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ghostiexe · 4 months

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Teacher AU!Wilbur x Reader

hello fellas i'm back with another wilbur fic he has been all i can think about for the past several days. take this

wordcount: 1,461 (part 1/?)

as always this is not proof read sorry lads

part 2 here

Being a teacher is not the job you thought you’d end up with when you were doing career planning in 12th grade, but here you stand.

Back in the same high school you swore never to return to.

Oh, well, then. At least you have mediocre pay and little to no benefits, right?

You sigh and drop a box onto the desk in your mostly empty classroom. It’s bare and almost liminal in a sense, and you can't help but feel creeped out.

You step back from the desk and examine the room with your hands on your hips for a moment before shaking your head. This setup is awful, you decide. Time to change it up a bit.

You get to work pushing desks across the room, trying to ignore the screeching of metal against linoleum. You’re already sweating and it’s only been a couple minutes since you made the decision to completely change the room.

You huff softly as you drag another desk, having two of the legs lifted slightly off the ground. Suddenly, you lose your grip on it, and it falls directly onto your foot.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, yanking your foot out from under it and pulling your leg up protectively, bouncing slightly as you try to keep your balance with your one foot on the ground. Suddenly, you hear a soft knock on your doorframe and you whip your head around to see who it is.

You’re met with the sight of a concerned looking, very, very tall man. He has a mess of curly brown hair and glasses that are too big for his face, though you can’t help but think they suit him. “Um… Are you alright?” He asks, gesturing to your foot, which you realize you’re still holding. Your face flushes and you put your foot back down on the ground, tucking your hair, embarrassed.

“Yes, I’m okay.” You assure him, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, uh, for my language.” You apologize, and he cracks a small smile.

“It’s okay.” He assures you, leaning against the doorframe. “Is this your first year teaching?” He asks, sounding genuinely curious as he looks you up and down. You nod.

“Yeah, it is.” You admit, starting to drag the desk again. The man winces at the sound. “Do you need help?” He asks, and you nod instantly.

“Yes please.” You say, sighing in relief. He walks over and lifts the other side of the desk, following your lead when you take it to the corner of the room. He clears his throat as the both of you work.

“So, I assume you’re the new English teacher, then…?” He asks, and you nod, stepping back to look at your now rearranged room. You hum softly in approval of the sight.

“Uh, yeah, I am.” You say, realizing you haven’t introduced yourself. You wipe your palms on your pants and reach out, offering your name and a handshake. He accepts.

“I’m Wilbur.” He introduces himself. “Though you’ll have to refer to me as Mr. Soot in front of the kids, I suppose.” He says, shrugging. You smile gently.

“Well, Mr. Soot, I appreciate the help.” You tell him, and he nods, glancing away and then back to you, looking a little shy.

“It’s no problem, really.” He mumbles, scratching the back of his head. Your attention is drawn toward his outfit, then, and you let out a startled laugh.

“Is that The Front Bottoms? No way, I love them.” You say. He looks a little surprised, but nods eagerly.

“It is! You like them?” He asks, the nervousness slipping away slightly. “Yeah, of course!” You say, beaming up at him. “I’ve seen them in concert twice.” Wilbur groans at the news.

“Unfair, I’ve been wanting to see them for forever.” He says with a small pout. You giggle. “Well, I wish you luck on getting tickets.” You say, lazily saluting. He laughs softly.

“Well, now I’m glad I wore this shirt today.” He says. “You’ll probably not see me in it again for a while, I don’t dress casually on school days.” He says, crossing his arms and leaning against your wall. You hum.

“Oh? And what do you teach, again?” You ask, and he sighs. “Oh, God, good question. Well, I’m supposed to be the History and Geography teacher, but the board found out I can play instruments, so now I’m supposed to be teaching a combined history-slash-music class. I had to plan the whole class in a month.” He complains, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation. You wince.

“Yikes. That sounds interesting, though. How did you manage that? Is it, like, just exploring the history of music?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah, pretty much.” He admits, rubbing his arm. “It’s probably gonna be a shit class, since I barely had time to put anything together.” He says with a sigh. “But I’m supposedly the ‘boring’ teacher anyway, so it’s not like I have a reputation to uphold anyway.” He says sarcastically. You frown.

“Boring? You don’t seem boring to me, why do they think you’re boring?” You ask, genuinely bewildered. He winces.

“Ah, well, I was a new teacher last year, so my lessons were very, uh, by the book, I guess you could say. I didn’t really put any of my own spins on the lessons or anything because I was too focused on trying to drill information into their brains.” He says, sounding a little embarrassed. “Ahh, I see.” You say sympathetically, nodding. “Well, what do you have planned for this year?” You ask, gesturing for him to come sit at your desk with you. You grab one of the plastic chairs for yourself and let him sit in your spinning chair.

“Well, I’ve been trying to think of ways to spice geography up, so I found a couple games I thought might be interesting to have them play in class.” He says, tapping on his chin thoughtfully as he sits back in your chair, looking up at the ceiling. “I might have them playing Geoguessr.” He says, resting his hands on his lap. “Oh, that sounds fun!” You say, clapping your hands lightly. “I wish I could do something like that for my class.” You say.

He turns his gaze back to you. “Well, what grade are you teaching English for?” He asks. “Because if you’ve got freshmen and sophomores, I’d say it’s probably not the best idea, but if you’ve got the juniors and seniors, you could definitely do something with them.” You nod. “I’m teaching for juniors and seniors, actually. But I have a senior creative writing class, too.” Wilbur looks pleased at the news. “Oh, really? What’ve you got planned for creative writing?” He asks, smiling softly. “I always like seeing what the students come up with, some of the kids from last year were actually really good.” He says. You smile back.

“Well, I’ve planned a unit on the butterfly effect, but I also want to do some poetry next term.” You say, tucking your hair behind your ear and gently tapping your fingers on the desk. Wilbur hums thoughtfully.

“Well, poetry could be fun. I’m a shit poet, honestly, but I mean, at least they make for good song lyrics?” He says, wincing slightly before waving his hand to dismiss the topic. “That will be fun, though, I think. Is it an elective or required class?”

“Just an elective.” You respond, tucking away the comment about song lyrics for later. You still your hands and place them flat on the desk. “Thankfully. I don’t know if I could force a bunch of uninterested kids into actually doing the work if it was required.” You say, shaking your head. He makes a sympathetic sound. “Yeah, I understand. Sometimes I wish that I taught more elective classes, but there’s not really many history or geography related electives I would be eligible to teach, anyway.” He says, chuckling to himself. “Maybe if the kids drive me crazy enough I’ll just give up and have ‘em watch Crash Course videos for the whole class.” He jokes, and you giggle softly.

“If only, if only.” You say, sighing dramatically. After a pause – a few moments of comfortable silence – you speak up again, clearing your throat.

“So how’s the cafeteria food here? Any good? I mean, when I went to school here it sucked, any developments?” You ask. “Oh, you went here for high school?” He asks, before shaking his head. “Unfortunately no, by the way. What year did you graduate? I graduated in ‘18.” He says, pushing his large glasses up.

“Oh, I graduated in 2019. We’re only a year apart, that’s cool.” You say, then glance at the time. “Shit, it’s nearly five.” You say, frowning. “I need to finish setting up my room.” You say, standing up and sighing. He nods in understanding. “That’s alright, I’ll leave you to it.” He says, standing up too. “Unless you need help, still?” You shoot him a grateful smile but shake your head. “No, it’s alright. Thank you, though. For helping, and for keeping me company. I’ll, uh, see you around?” You ask, and he nods.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make sure to drop by your classroom.” He says, running a hand through his curls. “And, um, don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.” He adds, sounding a bit shy.

“Of course, thank you so much, Wilbur.” You say, grateful you’ve got someone to talk to now. You smile at him, though it looks a bit exhausted. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“I’ll see you Monday.” He agrees, waving at you before stepping out and walking down the hall to his own room. The second he walks away you have to take a moment to breath.

What the fuck, he was cute.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot fanfic #wilbur x you #teacher wilbur #teacher reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Don't Speak 24

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: Two in a row?!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The dullness of the home renovation show does little to combat your fatigue. You watch the drilling and trimming and plastering from behind a glossy curtain, yawning and swaying against Andy. You really just want to go lay down but you don't have the courage to insist on it.

Your eyes roll back only for you to snap your head forward, forcing yourself awake. Several times you feel yourself start to slump to one side. You don't know how much longer you can stay awake.

You feel the air in your nose clog and a rumble in your throat. You're too far gone to catch yourself as you succumb to your exhaustion. You sink into the fuzzy abyss, welcoming the rest for your mind and body.

You sleep without thought, without dreams, or worries. The deep blackness that blurs time and space, the very concept of your existence fading into the void. You forget everything for the dulcet comfort of unconsciousness.

You feel something on your arm. A long, soft caress. It's almost soothing, so subtle and gentle that you're not sure it's real. You moan and sniff through your dry nose.

"Amber?" You murmur, "I'll get up in a minute."

The hand squeezes and you curl your shoulders forward. You're too tired. You just want to sleep forever. You murmur as the touch descends to your elbow and the hand slips down to your stomach, spreading there.

It is much too big to be Amber. And why would she be in the bed with you? Against you? You feel the warmth radiating along your back.

You open your eyes as you're drawn into a stolid embrace. You look down and see the freckled arm around you. Oh. What do you do?

You feel his breath behind your ear, fanning up your scalp. You've never been this close to anyone. Especially a man.

"Andy," you squeak. "Andy…" you grab his wrist as your chest squeezes with panic. He needs to let you go!

"Hmph," he grumbles groggily.

You don't care if he's sleeping. He's touching you. He's got you trapped! You don't like this. You need to get away.

You need to sleep on your own. You need space. You need to be alone!

"Andy!" You squeal and dig your nails in as he hugs you tighter, "get off!"

You writhe as your voice piques. You flail as he keeps a hold of you. He shifts but doesn't let you go. You throw your elbow up and twist around, the impact cracking hard as you're released at once.

You hit the floor as Andy grips his cheek and grunts. You gasp as you realise what you've done. Oh no! You never meant to hurt him.

"Ow," he hides his face behind his hand, "dove…"

"I'm s-sorry," you stutter, dizzily getting your feet under you, "I didn't mean to–"

You step forward as he peeks out between his fingers. The hurt in his eyes gives you pause and you wince. Oh god!

"S-s-sorry!" You clap your hands against your cheeks and spin, "I'm sorry! Please! Don't be mad–"

You run without looking, without thinking. You hit the edge of the couch as you race frantically out of the room. You stumble up the stairs, not looking back as you fear he might be after you. That you may have just pushed him too far. But you deserve it, don't you? You hit him first.

You burst into the guest room and scramble to lock the handle. There is no mechanism. Shaky and terrified, you get on the other side of the dresser and push it with your shoulder. It scrapes over the floor until you have it across the door.

You slide down and curl yourself into a ball on the other side, heart beating wildly. No, no, no. Stay out. Stay out!

You can hear his footsteps coming up the stairs and his barely repressed groans. There's a tap on the other side of the door before the handle turns and the dresser lurches but doesn't give. You whimper and cover your head.

You remember the way the chair leg smacked against your head, how the blows came down over and over, on every part of you. You remember how it left your breaths rattly and your bones screaming. You remember how Amber held you and told you it would be okay.

Where is she? You want her there to promise you that you're safe. You left her behind.

"Dove, please, let me in," Andy says from the other side.

You don't say a word. You gulp as tears spring up. You don't want to remember. Stop!

"Dove, please, I'm not mad," there's friction on the door, "let's talk. What happened?"

You shake your head and ball yourself up tighter.

"Why did you hit me?" He lowers his voice.

You let out a sob. You don't know why. You didn't mean to. It never matters what you meant, it only matters that you're wrong.

"Dove," his voice rises again, "you can't just close me out."

You have no answer for him as you tremble in a heap, trapped between the past and present, paralysed for what's to come.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" He scoffs.

You have no words, no strength, you have nothing but fear.

He hits the door and you yelp, "Dove! Answer me." He snarls, "this is my house."

But he touched you. He was touching you! No, how can you be wrong? If he was touching you?

You're confused. It was an accident and yet you feel guilty. But Amber always says you should protect yourself. So why do you feel so rotten?

He huffs and clucks, "I can wait."

You open your eyes and slow drag your arms down, folding them across your chest. You wait and listen. He doesn't retreat right away, no he lurks outside and for a moment you think he's going to stay there until you come out. When at last his footfalls pad away, you're not relieved.

Eventually, you're going to have to leave that room.

🕊️

Eventually comes in the form of your throbbing bladder. You stand at the door, facing the inevitable, dreading the outside. You shift the dresser inch by inch, trying not to make a noise. You move it only enough to fit through the door.

You peek into the hallway and hold your breath. The evening has come and the house is dark. You creep out, hoping you've gone unheard. You've always been good at being unnoticed.

Until Andy.

You tiptoe over the carpet and glance down towards his door. Your chest twinges with guilt. You hope he's okay. You can only feel the force of your elbow hitting him. You can hear the impact repeating in your head.

You quickly flit into the bathroom and shut the door. You flip the lock up and stand in the dim space. You don't bother with the light switch as you do what you need to and turn the faucet on only halfway to wash your hands.

You take a breath as you face the door. Just a few steps across and you can hide away. You ease it open little by little and let it fall ajar as you see the shadow waiting for you outside. Andy reaches over to flip the overhead light on.

You chew your lip as your eyes sparkle with a sudden wash of tears. You teeter on your toes as the white bulb shines through the glass sconce and illuminates the darkening blemish under his right eye. You did that.

