was almost pitiful and the fact that it was all from just one orgasm made it all the more embarrassing—for you at least, to Eddie, he couldn’t get enough of it; the sight of you in disarray, nor the nectar that oozed from your folds. “Fuck.” He whimpered as he took in the scene, applying the faintest bit of pressure on his cock, soon resting his forehead on your abdomen—right above your mound—planting more love drunken kisses on the skin before trailing down and finally sheathing his tongue inside you.

Your body convulsed with each abrupt lick as you tried to squirm out of his grasp and away from the painfully pleasurable feeling. “Ed-Eddie, ‘s too much—‘s too much!” You cried, breathlessly gasping as your body arched and shuddered from the stimulation—hands tugging the sheets hard enough to tear while your toes curled involuntarily. It hadn’t even been that long until another orgasm crept up on you; your body tensing with every inch closer, hands now resting on the metalhead’s broad shoulders, trying to push him away, yet that only seemed to urge him into ravaging you with a frenzied fervor.

“Fuuuck! ‘M gonna—gonna cum again!” You cry out just as you’re overwhelmed by the pulsating waves of bliss that washed over you once more, far too lost in the mind-numbing orgasm to feel the fountain spewing from you.

A groan bursts from the man between your legs as he slurps up your sweet release, trembling as he lets white hot liquid soil his boxers. His breaths are deep yet uneven as he lifts himself from your glazed folds, wiping what’s left of your juices off of his face with a hand that he’d removed from your—now bruised—hip, sucking it off his fingers before gazing at you, fervently.

He could see all of you; the glossy sheen of water the tears left on your eyes, the imprints he’d left all over your supple skin, your puffy, kiss-bitten lips, the way your chest heaved with every labored breath, and the sticky mess between your thighs.

He gets off the bed for a moment to peel off the layers he wore to work before hastily climbing back over you. He hoisted your thighs up to rest over his as he moved down to hover his face over yours. “Open,” he says—no, he demands. His thumb aids you in your worn-out state, gently tugging on your chin, waiting for your lips to finally part before he stoops down, capturing you in an open mouth kiss.

His tongue finds yours, invading sweetly. All you can taste is your essence as his drool fuses with yours. Your hand—that’d been aimlessly lying on the crumpled sheets—gingerly clutched onto his neck, knuckles tickled by his disheveled curls. The kiss almost engulfs you in all the emotions he’s feeling as of now.

Your tongue grazes his, languidly, as his other hand kneads at the fat of your thigh. He finally pulls away, a thin string of spit the only thing connecting you both for only a moment before it finally snaps. Your lips were still parted and pretty, swollen and slick. His was just the same as his eyes flickered between your heavy-lidded eyes and lips. His breath is shaky as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m gonna…I’m gonna put it in, okay?” He asks, enticed by the lustful haze on your face. You nod, giggling an “okay” as you let the hand that hung from his neck trace the tattoo on his pec and downward, only stopping at the slight pudge of his tummy.

He leans over and grabs a hair tie from the nightstand, tugging his disheveled frizzes into a sloppy bun, strands dangling loosely from the bun. A gruff hand runs down your body—starting from your neck and soon finding its perch on your hip, drawing you impossibly closer, causing your heat to rub up against his aching hard-on.

His lips hover over your nipple, latching onto the soft skin as he leans down. His whimpers reverberate throughout the expanse of skin as he slipped inside past your velvety walls. His hands claw at your hip as he sheathed himself inside of you. “I missed you so so so much, baby.” He slurred as he detached from your chest, letting a broken groan and a jittery “f-fuuck” fly past his lips.

It was in—he was in. Your hands, searching to latch onto anything at the feeling of wholeness he’d been granting you, not even a jumbled plea could leave your quivering lips, but what was left in its place were the husks of moans from the achingly delicious overstimulation. Eddie stills, breaths heavy while he revels in the sight of your bodies woven—connected.

After a moment, he leans down, putting all of his weight on you as he lightly grinds his body against yours. His mellow thrusts are more than enough to drive you insane and his incessant mumbles of “I missed you so much” and “I love you” only seemed to tighten the aching coil in your belly.

Your hands find a spot on Eddie’s back, gently perched on his shoulder blades, but as his thrusts become more urgent, you begin scratching at the stretch of his back, leaving a trail of fiery rose streaks that emit a variety of whines and groans. His movements never falter as he says, “baby please—please do that again” before he nips at the marks he’d already left, earning a hiss from you. His rhythm grows in harshness, moving deeper inside you frantically with each jolt of his hips. You claw at the soft—yet firm—skin of his back, savoring the sugary sweet melodies of his bliss.

His guttural sobs soon shifted into needy whines and mewls as his pace spurred and the grip he had on your hips stiffened. His moans were almost like weeps into your neck. “B-baby, I’m gonna cum—ohh fuuck! I’m gonna cum!” He cries, his tummy quivering and body shivering with each thrust as he nears his second orgasm. His breaths are shallow, hurried, and laced gorgeously with his never-ending whines.

You can feel his cock throb inside of your gummy core, and soon, the warm, stickiness of his molten juices as his body stilled. His hands release your hips before he promptly wraps his arms around your frame as his body rattles with each silent cry of ecstasy. He mewls out a pathetic “just a little more” as he resumes his motions. Your body jerked and convulsed as he buried himself deep inside of you once more.

“Eddie,” he glances up at you through heavy lids. “‘S too much—ah—I can’t!” You hiccup, attempting to squirm away, but he keeps you close with his arms snugly bound around your middle. His thrusts come to a benevolent slow as he thinks wordlessly in the crook of your neck. Movements now ceased. “No more?” He murmurs, voice hoarse.

The inquiry had been a heartfelt one, even despite his mind being blurred by fervor. His eyes meet yours as he anticipates your reply, peering at other parts of your face to see if he’d done something wrong. Your lustrous eyes gaze into his as you think of a response, quickly allowing your mouth to open. “Only one more. But just…just go slow.” You utter, voice delicate on his ears as your hand tenderly rubs at his bicep. He hums in return, planting a kiss on your jaw and lips before hiding in your neck again. His hips meet yours, rocking gingerly into you.

Mantras of “thank you” had fallen clumsily from the man’s plush lips, mantras that’d soon turn into unrestrained sobs of heavenly torture from the sensitivity. Your body arched into his, meeting each and every loving thrust he threw your way, savoring the soft kiss the tip of his cock blessed your walls with. Your legs wrap around him, trapping him into you as your body quivers. “I’m gonna cum again!” You blubber, hiding in the warm slot where his neck and shoulders join. “Me too baby—fuck!” His voice tumbled into a whiny grunt as his breathing picked up speed once again.

His belly convulses violently as his hips stutter their leisurely movements. It’s not until he feels your walls pulsate around him, hears you moan helplessly into his ear as your body drowns in an overwhelmingly euphoric feeling, and you're milking him of all he has that he’s emptying himself into you.

His release is shattering—explosive and warm inside you, yet to him, it’s lengthy but glorious. A husky groan fused thickly with a sob resonates through your ears as you ride out your orgasms. His thrusts halt, resting his body on top of yours. His cock was still stashed inside your warmth as you oozed a mix of juices. His arms wriggle from under your torso as he pushes himself off and out of you at a nonchalant pace.

You gripe groggily as you begin to doze off, but you’re immediately awoken by the overwhelming feeling between your legs. Sloppy slurping could be heard and that alone was enough for you to understand what’d been going on. Sluggishly, you inch away from his lips, but before you can move away completely, he stops—moving to lie beside you on the mattress. “I was just cleaning my mess.” He snickered, allotting a wet kiss on your cheek before nodding off himself.

#[♪]. eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie smut #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #stranger things fic #dom eddie munson #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n

[breitzbachbea]

#32 for SciIre and #11 for TurGre please! <3 Doesn't need to be the same fic hahaha

Ohoho, thank you love! To be fair, I am pretty sure that these two prompts could already apply to No Rest For The Wicked, the very self-indulgent SicIre & TurGre fanfic I wrote for last year's "Sunrise & Sunset" rarepair prompt.

I also briefly considered making this one set in the Hetaverse, but we all know this isn't how I roll anymore.

Around the World in 80 Prompts

32. "I’ve never seen the sunrise before.”

TW: Allusions to suicide attempts

"The Frog" is the name of Harry's frog-green Vauxhall Corsa.

“I’ve never seen the sunrise before,” Harry said and Michele turned to him with a surprised expression in his face.

They sat on cheap camping chairs, because they sagged so comfortably during sitting and Michele’s actual garden chairs were too nice to drag them out into the fields.

The sky had already begun to be coloured in a tentative blue with an orange tint; the sun only needed to actually crawl over the mountains of the east to bathe the Conca d’Oro in its golden light.

Michele stared at Harry instead. “You’ve never seen the sunrise before?”

Harry didn’t look at him. He watched the sky instead, as Michele felt he was ought to as well.

“I mean, I have seen the sun rise before, you know, when I’ve been out all night long again, but that isn’t watching the sunrise,” Harry said. He shifted in his chair.

“Ah.” Michele looked at the grass beneath them. “Perhaps I haven’t watched the sunrise then, either.” He lifted his eyes towards the east. A few rays of light already peaked through the landscape. He could hear Angelo’s chicken wake up, all the way in the distance. The world still felt asleep enough to utter the next few words: “After all those sleepless nights.”

Harry did not ask any further questions and despite knowing that he wouldn’t, Michele felt deeply grateful for it all the same.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” Harry asked and looked at him. “I know there could be people coming along, so you don’t have to.” He held his hand out to him.

Michele took it. “I’ll notice if someone’s coming.” He smiled.

Harry squeezed his hand ever so lightly. His thumb caressed the back of his hand.

“I mean, maybe the times I spent all night sitting out at the cliffs down south count,” Harry said. “Sometimes I sat there until the morning and watched the sun rise over the sea …”

Michele held his tongue. Sounds beautiful, he wanted to say but wanted to imply no beauty in this time of Harry’s life.

“I can’t even remember though. I can’t even remember if watching the sun rise made me glad I hadn’t thrown myself off the cliffs,” Harry said. “It’s all so … hazy. Blurry.”

Michele clasped his hand tighter. This memory wouldn’t be blurry.

The sky became ever bluer the higher the sun climbed, as it awoke the colours of the trees and grass, flowers and houses from their muted slumber.

“We’re gonna watch the sunrise in Dublin, too,” Harry said and Michele blinked. “Or down south. We’re gonna find a nice spot to watch the sun rise over the sea, somewhere, and afterwards we’re going to go for breakfast. If we’re in Dublin, then it’s going to be one of those fancy, hip places where you can get a decent coffee and a breakfast you like. If it’s outside of Dublin … I’ll pack you back into the frog and drive you to the next city that has a decent coffee.”

Michele laughed and had to put a hand in front of his mouth to reign himself in as he shook in his chair. Once he was able to look at Harry again, he was greeted by a huge grin.

“Or we could ask Soph for some camping equipment, then I’ll bring my moka and make my own decent espresso.”

“And a tea kettle, and we’re set.”

“We’ll do that, then.”

They watched until the sunlight reached the lemon trees right in front of them. A golden memory, like the Conca d’Oro itself.

“I’ll make lemon granita for breakfast,” Michele said when they packed up their chairs.

“Do you need some lemons for that?” Harry asked with a grin and pointed at the lemon trees with his thumb.

“I do not – Keep your hands to yourself or I will be forced to slap them.” Harry dropped the arm that had reached out for the nearest lemon tree and cackled.

In front of Michele’s gates stood Angelo, with a handful of eggs. “Ah, there you are!” he said. “Thought you had flown out again or your doorbell’s broken.”

“No, I was out watching the sunrise,” Michele said.

Angelo whistled. “Bunch of romantics, aren’t you? I’m glad I get shuteye until it’s risen, because you know the ladies act up if you don’t let them out. Speaking of that, I wanted to drop some eggs off.” He held the eggs out to Michele, who fumbled with his camping chair.

“Let me handle that,” Harry offered and took the chair from him. He gave Angelo a friendly nod, who gave it back.

“Thank you. Now …” Michele took the eggs from Angelo.

“Should be careful watching the sun rise with your friend,” Angelo said. “Before he gets sunburned.”

Michele laughed, together with Angelo. “He is wearing sunscreen,” he told him and Angelo laughed all the louder. After a minute or more of small talk, Angelo bid them goodbye and Michele could finally open the gates.

“Are we having eggs for breakfast as well?” Harry asked.

“You’re having eggs for breakfast now,” Michele answered while Harry opened the front door for him.

He closed the door behind them. “Careful there, I don’t want them scrambled on the floor,” Harry said when Michele tried to steal a kiss from him. “Even I could do better than that.”

Michele snorted. Once the eggs were in the kitchen and the chairs back with the other garden equipment, Michele met Harry in the doorway to the kitchen. He kissed him on the lips, long and full of devotion, with his hands on Harry’s shoulders and Harry’s on his hips.

Still nose to nose, they looked at each other for a moment, before another kiss followed. They’ve lost count by the time Michele poked his tongue inside of Harry’s tooth gap during one kiss. Harry endured it for a few seconds but eventually pulled back.

“Enough with your tongue, let’s get some food in there,” he said.

“Mhm. How do you want your eggs?”

Harry looked out of the window. The sun had made it past the mountains and throned over them in the clear blue skies. “Sunny side up?”

Michele chuckled. “Sunny side up.”

11. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

CW: Attempted Animal Abuse

Ibrahim opened the door and his heart immediately sank into his guts.

“Oh, Lord above have mercy,” he said, brows furrowed in worry. “Come in boy, come in.”

He reached his hand out to wave Herakles, who looked miserable as sin, inside. As soon as the young man had stepped closer, he put his hand on his back.

“What’s the matter?” He asked, as soon as the door was closed behind them.

Herakles looked at him, the tired green eyes so unusually wide open to hold all the pleading in them. “I need to talk to Natasa.”

He's a child, Ibrahim thought.

“Of course you can. She’s in the kitchen, but you can just sit down in the living room, while I tell her you’re here. Do you want anything else? I’ll make you tea.”

