#technically this is based off of a request but i wanna make it nicer for that

[seijorhi]

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand. 

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected. 

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby. 

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute. 

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’. 

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind. 

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency. 

Hizashi was not, and so here they are. 

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness. 

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you. 

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd. 

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks. 

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them. 

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent. 

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :( 

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him. 

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself. 

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm? 

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy. 

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it. 

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off. 

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him. 

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would. 

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either. 

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.” 

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.” 

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause. 

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face. 

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight. 

It bothers him. 

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no. 

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant. 

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?” 

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly. 

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump. 

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless. 

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach. 

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run –  and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick. 

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace. 

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least. 

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true. 

It’s just not the entire reason. 

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length. 

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong. 

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them. 

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with. 

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side. 

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust. 

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch. 

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more. 

He wants all of you. 

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them. 

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder. 

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own. 

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too? 

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them. 

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open. 

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you. 

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy. 

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue. 

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants. 

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss. 

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

#yandere bnha #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere hizashi yamada x reader #shouta aizawa x hizashi yamada x reader #tw non con #tw pregnancy #tw breeding kink #tw age gap #oh my god it's like 5am why do i keep doing this to myself

[13uswntimagines]

Better Luck Next Time (USWNT x Baby!Reader)

Request: Reader is really bad at expressing her feelings and talking about things she loves, so the team helps her as best as they can. And one evening she calls them all into a room and tells them how much they all mean to her and how happy she is to have them

Author’s note: Special thanks to @literaryhedgehog​ because without her this imagine would not have been nearly as cute or cohesive. It’s set up kind of like a three times she didn’t and the one she did format. I also couldn’t help the little hint of Mal x reader that i stuck in here. Let me know what you think! i freaking live for feedback. Hit me up with questions, requests or if you just wanna say hi. My inbox is always open!

3 days on the team

Fuck the beep test. 

You fell to your knees panting heavily, sweat pouring off your forehead as you stared in disbelief at Kelley. How the fuck was she still going? The rest of your team had already been eliminated, everyone except for the flying squirrel. 

You had barely made it to the line on time, and there she was, running off to the next one in time to hear the next one like you hadn’t just done 70 reps. You had to up your game if you wanted to keep your spot. Your plan was simple- beat the best players and show them why you belonged. 

A bottle of water appeared in your peripheral vision. You flinched waiting for the icy spray to hit your face, but it never did. 

“You did good kid. Don’t beat yourself up about getting out earlier than Kelley. I don’t think anyone could actually beat her.” She said, pushing the water bottle into your hands and making you take a sip. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words would come out. You weren’t sure if that was because The Alex Morgan was talking to you, or if it was because your lungs were no longer in your chest. 

“I swear, the rest of us could tag-team this thing and she would still probably outlast us,” Alex said, shaking her head as she walked away, already used to your non-responses (though she was sure she saw your lips twitch up) “I’ve stopped trying, it’s so not worth the knee pain tomorrow.”

You opened and closed your mouth several times as if you were going to call some sarcastic response after her, but the words just wouldn’t come out. You just sighed, resting your head on your knees, your chin hitting your chest-- better luck next time.

*****

6 months on the team

The bus was a tricky situation. On most days the team didn’t care where you sat, but you knew that would change drastically during important tournaments, like Olympic qualifiers big. You had already been warned that where you sat- where everyone sat really- mattered. 

Screwing it up could bring the team bad luck, and you really didn’t want to be the reason why your team wasn’t going to the Olympics for the first time. 

For that reason you tried to be the last person on the bus, so you could tell where to sit based on what seats were open, but Emily had forgotten something and so she and Lindsey had run off to grab them, and now you were staring down the aisle of a partially filled bus wondering whether you were about to cast an omen of doom if you set your bag down. 

“Third row on the left is open, or 8th on the right,” you hear a voice pipe up from behind you. One of Christen’s warm hands settled on your shoulders, the other held her duffel bag partially over her shoulder. 

You felt yourself relax at the directions, incredibly grateful for the woman who had become one of your many team moms. You hadn’t ever spoken a full sentence to the woman, but she embraced your shy nature without blinking. 

“You could also crash with Mal, she doesn’t have a bus buddy,” Tobin’s bead popped up on your other side, wiggling her eyebrows. It was funny to most of the girls that their two team babies had things for each other. 