"Andy..." you eke out.

He looks at you, tight-lipped, his own eyes glistening. He takes a deep breath that makes his chest rise and fall. His jaw grits and cheek twitches. He puts his hands on his hips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I told you..." you blubber.

He shows his palm, raising his hand as he drops his chin. A long exhale before he lifts his head again. He lets his shoulders fall.

"We need to talk," he says.

"I... know," you hang your head in defeat.

He gestures down the hall and you offer no resistance. You walk ahead of him, keeping your posture low, wanting to shield your head as you expect the worst. He points you down the stairs and follows your descent.

You enter the dining room at his direction and you sit at the table. He pulls out the chair across from you and lowers himself with a sigh. He pushes his hands up his cheeks and winces, leaning his weight on his elbows against the table.

"You hit me," he says staunchly.

You stare at the table, wilting as you bring your feet up onto the seat and hug your legs. You nod.

"I said sorry--"

"Dove," he intones, "you hurt me. And as much as I want an apology, I want it to mean something. I want you to understand what you're apologising for."

"I am so sorry," you bluster as you snap your head up, "really, Andy. I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to. I would never-- I'm not a mean person."

"You didn't mean to but you did."

"I was confused. You were so close and--"

"You fell asleep. I was keeping you from falling off the couch," he hisses.

"Oh, uh, well, I... I didn't realise--"

"You keep making these excuses. I didn't want to... I didn't want to believe it but I spoke with Dr. Kemp while you were... hiding," he rolls his eyes, "and he agrees with me."

"What?" You heave, nearly choking on tears, "about what?"

"About you. About you're behaviour," he puts his hands down, folding them over the table. You watch the effort he puts into his next words, "about Amber. I didn't want to think about it, to possibly admit it but... she isn't the problem, honey."

"What does that mean?" You wipe your nose, "Andy, what are you saying?"

"Look at me, Dove," he leans in, emphasizing the blotch under his eye, "look what you did."

"But-- but--"

"You take. Everything. People around you give and give and give and they get nothing in return. It's exactly what you did to her. Dove, I want you to get help, but you have to realise, you're not a burden, you're a leech."

You lean back, chest heavy as it hollows shakily. You can barely breath. Why is he saying this?

"No, no, I'm not--"

"You are. You're not stupid so give it up. You know exactly what you've been doing," he insists. His tone is even and hard but not angry. "I know you're not stupid because you know how I feel about you. And you push me away and make me feel like the villain. I'm the bad guy because I love you? Because you made me feel something and I let myself feel it--"

"Love? Feel? Wh-what?"

"Stop pretending you don't know," he snaps, "dove, you just keep hurting me. Look at everything I've done for you. Why would I do all of this if I didn't love you?"

"You love me?" You croak.

"I do and look what you did to me," he waves his hand at his face, "you did this but I'm not going to give up on you."

You bury your face in your hands and cry. Every word is like a knife slicing through you. They always say the truth hurts the most.

"Dr. Kemp is going to help you. He's going to help both of us work through this--"

"I don't understand," you say through your fingers.

"I know you don't, so you need to trust me," he reaches across the table as you open your eyes and tear your hands away from your face, "I can forgive you, this one time. And that's because I love you. Because it would hurt more to let you go."

You shake your head and clutch at your hair, "no, no, no... I never... I didn't mean to hurt you..." you babble, "Andy," you gasp and hit the edge of the table with your hands, "do you mean I hurt Amber?"

He looks down and swallows tightly, "honey, you know what you did. You know it. You have to accept it if you're going to change."

You shudder as the world seems to shrink around you. You really are just as bad as you always thought. All those years in your little bubble, with Amber lying to you, telling you that you're not a monster. She took your abuse and you took everything from her. How could you be so horrible and not even know it?

"I... didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't... mean to," you chant through thick sobs, "no, I didn't mean to..."

"Shhh, dove," he stands and you make yourself even small in the chair.

You wince as he rounds the table and kneels beside you. He hushes you as he touches your arm, rubbing it gently as he coos at you. You quiet to a hiccuping heave and look at him.

"Are you going to try?" He asks.

You nod and gulp loudly.

"That's good, sweetie," he praises and reaches up to caress your cheek, "Dr. Kemp is going to see us tomorrow and we can do this together."

"Us? Both?" You murmur in confusion as he runs his fingers back down your arm and takes your hand.

"Couples therapy," he explains, "we have to work on our communication."

"Couple... what?" You squint at him, lashes fluttering.

"Come on, dove," he stands and pulls you to your feet, "I told you how I feel, are you going to keep hurting me by pretending you don't feel the same?"

Your lip trembles. Do you feel the same? You don't know. You've never really known. You're just afraid and lost and confused. You don't want to be a bad person.

"You feel bad, don't you? For hitting me?" He asks and you nod, a sob wrenching in your chest, "and you feel bad why?"

You search his face, only looking in his eyes for a second before you can stand no more. You look at his neck and the tendons there, the way it bobs nervously, and the tension set into his shoulders. Your lips part and you puff out a shaky breath.

"Because... I love you?" You squeak the uneven statement through your quivering lips.

"You do but and that means it's going to be okay," he draws you into a hug and you don't fight it. You can't fight something you don't understand, "isn't it, dove?"

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #library au #defending jacob #series #don't speak

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manjiroscum · 2 years

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BLOODY PEONY

Character/s: vampire!Pantalone

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, blood, pantalone drinks blood duh + he is centuries old, age gap(?), pantalone has violet eyes here, barely know this man but i hope i wrote him well, established relationship, breeding/impregnation, fluff, monsterfucking, marking, mating press, mentions of violence, daddy kink, and use of pet names. Minors do not interact.

Note: here is the second entry for kinktober! pls ignore how late it is, i apologize :,) this is dedicated to my babie suki @sukirichi 💕 my first ever genshin fic 🤸‍♀️

❖ kinktober ‘22 masterlist | ENTRY #2

Summary: Forever and always—your immortal husband never fails to remind you of your eternal union in the most unique way.

WC: 2.3K

Midas’ touch was, in no way, on par with your husband’s caress or kiss that he gives you relentlessly without fail. Unparalleled and gentle in a way that it is the single thing that greets you as soon as the moon graces the sky and puts you to sleep the second the sun rises. Such odd behavior was striking to those who lived nearby the neighborhood, yet you did not care about their gossip or stares. All you cared about was him, Pantalone.

Your husband or as his fellow dwellers of the night often call him in their coven, Regrator, was not an ordinary man from the start. He didn’t sleep at night the same way you used to or was required to eat three meals each day. He dislikes sunlight, hates the outdoors, and detests those who refuse to get acquainted with hygiene due to his sensitive nose. You knew him only as Pantalone, one of the many names that he had adopted over the course of his life. A name you have been dying to know in secret. Other than a stake to his heart, Pantalone revealing his real name to you was similar to handing you his soul. The second you knew about this, you didn’t question him about it again. Plus, he drinks blood. In short, he wasn't human nor a creature your kind would be too keen on meeting. This fact was the very reason why you were interested in him in the first place which led you to discover his secret—vampires were real and he was one, too. With this knowledge, it did not hinder you from tying the knot and having him for a husband. Everything else was history from then on.

“Good evening, my jewel.”

Pantalone’s lips were pressed against your forehead, the scent of earl grey faint in his black silk bathrobe and dark wavy hair akin to a midnight sky that grazed your cheek when he pulled back to peck you on the lips. A groan slipped past your mouth, squinting at his beautiful visage further heightened by the moonlight streaming through the glass windows. The thick curtains were drawn back to let in the natural light. Pantalone couldn’t help but let out a breath of awe at your alluring aura which was followed by a small chuckle at your obvious complaint at being awakened. His index finger reached out and pressed at your furrowed brows. But who could blame you? Humans normally wake up with the sun up, not the other way around. You weren’t a vampire, yet. His cool hand grazed your warm soft cheek, a testimony of your mortal life that will soon change… Unless you had second thoughts.

Biting back a yawn, you rubbed fatigue off of your eyes before giving your husband a sweet smile. He then mirrored it, eager to continue kissing you until you were fully awake. “Good evening to you, too. Slept well?”

“As always. You?”

He knew you were lying the second you nodded your head, fighting back to furrow his eyebrows at your evident lie. Somehow, you knew he didn’t buy it. You dare not expound further. Because even if you two have been married for almost four years now, you still haven’t been the subject of his anger, and you hoped you never will. You were still scared no matter how many times he repeated that he will never lose his temper with you. The coven he was part of, especially that young man with the gingered-colored hair, wished he extended the same courtesy to them. Sadly, Pantalone was deaf to their request.

Pantalone was stingy. Nothing escapes his attention and if a single thing was amiss in his finances, he would immediately know. When it came to you, on the other hand, the sky was the fucking limit.

“I see,” he mumbled as he sat himself down at the edge of the bed. “What do you want to eat, darlin’? Just name it.” Your body heat stayed on the silk sheets, seducing Pantalone to remain by your side all night to fool around. Not that he had anything to do tonight that was of the utmost importance other than the special occasion which is your wedding anniversary. You saw the look in his eyes and slyly smirked, knowing all too well what he had in mind for this evening’s affair. Just as he was about to ask if you wanted to sleep more, Pantalone stopped short when your hand rubbed against where his cock was tucked away, twitching at your familiar touch. Not missing the way those sensitive violet irises behind glasses met your gaze, you leaned down to rest your head near his crotch and then innocently smiled. Inhaling sharply, Pantalone, for a second, thought his undead heart was beating once again.

“I’m not sure…” you playfully responded, fingers running up and down his thigh. “Maybe you can occupy my mouth while I take my time to decide, mhm?”

Despite his lack of body heat and the nature of his kind, the esteemed immortal was sweeter than any delicacy or dessert you have tasted behind closed doors. And yet, Pantalone can be rough whenever he or you wanted to be. At this very moment, it took all of his control not to snap and just have his way with you—with your full consent, of course. To spoil you, to love you, to keep you happy and satisfied—nothing brings greater joy to him than to do all of the above and beyond. Pantalone has to be the best in your eyes.

Why?

“My jewel, before we proceed…” he inhaled another deep breath upon seeing you bat your lashes at him expectantly. You were just too cute that he can’t wait to ruin you in a bit. But first, he had something to tell you—a crucial reminder of why you were still human. “You must eat first, alright? I can’t have you tiring so early, plus it might take hours for you to pry my hands away from you, darling.” When you nodded, he continued in a solemn tone that you picked up instantly. “And… you’re not getting younger. As we have agreed, this will be the last year. I promise we will keep trying, but whether we succeed or not, we have to accept it. Whatever happens, know that I love you and it shall never change. Forever and always. You… understand, right?”

Pantalone waited for a full minute until you sat up properly, looked him straight in the eyes, and held his hand. Fingers intertwined and locked together. No words had to be uttered between you two any further. Mirroring the smile on your face, he pulled you into his arms and carried you to the dining room while listening to you ramble about him trying to guess the wedding anniversary gift you’ll give him. However, he knew deep down what you wanted to give him for so long—a child.

Pantalone strived to be the best for you. Why? Of course, Pantalone wants to be the best at everything and this also includes being the best lover and husband. He can’t have you looking for someone else, someone incompetent. That would be the biggest insult of all insults. The odds may not be in his favor, but when has he ever paid any heed to what he can’t do and shouldn’t do? Giving you the most luxurious services, expensive gifts, and dazzling pieces of jewelry was just the bare minimum for a man such as him with the immense wealth that he undoubtedly got after spending centuries on this planet. For him to fail at giving you a baby, Pantalone couldn’t help but wish he were human. Then, he wouldn’t have so much difficulty facing you after every negative pregnancy test result or seeing you stare at shops selling baby clothes. Yet, you never held him responsible or spoke ill of him. No, Pantalone remembered each time you presented the results with a hopeful and comforting grin on your face—stating the same sentiment as always.

“We can always try again.”

He hoped to change that sentence of yours soon, preferably this year or before he will turn you into a vampire. Those images of you wearing his clothes and sporting a baby bump had his senses heightened to an all-time high. A low hiss of euphoria slipped past his tongue at how tight your gummy walls hugged his heavy and leaky cock. The bridge of his glasses was close to slipping past the bridge of his nose because of perspiration. All you could hear was his muffled groans and soft whines. You were close to being bent over on the kitchen counter, breakfast half-eaten on the plate. Pantalone just couldn’t wait to have you and your essence all over him. The sweet scent of your arousal mixed with your desire for him was too tempting to ignore. A husband can’t disregard his wife’s needs, especially when you nicely part your damp folds for him to see.

“Darlin’ so wet. Tell me—ah, fucking hell… Tell me, my jewel, w-what is it that you want?” Pantalone resisted the urge to bite into your neck where your pulse point was and have his own feast. What he desires is to hear you ask for him—beg, cry or demand anything from your husband that may or may not release him from this delectable pleasure that no other pussy could grant him. “Tell me, darling, fuck… Do you want me to cum? To cum inside this cunt?”

“Yes! Y-yes, please, holy fuck…” you almost screamed, whining out the last part of your plea and shaking your ass as a sign he should just proceed to fucking the daylights out of you. Thankfully, Pantalone was a man who did not hesitate to give and immediately carried you to the nearest couch he could find while his cock was still nestled in your pussy. Your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Both of your bodies that reeked of lust were drunk on each other’s taste, searching for more. Pantalone thought it as a sick desire, but the idea of never leaving your side—to instill himself into your very soul that whoever tries to kiss you or undress you will find crystal clear traces of him. An invisible collar that warned off others that you belonged to no one but Pantalone. He did vow that anyone who touches or covets you will be skinned alive. You laughed at that promise, adorably unaware.