Herakles raised his eyebrows for a moment. “No, thank you. Sorry.”

Natasa stepped into the kitchen’s doorway before the two could even make it into the living room.

She sighed. “Iraklis, what happened to you … “

“Can we talk?” he asked.

His hair was unkempt and the fit of his suit sloppy. Why he wore one in the first place baffled her. He was 23 and physically all a man, but she knew the features of his face were yet to deepen. From Apollo to a Kronos. Time would leave its mark on him.

“We can talk,” she said. “Let’s go into one of the guest rooms.”

Herakles nodded. At the end of the corridor, she told him: “You go upstairs, you know the one. I’ll be there in a second, love.”

While Herakles climbed the stairs, she turned to Ibrahim.

“If you need me for anything, you’ll call, yes?” he asked her with his hands on her arms.

“You’re gift enough for being in my life,” she told him and kissed him. “And there is nothing that you can do to help this.” The smile on his face waned and she climbed up the stairs after him.

Once in the guest bedroom, she locked the door behind them.

Herakles sat on the bed and stared at the night table. Bad memories. She settled on the chair in front of the vanity.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” he said.

“What is the problem?”

Herakles looked at her, with those big green eyes, a look Natasa knew so well.

“Him.”

Bad memories indeed. These days, her doubts about whether or not enabling Herakles to see his lover behind his father’s back really came back to bite her in the ass.

“You’ve talked to him,” she said.

“I tried it again.” He looked away. “But there is no getting through to him.”

“I could try,” Natasa offered, though the idea of getting this involved in the business made her skin crawl. The thought of how her own children were turning 18 and had their mind set on joining Herakles made her sick. Now being the least opportune of times, too. She knew that they knew that there was a rift between Herakles and Sadık, she hadn’t raised two idiots. But even for a smart person, it was hard to grasp that someone who treated you so kindly could be so cruel to you.

“No, you wouldn’t get through to him, either,” Herakles said. “There is no … there is no argueing with that man.”

“Then we won’t argue,” Natasa said. “But if he takes you for so granted that he takes your part of the cake, well then … people need a slap on their fingers.” Or a stab with the cake knife. She sorely wished that she hadn’t left her cigarettes in the kitchen.

“He said I’m overreacting and that I shouldn’t worry.”

“Was that was he said during your last talk?” Herakles nodded. “And what did you respond?”

“Punched him in the stomach.”

She sighed. “Reasonable.”

Herakles stared at the night table. He then stared at the bed.

“Look, Ira, I didn’t pick this room to torture you,” she said. “But he isn’t the boy who laid with you in this bed anymore. And neither are you. He backstabbed you first and unless you’re going to give him a taste of his own medicine, it won’t end well for you in this shark tank.” She had already given him the talk. But he wasn’t stupid either.

“I know,” he said.

~*~

So Herakles went and did it, busted a smuggling deal in the Aegean that should’ve been his had Sadık not simply assumed his compliance and taken it for himself.

He ignored the phone calls and e-mails. If someone wanted to convey something by word of mouth to him in the office, he simply shut that person down. That was harder to do when the person was Sadık himself. “What the fuck is this bullshit about?” he asked as he showed up on the doorstep of Herakles’ house one afternoon. He even wore one of his gaudy masks, which made his fury look ridiculous but angered Herakles even more all the same.

He threw the door shut in his face, but of course that wouldn’t work. At one point, he ended up in Herakles’ house. He remembered that they had ended up in the kitchen and he had picked up a knife. Sadık had pulled his hair. He had punched him in the nose. The times where this kind of fighting had ended with them fucking on the floor – Sadık would never get the bloodstains out of that one rug – were over.

Herakles had immediately closed the terrace door after he had thrown the front one into Sadık’s face. The strays that had settled into his house did not take well to all the commotion. Some of them had meowed and wailed, which had only riled up Sadık further. On his way out, a large, old white cat had clawed at his leg.

Sadık loudly cursed, glared at the cat and was about to kick it. Herakles immediately dove in to scoop up the cat and stumble backwards into the corridor.

“Get out of my house,” he told him. “Get out of my house right this second, before I forget myself.” His voice shook with cold fury.

~*~

Herakles dreaded to leave his house for the next few hours. Less afraid for himself, no matter how much that thought unsettled him, and far more concerned with the safety of his cats. Yet, after the sun had already set and most of the cats had made it outside to be on the prowl, he made it into the Simonides’ house with a spare key.

He knocked on the walls of the entrance corridor. “It’s me!” he announced himself.

“Hera!” That was Omar.

“We’re in the kitchen!” Natasa added.

Ibrahim, Omar and Timothea sat around the kitchen table and played Uno. Pots and pans bubbled and sizzled on the stove.

“You can be so glad I never paid a penny for your school, otherwise I would have hassled you a lot more about these grades,” Natasa said to her twins and Omar giggled while Timothea tried to hold her chuckle in as Ibrahim stared very concentrated on his hand.

Sometimes he wiggled his eyebrows and had a hard time to keep his own façade up.

“And here, you, Ira, would it kill you to announce your coming beforehand, so I know that I’ve got to stuff five hungry mouths instead of four?”

“I won’t stay here for long,” Herakles said as he stepped properly into the kitchen.

Timothea frowned. “What happened to you?”

Herakles rubbed over the bandaid on his neck. “Nothing to worry about.” He smiled at and stepped towards the table, between Timothea and Omar. “You two are doing fine?”

“Fantastic,” Timothea said.

“Having a great time,” Omar said. He tugged at Herakles’ sleeve to make him lean down to him. He showed him his hand – two 4+ cards.

Herakles raised his eyebrows and smiled. He patted Omar’s shoulder. He then turned to Natasa. “Natasa, could I have your time? It won’t take long.”

Natasa watched Timothea give her brother a peeved smile while Ibrahim rearranged his cards.

“Of course you have. Watch the stove, I’m not having burnt gyros for dinner.”

“Yes Mamá.”

They went back to the guest room. Natasa would have much preferred the terrace or living room, but above all, she preferred her children not being privy to such discussions.

“He showed up, didn’t he?” she asked after she had settled into the chair. Herakles still stood and shot her a curious look. “I’ve got my eyes and ears everywhere, Iraklis.”

Herakles nodded. He walked around the room for a few moments. “I do have dinner on the stove, Ira,” she reminded him.

He sat down on the bed and buried his face in his hands. His stare empty, he looked at the shelf across of him.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” he said. “For how much longer do I have to do this.”

“Until you snuff it,” Natasa said. She pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the vanity and lit one. “Or you turn yourself in or live somewhere else under a fake name, leaving everything here behind. But pulling such stunts often leads back to option A.”

Herakles stared ahead.

“I can’t help you with that,” she said and took another draft. “But you know what I can do? Get some chicken gyros into you.”

#beareplies #needcake #aph #hetalia #hws #hetalia oc #aph sicily #hws sicily #aph ireland #hws ireland #aph turkey #hws turkey #aph greece #hws greece #sicire #turgre #tw suicide #tw animal abuse #I am so sorry for the headhopping in the second drabble but couldn't tell the story otherwise in such short time #I hope everyone came for toothrotting sicire and turgre at its absolutely most dysfunctional #the pen is mightier than the sword #also funfact about the conca d'oro the arabs were the ones to introduce lemons to sicily! #storie nostre #harry #miche #angelo #hera #natasa #ibrahim #sadık

[planetsano]

xbox or playstation? 🎮

SYNOPSIS ✰ eren finds more interest in gaming than you, his horny girlfriend.

WARNINGS ✰ nsfw/18+, gamer au, streamer/gamer eren, very needy and horny reader, humping, sex in a gaming chair, blowjob, dirty talk, eren is kinda mean but he lets you use him to get off.

PAIRING ✰ eren yeager x female reader.

The uncomfortable throbbing and heat coming from between your legs were enough to pull you from your sleep. The dream you experienced before waking up was the cause— your boyfriend fucking you into the mattress while his large hand your face hard-pressed into the sheets as he pounded into you from behind. It was expected, Eren’s been streaming and gaming for most of the day, leaving you to fend for yourself to find your own entertainment. Usually, you didn’t mind. It was his job and how he paid rent but on this particular day you were feeling very needy and your advances were met with a dismissive ‘I’m working.’ or ‘I’m busy right now. Can’t you wait later?’

A tiny whine escaped your lips as you sat up, wiping the sleep from your hazy eyes to an empty bed. The orange light from the sunset was bleeding through the window, entering the room and coloring the walls a warm apricot color.

5:15 pm is what the digital clock sitting on the nightstand on his side of the bed read. He should be finished streaming.

The soft pitter-patter of your soft feet sounded again the cold hardwood flooring throughout the hallway as you made your way to what you like to call ‘the homewrecking room’, it’s just his workroom but maybe you’re a little bit of a drama queen. The door was halfway open, so you stuck your head in. It was rather dark, his LEDs turned off and the blinds from the window closed. His face was illuminated by the computer monitors in front of his face. He wasn’t on stream right now that was a fact but you still knocked on the twice before stepping in.

“Eren,” You called for him.

Your soft voice grabs Eren’s attention, making him do a double-take. He takes his hand to push one side of his headset behind his ear, eyes locked on you for a moment. He’s not sure if you want to tell him something but he couldn’t lie, you looked cute right now— dressed in nothing but his hoodie and your cute panties. You were wearing the cotton ones that had the teeny ribbon bow at the waistband. You had a sleepy look on your face, rubbing your eyes with one of your sweater paws.

“Took a nap?” He asks— his eyes darting back to the main computer monitor out of the three in front of him.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, walking over to him and standing at the armrest of his chair.

Eren looks pretty right now. He always does but you especially love when he wears his hair down. He’s so invested in the game— brows furrowed in concentration while his fingers skillfully mashed the controller’s buttons. The game controller looks so small in his hands compared to when you’re holding it.

“Can we cuddle?” You ask softly, wiggling your sweater paw on his forearm.

Eren leans back further in his gaming chair, lifting his arms as an invitation for you to come climb into his lap. So you did— settling yourself onto his thighs with both your legs on either side of his waist. Your body melts into his with your face buried in his neck, taking in his scent. He smelled faintly of his favorite cologne, a sultry mixture of amber and cedarwood. Eren’s arms wrap around your frame, his slender hands still pressing the buttons on his controller rapidly. You can hear his friends’ yelling, profanities, and jokes spill through his headset. To be frank, you were getting a little jealous because you wanted his attention. You’ve been asking for it the entire day nearly.

“Miss you, Eren..” You whine quietly into his skin.

“Flank to your right, Jean-” Eren mutes his mic. “I’m right here, pumpkin.” He rubs yours back a couple of times before his hand is back on the controller. Eren isn’t really there and definitely not paying attention either, you can tell. There's a clear difference in tone— disinterest, and dismissiveness when speaking to you and the lighthearted words and chuckles his friends get.

“Pay attention to me.” You mumble.

“I am.” He deadpans.

“You’re not, you jerk.” Your shirt balls up into your fist.

You just want him— and you’re not exactly picky with how either.

One of your hands finds its way to your clothed pussy, lodging itself in between his crotch and yours before you begin to hump it, adding pressure on your clit from your middle and ring finger.

“What are you doing?” Eren asks quietly enough for his headset not to pick up his words.

“Nothing.” You whimper, continuing to rut yourself against your hand and taking in your boyfriend’s scent.

It’s not enough though, you know it’s not enough. In a way, you almost hate how Eren conditioned you to want his cock and his only. It’s so fucking big and pretty, he knows it too. The way you can feel that thick vein that protrudes angrily along his length rub against your g spot with every thrust. God, and how he splits you open is almost scary but you can’t get enough of it. Fingers, pillows, toys just don’t do it for you anymore— and your hand right now certainly wasn’t.

“C’n I put you inside?” You lift yourself lazily from his shoulder to look at him, pouting and flushed in the face. Eren sighs, before muting his mic once again.

“Will you behave? I’m serious, (Name). I’m not fucking you right now. Jean is recording for his channel.” He says.

“s’okay!” You perk up a bit. “Just wanna feel you.” You say.

“You say that then we end up fucking..” He sighs when he sees the sad puppy eyes you were putting on for him.

“Go on then, Get me hard.”

It’s been thirty minutes— thirty aching minutes of being stuffed full of Eren’s fat cock. Your panties have long since been discarded somewhere on the floor while his shorts and boxers are pulled halfway down his thighs. You know he can feel your walls fluttering around him every time one of you shifts even the slightest bit, and the most frustrating thing about it is: he doesn’t seem to be affected by any of this. Still ignoring you with his dick buried balls deep into your cunt. Every time you attempted to grind your hips down onto his, he would pinch your thigh hard enough to sting.

“Rennie,” You had tears pricking at your eyes at this point, all you wanted to do was cum but your boyfriend was being a jerk.

“Are you this insatiable? My god.” Eren asks.

“Please, Eren. I miss you.” You rolled your hips onto his.

“Fine. Use it, get yourself off. But I’m not helping you.”

Eren doesn’t have to tell you twice before you’re fucking yourself on his cock— quite literally using him as your own personal dildo. Your arms are wrapped snug around his neck, muffling your moans in his neck as you bounce yourself up and down on his shaft. The head of his cock hitting your cervix every time your hips slammed down onto his. The chair creaking underneath you both with your rapid movements was paired with soft sounds of skin slapping, your labored breathing, and whines. You’re almost certain his teammates can hear you, but it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing on your mind right now was using your boyfriend to get yourself off.

You feel your high form in the pit of your tummy, erupting like a volcano when you reach its peak. Your walls clamp around your boyfriend’s big cock— walls fluttering and clenching in erratic rhythms around his shaft. Your thighs are burning and shaking as you tried your best to silence your moans by biting down on his shoulder. Eren feels it all, he knows you just came but he’s still unbothered, his eyes locked on the screen. His body only moves slightly when you tug on his neck a little too hard. You’re limp in his lap, catching your breath when you hear Eren’s team call for a 10-minute break before resuming another session.

“Satisfied?” He asks, pulling back his headphones so they lay around his neck.

“You didn’t cum.” You say, your cheek slightly squished from his shoulder. Eren only shrugs and ushers you to get up by tapping on your thighs and you followed suit— lifting yourself off his cock. It falls heavy out of you, slapping softly onto his shirt glistening from your juices.

“Clean it.” He says.

You drop to your knees taking his shaft into your palm, dragging your tongue along his length making sure to flatten your muscle to cover more area. You look up through your lashes at Eren to see he’s on his phone— body relaxed with his arm rested behind his head, scrolling through Twitter. Ignoring you, again.

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock as you swirl your tongue around the flushed red tip— then taking as much as you possibly could into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to create a sucking sensation. The rest that couldn’t fit was being fisted by your hand.

“I said clean up your mess, not get me off,” Eren says, looking down at you instead of at his phone. You released him from your mouth with an explicit ‘pop.’

“Will you feed me, Eren?” You ask, eyes never leaving his. “‘m hungry.” Your hand continues to pump him lazily.

“Fuck- Yeah, I got something for you. Hold still.” Eren’s phone is long forgotten, his hand grabbing a fist full of your hair pulling your head back.

“Use both hands, yeah- stroke my cock, baby.” Eren’s moans sound breathless and pretty. You’re moving your hands up and down his dick at a rapid pace.

“Open your mouth. Said you were hungry, right?” Eren shoots his load onto your tongue unannounced— his thick ropes painting your pretty pink tongue white, some of it dripping down your chin. He’s looking down at you with lidded eyes and his bottom lip nursed between his teeth as he rides out his high with a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. Your hands come to an eventual stop and you roll your tongue back into your mouth, swallowing your snack. Eren takes a finger, swiping it along your chin to gather the excess that didn’t make it into your tummy. You gladly taking his finger into your mouth sucking it clean.

“Now get out. I’m working.”

© all content belongs to rekiri 2021. do not modify or repost.

#eren yeager #eren jaeger #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #aot eren x reader #aot eren #snk eren #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #snk x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #eren smut #snk smut

[seita]

girls like you | (m.)

pairing: hanamaki/f!reader

genre: smut, fluff

wordcount: 2.526

cw: dilf!makki, college!reader

tags: age gap, loss of virginity, virgin kink, pussy slapping with dick, multiple orgasms, mildly wet and messy, dirty talk, mating press, sensitivity kink, squirting, brief aftercare

+ note: this is my installment of @kaijime's dilf collab!

summary: you never expected to find yourself in bed with your moms ex boyfriend, or for him to have a thing for sweet little college girls like yourself.

“God, this is why I love pretty little college girls like you,” he groans, looking at you splayed across his bed. You were in just a simple pair of panties, arms tucked across your chest to cover your breasts.

You shudder beneath his gaze. His eyes are lidded, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. You never thought you’d be in a position like this -- especially with Takahiro Hanamaki of all people.

You knew him years ago, he had been dating your mom for a few months. You two actually got along really well before they suddenly broke up and you were forbade from seeing him again. 

The last thing you expected was to run into him on the street in the city you moved to for college. And you certainly didn’t expect a casual dinner to turn into you pretty much naked on his bed.

You had never even had a boyfriend before, so to wind up in this position with a man twice your age was surreal. But the longer he stared at you with those sharp, heated eyes, the wetter your panties became. 

His words run around in your head. Of course, you knew younger girls -- girls your age, always threw themselves at Hanamaki. You were pretty sure that was a reason your mom dumped him -- too much insecurity caused from it. 

But to hear him pretty much confess that he liked to bed college girls made you squirm. 

“Bet you’re dripping into those pretty panties, aren’t you?” he breathes, “Move your hands, let me see you.”

You whine and slowly force your arms to your sides, fighting the urge to cover yourself once more as his eyes landed on you. You felt so exposed and vulnerable. 

“Hiro…” you whimper, making his heartbeat speed up for a split second at the sound of a sweet nickname falling from your lips.

“I’ve dreamt about this for so long,” he whispers, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt over his head, “You have no idea…”

“H-How long?” you manage to ask, eyes raking across his body.

He’s not fit or anything like you remember seeing him in pictures when he was in highschool. He had long since abandoned volleyball and his body had begun to show his age. He wasn’t unattractive by any means, he was filled out in all the right places. His skin looked soft and his biceps bulged with every movement he made. 

“Since I was with your mother,” he grumbles, finally working on his belt, pulling the leather out of the loops on his jeans.

“What?” you gasp, eyes wide, “I-Is that why you broke up?”

He pauses what he’s doing to look at you, shrugging after a second, “Not entirely…” he sighs when he sees that you’re not willing to let the conversation go, “You know how your mother is...she’s jealous of everyone. Even you.”

“Seems she had a reason to be jealous of me,” you mutter, biting your lip to fight back a smile.

It was no secret between the two of you how toxic your mother was. She was vain, always believing she had to be the prettiest, most important person in a room. It really put a strain on your relationship when she started to force those ideals onto you -- be the perfect daughter to the perfect mom. When you moved away, you pretty much stopped contact with her.

“Well, you are a threat,” he whispers, reaching down to grip your thighs. You squeal as he tugs you to the end of the bed, “Just look at you, darling, you’re just stunning...perfect body...pretty tits.”

“Hiro…” you whisper, squirming on the bed as you await his next move.

“Let’s get these off,” he hooks his fingers into the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs. 

Strings of slick connected your pussy to the fabric. He couldn’t help but moan at the sight. He brought your panties up to his face, thumbing the wet material, your juices stuck to his finger when he pulled away and he couldn’t help but bring the digit to his mouth.

“Fuck, taste so good,” he growls through his teeth, “And you always did wear the cutest little panties.”

“Huh?” you manage to gasp out through the haze of lust that had taken over you.

He chuckled darkly, letting your panties fall to the ground, “You never noticed how your panties went missing all the time? Couldn’t help steal them when I found them in the laundry basket.”

You giggle, hiding your face behind your hands, “Dirty old man.”

He barked out a laugh, finally dropping to his knees, gripping your thighs to pull them apart, letting him see your glistening folds, “And you’re a needy little slut, aren’t you? Getting off on fucking this old man.”

You bite your lip and peek out of your fingers at him. It feels so lewd to be like this, having your legs spread apart with a man twice your age between your legs. He had a kid just about your age, yet there you were -- letting him spread your sensitive little cunt open so he could stare at your pulsing hole and clit.

“Seriously…” he finally gasps out, “Young girls like you...fuck, you’re always so sensitive and get so fucking wet...I feel like an addict.”

“Hiro…” you whimper, reaching down to wrap your hand in his graying hair. It was softer than you thought it would be, “I-I’ve never done this before...you know?”

He curses under his breath, “Yeah, I know sweetheart...trust me...I know,” he presses a kiss to your ankle, “I’ll take real good care of you.”

You whimper as he suddenly leans in, swiping his tongue between your folds. Your entire body tightened as he flicked over your clit. He didn’t mind your hand tightening in his hair -- not when you were arching desperately, already grinding your hips down in search of more stimulation.

You were so sensitive and wet, gushing into his mouth. He eagerly lapped it up, bringing his hand up to quickly sink two fingers into your cunt. You gasped and your body tensed up for a moment, prompting him to pull away.

“Does that hurt, pretty baby?” he coos, keeping his fingers still for you as you whimper and nod, “Sorry, baby...didn’t think about how it might be too much for you.”

“‘S okay…” you mumble, body slowly relaxing, “Y-You can keep goin’.”

He grins, wrapping his lips around your clit once again. He keeps his finger’s movements to a minimum, not wanting to overwhelm you too quickly. You sigh and moan happily, thighs twitching at the pleasure he’s giving you.

“‘M gonna make you cum,” he whispers, circling his tongue around the hard little bud. 

His fingers sped up, crooking up to hit that tender little spot inside you. You let out an adorable squeal, thighs suddenly clamping around his head. He growls in mild annoyance, using his other hand to pin you open for him to continue.

His cock is straining against his zipper, throbbing in response to your responsive body. Your cunt was tightening around his fingers and he moans against your clit, knowing you’re about to cum. Your thighs are trembling and you clutch desperately at his hair. He didn’t mind the pain, in fact it made his cock even harder. 

As you finally came, you cried out his name and it was like music to his ears. Your entire body trembled and jerked underneath him, cunt squeezing his fingers as you creamed around them. He swore he could feel your clit throbbing against his tongue.

After a minute, you began pushing him away and he did so almost reluctantly. He pulled his fingers from your cunt with a lewd squelching. Holding the digits up, he spread them apart so you could see the way your cum clung to them in sticky strings. 

You whimper at the lewd sight of it but he merely grins, popping them into his mouth with a muted moan.

“Virgins just taste so sweet,” he whispers, making your face flush hot.

With practiced ease, he grips your waist and pushes you back up the bed until your head is in the pillows. He straightens himself up and begins shedding himself of the final layer of clothes he wears. 

You squirm on the bed at the sight of his cock. It’s pretty, long and pink with a flushed red tip. Precum drools down the side which he quickly catches with his hand, stroking himself languidly to the sight of you gawking at his cock.

“You still want this, pretty?” he breathes, licking his lips as he waits for your response.

You swallow thickly and sigh. You can’t believe you’re in this position. It feels so unlike you to do something like this; lose your virginity to your mothers ex-boyfriend, a man she had forbidden you to even talk to after their break up.

But as you look up at him, you feel your cunt clench pathetically around nothing and know that you need him -- want him more than anything. 

“Please, Hiro,” you softly cry, reaching out for him.

He groans at your consent, climbing onto the bed. It dips under his weight as he positions himself between your legs. He wraps his fist around the base of his cock, shuddering under the feeling of his own touch. Slapping the thick head against your wet folds, he grins when your entire body twitches in response to the feeling.

Whining low in your throat, you grip the pillow beneath your head. Your eyes are lidded and your lips are parted as you pant under his intense gaze. 

“Hiro…” you sigh softly, watching his lips twitch in response to you whining his name. 

He feels drunk, head hazy as he strokes the tip between your folds, catching your clit and dipping into your hot little hole to watch you gush against him. 

His ex-girlfriends sweet little daughter was beneath him, damn near creaming around the tip of his cock every time he pressed it against you. You were just about the age of his own kid and it felt so taboo, so wrong. But that only made it feel more exhilarating. 

It wasn’t the first time he had sunk his fat cock into the tiny, tender little virgin cunt of a college girl. It certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“You sure you want it, pretty girl?” he groans, “Want me to pop this little cherry?”

You flush under his crude words and find yourself shyly nodding. A wide grin splits his face and before you can think twice, his hips are nudging forward, popping the head inside of you. Your thighs twitch closed at the sting but he’s quick to pin them down, rocking his hips to push more and more of his length inside you until his hips are flush against yours.

You’re panting by the time he finally stills, thighs trembling in his hold. He can feel your cunt spasming around him and he can’t help but fold your legs up against your chest, pinning you there as he slowly begins to fuck you properly.

His eyes are locked onto the way your cunt stretches around him, a thick ring of white at the base of his cock every time he pulls out. It’s mouthwatering and so cute just how responsive you are. You precious little cunt sucks his cock back desperately every time he pulls out. 

“Hiro!” you squeal, little hands slapping down onto the bed, unsure exactly what to do with them.

He smiles, taking pity on you before he leans down, taking your wrists in his hands, prompting you into wrapping your arms around his neck. The change in position allows him to grind against your clit every time he sinks in. Your thighs squeeze his sides, body keeping them pinned open as he continues to fuck you.

Your fingers wrap themselves in his hair and you find yourself clinging desperately to him. He presses his lips against yours and smiles as you moan softly into his mouth. Your entire body was trembling in his arms and it made his cock throb almost painfully.

“So sweet,” he whispers, “Does it feel good, pretty? Tell me.”

“F-Feel’s so good!” you squeal, eyes rolling back in your head as you pant.

He could tell you were getting close with the way your entire body seemed to be alight with nerves, twitching and spasming beneath him. Your back arched and your tight little cunt squeezed around his cock, making him slow his pace to avoid hurting you.

The action caused an almost disappointed cry falling from your lips but he quickly shushed you, instead changing the angle of his thrusts to hit that sweet little spot inside of you. 

“You’re close…” he whispers, looking down between your bodies to watch how soaked his cock had become in your juices, “C’mon, baby, lemme see you cum.”

“C-Can’t!” you gasp, “‘S too much!”

“No, you can do it, baby,” he encourages, “Just relax and let go for me, hm?”

A soft sob rips from your lips before you suddenly fall quiet. His eyes drift to your face and sees your lip is tucked between your teeth and your brows are drawn together. He reaches between your legs to find your clit, wet and hard beneath his fingers as he circles it.

Your mouth drops open and you release an almost timid little cry, hands reaching down to wrap around his wrist. 

Your walls clamp down around him and he curses, feeling the indicative feeling of your gushing around him, squirting against his abdomen and soaking the both of you in your cum. You’re squealing and crying beneath him, tears falling from your eyes as he continues to fuck you through the high. He pins your trembling body down, keeping you from moving as he works himself to his own high.

His heavy balls slap wetly against you every time he sinks in. His cock is soaked in your cum and the sight makes him throb, finally sending him over the edge. He freezes, sinking himself balls deep inside of your still spasming cunt, making sure to shoot his cum against your cervix. You whimper at the feeling of his hot cum filling you up but quickly relax when the two of you fall still.

Once he pulls out and works on cleaning the two of you up, he can’t resist pressing a chaste kiss against your forehead. You look so cute and sweet cuddled up in his bed, struggling to stay awake after he’d fucked you so well.

Neither of you knows what to say as he lays down beside you, pulling you into his arms. Both of you know how wrong this entire thing is but part of him knows he’s become completely and utterly addicted to you. 

The picture of his ex-wife and mother of his kid sits on his nightstand, collecting dust and you muse the outcome of if your mother found out you had fucked her ex-boyfriend as you fall asleep.

seita © 2021 | all content and its rights belong to me. do not modify or repost.