“J-jewel, s’ tight. Pussy’s mine, right? Ah… Gonna let me breed this cunt?” There was no scarcity to his filthy words that fuelled your moans. At this point, you were convinced your soul has left your body by just the intensity of his thrusts akin to how a hammer pounds on a nail. His strength was tantamount to the vampire’s progenitor, one that can cut through a forest or scrape the sky—reduced to a mere force that held your legs apart and pressed them against your chest. His sharp eyesight could put any seasoned predator to shame concentrated on your face, obsessed by the expressions it makes as he takes you. Pantalone’s tongue can cut through the most frigid heart and cause a grown man to weep for his mother’s embrace. The exact tongue that is now whispering your name like a sacred prayer that will save his damned soul from the fires he sold himself to. Honey dripping from his lips into yours without any reservations—all just for you, his beautiful jewel.

“O-oh, fuck! K-keep this up and—shit, you’re gonna, ah, be a d-daddy at this rate,” you teasingly moaned. His next few thrusts knocked the steadiness off of your voice, eager to breed your fertile womb. A human can only take so much and you were quite sure there would be bruises on your thighs and legs. “D-daddy, gonna knock me u-up? Do it, please! Fucking please! Cum inside me.”

Pantalone was a man who had everything until you entered his life, making the immortal realize the world deceived him into believing he did. Now, he doesn’t care if you will be his downfall or his ticket to eternal paradise. There was so much he could give you but he knew nothing could make you happier than having his child… or knowing his real name.

“Darlin’, cum. Cum all over this cock.”

Pantalone didn’t have to tell you twice. Your entire being was spasming, hands pulling him close to anchor yourself from the waves of bliss he let you experience. Your husband followed after. His mouth parted and sank his fangs into your neck, groaning at the taste of your piquant blood on his tastebuds. His hands harshly gripped the armrest, exercising restraint. Hot milky semen coated your walls and your womb. The whole ordeal was not strange to you, however, you couldn’t get used to the intoxicating state he casts on you. His glasses then slipped down and fell unceremoniously on top of your head once he was finished. Stifling a giggle, you grabbed his glasses and set them aside in case you might sit on them. Just as you were about to reach up and wipe off the bloodstain on your husband’s lips, Pantalone leans down to kiss you. He patiently waits for your heart to calm down and for your form to relax. As soon as you did, he wasted no time whispering into your ear his anniversary gift.

His real name.

Your husband hardly laughs genuinely and whenever he does, you treasure that moment—even if it’s because he finds your surprised look comedic. The implications of you knowing and the trust he has in you—it nearly had you in tears.

“I can’t believe you just revealed your real name…” You trailed off to kiss him again, this time, with absolute fervor. There wasn’t anything on this planet Pantalone can’t have and yet, he craves your love like a starved man. His mouth chased after yours once distance was created, the corners of his lips curling up while whispering those three words he will certainly never get tired of uttering for his darling wife.

🎐taglist: @festive @marism @httphaitani @sanzucide @tokyometronetwork @riszu

#pat.✍️fics #🎃kinktober2022 #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin pantalone #genshin impact pantalone x reader smut #pantalone genshin impact smut #pantalone x reader smut #pantalone x reader #pantalone smut #tw.monsterfucking #tw.daddy kink #tw.breeding #tw.impregnation

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carlos-in-glasses · 6 months

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Thank you for the tags @carlos-tk @thisbuildinghasfeelings @inflarescent @lemonlyman-dotcom @alrightbuckaroo @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @strandnreyes @sanjuwrites @heartstringsduet @whatsintheboxmh @herefortarlos 🩷

Something from Flashback Fic (which I'll start posting on Sunday!) It's 2021, the day TK and Carlos break up. Carlos is drawn back to the honky-tonk...

Smiling politely but tearfully at the barman, Carlos orders a tequila slammer.

The barman blinks. “Excuse me?”

“One tequila slammer, please,” Carlos repeats, “Actually make that two!” He’s only ever had a tequila slammer during Austin Pride, at a pop-up bar with rainbow awning called Mermen on the Rocks. The silver tequila was mixed with red food dye to become pink.

The barman raises an eyebrow. He’s an older guy – a gray-bearded biker type in a leather waistcoat. His arms are covered in aged, greening tattoos of snakes curling around daggers, thorny roses growing around crucifixes. “How about one shot for the road, and then you get a taxi home and drink lots of water, son?”

“No, no, no!” Carlos appeals with flare. “I can’t go home. I have to stay right here.” He spirals a finger and then bounces it against the bar. “Right here.”

“Why can’t you go home?”

“I don’t have one. I mean I do. I’m a homeowner.”

“Okay.”

“But I was staying with my…my…” Carlos keeps swirling his finger in the air, like he’s aiming to land on words visible only to him. “But! You know. Sometimes.”

“Ah. Yeah,” The barman smiles. He has a gold tooth. Shiny. “I think I get what you’re saying.”

“Thank you. You’re the only one who does.” He’s also the only person Carlos has talked to since TK fled from him at 2 p.m. this afternoon.

“Women trouble,” the barman says definitively.

“Something like that.”

“We’ve all been there.”

“I haven’t.”

“No?”

“I mean. I have. Literally with a woman.”

“Uh huh.” The barman surreptitiously fills a glass with water and pushes it towards Carlos slowly.

“But this is different. TK’s different.”

“Flowers. Chocolates. A groveling apology. It’s all we’ve got.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The barman stifles a laugh. “You almost certainly did.”

“All I did was buy an apartment for us. Without mentioning it. But like…it was meant to be a happy thing. A nice surprise. It was meant to be, like…hey I got you a piece of forever, and this piece of forever has great light, and it’s near clubs and that really good bakery. You know?”

“Sounds like a good forever to me.”

“I thought so.”

“Have a little water, son.”

Carlos seizes his glass of water in both his large hands, like he has the dexterity of a three-year-old. He sips from it gently. “This is good,” he says, as if the barman has given him something new and delicious. “My partner is totally sober. My ex, I mean.” His voice cracks as he cries. “I haven’t been drunk like this in a long time.”

“That does not surprise me.” The barman sighs and hunches, leans his folded arms on the bar to create a little privacy with his shadow. He lets the strange man cry in his presence, as many have done before.

“We had our first dance here. First kiss. First–”

“Son, look at me and listen,” the barman says firmly. Carlos does. He looks into friendly blue eyes surrounded by crinkled skin. “Tomorrow is a new day. You sober up yourself, and then you take that pretty girl the biggest box of chocolates your money can buy, and the biggest motherfucking bunch of roses too. You get down on your knees and tell her you love her with your whole dumbass heart. I’ve got no other advice for you, than to try.”

Tags below + open tag!

@eclectic-sassycoweyes @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @inkweedandlizards @redshirt2 @louis-ii-reyes-strand @jesuisici33 @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @basilsunrise @mikibwrites @fitzherbertssmolder @ambiguouspenny @wandering-night19 @catanisspicy @sugdenlovesdingle @noxsoulmate @theghostofashton @paperstorm @reyesstrand @goodways @bonheur-cafe @freneticfloetry @rosedavid @chicgeekgirl89 @spaghett-onaplate @liminalmemories21 @never-blooms @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader

❤️ 🩷 🧡 💛 💚 💙 🩵 💜

#wip wednesday #flashback fic #cig fic #my fic #tarlos fanfic #cig tagged #I'm so exicted to upload chapter 1 soon!

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bananabread-nana · 1 year

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Part 1

Spiderman!EthanLandry x Enchantress!OC

Slow burn, Violence, suggestive(eventually?)

past/flashbacks

A/N: I haven’t written anything in FOREVER so please bare with me. Ignore any punctuation or grammar mistakes 😭 comment if you want to be on the taglist and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I hope you enjoy 🤸🏻‍♀️

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An ear-piercing scream ripped through the poor woman’s throat, adding to the burn that only got worse with every breath she took. She couldn’t run much longer the only thing keeping her going was the sound of the man’s heavy footsteps behind her. Taunting her. Getting closer to her. Closing her eyes bracing for impact..

THUD

The confused woman opened her eyes just to catch a glimpse of the alluring emerald haze that disappeared just as fast as it appeared revealing the man that had spent the last two hours tormenting her, robbing her of her belongings and dignity, lying in a pool of his own blood.

———————————————————————————

Loud police sirens roared through the streets of New York interrupting his thoughts bringing him back to reality. Quickly packing his things Ethan bolted out of Sam and Tara’s shared dorm which sparked some confusion and concern within the group for a split second before it faded away due to persistence of this exact situation. As far as they know they just think his control-freak of a dad, Sheriff Bailey is blabbing at him to get home.

In reality, he got straight to work putting on his vibrant red and blue onesie he calls his suit as soon as he turned the corner.

TWIP TWIP

Swinging from building to building with the flick of his wrist all while desperately searching for the crime scene. His attention was quickly drawn by an ear-piercing scream that sent a chill down his spine. Now heading towards the general direction of the call for help, he began articulating his plan. It was just another night as the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, web up a greedy criminal, occasionally giving them a taste of his enhanced strength, and leave. There was something about this particular moment that gave him an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Nervous?

Scared?

No, never?

I’m Spiderman, THEY’RE scared of ME not the other way around

The boy tried so desperately to ease his nerves, he had never felt nervous let alone afraid of putting himself in danger but there’s a first for everything.. right?

The scene was quiet, too quiet.. he swore this was where the woman had screamed from, his enhanced hearing never failed him. Right?

Spiderman?

His head nearly snapped by the way his head whipped towards the direction of the voice. He couldn’t believe what he saw, a man laying face down drowning in a pool of his own blood and a woman in the corner with a mix of multiple emotions plastered on her pale face. Before the spider-boy could ask any questions, the woman stared blurting out what had happened prior to his arrival. She spoke too fast and her shaky voice made it hard to decipher her words but one thing stuck out..

..THEN I saw a flash of green and before I knew it the guy was dead! That person or thing or whatever it was SAVED ME! Do you know who it is? Or what?…

She continued to spew unanswerable questions but he wasn’t listening because he was deep in thought..

Who? What? How?

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Reblogs are greatly appreciated 🫶🏼

Taglist: @tuktuk34 @netey6m

Comment if you want to be added

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seoafin · 1 year

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nail in the coffin

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags: established relationship, definitely not healthy relationship dynamics, explicit mentions of sex, dubious consent, happy birthday to my babygirl geto suguru im sorry this is so depressing, not exactly angst but not exactly fluff, unhealthy jealousy. talk of pregnancies and children. also mandatory gojo warning tag and he's not even in the fic. word count: ~3.8k read on ao3

“I don’t know what to get Suguru for his birthday.”

Shoko looks up from her paperwork at you. You lay on the infirmary bed closest to her desk, hands neatly folded over your stomach, as if about to relay all your worries to a shrink.

Your distress must be palpable because she shoots you a look of pure amusement. “You’ve done fine these past few years. I’ve never seen a man so happy to receive a potted plant.”

You stare at the ceiling, gnawing on your inner cheek. “It’s different now.”

“Oh?”

It is different now. Or maybe it isn’t. Maybe you’re overthinking it, about all the infinitesimal ways things have changed when they haven’t. It feels like you’re the only one floundering, overwhelmed, trying to navigate the dynamics of your new relationship with Suguru and Satoru. Except the two of them are the same as they’ve always been: smiling, laughing, touching you like their hands belong on your skin, bringing you close with the same confidence of two high schoolers ready to take on the world.

Except it isn’t exactly new, according to your two boyfriends. Satoru had said nothing would change. Suguru told you that you didn’t need to be scared, that now, the three of you could stay together forever, and isn’t that what you had wanted in the first place? A relationship was a promise. A promise the three of you shared.

You’re still uncertain. Terrified.

Maybe nothing had changed for the two of them. But you approached the idea of a romantic relationship with apprehension and the panic of a fleeing hare. You’re not made for it, built for their love in a way anyone else would be. A normal, happy person would be ideal. You’re formed a little too oddly: not exactly straight, bent and twisted in sharp angles, and battered in places only a child can reach.

But when they hold you, the world feels like a better place, and everything feels a little more okay. You wonder if they feel the same. And when they kiss you, you do all you can to cling to that feeling, otherwise you’d drown in your constant worries.

It’s a temporary solution to a sinking ship.

“You’re spiraling,” Shoko hums, the pen in her grip twirling around her hand. “Come back.”

You blink, feeling suddenly restless. “I just…want it to be special. More special.” You hesitate. “Satoru’s abroad too, so…”

Suguru hadn’t said anything about his upcoming birthday. Not even a mention of it. As if he had wanted to spare you this exact mental and emotional turmoil. Overthinking and agonizing over a seemingly mundane event. This morning, he kissed you, a brief passionate thing, before heading to Kyoto for a meeting at Kyoto Jujustu Tech, promising to be back before six. He had headed out the door only to come back three minutes later to take you on the counter, leaving you breathless and sated, your mind in twists and knots. Then while you had been in a daze, he had smoothed over your clothes, hands running over your body (a teasing pinch here and there), drawn you back back on two feet, and kissed you again, murmuring low declarations of love against your lip.

I love you. I’ll see you soon.

Love, love, love.

He pocketed your panties.

“You’re overthinking it,” comes Shoko’s reply. “From you, he’d be happy with a rock.” She eyes you as if she can discern every thought. “You don’t need to overcompensate. You’ve always been enough.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest at her words, tension unraveling, despite your uneasiness, and you appreciate them. Any other year, a new book and your sorry attempt at baking a cake would have sufficed. But now you aren’t sure. What do people get their lovers on their birthday? What had Satoru gotten for Suguru on his previous birthdays? Suguru for Satoru? You won’t be able to measure up. Not with all your failings in romance.