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #hanamaki x reader #hanamaki smut #hanamaki takahiro x reader #takahiro hanamaki x reader #hanamaki takahiro smut #takahiro hanamaki smut #afton.writes

[miyagihawk]

why’d you only call me when you’re high? pt. 2 | eli “hawk” moskowitz x reader

part one

here’s part 2 by popular demand! based off the arctic monkeys song and amazing request by @deadbeatharlz <3 thank you guys for the support on part 1 im so happy you liked it :)

warnings: self harming behavior, LOTS of swearing, alcohol and drug abuse, sooo so angstyyyy buckle up

summary: it’s been 3 months since your last night with hawk, and you haven’t been yourself.

word count: 3,062



The past 3 months have been rough. Maybe the worst you’ve ever been. You fell into the deep hole that you dug yourself. The hole of loving Hawk Moskowitz.

You never thought you’d be one of those people who let unrequited love devastate their whole being. In fact you always thought the whole heartbreak thing was pathetic and melodramatic. Until it happened to you.

You hate yourself for letting him have this effect on you. But there’s a pestering voice in the back of your mind that reminds you: it’s all your fault. He didn’t ask you to love him. It’s just easier to blame him for your downfall.

Parties, drugs, alcohol. Sex with people you don’t even know. High on the same drug that compelled him to call you in the night.

You’ve become so desperate to forget him that you ruined yourself. It hurts your pride to be the whiny heartbroken girl who let a stupid boy’s rejection shatter her self worth. But the hole is too deep and there’s no hope trying to grasp onto the dirt walls to get out.

The worst part of it is that he sees it all. At school, (if you even go) he looks at you like the scum of the earth as he passes by with his little karate gang. When you end up at the same party, he’ll have a disgusted expression on his face and leave as if he can’t bare to look at you. 

Tonight is one of those nights, and you watch him from across the backyard as he goofs around with his friends. He hasn’t noticed you yet, hence why he’s even still here and not on his way out the door to get away from you.

“If you stare at him any longer, I think he’ll shoot up into flames,” your best friend Robby hands you a cup, and you don’t hesitate before downing its unknown contents. The burn in your throat makes you hum with content.

“That’s the plan,” you take your eyes of off Hawk to look at Robby. You gesture to his own cup in his hand, “Are you gonna drink that?”

“Easy there, Y/N. We got here 5 minutes ago,” he warns, but holds out the drink towards you anyway. Robby’s always been worried about you and your habits, but he knows how you can be when you’re told no.

You swallow down the drink in a few seconds, ignoring his remark. “5 minutes? I can beat my record!” you cheer sarcastically, and start walking to the kitchen in search of a keg. Robby follows closely behind you, a wary look on his face.

The fuzzy feeling starts to take over your body as you throw back drink after drink. It’s the buzz you crave every second of every day because it just makes you feel so good. Everything is happier and your cares feel so far away. Hawk feels so far away.

You sit on the couch next to Robby in your dazed trance, drunkenly rambling to him about random things. He glares at anyone who comes near you and looks like they would take advantage of you in your state.

Robby really hates you like this, but he can’t help but feel protective over you. He’s not even a fan of parties; he really only goes to keep an eye on you. You’re grateful even though you act like you hate it when he babysits you.

“Heyyy pretty Y/N! Want some?” Yasmine approaches where you sit, a joint held between her fingers. Her eyes are drooped and she sways as she stands.

You reach out to take the blunt, but you feel Robby push your arm down. “You’re already drunk. That’s enough,” he says sternly, making you roll your eyes.

“I can do what I want, Dad,” you taunt, and take the joint from Yasmine. Smoke fills up your lungs, immediately giving you pleasure. Robby just shakes his head in disapproval as the air around him becomes hazy.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Stay here,” he orders, getting up from the couch.

You nod, but of course, you don’t listen. The sound of splashing from outside sets off a lightbulb above your head and you feel like you’re floating while you walk to the backyard.

Right as you step out of the house, you make eye contact with none other than Hawk. He gives you a distasteful look like always, before turning back to his group. Asshole.

You just scoff and stumble towards the pool, where a couple is making out and a few people are drunkenly playing with the water like little kids.

Reaching the edge of the pool’s rim, you let yourself fall in with a splash. You feel the pressure in your ears start to build as you sink to the bottom. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re cross faded, but being underwater feels like a world of bliss.

The loud music of the party is muted, creating a sense of serenity. The legs of the other people in the pool make you laugh to yourself, sending bubbles from your mouth to the surface. It’s glittery and pretty and you want to stay forever.

You don’t know how long you’re under there for, but you don’t notice your lungs running out of air. It just feels good to be alone for a second. Next thing you know, you feel your eyes start to droop closed; a strange peace overcoming your body.

A loud thrashing noise in the water makes you wake up with a gasp. You swallow too much water as you feel someone grab hold of your arm. It’s all a blur and you’re being pulled up to the surface, taking you away from the tranquil world you were just in.

The music is pounds against your ears again and the air is cold on your skin. You feel your body being laid down on the concrete of the poolside, but everything feels numb. You just feel sleepy and you want to close your eyes again.

“Y/N, hey, wake up. Wake up,” a voice makes your eyes shoot back open. Someone is looking down at you, with a hand shaking your shoulder. Your vision is somewhat blurry, but the mohawk gives it away. It’s him.

You suddenly become aware of the large amount of water in your lungs and you turn over to your side to cough it up. After you get it all out, you notice the people at the party looking at you with eyes of pity mixed with judgement.

“What the fuck were you doing? You could’ve died, are you fucking stupid?” Hawk curses, but even in your inebriated state you can hear a hint of worry in his voice.

You sit up to face him. He looks angry; his clothes and hair are as wet as yours.

Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen in your brain, or maybe it’s the marijuana and alcohol, but you just feel the urge to laugh. So you do. Like a complete maniac. The way he probably just saved your life like he cares is sickly comedic to you.

His face twists in confusion as you break out into a fit of giggles. “Are you serious? You’re fucking insane, Y/N,” he gets up, shaking his head at you. He gives a glare to the people staring, and they look away in fear.

You think he’s going to leave like usual, but he surprises you by grabbing your arm to pull you up. People whisper amongst themselves as he drags you through the backyard, going through a gate that leads to front of the house. You trip over your own feet, still feeling dizzy from almost drowning, but he just pulls you along.

“What are you doing?” you ask, tugging on your arm to try and release it from the tight grip he has on you. You’re both dripping chlorinated water, leaving a track of drops on the concrete below.

“You’re going home Y/N,” he says sternly. You two arrive at his car and he opens the passenger door. “Get in.”

“Hey!” a voice yells from the house and you both turn to see Robby rushing towards the car. He looks pissed, and now you remember him telling you to stay put. Shit.

“Robby I-”

“Don’t get in there with him Y/N,” he says, sending a death stare to the boy next to you.

“I’m taking her home, Keene, so back the fuck off. Get in Y/N,” Hawk snaps, clenching his fists.

You keep quiet, not wanting to add to the fire already starting. They loathe each other; if not because of the karate rivalry, then because of you. To Robby, Hawk broke your heart and made you spiral. To Hawk, Robby is the piece of shit who he thinks is your boyfriend, and he won’t admit it but he’s jealous.

“You’re not driving her, asshole. You’re probably as drunk as her,” Robby reaches to take your arm, but Hawk pulls you back.

“You don’t know shit about me, Keene. I’ve been sober for three months, so yeah, I will drive her,” Hawk picks you up like you’re a doll, placing you in the passenger seat and closing the door. You don’t resist, you just feel tired and your head starts to pound as if the mix of drugs in your system are punishing you. The window’s down, so you can still hear the two boys loud and clear.

I’ve been sober for three months, his voice echoes in your head.

“Oh so now you care so much about her? It’s your fault she’s like this!” Robby raises his voice even more, starting to move towards Hawk threateningly. You begin to feel scared that a physical fight might actually break out, but you don’t know what to do.

“I’m not the one who almost let her die a few minutes ago, am I? Just fuck off, we’re leaving,” Hawk dismisses him, walking around the car to the driver’s seat. You’re surprised by his self control to not throw a punch, especially with his reputation.

“Robby, it’s okay. I just want to go home. I’ll call you, alright?” you reach your hand out of the window in reassurance and he takes hold of it. Hawk clenches his jaw as he turns on the engine.

“Promise you’ll be careful? I’m sorry I left you,” Robby furrows his eyebrows in worry. When he came out of the bathroom, someone filled him in on what happened to you and he almost had a heart attack.

“Promise. And it’s my fault,” you hook your pinky with his, before the car pulls out of the curb and separates you from your best friend. He watches you guys drive away, an anxious expression etched on his face.

The whole situation has sobered you up pretty well, and now you’re left with a throbbing headache, wet clothes, and awkward tension. You hate it. Being sober. You miss the foggy feeling that prevents you from thinking too hard about things. But now you’re inches away from the boy who broke your heart, all by choice.

You don’t know why you agreed to go with him, but did you even have a choice? You’re confused by his actions. He acts like he hates you but he jumps in a pool for you. He yelled at you but he’s driving you home. It all makes you overthink and it causes your head to ache even more.

You hold your head in your hands to try and ease the pain as Hawk drives quietly.

“You good?” he breaks the silence. His voice is softer compared to how he talked to Robby minutes ago.

“Head hurts,” you mumble.

“What were you doing back there? If I didn’t get you out, you’d probably be in the hospital right now,” he says. You peek at him through your hands and his eyes are on the road.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “It was just peaceful. I didn’t really even think about breathing.”

He scoffs. “Well that’s just fucking stupid. You’re lucky I noticed you were under for so long.”

“Well thanks,” you reply quietly, feeling like a little kid being scolded.

There’s a couple beats of silence before he speaks, “What happened to you?”

The question makes you sit up and look over at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The old Y/N wouldn’t even touch a drink. You’re different,” Hawk taps his finger on the wheel in thought. His icy blue eyes quickly glance at your confused look before returning to the road.

“You happened, Hawk.” You pinch your temples in frustration. Anger starts to bubble up in your stomach at his criticism. At the mention of “old you”.

“I didn’t do this to you,” he shakes his head, as if trying to convince himself of his own words.

“You did,” you raise your voice, making him flinch. “You know it.”

“What, because I stopped sleeping with you? I didn’t make you fall in love with me, Y/N. You did that to yourself,” he spits, sending a knife to your heart and making you see red.

“You knew I loved you way before I said it. But you still stringed me along, didn’t you? You knew I would pick up everytime you called. You knew that I would let you into my bed because I was the girl who loved you no matter how fucking shitty you were!” you fire back, vomiting out words that you’ve wanted to say for months. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder than usual, but you’re grateful for it.

He’s at a loss for words at your outburst so you continue, “I didn’t ask for this Hawk. Loving you. I’m sorry that I’m such a burden and that you hate me so much that you can’t stand being in the same room as me. But please just answer me this and I’ll leave you alone forever. I’ll leave when we show up at the same party and I’ll even hide in the halls so you don’t have to see my face.”

You pause, choking on your words. You didn’t even realize that the car is already parked in front of your house and your clothes are halfway dry.

“Why don’t you love me?” your voice cracks as you spit out the question that has caused you to throw yourself away. The question with an answer that could dissipate your self worth in a mere moment.

Hawk finally looks into your glassy eyes with shock. He could’ve never anticipated what you asked him and his mouth runs dry.

“I told you, I- I don’t deserve someone like you loving me,” he swallows, but you shake your head.

“That’s not what I asked.”

He blinks slowly, trying to come up with an excuse. Any excuse, to avoid telling you the truth. You can see the inner conflict on his face, the panicked speed of his running thoughts.

“You should go home, Y/N,” he deflects, turning away from you. Putting on his mask to keep you from reading him like a book.

“I’m not going until you tell me,” you demand.

“Just get out of the car, fuck!” Hawk yells, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel. It makes you jump a little, but you’re too angry to fear the flames in his eyes.

“Why can’t you just tell me!” you fire back. “You came to me almost every night, so why do I feel something that you don’t? Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?”

“What do you want me to fucking say Y/N! That I do love you? Fucking fine. I love you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Just get out.”

I love you.

The same words you said that made him leave.

“You don’t even mean that,” you blink back your tears.

His voice is softer now, more gentle. “If I didn’t mean it then I wouldn’t have said it.”

“You said you needed me and then you left me,” your voice shakes and you hate how pathetic you sound.

“I-I didn’t leave you,” he stammers before taking a deep breath. “I left because you wanted something more than I could give you. I would’ve felt like a selfish asshole if we became more than just sex, Y/N. You deserve someone like Keene and yeah he’s a pussy but he’s good. Better than me.”

It feels like every piece in the puzzle is being put together. Everything makes sense. He does love you, but he was just afraid. He can’t be near you because it hurts too much to see someone he can’t have. Somehow, you can’t find the anger you’ve held against him for these past months; you just understand him now.

“I’m sorry, alright? For everything. For treating your feelings like shit. All of it.”

You swallow, thinking about his words. It all feels too much and the truth is now looking you in the eye, demanding an answer. You love him, but he dropped your heart on the floor for you to pick up every shard. Is one sorry going to magically fix everything?

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit, and he nods in understanding.

“You don’t have to say anything. Let’s just... move on. And you get better... I hate seeing you like this,” Hawk scans your red eyes and dilated pupils. “We’ll get to a better place and you and me, we’ll be good.”

It’s bittersweet, but he’s right. Being together now just because he loves you back would be a huge jump that would only end in broken hearts and toxic cycles. It would be foolish. As much as you want him, the only person who can fix you is yourself.

So it’s a meet up at the top of the mountain, when you’ve both made the journey from opposite sides.

“A better place,” you reiterate, before placing a light kiss to his cheek and leaving the car with a new sense of closure.

a/n: that was longer than i planned and a freaking roller coaster!!!!!!! im not sure if there should be a part 3? lmk what you think maybe it’ll just be short. but hehe i added robby into the mix he was so cute. ty for reading!

taglist for people who wanted part 2 :) ty friends for the support <3 @littlered6307 @deadbeatharlz @spiderman-berries @axastasiasstuff @r0-xie @estupidteen @hawkwhore @idkwhatishouldput4

#eli moskowitz #hawk cobra kai #cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai x reader #eli moskowitz imagine #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk imagine #hawk x reader #cobrakai #hawk moskowitz

[chasingpj]

𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

“Buen provecho, mijo.”