After a disastrous first date, and Satoru’s absence, you only want to make him happy.

You reluctantly rise from the bed. “If Satoru were here…” You trail off. Two weeks abroad in the Philippines experiencing the last of torrential monsoons, discovering the sweets of a different culture, and documenting it all for you and Suguru and Shoko. You never get used to the feeling of missing him.

His presence would be welcome, but you aren’t sure this is something you could confide in to anyone but Shoko. Sometimes, you think your doubts are something they just wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

Just as you feared, a romantic relationship is profoundly different from sex. A purely sexual relationship with Satoru and Suguru had also meant your friendship could remain intact. Separate. Maybe at first, you had told yourself you didn’t mind, not when it made them so happy. Maybe you had always wanted it, but you didn’t need it. You were happy before, content. You don’t know how to be a lover. You don’t even know how to love, not in the way they deserve.

Bent and twisted.

You glance at the clock, feet hanging over the bed. “I should go. Tsumiki’s going to help the girls make a cake for Suguru.” You smile at the thought. Of course, you’d be relegated to clean up duty, but you wouldn’t be alone. Megumi would keep you company, just as he always did. A small extension of your shadow glued to your side while the girls fed batter to Megumi’s divine dogs and laughed, chattering about school assignments and their upcoming school field trip to the aquarium.

Only then would you be able to forget about your worries for a while.

Getting to your feet, Shoko stops you.

“If you’re really that worried about a gift. Have you considered pregnancy?”

You nearly trip over your feet.

She shakes her head, laughter on the tip of her sigh. “That got your attention, didn’t it?”

……..

Suguru comes home just as the cake has been wrapped and placed into the oven to cook. Nanako immediately moves to stand in front of the oven with Tsumiki, their bodies blocking the cake. Suguru feigns ignorance about the cake as Mimiko clings to his leg. He picks her up in his arms and plants a kiss on top of her head, drawing Nanako away from the oven to demand a kiss for her too.

You’re washing the dishes, giving them to Megumi to dry when Suguru’s arm snakes around your waist and brings you chest to chest. Before you can utter a syllable, Suguru kisses you.

To the delight of the girls, and the great suffering of Megumi, who wrinkles his nose, places the dry plate in his hands on the rack, climbs down the stool, and shuffles away, divine dogs nipping at his feet. The girls follow after him, giggling. Video games in Megumi’s room, you’re sure.

He’s unusually happy. You could’ve sworn he had been whistling the same tune you often hear from Satoru’s lips. “I’m home.”

You place a steadying hand on his chest, a slow smile spreading on your face. “Welcome home.”

Suguru chuckles, brushing the hair out of your face fondly. “You sound like a housewife.” Then he glances at the apron tied around your waist, and kisses you again until you’re breathless, fingers fisted tight in his shirt.

“I was thinking,” he says, not disheveled in the slightest. Unlike you. “How about we go out tonight? There’s an izakaya that just opened up not far from here. We can go and decide whether or not it’s good enough to appease Satoru’s high taste.”

As long as there were sugary drinks and more sugar, you’re sure that would be more than enough to keep Satoru quiet for dinner.

“I don’t mind.” You look on the counter and realize Suguru brought home takeout KFC for the kids. Mimiko will be delighted. “I thought you had to get up early tomorrow—”

“I can be late,” he replies, lips curling into a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t planning on an early night anyway.”

Your face heats at the implication. At the memory of his lips this morning, the shape of his hands, and the burning desire of his gaze. You look to his pocket, unconsciously, and his lips pull into a teasing smirk. You look away, embarrassed. Feel heat pooling between your thighs underneath his darkening gaze.

You don’t get to ask him about what he might like for his birthday, what Satoru’s gotten him on his previous birthdays (before you had been added to this convoluted romantic equation), or anything of that note. Mimiko runs back into the kitchen and demands Suguru’s attention for a school project.

……..

The izakaya is bustling, close to bursting open with the amount of patrons seated around the wooden counter and in small, packed tables around the restaurant, forcing people leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder. Suguru leads you in, and you can’t help but be amused at the way the waitress brightens at his arrival, and the sight of her disappointment when she catches sight of you, next to him. There are two empty seats at the counter and you raise an eyebrow at Suguru. On a piece of paper in front plastered to the front door: No reservations.

Upon being seated, Suguru and the waitress, Akari chat about the popular items on the menu as you look around the small area bathed in dim lights, and the scent of meat grilling on charcoal. You’d like to come here with Shoko on your next night out, and drink. Cheers erupt from across the izakaya. Five or six tables haphazardly pushed together to make one long table seating what looks like drinking college students. Girls on one side, guys on the other.

“A mixer,” Akari says, almost apologetically, as Suguru takes your jacket and hooks it behind him. She takes out a notepad and a pen. “I’m sure they’ll be ready to leave soon. You know how college students can be!”

“A mixer, huh,” Suguru muses. “I don’t miss those.”

“I’m sure you were popular with all the girls,” Akari blurts out. As if realizing her words, she flushes prettily. Suguru looks faintly embarrassed at the compliment, ducking his head.

“Well, I doubt I would’ve noticed either way,” Suguru says with a short chuckle, apologetic. “There was only one girl I was only ever interested in so…”

He’s looking at you. Even though the izakaya is thoroughly heated to stave off the winter cold outside, your face warms, insides twisting, and you swallow. Suguru takes your hand, massaging, warming it up from the biting cold.

“Oh!” She replies, clasping her hands together dreamily. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Three years, give or take. It feels like we’ve been together since highschool though.”

You blink. Three years? Since high school? According to your estimations, it’s only been three months. You don’t have time to dwell on it because Akari asks if you’re ready to order.

Suguru orders a little bit of everything. Braised foods, grilled foods, potato and cucumber salad, tuna and salmon sashimi, and two large pints of hakkaisan. You hadn’t planned on drinking tonight, but Suguru only grins conspiratorially, (“you have to try the seishu if you want to come here with Shoko”) and he’s right. Only the best for her. You note the menu has an entire subsection dedicated to western ice cream sundae desserts. Satoru will definitely like that.

Akari takes your order and briefly returns with your appetizers and two large pints of Hakkaisan. Suguru takes a picture and sends it to Satoru. Your phone vibrates from the force of the rapid stream of texts sent by Satoru's fast fingers. You turn your phone on silent.

When you take a large, long sip, it’s Suguru’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He wipes the foam off your lips and licks it off his thumb. You pointedly look away. Suguru’s laugh is good natured.

“Now,” Suguru murmurs, still audible despite the increasingly present background noise. He lightly bumps his leg into yours. He looks concerned. “What’s on your mind?”

Three years. High school. Birthday presents. His birthday. It all dies on your tongue.

“How was the meeting?” You ask instead.

Suguru doesn’t push. “Fine. Boring. Naoya was there.”

You down the rest of your Hakkaisan as Suguru looks on. You don’t know if you can be sober for this conversation. You don’t know if you want to. Satoru- kun , Suguru- kun . You frown. When there’s nothing left in your glass, you let him feed you a glazed meatball.

“Nothing about—”

“If Naoya wants to inherit the clan, leaving Megumi alone works in his favor. We both know how he feels about his inheritance, and I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

(Megumi, aged ten, coolly staring down at a seated Naobito: No. Thanks.)

“ Killing Megumi works in his favor,” you point out. It’s awful. He’d do it too like the coward he is. You’d previously held no strong feelings towards the Zenin other than annoyance and mutual dislike. He had liked Satoru and Suguru well enough, trailing after them while thinking you an eyesore, severely annoyed at your resistance to calling him Naoya- sama like his servants back home. Where, to him, is exactly where you belonged.

At least Shoko- chan is useful . Even if she is a woman, he’d said. You didn’t need him to tell you what you already knew. When he crudely told you that there were more useful things she could be doing, like passing down her reverse cursed technique, you had activated your own cursed technique and pushed him into the lake.

You supposed he was still sore about that, although you, yourself, had forgotten about it. After that altercation in high school, you never saw him again. Until Megumi.

“They won’t take him.” You say severely. “I won’t let them.”

Megumi and Tsumiki were yours , just as much as Mimiko and Nanako were Suguru’s, and you’d fight tooth and nail, just as you had when you were a high schooler to protect them.

“ We won’t let them,” Suguru says gently. “We’ll protect the children.”

You relax at his words. The three of you. Just like it had been in high school. But also it’s not really the same is it? Now Suguru and Satoru kiss you like they’ve always been doing it. Nothing’s changed, you hear Satoru say in your head, but everything has. Now you regularly fall asleep to the sound of soft breathing, sandwiched between two bodies, and wake up to hands roaming your body as if they belong there. And when they fuck you, it’s so tender you’re unsure of what to do. You never dwell on it too long, you can’t, because they’re insistent on keeping you with them, in the heat of the moment, until you’re so strung out you can’t formulate words. Again and again, over and over—

Have you considered pregnancy?

You aren’t even sure Satoru or Suguru want children, least of all with you. You’d be a horrible mother. Children—

You don’t know. Not anymore. It’s all so confusing. So you order the strongest whiskey cocktail on the menu, and ask for an extra dose of whiskey as Suguru looks on, and when Akari delivers it along with your first courses, you down the entire thing. And then order another.

……..

To everyone’s great astonishment, you had been twelve drinks in when Suguru cut you off. You’re not drunk. You think. Everything is slightly tilted towards the right but that might just be the weight of your head tilting precariously to one side. Even the dim lights are bright to your eyes. Okay, you’re drunk.

Suguru is looking at you, slightly swaying on your stool with such a lovestruck expression that the tangled bundle of nerves in your stomach slightly settles. You love him so much. But you also know that you are poisoning this relationship, this thing you have Satoru and Suguru, with your fears and concerns. It’s not right. It’s all your fault.

You love him and Satoru so much it feels like your heart might burst. You’re so happy that any day you’re terrified it might come to an abrupt end. You’re not ready for it to end. It will end. It always does. And it’ll be your fault for being so weak. For giving in.

You stand, placing a hand on Suguru’s shoulder to steady yourself. His hand automatically goes to your waist.

“Washroom,” you tell him and you slowly make your way to the door, Suguru’s gaze following you all the way inside. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights scratch your eyes as you hover over the sink and sigh. You shouldn’t have drank so much.

You breathe, splash water on your face, and wash your hands. You aren’t sober, but you’re on your way. When you exit the bathroom, two college aged girls are sidled up to Suguru, and you stare.

You aren’t quite sure what to do. From the looks of it, they could just be having a conversation. You’re ill equipped and unprepared to handle a situation like this. But then the brunette puts her hand on Suguru’s shoulder and smiles, white teeth flashing, lips ruby red. Her friend with dyed blonde hair and a voluptuous chest begins to start playing with a lock of Suguru’s hair.

The hair that he had left down because you liked it down the most.

Everything’s changed, you think, making your way over. It’s not fair for Satoru to say it hasn’t. If it had been before you would’ve been fine. You would’ve quietly excused yourself and made yourself scarce. You would have encouraged it. You would have wanted them to be happy with a nice, normal girl. It was alright when it was just sex. They promised that that was all that it was. Just sex. A way all three of you could feel good. Mutually beneficial. But they had to kiss you, bring you to tears and then kiss those tears away.

Maybe if you give us a kiss first , Suguru would croon, underneath you, watching your heaving, desperate body with lidded eyes. Satoru’s nearly luminescent gaze hungrily trained on you as you struggled to form words.

They had to want more than you could give them.

When you get to your seat, conversation falls to a sudden silence. The two girls size you up, but you don’t pay them attention. You don’t bother to say anything. You grab a still seated Suguru by the middle of his shirt and pull him up into you for a long kiss.

You try to keep it chaste, but Suguru doesn’t let you, doesn’t want to. There’s a nip at your bottom lip, a demanding swipe of his tongue, but you refuse him entry. He’s smiling into your lips when you squeeze his shoulder, hard enough to hurt, and the two of you separate. He’s not even out of breath. Just so pleased with himself you wonder if he planned this, let some random girl touch his hair, touch him.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

You turn on your heel, leaving him with the bill.

It doesn’t even take him five minutes to catch up with you.

“Are you mad?” He asks, your jacket on his arm. “You forgot your jacket—”

“Suguru,” you say. “What do you want for your birthday?”

You can tell he hadn’t been expecting that, because he momentarily blinks. Then smiles. When Suguru is taken off guard, it’s difficult to tell. Because he always smiles, but there are tells in his expression. “Anything wou—”

“Shoko said I should get pregnant.” You leave out the part where she had been joking. “Is that what you want? You and Satoru? How many children?”

You’d be lying if you said you had never thought about it. Birth control was only so secure, and Satoru and Suguru liked it, finishing inside of you.

You wouldn’t be averse to it. Satoru would give you a girl. Suguru, a boy, and maybe another girl.

Suguru’s throat bobs, watching you. He thought you were joking. You’re not. “A couple,” he says slowly, gauging your face. “Girls,” he says, expression soft as he looks at you. “Satoru wants girls. A boy or two, so Megumi wouldn’t be alone.”

There’s a future here. It terrifies you so much. They want it, the both of them, this future you aren’t even sure you’ll be present for.

“Now,” you say, licking your lips. You won’t let him look away, not now. “Tell me what you want for your birthday.”

“You,” he breathes out. He looks sad. “All of you.”

“Okay,” you say simply. Quietly. You’d do anything for him. For Satoru and Shoko. You look down at the frost lined streets and let your breath mist in the chilly air. You wordlessly take your jacket from Suguru and put it on.

You press your face into his chest. His arms envelope you. He’s warm, and for a few seconds you listen to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You don’t mind if they hurt you. Never did. You look up at him. “I love you.”

His hands are surprisingly warm when he cups your face like you are the most precious thing in the world. But now you’ve made him sad. “I love you,” he says softly. “I love you so much.”

His words are undeniably true. He loves you. He and Satoru, in ways you never asked for. In ways that have brought them nothing but suffering. You don’t know if it’s worth it. You wonder if they regret it. You would’ve been forever content as a spectator.

In four days Satoru will be back home, right back in Suguru’s arms. He’ll kiss you greedily, all consuming, as if to make up for the lost time, and then the three of you will end up in the bedroom the three of you now permanently share, clothes strewn all over the room. Satoru will fuck you first if he hasn’t already had Suguru. Then Suguru. Then he will spread the rest of the night buried between your thighs, below you, on top of you, leaving his mark on your body, as if to make up for the lost time while Suguru takes your mouth. Then the two of them will fuck you together. You will cry, cling to them, and kiss them. Messy, cum swapping, consuming exchanges that swallow you whole. They will kiss you back to devour you, and only then will they be satisfied.

In the pale light of the morning, sometimes you press your ear to their chests, close your eyes, and listen. Like listening to the call of the ocean, the tides, in the opening of a conch. No two heartbeats are the same. Not even theirs.

But right now Suguru is not asleep. You close your eyes and dedicate yourself to memorization. In four days you will lie awake on Satoru’s chest, and listen to the heartbeat that makes him human.

Right now though, you think, this is enough, and you are content.

a/n:

-when i conceptualized this it was initially haha you get drunk and kiss geto. wouldn't that be cute. and then it turned into this. in an effort to defend myself i will say that the people wanted an established relationship!

-so i know this fic ends on a debbie downer mood but i swear they will talk about it. sometime later. maybe. rip!mc is just a lillll dumb so. she just needs space y'all (and maybe an apartment (to herself))) and we all know what boundaries mean to One Gojo Satoru. also yes geto can be a male manipulator at times. that's why we love him.

-yes rip!mc attempts to murder naoya yes she forgets about it right after. that's just how irrelevant he is. she probably saw a cat right after or smt idk.

-rip!mc still does not know stsg have been pining since hs. shoko is like you still haven't told her and geto is like. baby steps.

-nail in the coffin is a whisky cocktail made with japanese whisky. i thought it was hilariously ironic. also if ur a true shoko fan you should know she orders whisky cocktails in the light novel!!!

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader x geto suguru #m.jjk

392 notes · View notes

yymiya · 2 years

Text

help me hold onto you — diluc x gn!reader

Diluc claims not to need a distraction from the storm raging outdoors, but you're no fool.

tags: smut, gn!reader, sub diluc, edging, oral sex, penetrative sex, creampie, biting

wc: 2.8k

ao3 link

The afternoon has been sombre.

In the spirited City of Freedom, a day sequestered at home—if not with a head-splitting hangover—is practically unheard of, the denizens preferring to laze in various taverns until the barkeeps grow tired of their mischief. It’s for this reason that the streets never fall silent. There’s always something, be it raucous laughter or loud bets wagered after numerous pints of ale, that gives Mondstadt the illusion of forever teeming with liveliness.

Dreary weather naturally puts a damper on this day-to-day enthusiasm.

Heavy rain has been coming down since the morning was well underway and even the wind is cruel, blowing sheets of rainwater against the bedroom window. The panes of glass rattle in their frame, and your thumb instinctively smooths away the pinch between Diluc’s brows.

“Pay it no mind, ‘Luc. The window will hold.”

His cheek nudges the inside of your thigh as he sighs, “I know.”

As though sensing your inevitable comment, he doesn’t allow for a moment to speak. Your hips raise off the mattress as he redoubles his efforts, large hands pressing your legs wider. Each glide of his tongue spreads the sticky mess of saliva between his mouth and your skin, but the white-hot simmer of pleasure makes it difficult to care.

He’s been edging you for an hour at the very least. The passage of time is too hazy to garner the specifics, but the candles have long since been snuffed out by the draught and a sheen of sweat clings to you like a second skin.

At this rate, his torture won’t abate until morning. You shouldn’t complain. It takes only a few words, the demand to make you come, and he will. Diluc is nothing if not a man who will bend over backwards to accommodate each of your needs, comforted by being told what to do and how to do it, but—

It’s the rain. It sets him on edge.

Calloused fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs as Diluc tries to lose himself in your warmth, licking and sucking until the easy fog of submission fills his brain. But the drizzle outside tethers him here, where he instead feels that ache of anxiety through his veins.

So, whereas you prefer to give, you've encouraged him to do as he pleases. Having Diluc beneath you is futile if his mind is elsewhere. This way, his focus is drawn to keeping you on the brink of orgasm, holding you there. It provides a worthwhile distraction.

He claims to not need one. Yet he had stayed in his study for hours with that faraway look, curtains drawn, and only at your suggestion did he come to bed.

“Close—“

Diluc comes off of you with a deep breath and tilts up to lay kisses across your stomach. “Good,” he says. “Well done.”

Aggrieved, you throw yourself down against the sheets, jostling his hold on your thighs. “Are you patronising me, Ragnvindr?”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

Your hands tangle into his red curls to pull him closer. He goes easily, forearms bracing against the mattress on either side of your head and shaking ever so slightly.

“C’mon, ‘Luc. You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

He hums, “Have I, now?”

You grumble as he lifts your chin between two fingers, exposing the sensitive skin of your neck before sucking a bruise beneath your jaw. He presses against the tender mark until you wince at the twinge of pain.

“Yes, you have. I have half a mind to be surprised that you haven’t ruined your trousers. That must be uncomfortable, no?”

Before Diluc can question, your hand slides over his crotch and squeezes him through the fabric. He grunts and drops his forehead to rest against yours. “No, I— there are more important things.”

“Such as?”

“You,” he breathes, simple. Your hand falls to the bedding as Diluc catches your lips in a searing kiss, burning the sentiment into your skin. It’s messy and you can taste yourself on his tongue, but Diluc is so, so warm. He always has been. “That doesn’t matter so long as you feel good.”

“You haven’t let me come once tonight, you lying bastard. You know what it is I want.”

He kisses your nose. “Nice try.”

“I’m telling you to fuck me, ‘Luc.”

Above you, he pauses. Ruby eyes survey your earnest expression for a fracture he won’t find. Sidling between your thighs once more would spell out a night of punishment, he’s certain.

A grin spreads across your face. “Don’t you want to?”

“Of course I do. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Much to your delight, Diluc slips a hand between your bodies and fumbles with his belt. It takes him a moment longer than usual, what with his unsteady hands, but it comes undone with a clatter and hangs open as he steals chaste kisses.

The rain has worsened. Come morning, the dirt roads will be waterlogged and travelling into the city is looking to be nothing short of a hassle. Diluc rears his head to glance at the grey sky, but your palm rests against his cheek and guides his focus back. He trembles beneath the touch.

“Aren’t I selfish for wanting your undivided attention?” you whisper, thumbing over his cheekbone.

Diluc’s eyes soften as he calms. “Very much so.”

“Perhaps you could learn a thing or two, then. Fuck me, c’mon.”

“All right,” he breathes.

Impatient, you tug on his belt loop. You’d pried away his shirt on the way in but he had you splayed across the bed before you could make short work of the rest, and it was forgotten. Your chest is tight as Diluc shoves his trousers and underwear down his thighs with clumsy, uncoordinated movements.

The sight of him never fails to make you tuck your chin into your shoulder with a fond smile. Gods, what you would do for him.

Heavy breathing shatters your reverie. Diluc hovers above you, his eyes wild as though he doesn’t know where to start. His knees press into the mattress as he slides a hand around your thigh and pins it to your chest.

“I can’t wait long enough to prep you, I’m sorry, I can’t,” he mutters.

You writhe as he ruts against you with no real intent, slicking his cock with the mess of saliva and arousal between your thighs, and choke out a gasp as his swollen head catches on your hole. “I don’t mind, just hurry.”

You don’t doubt that he couldn’t have waited. More often than not, desperation takes him whole and he won’t relent until it’s sated, subdued. He focuses on little else.

With the storm raging outdoors, this brings you peace.

Diluc presses in with a low groan. For a moment, the stretch is unbearable, but he slumps forward and soothes your aching noises with a kiss, whispering sweetly against your mouth. He draws back with a look that’s nothing short of smouldering and heat flickers in your stomach.

Your leg curls around his waist, heel digging into the small of his back. “All the way, ‘Luc. I’m fine.”

Not that he has much choice. You bring him closer and lift your hips to meet him halfway, pushing against him until he’s flush against you.

He tilts his forehead against yours, his hair falling around you until red eclipses your sight. He’s all you can feel, too—the warmth of his skin, each laboured breath, his cock splitting you open.

You cradle his face between your palms. “There you go. Isn’t that better?”

Diluc nods wordlessly and dips down to kiss you, groaning against your mouth and he rocks against you in a slow grind. Tonight, he’s denied you enough to have each movement rush pleasure through your shaky limbs and pull a whine from your raw throat.

He licks into your mouth, tongues pushing together until spit slides down your cheek as his hips knock yours again and again and again. You cry out—loud, too loud—and muffle yourself with his lean shoulder.

Diluc grunts, “You feel— gods…”

His mind is hazy. Edging you is equally as torturous for him as it is for you, but he never learns. Still, being in dire need of one another gets him hotter than he’d care to admit and he forces himself deeper, nudging up against your sweet spot with each snap of his hips.

Your mouth hangs open as sensitivity races up your spine, all-encompassing. You peek up at Diluc to glimpse his handsome features twisted in bliss. His expressions are typically so elusive, fleeting if anything beyond indifference, but like this, in the privacy of the manor and shielded by the downpour, they’re anything but.

You watch each one in awe, gasping as he pulls you against him in tandem with his movements. You feel so much for him, it sometimes frightens you.

“You’ve got that face again, love. What— ngh, what is it?”

You whisper, “Give me a kiss.”

Diluc doesn’t waste a moment before slotting your mouths together, and in spite of how he ravages you, his lips are startlingly gentle. He always is. Tears prick your eyes as your arms wind around his neck to tether him closer.

With each thrust, your body jolts further up the mattress. Diluc sighs against you and trails a hand to your hip to press you down, fucking into you with abandon.

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades. “Careful, you oaf.”

He ignores you, lifting your other thigh and folding you in half, his cock reaching deeper. You’re so full that it aches.

“Isn’t this what you asked for?” he replies at last, though his words are forced, his jaw clenched. It flatters you that he's just as affected as you are, if not more.

“Fishing for praise, are we?”

“...Be quiet.”

You laugh. Then you laugh some more when he presses his blushing face into the pillow beside your head in an attempt to cool down. How such a dour man can be, frankly, adorable is beyond you.

Your love-drunk giggles mellow as your orgasm mounts in your belly, and you shift your hips to meet his.

“I’m gonna come, ‘Luc,” you whine.

“Go on,” he coaxes, short of breath. “Bite down, love.”

Your body tenses as Diluc presses his shoulder to your mouth, his drooling cockhead grinding against your sweet spot until you’re coming undone with a broken moan. Diluc’s hand cradles your nape, a reminder, and your teeth sink into the firm flesh between his shoulder and neck, pushing deeper until the taste of sweat is drowned out by that of tangy blood.

But Diluc doesn’t let up.

He spews apologies as he hoists your limp body into his arms, leaning back to fuck up into you at a new angle. You cry out, his staff be damned, as overstimulation takes hold. All you can do is cling to him while he bounces you in his lap, his muscles shifting in a thrilling display of strength. Each slide of his cock is accompanied by the wet, slick sound of your combined wetness, smearing across your thighs, sticking between your bodies.

It baffles you how Diluc can deny himself pleasure one moment and then use you as he pleases the next. Thankfully, your greed rivals his.

You hold his sweaty face between your palms as his cock bruises your insides, thumbing over his cheeks and his lips, pecking faint freckles and dimples. It isn’t a simple task, given how your muscles twitch with overstimulation, but you manage fine. He holds your gaze, deep and dark and reverent.

Still, he holds himself back.

“‘Luc,” you whisper, undeniably smitten as your lips catch his jawbone. “Be a good boy and come, all right? For me. Don’t you wanna fill me up?”

Diluc grunts, pressing closer. His voice strains, “I do, gods—”

“C’mon, then.”

His lips sear another apology into your skin as he grabs your hips, fingers digging so roughly into the flesh that you’re certain you will feel it for days. He grits his teeth, and bullies his cock as deep as it can reach before spilling inside of you with a strangled moan.

You gasp as warmth floods you, knocking your foreheads together and sharing breath. It lasts for ages, his cock streaking your inside with thick cum. Each shallow thrust has it seeping from your hole and dribbling onto Diluc’s thighs.

With a final thrust, cum smears across his skin until it glistens with a pearlescent sheen. Diluc grimaces. He’s making a fucking mess.

You click your tongue, breathless. “Don’t pull that face. It’s your own doing, you lout—”

“Gods, I love you,” he blurts.

Your heart lurches behind your ribs as his hand slides beneath your jaw to keep it still. Diluc inundates you with kind affection—he lays sweet kisses on the apples of your cheeks, then your forehead and your chin before he finally melds his lips with yours.

“When did you become such a sap?”

Diluc licks his lips, still catching his breath. “I always say these things.”