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

requested?: yes!

warnings: a little angsty, discussing the death of a parent

category: fluff, one-shot, a slice of life

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts forever. i'm so excited to finally have it posted and i hope you guys like it!

Leo’s shivering body is engulfed in a soft duvet until the crown of his head. His brown curls sprawled on the stark white cloth are the only evidence of his presence, the sheets swallowing his body so well that it appears to be stacked messily and not holding a groggy Leo.

Despite your protests of wrapping himself up like this, he couldn’t help it. The chills that came with his fever were too much to ignore, which says a lot; Leo’s rarely cold. You’d be able to keep him warm, he considers, and there’s a deep urge to hold your frame against him. With a weak groan, he shifts in the tunnel of sheets.

Stupid Flu.

The last thing he’d want is to get you sick. Having your shared bed all to himself for the past few days as he persists through the discomfort of illness has been lonely. At first, it was a little fun. Getting a break from your occasional kicks and shifts that would wake him up throughout the night was nice, but he began to miss it after a while. Those pesky sleepy habits were worth it as they came with the comfort of your presence, the sweet scent of your body, and the softness of your skin. He ached at the absence of your company even though you were literally in the next room over.

He wondered what you could be doing having that this ache for you isn’t a new occurrence. Just a few minutes ago, he had called your name only to receive a “one second!”

So he waited, and well, it’s been much longer than a second.

As if he summoned you with his thoughts, the creaking of the door hinges catches his attention, drawing a soft hum from Leo’s lips. Feeling too weak to lift his head, he instead tugs down the duvet just enough to reveal his puppy brown eyes that sag with fatigue. “Lee, I have a surprise for you.” The ringing sound of your sweet voice makes his mouth curl up in a smile. Leo furrows his eyebrows, eyes averting from your pretty face as he notices your hands are hiding behind your back. “What is it, cariño?” He croaks, flinching at the dull soreness in his muscles as he pulls himself up to rest against the headboard.

“Close your eyes,” you demand with a giddy tone, and Leo complies with a short laugh. “Don’t peek!” A clinging of metal follows the sounds of pattering footsteps and a giggle of excitement before he receives the okay to open his eyes again.

Through thick eyelashes, he's met with stretched-out arms, presenting a deep blue bowl of soup on your palms. “It’s Caldo de Pollo!” The nostalgic aroma hits his senses the moment you confess what it is. He leans in, getting a better view of chunks of potato, carrots, corn, and chicken that peek through an orange broth. The sight makes his mouth water, and to your surprise, his eyes too.

The dish reminded him so much of his mother. Suddenly, he was a kid again. His small eyes watch Esperanza place a bowl filled to the rim of the familiar dish on the table in front of him.

“Buen provecho, mijo.”

Leo grinned, revealing the gaps of teeth that haven’t grown in yet. "Gracias Mama," he chimed, swinging his stubby legs in his chair. For a second, there is a look of caution across his mother’s face as Leo picks up his spoon and shovels the soup into his mouth. But as it becomes clear that neither the hot liquid nor the sweltering heat of the day bothered him, she relaxes and settles in the chair across from him.

His mother’s eyes filled with adoration, a soft giggle comes from her lips as Leo, too hungry to care, has dampened his shirt in the midst of eating. In his memory, the image of her is hazy, but he can make out the rosy tint on her lips as she smiles at him, her long nose, her silky hair that's usually pulled up in a ponytail, cascading over her shoulders.

The memory is more vivid than any of his dreams. He could make out the glow of the setting sun from the curtains. Under his forearms, he could feel the stickiness of the plastic cover over the table cloth. Every detail of his childhood home was exactly where he remembered it.

One of Leo’s biggest fears is that one day he’d forget his mother’s face, her voice, the little memories he had of her. Already, day by day, the recalling of his mother’s comforting scent becomes weaker. Sometimes, he’d get a whiff of it when he’s on a quest or when he’s alone. He’d like to think that those moments meant that his mother was watching over him, that she truly wasn’t all gone.

Though this soup, the one you’ve presented in your arms, confirmed that the remaining pieces of her existence didn’t solely live in his memory but in everything. She lives in the stars that she was always so fond of. She lives in the Tejano music she used to sing along to when she worked or cleaned. She lived in the running engine of everything he’d ever created. She lives in this soup, the same soup she made him when he was sick or often, to his dismay, in the middle of the summer.

He never needed a moment to freeze in time to remember all that was his mother.

Leo’s eyes glisten with tears. The silence, the bleakness of his expression, made you look down at the soup yourself. You didn’t think your soup looked bad at all, especially not bad enough to bring Leo near tears. You even plated it nicely, garnishing the soup with cilantro and a lime wedge.

"Is it wrong? Bad? I had to look up the recipe, and I-"

"No, no. It's just- it reminds me of my mom." He smiles sadly at you, and you frown, taking a seat beside him on the bed. His expression softens, eyes studying your face. What did he do to get so lucky? "You made this for me?"

You nod. "I thought I should make you soup since you're feeling so sick today." You balance the bottom of the bowl in one hand as the other reaches over, pressing the backside against his forehead. A tsk leaves your lips; the heat radiating off of Leo's forehead was much warmer than usual. "I was looking at soup recipes, and I came across a recipe for Caldo de Pollo. Try it; I think you'll like it!"

Leo reaches over with weak hands, grasping the bowl of soup before bringing it to his chest. He leans in to take in the aromas.

“I didn’t poison it,” you joke. A watery laugh comes from Leo, the vibrations sending a few tears down his cheeks. Your stomach flutters at the sound, but your heart aches at the sight of his tears. You hated seeing him cry. Your thumbs gently wipe away the stray tears on his face as he admires you. “I don’t know. I’ve seen you burn a lot of things in the past couple of years,” he teases. You cross your arms over your chest, not having enough times when you didn’t burn any food to defend yourself so you wave him off.

“Whatever,” you huff playfully. Leo chuckles as he brings the spoon full of broth up to his lips, and you shift in your place. You’re filled with anticipation, hoping that the recipe was authentic enough. “How is it?”

The flavors of the soup are almost the same as his mother’s, and he hums, a soft sigh of satisfaction leaves his lips.

“It’s amazing, mi amor.” The pet name you love rolls off his tongue slow and smooth. You sit up proudly at the praise, taking in Leo’s lovestruck expression. Before you know it, the other leans in for a kiss, and you scrunch your face. A scoff of playful offense leaves Leo’s lips.

“Why would you kiss me?” Leo whines with a cute pout. As much as you want to kiss him, you knew you shouldn't. “You’re sick,” you remind him, and he dramatically sits back against the wall, playing with his spoon.

“Kiss me, and then we can be sick together.” Leo wiggles his eyebrows, trying to convince you with a smile that drops the moment you shake your head.

“No way. Keep your cooties to yourself.” To your surprise, Leo sticks his tongue out at you. The action makes you snort as you rise from the bed. “I won’t kiss you, but I’ll sit and eat with you.” Leo shrugs, the solution is not as satisfying as a kiss, but he’ll settle with spending time with you. With a nod from him, he watches as you disappear past the doorway to get your bowl of soup.

In your absence, he takes a few more sips, the memory of his mother flickering in his mind. There’s a familiar gloominess that lingers at the fact that he will never be able to hug his mom or see her face again but being aware that her presence will always remain brings a sense of closure that Leo didn’t know he needed.

In his darkest hours, there was always a glimmer of hope that kept him moving forward. There was always a feeling that things would get better in time. This dull light, the voice that told him to pick himself back up, perhaps, it was his mother being true to her namesake all along.

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @slytherclaw-kitten @s0urcru5h @percysbluehairbrush @hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky @anything-forourmoony @loverstyless @yelenabel0vaswife @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @hamdehlesmis @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @sol-the-salmon @atryx0-tal @iamparou @afidiofobia @lacunaanonymoused @pest-ill-ence @mika-sage

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

to be added to my taglist click the heart: ♡

#leo x reader #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x you #leo valdez fanfiction #my writing

[bakugohoex]

hi love 💖💖 again congrats so much on 1k, you deserve it + the world!!! may i please request nsfw #10 with eren? heheheh thank you 🥰

“my mics on baby, let them hear your moans”

pairing: eren yeager x female reader

cw: modern au, language, nsfw (voyeurism, choking, nipple play, thigh riding (slight), kissing, daddy kink, degradation, praise and unprotected sex)

word count: 1800+

a/n: hey baby, thank you so much, i hope you liked this my lovely, next one coming up is some levi fluff

summary: in which a night of boredom, waiting for eren to finish his game, leads you to finding yourself sitting right on his lap, letting all his friends here your moans

1k event masterlist

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist 

Eren’s voice boomed throughout the apartment, you had only just put away the dishes and wanted to spend some quality time with your favourite boy. But it seems that he had other ideas in mind, with the sound of his shouting at Jean and Armin to give him some backup. You didn't ask about the game, refusing to even bother to understand the entertainment of the shooting game. 

Normally, you wouldn't question it but the long stares you'd been giving him since you both came home, the small touches on his shoulder and arms. You had been craving his touch ever since he left in the morning, his wandering hands having done nothing but your heart pulse for more contact.

You were irritated, wanting to have him inside of you but all he seemed to care about was how Jean had left to get some other items instead of saving Eren. You found yourself watching him shout for a moment before finally going to the sofa where he sat with the controller in hand. The loading screen was up, knowing he was about to start a new game, his headset across his head and a slouched position allowing his arms out across the sofa as he was ready to be sat on.

“You okay, baby?” He spoke muting his mic for you to say whatever you wanted. Instead of speaking you sat right on top of him, legs kneeling beside his own as you faced him straddling his lap. His face looked confused, but he loved seeing you needy and wanting to be held so kept you on him. 

Your arms moved to his neck as you rested your head against his shoulder, you heard Armin shout to press the play button, Eren putting his mic back on as he continued to shout to Armin to tell him to fuck off. “Y/n, baby you okay?” He softly spoke into your ear as you continued to rest on his lap.

Your actions spoke louder as you began to grind against his clothed cock, you gave him the sweetest look filled with heart eyes but the way your body rutted against his own made him let out a groan. “B...baby.”

“Eren what the fuck, Jean just got killed again.” You heard through the mic again, knowing Jean would get pissed at Eren being distracted, Eren tried to keep a much calmer composure, but your relentless movement across his semi hard cock made his mouth water. 

“I w...want you, daddy.” You moaned into his ear, away that his mic was on the other side of his face, if your voice had been any louder, you knew the two boys on the other side would’ve heard you in an instant. 

Eren’s eyes widened at the sound of your moan, having an idea in mind, probably a terrible on at that. He grabbed your jaw, letting the controller fall to the side as he let his thumb play to at least do something without Armin and Jean shouting at him. Your breath fanned his own as he gave a soft kiss, his hand still holding your jaw in place, you continued to try to grind against him already feeling your coated underwear. Slick ready to engulphed Eren’s own cock. 

“Such a little cumslut, waiting all day for Daddy to fuck you.” He whispered through the kiss, he was almost glad Armin and Jean were arguing knowing his voice was inaudible. 

You gave a hefty moan, before Eren moved his fingers away from your jaw and down to his joggers. Quickly untying his joggers and lifting your ass up to take his joggers off, you could see the hard indent of cock, your mouth already waiting. “You're going to just stare at it baby.” He teased waiting for you to take his boxers off yourself.

The way you bit your lip in hesitance made him go wild, watching as your fingers brushed against his cock, urning a low groan. His eyes had moved back to the game, starting to properly play it as you grabbed the waist band, moving his boxers away in a swift move. His cock curved upwards, already hard and the precum oozing out ready to feel your insides. 

His fingers went under the hoodie you were wearing, the shorts being ripped apart in an easy aggressive move. His finger skimmed across your underwear, the slick already dampening the pair before he motioned for you to lift yourself up for him to get rid of the item of clothing. “Aren’t you a good little slut?” He whispered, making you become weak at the feeling of your clit against his exposed thigh. 

“I’m a good s...slut.” You moaned through Eren’s shaky leg, he paid little attention to your movements, concentrating on killing the person about to attack Jean. Even with his cock hard and dripping for your cunt, he couldn't just leave his friends to die. 

He heard you continue to whine before moving closer to his cock, you pulled the hoodie away from your body, leaving you in your bra, his hand moved behind your body quickly undoing it as he watched you toss it to the side. “Use me up then.” He kissed your neck watching how your naked frame was for his eyes. Your hand gilded under his shirt, he quickly took it off with one hand letting your hands roam up and down his chest. Your mouth moving to his neck, to suck at it, the swell of your clit just touched his cock, feeling the urge to put himself right into you. 

You sucked at his neck, a feeble moan coming from his lips, “Eren what the fuck was that?” You both heard Jean’s question choosing to ignore it, you came up on your knees and Eren knew exactly what your next move was going to be. 

He saw your hand clasped his cock, cum falling onto your fingers, he already knew he was going to make you suck it. “Wait.” He muttered.

He took the headset from his head and put it on your own. You gave a hazy look, confused, before gesturing for you to carry on. You assumed it was just for him to be able to kiss your shoulder more easily, with the mic muted.

You ignored the metal on your head, sinking into his cock, a loud moan erupting your mouth. “Da...daddy.”

Armin and Jean were in shock at what they had just heard, your whimpers and moans coming from Eren’s headset. They could barely speak, and even if they wanted to stop listening, their bodies refused to turn the game off, listening into the whole ordeal. 

“Taking me so well babygirl.” Eren watched as you came back up struggling to fit all of him inside of you. You had sunk back down your thighs being able to touch his own knowing you’d reached his base with a soreness. “Good girl, aren’t you?”

“I’m a g...good girl.” You moaned again, his hands firmly on your waist as he began thrusting back and forth into your cunt. “Ple...please more, daddy...f...faster.” 

“Suck your fingers.” You complied whining and whimpering at the taste of his cum coating your throat and mixing with your saliva. 

Your moaning was heaven to his ears, loving the feeling of your tight cunt around his thick cock. “Such a fucking slut, you want me to go deeper, you want my cock to s...split you open.” Eren’s pace quickened continuing to thrust upwards to accommodate for your needs. 

“F...faster, pl...please.” You whined with the mic still on, the sound of your mewls and whimpers increasing. Eren’s hand moved to grab your throat, making you face him with a sadistic look on his face.

“My mics on baby, let them hear your moans.” You were too far in to even care if Jean and Armin were listening in, the two boys had definitely heard the statement, becoming flushed at how they had been listening in. “Moan my name baby.”

You reciprocated, “Ere...Eren.” 

His voice rolled off your tongue, his hand still around your pretty little neck, he loved the feeling of his firm veiny grip across your smooth neck. Every night he would leave more and more bruises across your neck, make everybody see the marks he gave you. “Tell them who you...belong to.” He grunted, sweat mixing in with every thrust.

Your chest was right in his eyeline, beginning to skim his tongue around your nipples. A coat of his saliva across each nipple before he began sucking on the spots just above your nipples. Harsh red and purple forming as heard you speak, “you, da...daddy, I’m you...yours.”

“My little cumdump.” He groaned at the taste of leaving bruises against your skin but also the feeling of cum build up. 

“C...cum, please, da...daddy.” You spoke breathlessly, almost pleading with the tears filling your eyes. He watched as your chest heave, wiping the stray tears before he spoke. 

Eren became quicker in his thrusts, grabbing your waist for more access to each inch of your warm cunt. “Cum for daddy.” He commanded and in an instant the coil in your stomach fell, cumming right on his cock. Eren could see the cum seep out of your cunt, your loud heavy moan being music to his ears. After his own couple of sloppy thrusts through the cum, he gushed right inside of you. 

Your cum mixing together inside of your stomach, seeing a slight bulge at the feeling of being entirely stuffed. Eren looked at you, your tired and tear-filled eyes, you remained on his cock, shuffling on his soft cock. The smell of sweat and cum mixed through the air as Eren took the headset off your head. 

“You enjoy the show then.” Eren cocked his head back, letting your head rest against his shoulders, one arm firmly on you and the other talking through the mic. The game had been disregarded by the loading screen on the television and the sighs of heavy breaths coming from the other end. 

“Fuck.” You both heard, you assumed it was Jean going from how loud he normally was compared to Armin. 

“Eren, you should let us join next time?” Jean proposed, Eren’s jaw clenched at Jean’s action, glad that the boy hadn't been in the room to actually see the events that occurred.

Eren gave a loud scoff, “you fucking wish Kirschtein, she’s all mine, aren’t you.” He put the mic to your tired mouth as you gave a low grumble.

“All yours.” You whispered tiredly, your sweaty hair going across his own chest, his own hair having been tied back but the stray strands that encased his forehead stuck across. Eren didn't bother listening to the rest of the heavy breathes from his two friends. 

He wanted to know if the events that had just occurred made you feel embarrassed or hate him but at his question you gave him a lazy look, “i don't care, it was fun.”

He shook his head, kissing the top of your head. He knew the two of you should probably get cleaned up but with you in his arms he felt at peace. Resting his head against your own he felt comforted with your presence and the true knowing that you were his entirely.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

if you guys want to be a part of a tag list, just reply to any post and i’ll add you xx

@samusimp @alainarose13 @crispychannie @underratedmage @jennammaee @cathy8taffy @sugacious @moonlightaangel @kat-sukis-hoe @effmigentlywithachainsaw @swankiifiied @maat-the-prescriptive @missmultifangirl @tvwhoresblog @kuroos-world @chrrylevi @katsuhera @answer-the-sirens @animexholic @wapbenders @the-shota-king-masayuki @bakugousmrs @crystal-lilac @dai-tsukki-desu @fandomsinthegalaxies @crimsonbows-and-arrows @admin-in-residence @otterlockholmes

#eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #bakugohoex 1k event #attack on titan #aot #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyoujin #attack on titan eren #attack on titan eren yeager #attack on titan eren jeager #aot eren #aot eren yeager #eren aot

[pinkteapotwriting]

Happy Birthday Remus part 2

Part one Happy Birthday Remus!

Warning : Smut, this is just smut. Minors DNI, Switch!Sirius x Dom!Remus x Sub!Reader

Edging, slight over stimulation kinda idk, oral, food mention and I think that’s all of it

Wolfstar x Fem!reader

Summary : Sirius is mad about the little stunt Remus had you pull the day prior, so he breaks Remus’s rules and plays with you how he sees fit. 

Word count :1826

---

You awoke to the sun gently sweeping across your face as you separate yourself from Sirius’s chest. The only thing that could be brighter than that hazy yellow pouring in is the smile you gave while looking at Remus spooning Sirius. His arms wrapped around him tight, like the only security blanket left in the world. Not wanting to interrupt the sweet sight you got up to go get ready by yourself. 

Your legs were quite tender from the night before, not that you were complaining. You made your way to the bathroom to start your routine, but when you stepped over the edge of the tub to take a shower your sore legs betrayed you. With a not too painful, but still solid plop you hit the floor landing on your bum. 

“Ow.”

“Y/N?” A voice resounded in concern.

The sound of rushed pattering made its way to the bathroom. 

“Y/N! Love are you alright?” This time you could tell it was Sirius who asked.

Giggling the whole time you responded, “I’m okay I promise! My legs are just sore from last night.” 

Sirius gave a huff as a reply and simply walked past to fill the tub as an alternative for your certain destruction, while Remus scratched the back of his head and mumbled his apologies before retreating briefly.

Sirius pulled you from the floor and set himself in the tub with you nestled in front of him. You tilted your head back against his shoulder in absolute bliss as he rubbed his hands up and down your thigh.

“Y/N love?”

“Yes darling?���

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know you enjoy being submissive, but last night taught me not to take advantage of that. Please remember to let me know if I’m pushing your limits.”

“Baby, we have a safe word for a reason! I love you so so much and appreciate you checking in. I promise to let you know if you ever make me uncomfortable. There’s no hard feelings and to be quite honest I definitely prefer when you boys dominate me.”

You shivered as one of his hands wrapped around your waist while the other enclosed around your throat pulling your ear to his hypnotic lips. 

“Well that’s good to hear, cause I’d be remiss if I didn’t get to leave you absolutely decimated tonight after your little show yesterday.”

The twang of pleasure that shot straight to your core only increased when the hand that rested on your waist found its way to your clit. 

“Yeah, yesterday you talked a big game, but it looks like you’re already dripping for me puppy.”

You whined softly, but were quickly muted when Sirius’s hand engulfed the lower half of your face. He knew Remus’s rules quite well and touching what belonged to him without permission would certainly get him in trouble. However, the prospect of teasing you all day, toying with Remus’s precious puppy under his nose was thrilling. In short he loved making you squirm. So he wasn’t about to let you ruin his fun so soon.

“None of that now, Moony would hear and ruin our fun for touching you without permission. If you want to cum at all today you’ll be a good puppy and keep your mouth shut and obey. Are we understood?”

You nodded weakly already so close to your release. 

“Aw baby your legs are shaking bet you’re close huh, does my pretty girl wanna cum?”

You let out a muffled yes against his hand and he just chuckled. “Too bad I can hear Remmy coming up the stairs, maybe another time. Remember to be a good puppy.”

Before you even got the chance to pout Sirius released his grip and went back to rubbing your thighs while Remus entered holding a tray with three cups of tea and three plates of leftover chocolate cake. 

“Sorry love, I just thought it would be nice if we had breakfast in the bath.”

“Good thinking Rem, less moving around for her that way. What do you say sweetheart?”

You did your best to hide your guilt and smiled sweetly at the man you adored. 

“Thank you Remmy.”

He just smiled back at you and disrobed so he could join you all in the bath. Sirius didn’t dare make a move while Remus was there and he was much better at hiding the previous occurrence. You couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable since last night wasn’t exactly gentle and Sirius made sure you were extra sensitive to any touch. You were puddy in his hands, perfectly malleable and so in your tired bleary mind state you only craved to do what was asked of you. Despite it being a conflict of interest between obeying Remus, and obeying Sirius. 

(Remus is clearly the big boss around here, anyway) 

---

Luckily it was a Sunday so you had nowhere else to be, but it was also just as unfortunate considering Sirius would be able to keep you in his clutches. Every time Remus left the room he had his hands on you. Sirius made sure you were adorned in his biggest t-shirt (your usual lounge wear) so he could have easy access without arousing suspicion. His hands always found the most delicate places while his mouth wreaked havoc on your even more so delicate mind. 

“Be quiet sweetheart, don’t want Remus to find out you’re not his good girl, his obedient little puppy.”

“Bet you’re just desperate to cum, I can’t even keep count of how many times I’ve edged you today.”

“Beg and maybe I’ll be generous, come on pup beg for it”

Of course it didn’t matter how many times you would cry out, only for it to be muffled by his hand. He was not planning on giving you what you so desperately needed anytime soon. Sirius loved the sounds he’d pull from you. He was just such a glutton for your punishment. The prospect of breaking Remus’s rules thrilled him, that he was touching what didn’t belong to him. He knew he was risking punishment, but the feeling of you clenching desperately around his fingers only spurred him on.

Meanwhile Remus was confused by your jumpiness and reaction to touch. You had never been like this the day after. Usually all you wanted was to be held and take it easy, but you basically rejected his touch and he was so afraid that he pushed your boundaries too far last night. Poor Remus wasn’t aware of that tight coil in your stomach that Sirius had created, that made any lingering touch almost put you in overload.

You were all settled on the couch and little to his knowledge under the blanket you had covering your lap Sirius was slipping his cock between your wet folds. Course you knew your only job was to sit still and keep him warm, but that didn’t make it any more uncomfortable. You had been denied orgasm time and time again with just his fingers and now his dick was buried deep inside you and you weren’t allowed to move. It was infuriating. 

“Y/N, love? Can you come and cuddle me now please? I’m getting cold over here.”

Sirius’s grip tightened on your waist as a low warning, so you were forced to hang your head and shake your head no.

“Sweetheart did I do something to hurt you last night. Please I feel like you’ve been off all day. If I caused you pain in any way I’ll never forgive myself. What can I do to make it up to you.”

In a rush you got up and straddled Remus’s thigh. You just couldn’t take it anymore and started clutching his shirt and nuzzling your tear filled face side to side against his chest.

“Puppy what’s wrong, what did I do?”

You only shook your head and started rutting against his thigh. Your body acting of its own volition answering for you. 

“Darling hey hey hey slow down what’s going on.” He glanced down and his eyebrows raised at the sight. You were absolutely soaking and he had the new wet patch on his pants to prove it. 

“Daddy I need to cum so bad it hurts.”

He then made eye contact with a very guilty looking Sirius, then decided your needs were much more important than whatever Sirius had to say, he’d deal with him later. 

“What’s wrong precious, what happened pretty girl”

“Siri-” you choked out a sob, “Siri told me he wouldn’t let me cum and he said I wasn’t your good girl and- and daddy it hurts in my belly I need to cum so bad.”

“Oh Y/N you’re always my good girl, my precious pup. Do you want Daddy to make you feel all better? Siri is just a meanie come on let’s go to the bedroom.”

---

Remus had you sprawled out on the bed, making sure your head was supported by Sirius’s lap. His head was between your legs, eating you out like a starved man. Your incessant mewls and whines broke his concentration.

“Come on what do you want love Daddy can fix it for you. Do you want Daddy’s cock?”

You managed a pitiful nod and soon enough your wish was granted. 

Remus kept a steady pace as your fingernails clawed into Sirius’s legs. He could tell by your trembling you were so close.

“Fuck Y/N” Sirius groaned, “I’m sorry baby I didn’t mean to make you wait so long, but you look so pretty fucked out like that. You’re such a good girl waiting so patiently”

“That’s right puppy, you’re such a good girl taking my cock so well, come on love cum for me.”

As the sweet relief of your climax finally being within reach you sobbed in ecstasy. Your orgasm left you breathless as  the immense pleasure could rival a tidal wave crashing over you. Remus would normally chase his own high, but you had been overstimulated enough so instead he pulled out and stroked his length while eyeing Sirius angrily. Sirius gulped.

Even in your exhausted state you still could use the manners they trained you to have. 

“Thank you, daddy.”

“Of course good girls always get to come. Not selfish gits who break my rules though. Tell me pup, how many times did Siri edge you today?”

“I- I lost count, Remmy.”

A wicked grin covered his face, but his fiery gaze remained unyielding.

“That’ll be a good start then, okay pretty girl can you grab the bonds for me? It seems our naughty boy didn’t learn his lesson yesterday.”

How lucky were you, to be taken care of in so many different ways by the two men you adored above all else.

“Yes Daddy”

Before you did what you were told you couldn’t help but relish in the fear and anticipation on Sirius’s face. Wondering, and craving for what would happen next…

---

@thotbutpurple @quindolyn

#Smut #Harry potter smut #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black #sirius black smut #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin smut #wolfstar x reader #poly wolfstar #Remus x reader x sirius #sirius black x reader x remus lupin

[spikesbimbo]

Pretty Please

Req: may i offer the concept of - spike and his babies first time, when he took her v1rginity 🥺 sorta like a prequel type thing to your last spike fic? thank you sm for all your work bb!!

Pairing: Dilf Daddy Spike Spiegel x Reader

Tags: virg1n!reader , hurt/comfort, squirting, oral sex

wc: 2.9k

a/n: i love u anon, tks for making my dreams come true < 3

18+ Minors dni

-

“You okay doll?”

You nodded slightly, somewhat lying as you felt an ache in your core after he pulled you into his lap. Watching tv as his hand rested on your upper thigh, his thick fingers subliminally working there way up, higher and higher.

Adjusting yourself multiple times, feeling his length grow bigger with each movement, embarrassment rising to your face as you rested your head in his shoulder. Your legs still draped over his, calfs resting on the couch. 

He was ignoring the feeling too, not wanting to get his sweet angel worked up and scared of him after unsurprisingly finding out you've never done ‘it’ in your words, the day you two got a little more intimate.

His cock growing harder at the thought of you telling him you’ve never been touched, or even touched yourself before. Internally feeling pain knowing that his baby has never felt a high from cumming, wanting to bring you there.