“Come off it. Your emotional professions are rare—once in a blue moon, if that.”

“To you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His hand is at the small of your back, now, soothing circles into the skin there. “It may seem that way… but to me, I tell you every day. Whether you notice is a different story.”

You thump his shoulder. “Archons’ sake, you are a menace when you want to be, Ragnivndr.”

Diluc is entirely unaffected by your brief outburst, as he often is, and his eyes crease with fond mirth.

“I tell you in the morning before you wake—”

His nose nudges your cheek.

“—over breakfast when you’re chatting with the maids, oblivious as ever—”

His warm smile tickles your skin, and yours mirrors it naturally.

“—not to mention the other times you’re otherwise occupied. When you’re not by my side, I simply think it.”

The patter of rain soothes your racing pulse as you stare. This is as pure as you’ll see him, all messy hair and bright eyes, as vibrant as the day he became a ghost for some years.

“I see,” you whisper, biting the inside of your cheek to stave off a smile. “Well, you're in luck—I'm tired so you can spend the night telling me as such, hm?”

You shift, trying to coax him to release his hold on your body. Instead, Diluc leans you back against the quilt and pillows and promptly collapses as deadweight atop you. Wheezing for breath, you smack his back until he rolls over, his soft cock slipping out of you in the process.

You wrinkle your nose as cum drips down your thighs, swiping at it before the sheets stain. “On second thought, I would be a fool to fall asleep like this.”

“Let me get you a towel,” he mumbles into the pillow but doesn’t move a muscle. You would fetch one yourself but your hips are unduly sore, so a kick to his side serves as a reminder.

Diluc begrudgingly hauls himself and disappears into the attached bathroom, followed by the rush of running water.

You drift off, lulled by the rain that has since slowed and weaves between the whistles of wind. The curtains need to be drawn and it’s still too early to sleep—though, Diluc will likely forgo his night-time duties to escape the storm, so you count your blessings—but this state of comfort is difficult to leave.

A towel falling on your face jolts you awake.

You snatch it off, bleary-eyed as you reorient. Diluc stands at the edge of the bed, cruelly amused at his antics.

“Behave,” you rasp.

He shakes his head with a smile, prying the damp towel from your hand and beginning to wipe you down. The ends of his hair are wet as though he’d taken a brief shower in his absence, so it isn’t nonsensical that you had dozed off.

The drag of fabric is pleasant, and Diluc is as gentle as he is thorough.

“Get some rest, love,” he murmurs against your lips, leaving a chaste kiss there.

Your consciousness wavers, stretching on for seconds that are most likely minutes. You readjust as the bed dips beneath a weight, the covers lifting before Diluc’s head rests against your chest and the plush duvet falls to cover your exhausted bodies.

Diluc whispers three words into your skin, grumbling when you snort and stifle a smile.

For a long while, you still and listen to the downpour. He no longer trembles but he restlessly shifts every now and then, until you sigh and press your palm to his ear, muffling the racket outdoors.

Surrounded by the calming beat of your heart, Diluc melts against your body.

He falls asleep soon after.

#diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #sub diluc #fics #genshin impact

591 notes · View notes

arkhamsrevenge · 1 year

Text

Dent's Daughter

Jason Todd x Reader

Harvey Dent was a good man, he cared about me in a “daughter” kind of way. Mr. Dent was an amazing parental figure, I liked playing the daughter, but nothing lasts forever.

I’m curled into myself on my bed with my book, “Grim’s Fairytales.” Seemed fitting since I felt like I was in on currently. The curtains were drawn so no one could see in. The door to my room was open and I could hear the voices of Nightwing, Red Hood and Red Robin all muttering about me and Harvey. The police commissioner had left about an hour ago. Harvey escaped custody and because of that I was dragged out of my home and into a strange ass apartment to be I “protective custody”. I didn’t want to think I needed protection from my adopted dad but the nervous feeling that bubbled in my stomach said otherwise. Tears gathered in my eyes for the 16th time today, but I refused to let them fall.

You should have pushed harder. Should have forced him to get the help he needed. I swallowed dryly. I knew of Harvey’s mental health problems yet; he assured me and everyone else they were under control.

“Hey.” My eyes torn from my book to see Nightwing in the doorway. “How are you feeling?” I blinked.

“Spectacular.” He bit back a smile.

“Right sorry. I didn’t know what else to lead with.” I stayed staring at him. “Robin and I are going out to patrol while Batman continue to look for Two-Face-” My temper flared.

“Dent.”

“What?”

“His name is Harvey Dent.” I saw Nightwing take a step back as if embarrassed. He then cleared his throat.

“Right. Uh yeah, we’re going but Hood is here to look after you. So just holler if you need anything.” I nodded then went back to my book. Nightwing hovered for a moment looking like he wanted to say more but didn’t know what, so he just left. I wanted to shut my door but that was against the rules. The rules of Red Hood.

“No open windows, no phone access either. It can be traced.” I begrudgingly gave up my phone in exchange for some books that Red Hood got from Harvey’s house. “You're into reading about those twisted fairytales?” I looked up again to see Red Hood towering over me.

“How the fuck, did your big foot ass come in here without making any noise?” Red Hood snorted.

“Trained by the world’s greatest detective and mask of shadows.”

“Sherlock Holmes isn’t real.” I muttered only to get a sharp laugh out of him.

“Funny. I see why Dent picked up to be his “daughter.” Your funny.”

“Well, it wasn’t for my gusto and good looks.” I said sitting up. I felt like a small animal next to him, but I didn’t want to let my fear show. Hopefully he can’t smell it like Batman can apparently.

“I made Chilaquiles if you want any.” I raised my eyebrows.

“You cook?”

“How do you think I’ve been surviving all this time?” Red Hood asked. I shrugged.

“Take out.” He shook his head.

“Take out isn’t the best around here. Plus, I’m picky where I eat. I usually make all my meal myself-”

“Since it takes a village to satisfy your hunger?” I interrupted. Red Hood crossed his arms.

“Something like that. I only really get takeout at Bat Burger though.” I hummed getting up from the bed. I placed my book down but made sure to doggy ear the page.

“I have about every bat family figure from those special meals. Only one I’m missing is you.” I said walking passed him and making my way out to the living room/kitchen area. I saw the Chilaquiles on the counter, half was already eaten. “You left me half? Are you going to starve tonight?” I asked, taking a bite. Damn. That’s surprisingly good.

“Yeah. I’ll swing by a village when Nightwing and Robin come back.” I barked out a laugh.

“Fairy enough.” I sat at the small kitchen table and ate the rest of my food. It was very good, and I haven’t had a real home cooked meal in about six months

“Damn it. Sorry kiddo, I didn’t have a lot of time to make anything so are frozen chicken nuggets, ok?” Havey asked.

“With Tator tots?” I asked smiling.

“Of course. I’m not an animal but carrots will also be attending.” Havey said laughing at my eye roll.

“Yes, parental figure.” I giggled.

“Can I ask you something?” Red Hood’s voice pulled me back to reality. The one where I’m not living with Harvey. I swallowed.

“Depends on the question.”

“Did Dent show any signs of-”

“Disassociate identity disorder? Yeah.” I mumbled. If anyone asks me that question again, I might have to kill them.

“That’s not what I was going to ask. Did Dent show any signs of violence towards you?” I shook my head. Liar. He can see through you.

Red Hood didn’t say whether he knew I was lying or not. Guess he didn’t want to push any further, afraid I’d shut down. I put my plate in the sink without a word and headed back to my room.

“Keep the door open!” Red Hood called after me. I rolled my eyes.

“Will do!”

“She didn’t say anything about it. Do you think-?” Red Robin’s voice carried through the quiet apartment. So, I guess he and Nightwing are back. I had crawled into bed after dinner and fallen asleep shortly thereafter. My eyes were closed by my ears picked up everything.

“Shh! Quiet down. She’s asleep last time I checked.” Red Hood scolded

He’s checking up on us?

“Her life was flipped upside down in a matter of 24 hours. Yes, Dent had his..outburst but I don’t think he ever got physically violent with her. She knows his mental illness, but she also tells him as a parental figure. She’s mourning or in denial or both.” I smiled slightly hearing Red Hood defend me. Hopefully they won’t ask me any questions in the morning or ever if I’m lucky. Though I had a feeling the young Robin wasn’t going to take my reluctance to answer questions for long.

“Good morning, Gotham. I’m Vicky Vale with the 8 o’clock morning news. The search continues for the villain Two-Face who escaped police custody two nights ago.”

Wonderful way to wake up.

“There has also been no word on where his adapted daughter as she is in witness protection. We have, however, found where she is being held. Sources say it’s in the downtown area.” I opened my eyes. I’m not in Gotham territory technically. I’m right outside the city I think, maybe further but Vicky’s source is wrong...or they were trying to lure Harvey to them.

“This is a bad idea.” I heard Red Hood grumble. “There's no way he’s going to fall for that. Dent knows the commissioner would never allow a witness’s cover to be blown.”

“Yeah well, apparently Ms. Vale wanted to “help” with the capture of Two Face.” Red Robin’s voice entered my ears. I felt my blood pressure rise when he called Harvey by the villain name the media gave him. My heart broke a little more and my chest felt like it was caving in. Still, I took a deep breath and sat up in bed thinking of what to do at this point. The Bat Brigade isn’t going to let me out of their sight, and I can’t even look out the window.

“Do I have to go to another one of your rally's?” Harvey laughed as I pulled at my tight skirt his publicist made me wear. “You don’t really need me there and these heels are gonna kill my feet.”

“Come-on kiddo. I need you there! You’re the charmer that everyone wants to talk with.” I rolled my eyes.

“They only want to talk to me about you. They want me to slip and say something dark about you so they can take it and run.” Harvey straightened his tie.

“You’re right. But you don’t and you make them laugh on top of it.” I sighed and smiled.

“What can I say? I’m adorable.” Harvey threw his head back and laughed.

“OH!” I jumped and turned to the doorway where Red Robin was standing. “YOUR AWAKE!” I covered my ears and flinched. “Sorry! I might have had too much coffee this morning.”

“Might of?” I grumbled. He laughed at that

“HEY! HEY HOOD! SHE IS FUNNY YOU WERE RIGHT!” I kept my hands in my ears.

“Dude!” Robin caved back to himself.

“Sorry! Again, do you want breakfast?” I nodded, uncovering my ears. “Ok good! I made pancake batter.” I gave him a weird look. “I didn’t know how you liked your pancakes. I like them pretty dark.”

“Same.”

“CO-uh-cool. I’ll get those ready. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want.” I nodded as he left. Maybe I should at least shower. I grabbed clean clothes and quietly made my way to the bathroom across the hall.

“Just asked her!” Robin’s hush voice snapped.

Ask me what?

The show was good for my tense muscles. Once I was done, I dried it off and put a purple tank top and black sweats on. I then towel dried my hair and braided it. I then exited the bathroom and headed to the kitchen where pancakes were waiting for me. I felt all three of their eyes on me as I sat down and started eating.

“Stop starting and ask me already.” I snapped and turned towards the three men. Nightwing and Robins faces were red and Red Hood...he’s always red.

“Guess we aren’t that desecrate huh?” Nightwing asked with a small smile.

“Nope.” I answered flatly. I could see the question they wanted to ask was making them uncomfortable.

“You told Red Hood that Two-uh Dent never got violent with you. But we have a couple police reports that say otherwise.” The eyes burned into to man questioning me. So much so that he almost seemed to squirm.

“He lashed out a few times.” I finally said. Nightwing nodded and waited for me to continue. “It wasn’t him though. Every time he lashed out, it was like another person had entered but as quickly as it happened, he stopped. Like at once. I asked him to get help, or more support or something but he said it was just stress. Then apologized and that was that.” I trailed off. “Why’d you go digging?” I ask.

Robin jumped in. “Uh we can’t tell you that.” I laughed in annoyance.

“Right. You hero types are all the same.” I snapped getting up from the table and headed back into my room. This time I slammed the door shut. I knew it was childish, but I was angary. At myself, at them, at Harvey. Everyone and everything were pissing me off. I realized Red Hood never told me to keep the door open. Good. I would have really blown my lid if he did. I took a second to breathe in and out then dug through my small pile of books until I picked up one that wasn’t mine. It was by Jane Austin. Odd, but ok, maybe it was one of Harvey’s? Either way, I curled up on my bed and started reading.

TW: Violence, Injuries

“I would never hurt you.” Fear was making my body numb. Harvey stood in front of me, scared and all. But that’s not what scared me. I’d never look at Harvey differently no matter what he looked like. It’s the fact that he shot Robin in the chest. His armor protected him from any real damage but...Havery shot him. We were moving to safe houses because Batman got intel that Harvey knew where I was. Someone snitched or saw one of his proteges leave the area constantly. Robin was going with me when Harvey came out of no one and short Robin and dragged me into a random warehouse where I’m currently looking down the barrel of a gun. My heartbeat quickened.

“I know you wouldn’t, but they don’t. And they’ll be coming soon so can you put down the gun?” I asked, trying not to have my voice crack. Harvey seemed to have mulled it over. Thinking of his best options. “H-Harvey?” I stuttered. His eyes widened into this look I’ve never seen before. I then realized I wasn’t talking to Harvey anymore. I was talking to him.

“I am not Harvey.” He growled. I backed up. “I’m NOT HARVEY!” He screamed and jumped at me. Screaming, I dodged him and started running towards the exit. I suddenly felt like I got hit by a truck as I made contact with the concrete floor. My jaw scraped against it making my face sting. I struggled to get up when Harvey pulled me back down and climbed on top.