As your little hands gripped onto the suit that was layed on his chest, your innocent doe eyes looked up at him batting your eyelashes.

Yes you had a crush on him, he was tall, handsome, always took care of you, and he was older. The peek of gray coming through his hair, his big arms lightly wrapped around you, his deep warm voice that soothes you to sleep. It’s safe to say that you were in love with him.

Ever since he snatched you up that day almost a year ago, he’s taken care of you. Wondering why you were different, knowing he usually didn’t favor women, after hearing him and Jet talk about them. And if he did he only kept them around for a night, ‘litteraly’  kicking them out the next morning.

It shouldn’t make you heart flutter as much as it does, knowing you were special. But it was obvious at this point, always holding you hand went you two went out, him saying “it’s because I don’t want you to get lost”, to you asking to sleep with him at night, immediately opening his arms for you to crawl in.

You felt him move you hips, feeling you panties get wetter. Shuffling around trying to get the thoughts out of your head, thinking about how you tried to do what he did last night. 

All alone in the shower as you ran your hands up your body. You fingers lathering soap on yourself as you pinky hit your breast, letting out a moan at the feeling. Thinking about how you were moaning out his name like a mantra as he kissed down your body, paying special attention to every nook and cranny, loving how worked up you got just from putting his lips on your nipples.

Your hands moved to your lower region, stopping at your clit like he did, heat rising as at the thought of him sucking on sucking on it. Sliding his fingers in and out, mumbling “you’re so wet for me baby”

But your fingers weren’t enough, nor could you do it right. Not knowing how to do anything yourself as he always did it for you. Trying to imitate the pattern he was working in, rubbing your fingers in a slight circle, even shoving your finger in only fitting one in, not succeeding in the slightest.

Leading to you crying, sobs muted by the water falling down, wanting to do something by yourself for once. Not wanting to rely on him even though you loved it, loved the feeling of his callused hands on you, but you felt burdensome if anything.

Knowing how he always came home tired and stressed, wanting to take care of him by taking care of yourself. Not realizing that they went hand in hand. Your pretty moans and pretty face twisting and turning were the only thing keeping him going.

He felt your wetness growing on him, leaving a patch behind. Remembering how tight you were even though he ate you out for hours trying to get them to fit in. Wanting to feel your walls around  his cock, not his fingers.

“You sure you ok baby?” He asked waiting for you to nod, to lie to him again. His hand gripping tighter around your thigh, one of his hands moving towards your waist “Cause I don’t think you are.”

“WelI, i was thinking…. about you.” The throbbing between your legs suddenly grows harder to ignore, almost painful. You cross your legs to try to make it go away because it feels weird. 

“Of course, what else would be going through that pretty brain doll?.” His smoky breath meeting yours as he inched closer to your face, knowing where this was going .“what about me, hmm?”

“Um… I-I want to make you feel good, too.” You muttered out, placing your hands on his neck as you turned his head towards yours, gleaming hopefully eyes hoping he would feel appreciated.

“Teach me how to touch you.”  You pouted, placing your palms on his crotch, fingers gently grabbing it through his pants. “wanna to make you feel good too.”  The throbbing in your core growing harder to ignore, faintly hurting as his knee was bouncing you on him. Trying to close your legs to try distract yourself, but your legs were locked with his, not letting you go in the slightest.

“You wet?” He groaned feeling your soaked panties bleed through his pants. His hand moving towards his cock, grabbing it to calm him down and he couldn't keep his eyes off you know. You don’t answer as you feel his gaze upon you, your confidence fading quickly as you decide to show him want you want though actions, placing your hands on his growing erection along with his. “Fuck, I--”

You look so endearing clinging onto him, batting your lashes as you wait for him to tell you what to do, just wanting to be his good girl. “You wanna make me feel good, make me happy?” He repeated, running his hands up to your lower back after stopping at your ass. 

“God angel, you’re driving me crazy” he said pulling you face to face with him now, straddling his big thighs as you couldn’t help but grind on them. Just being with him made you feel so much better.

“I was thinking bout... how good you treat me, I wanna do the same to you. I feel like I can't do anything...” His hand raises your sinking face, forcing your teary eyes to meet his soft gaze as you echoed. “I wanna treat you good, make you feel good too.” 

“You even know how?” He says waiting for you to shake your head no. 

“You gotta teach me”

“Fuck-. Alright baby c'mere.” he said standing up, holding your tiny hand in his as you followed him into the bedroom, the red and yellow tinted artificial lighting being much more soothing than out there.

You were on your knees, ignoring how the carpet burned against them as you saw his cock up close for the first time. The last time you saw it was when he ‘taught’ you how to touch yourself, being in awe that it was that big, now in your head thinking that every man was as big as him.

He went along with it after you said you couldn't do it alone because you only got off to him. He ignored the fact that it made his heart race in a way it's never before, cumming the fastest he's ever done since he was a teen, thanking god you were inexperienced.  

He grabbed your jaw gently, cheeks squished in-between his hand as tried his hardest to not just fuck your sweet little face. “Like this baby.” he said, after his thumb opened your mouth, bringing your lips to his tip. Catching on and kissing it, using your tongue like you he told you. Only staying at the head , too scared to take anymore, 

“God damn..”  he groaned, his hand being wrapped around the back of your neck. Slightly pushing your head down to which you gag, immediately pulling back, the string of drool still connecting you two. “You gonna be my good girl?” 

He took a hold of his cock, stroking it a few times before putting its attention back on you. “Open up” he said as you did what you were told as he slapped his fat cock onto your tongue hanging out of your mouth, precum and spit dripping off onto your chest. 

“You gotta use your hands, kiss and lick it.”

“okay” you muttered out, already doing it. Kissing open mouthed on the sides, stroking the vein under it while making it as sloppy as could be. Tongue flicking back and forth on the slit at the top, his moans acting as a guide, letting you know what he really liked.

You seal your mouth around his head again, barely fitting it in your mouth gazing up at Spike, seeing his face flustered as yours. He looks pleased, letting out a small grunt. "Pretty girl," he husks, fingers stroking your jaw. You thriving at the attention and praise, loving the way his voice was when he talked to you, just you.

"Keep sucking on it, and don’t use your teeth sweetheart.” he encouraged, wondering why this was a natural talent for you. You eventually closed your eyes after they were watering too much and sucked. It didn't feel as good as you thought it would, but the thought of making him cum gets you antsy, doing your best to accomplish your mission.

 He gives another low moan, while you do the same in response. Loving the idea that you're getting him off instead of himself. His cock barely halfway in while our too lost in thought sucking him dry when you suddenly smell the comforting scent of smoke flowing through the air, relaxing your throat more.

You're drawn off of his cock, held gently by the throat, need racing through your head, chills running down your back. A moan leaves your mouth as his jaw quivers, your breath gasping . His knees shift into a better position, guiding you back to his length. "Fuck. you like it now, don't you baby?" he puffed out, his eyes as hazy as yours. "Taking my cock so well, baby. Swallow like a good girl, okay?”

He slapped it against your cheek again, your drool flicked there along with your lips. You nodded as you took him in between your lips again, pushing teasingly. He takes it into his own hands and starts fucking your mouth. Not letting you catch a break, chasing his high. Snapping his hips in quickly, gagging through it, tears falling onto your cheeks from the pressure. 

Spit drooling down your chin, while his fingers dig into the back of your head, knees burning from rubbing against the carpet. You gag for the nth time, shoulders meeting his knees, as you feel hot ropes come down your throat, his curses becoming white noise at this point.

You turned your head down as you coughed up his cum, leaving your mouth falling onto your chest knees as he sputtered.  Feeling tears build up in your eyes, scared that hed get mad at you, take back what he said about you being a good girl, his good girl.

“m-m’sorry” you sniffled, feeling the tears fall down you face yet again, but this time from pain, not pleasure.

He crouched in front of you, wiping the remaining with his thumb before connecting his lips to yours. You sucked on his tongue, his cum being swapped between you two as you looked at him with your red glossy eyes. Your way of saying sorry. “It’s okay, Baby, it was your first time, you did so good, okay? Made me cum and everything.” he said kissing you again as you squirmed in his touch.

He stood up, grabbing you in his arms too. Your legs numb and bruised, but you settled yourself on the bed, him following,  towering over you. “You like thinking about me between your legs, like hearing what  m’gonna do to you ?”

You slide deeper under him, holding the pillow up hiding your face as you quietly admit it by letting out a soft “yeah”. Feeling helpless that he's the only one who gets you like this, is that what this feeling is, pleasure? 

You nodded and he moved his dirty hands, wondering all over your soft and pure body as he slowly undressed you completely. Wanting to take in your beauty just for himself, wanting to capture the moment he defiled you, replaying it over and over again in his head forever. Wanting to capture your sweet moans in his mouth as he kissed the pain away, cooing at you with his deep voice for taking a cock too big for your tiny little virgin cunt.

His cock already throbbing again at the thought, lining himself up with you. “Don’t worry, pretty girl” he cooed. “I’m gonna take care of you. M’gonna fuck you so good, angel. Gonna make you cum over and over. Gonna stuff you full just like you want.”

The reassurance comforted you more than it should have, him being the only thing you'd ever had, in a sense. Yes you two might have had sex, but that didn’t mean you two werent friends, event though you wanted to be more. 

 Wanted to wake up in the morning in his arms, giving him a good morning kiss before he left everyday. But all you did right now was wait; wait for him to get home with jet, and the dog. While you took care of him in the ways you could, but that's how friends acted right? Being on good terms and trusting each other, right?

“It feel good? Doesn't hurt?” he asked as you quickly nodded, wanting him to make you feel good. He dragged his lips to your neck, sucking on the skin, littering every inch with the numbing pain, tracing his open mouthed kisses down to your chest. His spit cooling the heat rising in your body. “Fuck,” he breathed bottoming out. “You’re so tight for me, baby. You like it? Like the way my big cock is stretching you out?

You nod gasps being held back, not being able to catch your breath. The ache between your legs beginning to ease. Grabbing his neck with your trembling hands, getting him to look down at you.. “faster….please” You whispered out, just loud enough for him to hear and it’s all it takes for him to connect his hips to yours. Your lips letting out soft, honeyed moans that already have his balls swelling again. 

The pain disappeared as his thrusts became more stable, having a rhythm. Your eyes gazing up at his filled out body, so strong. You were swooning at the man balls deep in you, loving everything about him from his graying hair and downturned eyes, to his smile.

“Wh-… what do I do, w-wanna be good.” you choked out, heavy breaths catching the remains of earlier in your throat. “Shh… lemme do the work, okay?  Your little holes clenching so wet and sloppy for me, so tight. Feels so good, baby.”

His hands hook under your thighs, locking you in place as he continues fucking you, getting rougher and rougher with your physical permission. Your back arches as he angles his hips different, his cock hitting you in a new way, his fast thrusts sending you into overdrive. Cum squirting from you, making the mess under you even bigger while he's groaning out at the picture before him. “Fuck baby, that was so hot, good fuckin girl.”

That was all it took for him to release, you precious little body being so lewd beneath him, fuck. Vision turning from black to white as he felt you push yourself into him more. Helping you, still temporary blind, eyes closed as he pulled your thighs closer to himself.

You whimpered in pleasure as you felt the hot liquid filling you up, the warm feeling in your tummy making your head spin. It had your brain turning to mush, the submissive part activating as you spread yourself even more, wanting to show off the filthy part of you.

“Did it feel good?”

God really blessed him with an angel. So pretty, dirty, so willing to please. The fact that he's the only one who has ever seen you like this is getting to his head, making sure it'll stay that way, as he flipped you over leaning your head against his chest. 

“You took me so well, sweetheart, so proud of you for taking me..”

You were so tired, jaw aching while keening at the praise. His hands resting on your bare body made all the tension ease, the feeling of him still in you making you get too attached to him.

He laid still, taking in your state as he felt you turn your head to look at him, while he was already admiring you. Flashing you his smile that you loved so much. He curled up with you with his warm body holding your cold one, easing you to sleep with a faint smile on your face. You finally did something on your own.

#spike spiegel x reader #spike x reader

[misselko]

Got this idea from Dimitri’s conversation with Byleth before Fort Merceus battle with the Death Knight. Put some angst, fluff, and a pinch of smut spices into the dish and let it simmer down! At least, that’s what I want! But it turned out... different ;) Sorry not sorry

Please kindly leave some of your comments or ideas for my next fic! Your warm and loving words gives me energy to write more!!

RECKLESS

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mention of blood, violence, a little smut

Words: 3316

 

POST TIMESKIP

Empire will be the only remaining enemy and to move on to the Imperial Capital, Enbarr, capturing Fort Merceus is a must. Praised as the strongest defense with its fortified military installation  in the Empire, seizing it won’t be an easy feat.

Liberating Arianrhod, calming down Holy Kingdom of Faerghus political issues, winning over the Leicester Alliance and gained their support. Getting a lead on Lady Rhea’s location. Although things were a rough go, but thinking back on it now, Blue Lions sure has really come a long way. Things have been wonderful in these past moons that it almost feels like dream too good to be true.

You don’t know why but you can’t shake your uneasy feelings and dread. War is raging and everyone knows there is a big battle on the horizon.

“We must not falter in our assault. The Death Knight is the enemy commander in Fort Merceus. He’s an unpredictable opponent. A dangerous one. Please proceed with caution, (Y/N).”

“I will, Dimitri. No need to worry.”

“I have not come this far just to lose you here. I’m serious. Do not be reckless out there.”

“Will you save me if I’m in trouble?”

“Of course, (Y/N). You were the heart of the Blue Lions, and the same holds true for the Kingdom Army.”

You smiled at his concern and hold his hands gently.

“I will do my best as well to support you, my Dimitri.” His cheeks turned into rosy blush at your words.

 

“Whoaa!! You’re getting pretty chummy, aren’t you, Your Highness? Go get a room!” Sylvain winks and got punched HARD, dragged away by Ingrid. You make mental notes on giving her a delicious roasted meat from that famous new shop in the town later as your gratitude. Serves him right!! ...But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in this world. Everything will be alright with them. Blue Lions are your precious family. It will be fine. Everything will be fine.

---

Capturing Fort Merceus is a daunting task. Endless enemies are approaching and relentless. Felix and Sylvain are working together cut through the snipers and mages. Ingrid and Ashe are doing their best to handle the pegasi knights. Dedue, Annette, Mercedes, and Flayn makes great combo on cutting through enemy reinforcements while providing healing to everyone. Slowly but sure, you and Dimitri managed to push Death Knight on the corner. But it doesn’t make things less difficult for both of you.

 

“You dare stand between me and my pleasure?”

The beginning of it was barely a bellow that grew steadily to a deafening roar, piercing the air and shaking the ground. Areadbhar crack in deafening clash against Death Knight’s Scythe of Sariel. They raised their weapons, waving them overhead.

 

“Yes. I dare stand against you, Death Knight!!”

 

Dimitri decides to face Death Knight head on as you tried your best to keep his back safe from the Imperial soldiers assaults. Keeping a close eye on him... just in case, following from a few meters back, cover his blind spots that way, look out for any potential danger. You could see them coming around, carefully and quietly trying to find their way to Dimitri.

 

Landing sharp blows, you bring the blade down on the head of another mage. Slashing your way through numerous enemies, you start to feel fatigued. Countless enemies lying dead behind. You looked around, among the sea of red and black, a swordmaster is sneaking his way behind Dimitri, ready to ambush him.

 

But you wouldn’t let it happen!

 

You were fully offensive, rapidly swinging your sword down on the swordmaster. You were able to deflect, parry, and block most of his attacks until his foot swept across your ankles, knocking you hard to the floor. The swordmaster stood above you, ready to press his sword into your chest to end your life. Fatigue made it harder for you to evade his deadly stab completely. Sound of a weapon piercing through flesh filled your ears, followed by an intense pain in your side. He pulled it back out with a triumphant smirk on his face. Despite the searing pain, you made it in time to grab your own weapon and thrust it up to his neck, your arms shaking as you tried to counter the weight of his attack. Grimace crossing your face as he fell, blood painting the earth a sick shade of red.

 

You sat up, wincing at the searing, burning hot pain on your side. The stab wound was way too deep. Your hands trembled, desperately attempting to put pressure on the wound as heavy flow of your blood is trickling through your fingers, colors your skin and clothes. The world had turned blurry, and your body felt weak. Ignoring the excruciating pain, you rush forward to help Dimitri. He has won against the Death Knight. But in his brief reverie, the Tempest King failed to notice two opposing snipers are approaching him, expression intent to kill, aiming their arrows at his back.

 

You acted on instinct, rushing forward, sprinting to intervene. To protect him.

‘We have been through so much together and he’d been through hell and back... I want to ease his pain. Knowing he’s safe... I can be at peace.’

You thought to yourself, launching forward. You barely has energy to stand up, but you tried to muster your last remaining strength to dove in before Dimitri. The arrows managed to easily make it’s way through your armor, landing in your chest and abdomen. ‘I have no regret when it came to protecting Dimitri.’

 

Your body slammed hard on the ground, careening across the battlefield. A sharp cry pained noise escaped you; that was all it took. Dimitri stiffened at the sound. It pulled him from the high of the battlefield down to reality in an instant.

 

“(Y/N)!!!”

 

He turned; filled with horror and rage. The fires blazing around him didn’t give off any heat. The battlefield around him turned black and white. His ears were ringing as if he’d been caught in an explosion. Dimitri went after the snipers and thrust them both at their hearts. After a quick glance to make sure no more surprise attacks happen, he kneels and pulling you into his chest. You looked so small, felt so limp that it sickened him. Broken and battered with littered scars and large wound on your side. Arrows jutting out of your chest, much too close to the heart, and another one lodged deep in your abdomen.

 

Dimitri watched as the blood pooled around you. Blood... there is so much blood. Your blood.

“Goddess... what were you- MERCEDES! FLAYN!! SOMEONE...HELP!!”

 

He pulled himself up, beside you, staring at your face. You were so pale. Oh, Goddess, you were dying. Were you already dead?

 

“I’m sorry.” There isn’t a reason to apologize, you aren’t sorry, but it still came out like the blood that is on Dimitri’s hands now.

 

“Don’t you dare apologize to me right now,” his voice choked off in his throat feels raw with emotions, barely able to hold back the sob which demands to escape, “not when you are like this. What were you thinking, (Y/N)? You have promised me to not be reckless.” He phrased it in a question, but both know why.

 

“Y-You... haven’t seen the... swordmaster... and those snipers. Y-You...were going to die...if they attack you. I want to protect you.... and I don’t regret my decision.“

 

You opened your mouth to speak but immediately coughed, feeling globs of blood on the corners of your lips. Dimitri gripped your hand, his hold so tight that it hurt, but you wouldn’t waste your breath on telling him. You could barely see Mercedes scurried over to your side as quickly as she could, Flayn follows behind her, leaving the Death Knight behind with tears running down her cheeks.

 

“Please stay awake for me a little longer, please.”

He choked out, pulling you closer if possible as it would keep you from leaving.

 

The chaos around you went mute as your eyes grow heavy. Maybe a quick nap would suffice.

 

“No...no, no, (Y/N)!! You can’t do this to me, you can’t-! Please, (Y/N), I can’t lose you too.....”

 

You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. You fell asleep.

---

Every second was filled with anxiety; you’d lost so much blood. The wounds were too deep to heal completely. There was little to no possibility of survival. Not after what you’d been through.

The days turned to one week, then two...then three. The physical wounds had healed, mostly repaired and faded to scars. There was potential for things to return to normal, and you may wake up sooner rather than later.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in a dimly lit room, your upper body covered in bandages. The first thing you’re aware of is a dull throb radiating throughout your entire body. You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your body and sending a wave of pain through your chest and stomach as you tried to get up. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before. With much struggle, you sat on the edge of the bed shakily trying to stand up. The door creaked open and you looked up to find Dimitri peering inside.

 

”You’re awake,” he said, a look of surprise on his face. You tried to stand up and walk to him but failed, Dimitri ran in and caught you before you fell over. “I thought I was going to lose you, (Y/N),” he said, lifting you up effortlessly, settling you gently onto the bed and pulled up a chair. 

 

As cautiously as you could, you managed to sit yourself up. You kept a careful eye on the young king, noting how dark the circles under his eyes have become and how hollow his cheeks have turned. The fact that rest had eluded him for however long you were unconscious was as plain as day.

 

“You nearly died because of me. I have no right to be... you of all people shouldn’t-!” He managed to say, his voice shaking as his fingers trembled.

His head shot up to look at you, cerulean blue eyes dampened by tears that pooled in them. Your eyes were open, though weakly, looking at him and his disturbed state. You sensed his worry, but also his relief as he hovers next to your bed, engulfing you in his embrace and squeezing you against his chest for all he was worth. He was mindful of your wound, but that wasn’t enough to keep him away. No, he needed you. He needed to be beside you, to feel you, to know you were there.

 

“I’m okay, Dimitri...” You whispered, resting a hand on his chest where his heart thundered. You closed your eyes against him, relishing the feel of his tender warmth.

 

You felt how hard and rapid his heart was beating, almost deafening. Your arms wrapped around his heaving back weakly, rubbing it soothingly. He pulled you closer in response—closer, closer, closer, until every inch of you was smothered by him. Hesitant, trembling fingers graced your tightly wound bandages and you felt something warm and wet splatter onto your exposed shoulder.

 

"I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, holding your hands so tight that it hurts.

“But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”

 

His voice was as quiet as it could be and it made you frown your eyebrows in worry. You were happy to see him alive, that was your goal when you decided to protect him from the approaching enemies. However, seeing him so distraught and afraid twisted your insides uncomfortably. The way he held your hand so desperately, afraid to let go.

 

“Dimitri.” You call him quietly, which makes him look at you with those gorgeous eyes of him.

 

You move your hand to his cheeks, caressing his soft skin, trying to bring him even the tiniest amount of comfort. Leaning to give him a soft chaste kiss on his lips. He reciprocated by open-mouthed kiss you with such fervor. There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way Dimitri kisses you, as if this is the last moment he’ll ever feel it. It’s almost as if it pains him to be this close to you. You were alive, yet he couldn’t help but doubt it. Perhaps it was once again due to the vicious noises he still heard, though faintly. However, he was glad that they allowed him this moment of happiness.

 

“I won’t leave you, Dimitri.” You promised between ragged breath, your chest heaving.

 

“We are so close to ending this. Please, promise me you’ll stay safe. Rest, for now, my beloved.” Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, holding your hand to his chest. “I promise, I will never let you be hurt for my sake again.” Covering you with a  blanket  and tucking you into bed to retire for the evening.

 ---

After your awakening, the Blue Lions and Professor began incorporating regular infirmary visits into their schedule. They showered you with kind, encouraging words and occasionally bore small gifts (flowers and snacks), always encourage you to get better soon. But your most frequent visitor of all was your beloved gentle king.

It was two weeks since you have gotten better. Mercedes promised to take care after your bandages this evening.

“Are you ready, (Y/N)?”

You met Mercedes’ warm gaze with your own. With a firm nod, you replied, “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mercedes.”

 

The healer moved closer to you, her skilled hands undoing the set of bandages for the last time. Dimitri averted his frantic eyes to the wall when the dressing loosened just enough for your breasts to peak through. A cold, unforgiving breeze whipped the newly exposed skin, jolting a shiver down your spine. Mercedes sighed, slowly traced the scars your chest and stomach.

“I’m sorry but we will never be able to remove the scars. The wounds all healed, but... the scars will never go away completely. I’m sorry (Y/N).”

 

Your eyes immediately flashed over to Dimitri’s stiffening frame.

“It’s okay. I will never regret such a thing.” You smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Do you need anything else, (Y/N)?”

“No, I’m all good, Mercedes! Thank you for your help.”

“All right, then. Annette said that she needs my help with her baking this evening. We have to finish it before midnight! Should you need anything, please feel free to call me.” Mercedes gave you last smile before excusing herself politely from your quarter.

 

“Dimitri.”

His jaw clenched tautly; his eyes crunched into a pain-stricken wince. Refusing to look at your scar, a harsh reminder of his failure.

“Look at me.”

He stilled and won’t budge to look at you.

 

“I will never regret nor blame you for this. It was my decision and if it means saving you, I’ll gladly do it again in a heartbeat. Or... perhaps.... I can understand if you find that my... scars are disgusting, appalling, even....” you whisper softly, almost inaudible. Your surroundings whizzed right past you before you were unceremoniously slammed into your bed.

“DON’T SAY SUCH THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!!” He growled “I will not allow you to throw your life away for me. If.. If something ever happen to you.. I’ll live a life worse than death itself, (Y/N).”

 

Not a moment later did you feel something warm and soft press against your lips. His mouth moved awkwardly yet full of affection. Hands planted  on either side of your body, ridding any hope of escape from his ravishing kisses. Dimitri pressed his lips further into yours, swallowing your moans. His lips left yours to trail down around your neck, breasts, and stomach lovingly. “This wounds... I cannot lose you again, my beloved.” His body quivered.  The King kissing the scars on your cleavage and abdomen, worshiping them reverently with tender touches, almost like touching a porcelain doll. Afraid to break you with his almost inhuman power. Biting and sucking wherever his heart desired until you were covered in nothing but love bites, leaving you a panting mess.

 

Dimitri held you in his arms, stroking your hair and mumbling whispers of ‘I’m sorry’. Bittersweet smile formed on his lips. He gazed at you, eyes lidded with desires and need, mixed with guilt and love. “(Y/N)... My beloved...” You pulled away slightly to look up at him and smiled.

“Dimitri...” You cupped his cheek in your hand, in which he immediately melted into.

“I love you, Dimitri.”

 

He blushed at your words, then it dawned on his realization. Suddenly becoming very aware of the... intimate position you were in. “Um, w-well...” As he came to his full senses he released his hands from you, as though from fire and stuttered, quickly pulling away from your panting form. He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the dreamlike stupor a d hazy feeling to distract you, you realized just how naked you are. Nightgown pooled beneath your waist. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.

 

He flinched, breaking eye contact and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Ah—Urghh!!! I’m sorry, (Y/N)!! I don’t know what came over me but.. but... P-Perhaps we should... stop... before it escalates any further...” The King unclasped his furred cloak hurriedly and put it over your naked body unceremoniously, hiding his flushed crimson face in his hands again, absolutely brutalized with shame. 

 

“Er.. Be certain to rest for now. We may have undone some of your healing.” Then he said hurriedly, almost inaudibly. “When your strength returns to its fullest, we can pick up where we left off. I promise.”

 

“Fine...” You giggled, finding his attempt at being serious too adorable. The heat and passion was still very visible in his eyes, and it was obvious that anymore teasing on your end would send him over the edge.

“Thank you for this lovely evening, Dimitri.”

You pulled his hand to your lips and give each of his fingers soft kisses, gazing at him lovingly. Dimitri’s jaw and pants tightened, the poor King desperately clinging onto the last thread of sanity and reason which threatened to snap at any moment.

 

“Good night, my beloved (Y/N).” Casting one last glance at you and bashfully looking down when he caught your eye, the Blue Lions Leader left with a haste that was probably unbecoming of a gentleman, his long legs taking the steps to the second floor dormitory two at a time. He somehow,  somehow  managed to reach his room without incident or interruption, locking his door behind him, leaning back against it and covering his burning red face with his hands. His body felt like it was on fire; nerve endings alight with sensations he had long believed were dead.

 

The pit of his stomach tangled in knots when he thought of (Y/N). All he could think about was your pure unadultered love, beautiful (E/C) that is gazing at him affectionately. Goddess, he was such a sinner. It made him want to put his hands on you. All over you. Repeatedly. Savoring the taste of your lips as  you moan into his mouth. Feeling your warmth and love. Unclothed. His mind is running wild. This frantic sensation in his blood, while half-forgotten, was not new. It will be another sleepless night for the poor king. And it’s all because of you.

#fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #fe dimitri x reader #dimitri x reader #fluff #sfw #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #romance #angst #fire emblem smut #smut #dimitri smut