“HARVEY DOSNE’T NEED ANYMORE DISTRACTIONS. HE NEEDS TO FOCUS ON THE WELLFARE OF GOTHAM.” He screeched wrapping his hands around my throat. I tried to scream and claw at his hands, his face, his arms, anything to stop him but nothing did. My lungs started to burn, and tears flooded my eyes, warping my vision. I continued to try and fight back until my vision started forming black spots. My body started to go numb. The feeling in my arms turned nonexistent.

“Havery.” I strained letting my arms fall to my side. Then the pressure around my neck was off. I sucked in the air and started to cough. It felt like I was choking all over again. I was taking sharp breaths, as my body started to get feeling back. I rolled onto my side still coughing and wheezing. The tears were finally clearing up when someone brought me upward. I swung my elbow around as a poor attempt to defend myself.

“Woah! It’s me!” I turned around to see Red Hood holding my elbow, making it so it didn’t connect with his face. “Stop. Stop it’s ok.” I was still breathing heavily when Red’s gloves started to go towards my neck. “Can you speak?” My throat went up in flames when he asked that. I shook my head ‘no’.

“Ok. Just focus on breathing. I’m gonna get you outta here.” I nodded as one arm went under my leg and the other supported my back. I instinctively wrapped an arm around the back of his neck as we made our way towards the exit. I didn’t look back to see what they were doing to Two Face. All I knew was that Harvey was gone.

#jason todd imagine #jason todd x you #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason peter todd #red hood imagine #red hood #red hood x y/n

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scary-grace · 6 months

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Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 7) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13

Chapter 7

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. As you drive down your street on the way back from work, there’s more wrong with it than usual. You’re not the only one who sees it. Keigo leaves off bitching about the fact that you used his credit card to buy everybody’s lunch and sits bolt upright in his seat. “Shit,” he says. “What is he doing out?”

You could ask the same question. You probably should. There’s a man standing just in front of your fence, barely leaning over it, and something is quite obviously wrong with him. You’d know it was Dabi even without Keigo’s reaction – half of Dabi is alive and human, and the other half of him is made of swirling smoke, filling gaps in his torso, on his right arm, on the lower half of his face. It’s horrifying to look at, but you’re equally horrified by what’s happening on the other side of the fence. Tomura’s there, fully materialized and clearly pissed off. You’ve never seen him go that far out into the yard before.

“Park here,” Keigo says, even though you’re only a few feet from the driveway. He’s out of the car before you’ve stopped rolling, and you barely manage to turn the keys before scrambling out after him.

You’re both in a hurry, but you’re both too slow. You hear Dabi say something indistinct, hear him laugh – and then he yelps. “Hey, what the shit? Let go of me!”

He’s leaned too far over the fence, and Tomura’s grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Oh, fuck,” Keigo says. He bolts, and so do you – you grabbing Tomura’s hands and trying to peel them off, and Keigo seizing Dabi around his semi-immaterial waist and hauling him backwards. “Come on, let him go! What are you even going to do with him if you drag him in there?”

“Whatever I want,” Tomura hisses. “He came to my house. He asked for it.”

“What did he do?”

Tomura’s face flushes instantly. Dabi cackles, which is a mistake, because Tomura renews his grip on Dabi’s shirt and drags him forward again. Keigo’s not going to be able to convince Tomura to let go. There’s only one person in the neighborhood who regularly succeeds in convincing Tomura of anything. “Hey,” you say, and he looks at you. “Is this going to take long? I’m tired and we need to talk.”

Tomura lets go of Dabi, and Dabi and Keigo tumble back into the street, Keigo on the bottom. He swears, and so does Dabi, and two seconds later they’re in the middle of what Hizashi would call a domestic. “What the hell are you doing out here?” Keigo demands. “Somebody could see you!”

“So what? I don’t care. I look good.”

“You came out here to pick a fight, didn’t you?” Keigo looks honestly pissed. You’ve lived here for a year, and you haven’t seen him get mad like this before. “You’re crazy. That guy could kill you. He could turn you to dust in two seconds flat and you came out here like an idiot to poke him through the fence with a stick!”

You’re pretty sure Keigo’s using a metaphor. Tomura doesn’t know how metaphors work. “He didn’t poke me with a stick,” he says. “He came over here and he wouldn’t shut up –”

“I was helping! He’s out here trying to get laid and he can’t even figure out where to put his –”

Suddenly you understand why Tomura looks so pissed and uncomfortable. Keigo gets it, too. “You’re out of your mind,” he explodes. He struggles out from underneath Dabi, grabs him by the shoulders, and shoves him down hard in the street. “I could tell them all kinds of stories about things you couldn’t figure out! Do you want me to go there? Really?”

“Go for it. Maybe he’d learn something!”

Three posts in your fence shatter, blasting outwards. You’re pretty sure Tomura can’t leave the property without demolishing the entire house, but Phantom’s in the yard, too, so you move to block the hole. “That’s enough,” you snap. “Dabi, it’s great to finally meet you. Stay the fuck away from my house.”

“You should be thanking me,” Dabi says. His mouth tilts in a leer that looks twenty kinds of wrong. “Seriously. I mean it. At least now you know for sure that he knows what his –”

Another few panels in your fence blow out. You can’t block both breaches at once, and as you’re trying to figure out what to do, the loudest voice you’ve ever heard blasts down the street. Keigo and Dabi quit fighting and clamp their hands over their ears, and the sound is loud enough to temporarily dematerialize Tomura. You cower, barely able to filter the words through the noise. “Just what do you clowns think you’re doing?”

It’s Hizashi. He’s loping down the street towards the four of you, smiling in a way that makes you want to run for your life. “This is cute,” he remarks. “Or it would be if you were a bunch of five-year-olds throwing a collective temper tantrum. As it is, it’s just sad.”

You’re still pretty much scared shitless, but you don’t like being talked down to. “Do you think anybody’s having fun over here?”

“You clearly aren’t. I feel a little bad for you,” Hizashi says. “Unfortunately, since this circus act contains your monkey, you’re involved, too. Want to tell me what you all are fighting about?”

No one says anything. Dabi’s dropped the I-was-helping act. He looks legitimately wary of Hizashi. “Here’s what I think happened,” Hizashi says. He takes a few steps closer, right into the middle of the mess on the sidewalk. “I think Dabi got jealous that somebody else is happy and came over here to start trouble. Then I think Tomura displayed his standard piss-poor self-control and rose to whatever pathetic bait Dabi offered, at which point you two got home –”

He points at you and Keigo. “And got right in the middle of it. Did I get all that right?”

“Not jealous.”

“You think we can’t all feel it?” Hizashi laughs. “The only people who can keep secrets on this street are the humans. I know the two of you aren’t too stupid to know that.”

“Call me stupid one more time and I’ll end you,” Tomura snarls. “I didn’t start this!”

“Do you think I give a shit who started it?” Hizashi’s voice rattles your bones. “I care about the exposure, and so should the two of you! You aren’t the ones who will suffer if we’re found.”

“Nobody’s going to find us.” Tomura dematerializes slightly, and for the first time, you feel his influence extend, dark and purposeful, spreading over the neighborhood and out into the wetlands that surround it. “Nobody can see past me.”

“No, but anybody driving by can see the scar wraith prancing around in the street.” Aizawa’s here now, too. When you look up the street to the purple house, you can see the front door hanging open, Shinsou and Eri peering out. “Did you find it?”

For a second you’re not sure who he’s talking to. Then you realize he’s looking directly at you, and that he and Hizashi are both standing between you and your car. If you can’t get the documents before they can, they’re not going to tell you and Keigo anything. You look at Keigo, panicked, and Keigo starts running interference. “Did you know her boss is a ghost? Big-time one.”

“I knew that,” Tomura snaps. “He snuck into my house.”

“You let a ghost in your house?”

“He’s so human he barely counts,” Tomura says dismissively. You and Tomura are going to have a talk later about the fact that he knew Mr. Yagi was a ghost and didn’t say anything, but right now, you’ve got a job to do. You inch carefully towards your car. “The weakest ghost I’ve ever seen. Even weaker than your kid.”

You add another item to the list of things you have to apologize to Aizawa for. “I’m less concerned with Eri’s strength as a ghost than with her happiness as a person,” Aizawa says coldly. You duck around him and pry open the trunk of your car. “I don’t expect you to understand something like that. I – what are you doing?”

You’ve just lifted the carton full of documents out of your car. “Book it,” Keigo shouts.

You duck around Aizawa again and lurch through one of the two holes in your fence, not stopping until you’re well into the yard. Hizashi tries to follow you, but Tomura’s influence blocks his way. You see him think about testing it, but then he takes a careful step back, baring his teeth in a feral grin. The grin is aimed at you. “You’re going to bring those out here,” he says. “You won’t understand them.”

“I understand enough,” you say. “You’ll get them when you tell us the rest.”

“You don’t get to keep us in the dark,” Keigo says. He’s finally picked himself up off the street. “You two aren’t the only ones who stand to lose something here. We’ll trade you. Everything we know for everything you do.”

“And where is this exchange supposed to take place?” Aizawa asks. He looks pointedly from one side of the street to the other. “Neither of your houses are particularly friendly territory.”

“My human’s not going to your house.” Tomura’s voice rasps painfully through the air. “Outside, where I can see. Here.”

“In the street,” Hizashi says skeptically.

“That’s what I said.”

“My human’s not going to your house, either,” Dabi says. He gestures with one half-materialized hand at your end of the street. “Here.”

“Fabulous! You two dimwits can actually agree on something!” Hizashi’s laughter is harsh. “Tonight, then. Neutral territory. In fact, invite everybody. We’ll call it a block party.”

He’s being sarcastic, but you decide to run with it. “Good idea. We’ll need to tell everybody anyway.”

You text the ghost friends chat standing on the porch, the box of documents sitting safely behind you. Phantom is investigating the holes in the fence, and Tomura keeps shooing her back into the yard. “Come on. Don’t make me hold you upside down. You know you don’t like that.” Phantom tries to nose around Tomura again, completely fails, and whines. “See? You’re not getting out. Go back.”

Phantom trudges back towards you, dejected. “You’d better apologize to your human,” Hizashi says to Tomura. “That fence won’t fix cheap.”

Tomura ignores him. You set the start time of the block party at 8pm – two hours from now. “Between now and then, everyone needs to calm down,” you say. “I don’t know everything, but I know enough to know it’s important. Let’s not mess around with it.”

“You’re the one suppressing the evidence, sweetheart.”

“Zashi,” Aizawa says, or warns. “I agree. We miscalculated initially. This concerns the neighborhood. The neighborhood should work together to address it.”

“Yep.” Keigo brushes dust off himself. Dabi extends one hand to help and Keigo swats it away. “See you at eight.”

“Eight,” you agree. You pick up the documents and bring them inside.

Once the street clears, you park your car in the driveway, retrieve your backpack, and spend a few minutes inspecting the damage to the fence. Unfortunately, Hizashi’s right. It’s not going to be a cheap fix, and until you can fix it, you can’t let Phantom into the front yard. It’s not the end of the world compared to everything else that’s just happened. You’re still not happy about it.

And you’re not the only one in the house who’s unhappy. Tomura’s unhappy, too. You’re not sensitive to his moods the way the ghosts are, but you’ve been living alongside him for the past year, and you’ve never picked up this feeling from him before. It’s something you want to deal with, but you’re not going to deal with it on the run. You change out of your work clothes, spend some time cuddling with Phantom on the floor, then sit down on the couch. “Tomura,” you say, “talk to me.”

“Was it because you’re scared?”

You blink. “What?”

“The guy from across the street.” Tomura’s materialized, sort of. He’s sitting in the corner of the room, one leg kicked out, elbow propped on his bent knee, chin propped on his hand. He’s not looking at you. “He says you did it because you were scared.”

Next time Dabi pokes his head out of Keigo’s house, you’re spraying him with the hose. “He thinks I made out with you in the kitchen because I was scared of you?”

“No. Because you were scared of what I’d do if you didn’t.”

Tomura’s never liked the idea that you’re scared of him, probably because there’s nothing he can do about it, and if he scares you too much, you’ll leave. You thought Dabi was just making fun of Tomura for his inexperience. You didn’t realize Dabi had gone for the throat, and your own throat tightens with nerves. You’re going to have to say this now, and you weren’t planning to say it ever. Maybe you should have been. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say again. Tomura rockets to his feet, visibly angry, but you don’t flinch. You don’t flinch when the lights flicker, when the couch lurches suddenly backwards across the floor. “I’m not scared of you, Tomura.”

“You were before! You said I couldn’t make you stop.”

“I was before,” you admit. “And you didn’t make me stop. I stopped on my own. If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

You don’t know where he is, but you know he’s in the room – and a moment later he’s in your lap, fully materialized. You were sitting cross-legged, and it must have looked like an invitation to him, because he settles in facing you with his legs hooked over your hips, his eyes intent on your face. “Prove it,” he says, almost desperately, and you kiss him first this time.

You hold his face in your hands, just like you did yesterday, and kiss him slowly, deeply. Slow is good. Deep is good. Neither of those things say that you’re rushing to get it over with, that you’re avoiding getting too involved. You’re not scared of kissing him. You weren’t scared when he blew the fence apart. When he was furious, when he was doing his level best to drag Dabi into the yard and kill him, you weren’t scared of him then, either. You tried to stop him. You didn’t feel even a flicker of fear that he might turn his anger on you.

Lots of things still scare you about the world of ghosts and conjurers. One of those things lives at the top of the street and is probably out for your blood. But you’re not scared of Tomura. Not anymore.

When you draw back, Tomura’s staring at you wide-eyed. His face is flushed again, a totally different flush than the angry one he wore at the fence, and he’s breathing hard. You can’t get over the breathing thing. “Why do you breathe when you don’t need to?”

“When I’m embodied. My body needs things. Like – that.” Tomura makes an awkward gesture, and you resign yourself to going over basic sex vocabulary with him in the near future. “And breathing. You’re not scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you say. “But I’m mad at you for blowing up my fence.”

“It’s my fence. I can blow it up if I want to.” Tomura sounds like an asshole, like he always does, but the look on his face is the total opposite. You’ve never seen him look like that. “If you’re not scared of me, what are you?”

You don’t really know. You know what you almost said to him when you were hanging up the phone, but that wasn’t right. It couldn’t have been right. “If I want to kiss you again, does it really matter?”

“No,” Tomura decides. He kisses you again. He’s a lot better at it already. Then again, you’ve given him a few chances to practice.

Even if he’s getting better at kissing, Tomura’s still hypersensitive, and it’s not long before he’s squirming in your lap. Last time you were fine with him grinding against you, but this time, you have something else in mind. “I want to help you,” you say. You shove at him until he tips out of your lap, then slide to the floor – at which point Phantom charges you, ready to play. You detour for a second to trap her in the office with a bone to chew on, then come back. Tomura is still sitting there, staring at you. “Is that okay?”

“Help me?” Tomura’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “How?”

You sink to the floor in front of him, nudge his legs apart. “I’m going to use my mouth.”

You wait to see if Tomura will protest. He doesn’t. When you reach up to unbutton his pants, he helps you, his cold hands scrabbling unsteadily at yours until his hard cock springs free. Looking at it, you have to wonder how much control ghosts have over what their bodies look like when they materialize. He’s – sizable. You’re not sure your mouth is up to the task.

Only one way to find out. You lean in for a few delicate licks, and almost instantly you have to bring your weight to bear against Tomura’s thighs to keep him from bucking upwards and giving you a nosebleed. He whines in protest, but you ignore it in favor of giving him something else to think about. You’re a bit out of practice with blowjobs, and this is Tomura’s first, ever. There’s nothing wrong with easing into it a bit, and ease into it you do, pressing messy, openmouthed kisses to the tip of his cock until he’s whimpering for more.

“Please,” he says. You don’t know how you wound up with such a needy ghost, but it’s hot – so much hotter than the men you’ve been with before, who kept it to a few brief grunts and hard, unasked-for pressure on the back of your head. “I need it. I need more. You – ah –”

You take him into your mouth slowly, trying not to gag. There’s no way you can take it all, so you supplement with your hand, trying to replicate the same pressure and warmth. You’ve still got Tomura’s thighs pinned, and you feel his muscles trembling, trying to hold himself still, trying to hold himself together. You glance sideways and see his fingernails digging furrows into the couch cushions. The thought occurs to you that you should take his hand, hold it, but that’s weird. You’re not that weird. You might be giving a blowjob to the ghost that lives in your house, but you’re definitely not that weird.

Another thought occurs to you, and you draw back, trying to ignore the agonized gasp that escapes Tomura’s mouth. “The others. Do they know how you’re feeling right now?”

“Trying to hide it.” Tomura speaks through gritted teeth. “I can from the younger ones. Not the adults. I can’t. Not all the way –”

“Don’t try,” you say. Tomura’s eyes widen. His pupils are so dilated that you can barely see his red irises. “Let them know. I’m not scared of you. This is how not-scared I am.”

By “them”, you mean Dabi, and Tomura knows it. A lopsided grin crosses his face. You hold his gaze and lower your mouth to his cock again, watching as the smile slips from his face, seeing how fast the desperation settles back in. This is the first time you’ve had anything approaching a decent view of him as he goes to pieces, and it’s incredible. Your own heart is racing, and the sheen of sweat beginning to coat your skin has nothing to do with the effort you’re expending to hold him down. Part of you is wondering when you got so submissive. But as Tomura moans and writhes beneath your mouth, you realize that it’s not submission – it’s power. You’re capable of doing this to him. All of this – the sounds, the shaking, the impotent jerks of his hips – is because of you, and it’s making you absurdly wet.

Most guys know to warn the person blowing them that they’re about to come, but you figure you can’t count on that for Tomura, and you’re right. He holds out longer than you’re expecting him to, probably in an effort to keep sticking it to Dabi as long as possible, but his resolve snaps with next to no warning. You try to take him as far down your throat as you can, to limit your initial exposure to ghost cum, and it sort of works. There’s texture to it, but no taste, just like there’s no taste when you kiss him.

You draw back, rubbing the corner of your jaw to work out the ache, and look him over. He’s sprawled out on the couch, shirt hiked up, pants undone, and fading rapidly. Part of you feels weird letting him dematerialize looking like such a mess, and even though the rest of you is way too proud of the mess you made of him, you duck back into button his pants again, straighten out his shirt. Then, as you’re pulling away, he grabs you, pulling you down into a kiss – which he vanishes in the middle of, leaving you to narrowly avoid a faceplant into the couch cushions. You collapse onto the couch sideways instead. “Asshole.”

Tomura laughs, low and raspy and breathless. “Stay down,” he says. “I’m not done with you.”

A jolt goes down your spine. “What –”

A pair of hands shove you over onto your back. Tomura’s not anywhere close to completely materialized, but you can feel the shadow of his weight on top of you, settling between your legs, forcing them apart. “I already told you,” he says. His hands materialize, pulling at the waistband of your pants. “I want this. You want it, too. That’s why you look like that.”

You think of the heat in your face, the racing of your heart. Your days of hiding behind a fever are over. “Wait,” you gasp, as Tomura yanks at your underwear. “Let me do it. You can watch. I’ll show you –”

“I don’t need to watch.” Tomura materializes just enough for you to see a smirk on his face. “I’ve been watching. I just didn’t know what it was for.”

For a moment you’re confused. Then you remember that you got off by yourself in your house plenty of times before you realized there was a ghost in it. Tomura seizes the opportunity left by your temporary confusion. His hand, ice-cold, slides down into the heat between your legs. You startle and so does he. “It’s wet.”

“Yeah.” Your face is miserably flushed. “That’s a good thing.”

His smirk shifts into a smile, but it turns feral at the same time, so it’s not much of a relief. His fingers dive back between your legs and you brace yourself. Most men don’t know how to finger properly. Porn doesn’t usually teach it well. Tomura is new at this. It’ll either be bad and you’ll have to fake, or mediocre and it’ll take forever. There’s no way –

But Tomura hasn’t been watching porn. He’s been watching you, and that means he knows everything – how you like to tease yourself, how long it takes you to wind yourself up, what you do when you’re done playing around. But you don’t need winding up after everything that’s already happened, and the novelty of someone else touching you makes everything more intense. Even the coldness of Tomura’s fingers sends an extra jolt of pleasure through your body. They’re the perfect length, just like you thought they’d be. The right angle and the right pressure and a flush of heat tears through your entire body.

Tomura’s watching you closely. Different parts of him keep materializing and fading, and you know he’s drained too much of the available life-force to hold his physical form together. But you can see his face. He looks proud of himself, almost gleeful, the expression growing clearer every time you gasp or moan or grab a fistful of the couch cushions to ground yourself. “Don’t look so smug,” you manage.

“Why not?” Tomura vanishes from view, but his hands are still moving between your legs – and a moment later, his voice rasps against your ear. “That’s what you do when you touch me.”

Is it? You find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the thought, only for it to be wiped away as Tomura pairs a crook of his fingers with a well-timed stroke of your clit. You squirm and cry out, and Tomura, asshole that he is, does it again. And again. You don’t have to see his face to know he’s grinning openly, way too pleased with himself. “Next time –”

“Don’t talk about next time,” you hiss. “There’s not going to be a next time unless you quit messing around and make me come.”

Tomura doesn’t materialize, but you can tell he’s alarmed at the prospect. He starts to finger you in earnest, fingers curling at the end of each push, his other hand brushing your clit. You feel the bottom drop out of your stomach, feel your entire body begin to tense, and grasp desperately for a way to hide your face. If your partner was human, physically present, you’d bury yourself in their shoulder. As it is, you find yourself hiding behind a throw pillow as Tomura makes you come for the first time.

His hands slip away, and you let your shaking legs fall closed. Tomura pries at the pillow over your face. “I want to see,” he complains. “Let me see.”

“Shouldn’t you be dematerialized by now?” You can’t stay with a pillow over your face forever. You know that. But just a few more minutes. Just until you don’t look like what just happened actually happened. “Let it go.”

“Why can’t I see?”

“If you see, everybody sees. Humans are the only ones who can keep secrets around here.”

“We can feel how each other feels. We can’t see what each other sees,” Tomura says, like what you just said is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “If I had to see whatever the bastard across the street is seeing, I’d go blind.”

He stops yanking at the pillow for a moment. His voices goes quieter. “Besides, even if they could see, I wouldn’t let them. This is mine. Nobody gets to see this but me. Let me see it.”

You lift the pillow away from your face at last and find Tomura looking intently at you. He’s visible but insubstantial, almost transparent, but his eyes are fixed on your face. You’d call that stare blank if you weren’t familiar with Tomura’s expressions by now. You know this one. He’s calm. He only looks like this when he’s looking at something he likes, and it makes you edgy. “Well?”

“I’m not sharing,” Tomura says. “You can’t leave until it wears off.”

“You really think I’d go out looking like this? No way.” You sit up, realizing that you’re a little lightheaded. You can’t tell if that’s the ghost sex or if it’s just been so long since you had regular human sex that you’ve forgotten how it goes. “Besides, I have a lot to do. These documents aren’t going to sort themselves.”

You wash your hands, wash your face, rinse your mouth to get rid of the last of the cum texture, then let Phantom out of the office. She’s done with her bone and mad at you, so you take her out to the backyard to play, noting as you do that while nothing in the yard is dead, there’s a whole swathe of plants missing from the wetlands. You thought Tomura could only drain things that were actually in the yard, but maybe you were wrong about that. Either way, he at least left your garden alone. Looking at the dead zone in the wetlands just confirms a conclusion you’ve been kicking around: The two of you are going to need to put a lid on the sex thing. There aren’t enough bugs in the neighborhood to let this happen regularly.

When you come back in, the documents are all over the kitchen table. Tomura is going through them, and you cringe when you remember what else his hands were doing. “Please tell me you washed your hands.”

Tomura ignores you. “I saw it,” he says. “It was here. It was just here –”

“What was?” You shoo him away from the table and start organizing the documents yourself. “Did you see something?”

“My name.” The cold deepens, quickly enough that you get a chill. “The old one.”

You stop sorting the documents and look at him – what little of him you can see. “You have more than one name?”

“I did. I thought I did.” His hands are all that’s visible, but you can see he’s scratching his neck. “I don’t know. My head hurts –”

You’ve never heard him say that before. It makes you worried, and all of the things you could do to help a human with a headache are things you can’t do for Tomura. “Don’t look at it anymore,” you say. “Go hang out with Phantom. She’ll help. She always helps me.”

The cold drapes itself over you, then slips around you, heading for the living room where Phantom is napping. You return your attention to the documents you brought home, splitting them up into multiple piles. You ended up printing off everything the database had on Chisaki and Akaguro as well as the other three. Hopefully, handing the Chisaki file off to Aizawa and Hizashi will rebuild the bridge you torched this afternoon.

Thinking about the whole scene on the sidewalk leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Sure, it’s Dabi’s fault for antagonizing Tomura on purpose, but Tomura didn’t exactly de-escalate the situation, and the fight Dabi and Keigo got in was painful to watch – and probably worse to be part of. And when Hizashi showed up, it was like he was trying to ratchet up the tension even higher. Tomura’s decently antisocial and you’re pretty sure Dabi is a sociopath, but Hizashi can function in society, maintain a relationship, and be a parent. He should have known better than to do what he did. Why didn’t he?

Because he’s scared. The answer clicks into place in your head, and it all starts to make sense. This conjurer thing, whatever it is, has a former ghost who still has some of his powers so spooked that he forgot how to do social skills and started throwing his weight around with the two most volatile people in the neighborhood. You withholding the documents even temporarily probably just iced the cake.

You might not have started the fight, but you didn’t handle it particularly well. You gather the information on Chisaki (deceased) and set it aside for a peace offering. Then you start in with the Garaki and Shigaraki files. Garaki and Shigaraki. They sound like a comedy duo.

The block party kicks off at 8pm sharp, and based on what you can hear from inside the house, everybody’s there. You can smell food cooking – somebody brought a grill, and food to put on it – and the sound of kids laughing, the raucous cackles of Jin’s younger siblings and Eri’s soft, squeaky giggles. This was your idea. You need to get out there. You stack the documents in the box again, in order, and speak up to the house at large. “I’m heading out. I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”

“I can hear it. And I don’t care.” Tomura’s voice is flat. “The rest of them don’t matter. You and the dog. That’s what I care about.”

“Phantom loves the neighborhood,” you counter. “And I like it, too. It would be sad here if everyone was gone.”

Tomura makes an irritated sound. “Go, then. I don’t care.”

You put Phantom on her leash and make your way to the front door, pulling it open. “I’ll be back soon,” you say to Tomura. And then, because you’re stupid: “I wish you could come with me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, just like you expected him to. You start down the front steps, Phantom trotting at your side.

He doesn’t speak until you’re at the gate, and when he does, it’s so quiet you can barely hear him. What he says chills your blood, makes you afraid again – not of him, but because of him, because of what it could mean. “Me, too.”

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