A light blush spread across your cheeks as you nodded. “Thanks” You mumbled, throwing your bag into an empty row, unwilling to sit with your crush. Tobin snorted as she settled back down, propping her feet up on the seat in front of her, her head on Alex’s shoulder as she slumped halfway down in her seat. 

“Better luck next time kid,” Christen winked at Mal and tossed her a small package of Oreos when she pouted. 

*****

9 months on the team

Going against Japan was never fun. They were a technically sound team with none of the friendly players like Leah or Jessie. That and they still held a massive grudge from the 2015 World Cup. 

As the second half had progressed, the Japanese team had become increasingly desperate. In their attempts to get the ball out of their defending half and into the US box, they had left giant gaps in their defense that Linsey and Sam were exploiting. As forwards, you and Alex were getting sent through balls and crosses. 

You collected a particularly nice ball threaded by Lindsey and broke towards goal, beating the two defenders that were marking you and looking for Alex. You were so focused on tracking her position that you didn’t see the center back coming in for a tackle until it was too late and you were staring up at the clouds, tweety birds fluttering around your head. 

You could feel the headache forming, like a growing stress ball where the base of your head met your neck. That was going to hurt once the adrenaline rush was over. 

“Hey Beaker, you alright?” Emily’s head appeared in your immediate vision, her worried form slightly fuzzy around the edges. 

“Meep meep” You huffed, sending the woman a little smile. It was weird to see Sonnett so serious. She put down a hand to pull you up and began brushing the grass off your jersey.

“How the fuck is that not a yellow or a PK, her studs were up and she wasn’t even going after the ball,” Lindsey yelled towards the ref, jogging past you to get right in the woman’s face. 

“Go help your girlfriend, mm fine” You mumbled, embarrassed by the attention you were getting. Emily’s presence was comforting, but couldn’t block the feeling of thousands of eyes throughout the stadium, watching you to see if you were going to be pulled from the field. You wondered if many of them were almost hoping for it. 

Emily sent you a worried look before patting your shoulder. “That was almost a goal too! And hey, they wouldn’t have fouled you if you weren’t killing it out here!”  She nudged your shoulder lightly with hers and released you to the medics, walking over to Lindsey and pulling her away from the ref before she got a red. 

You watched them for a bit before someone shined a flashlight in your eyes. Maybe next time you would find the words to thank them, someday when you weren’t feeling so dizzy. You’d have better luck next time. 

*******

1 year on the team

Oreos were the quintessential after practice snack. It appeased the vegans and catered to the sweet tooth of the younger side of the team, and really, anyone who didn’t like Oreos was surely messed up. 

Normally the team took turns bringing the packets of double-stuff, hiding them in duffel bags so coaches wouldn’t see and remind them about the diets they were all supposed to be on during season (and Dawn was like a bloodhound when it came to contraband). 

But to celebrate something the team would forego the normal packs set out by the coaching staff in favor of double, triple, or mega stuffed ones and some funky flavors. And right now was a celebration if you ever saw one. The team was jubilant after their extremely entertaining scrimmage. Your team, Cool Beans (named by Tobin), had beaten team Hot Stuff (Alex’s team) 6 to 5, you scoring 3 of said goals. 

You smiled lightly from your place on the locker room bench, munching happily on your mint Oreo and listening to several of the conversations happening around you. You felt so comfortable tucked between Mal and Christen, so safe and welcome. 

“You know, I really love you guys,” you said. There was a lull in the conversation, and several girls turned toward you in shock. 

“Holy shit, Meep Meep just talked!” Emily exclaimed, all eyes turning to you and your very red cheeks. Perhaps you hadn’t meant to say that out loud...

“We all knew she could talk,” Mal protested, throwing a balled-up cookie packet at her. Emily only smirked as the piece of plastic drifted through the air, falling about a foot short of its intended target. 

“Yeah but she said more than 3 words,” Lindsey rolled her eyes at the 2nd youngest forward, wiggling her eyebrows at Mal who had wrapped her spare arm around your waist. 

“I just-... you guys make me feel safe and I’ve never had my friends become like family before, and I love you guys,” You said, smiling at the ground. 

“We love you too Kiddo,” Christen said, from behind your left ear. 

“Group hug!!!!!” Kelley yelled before anyone could stop her, the women sharing a conspirator look before rushing you. 

You tried to protest, but in the end, there was no stopping them. A bundle of arms wrapped around you, dragging you to the floor in a dog pile. 

“Isn’t this nice!” Emily said from somewhere above you.

“Would be nicer if your elbow wasn’t embedded in my spleen…” You grumbled, hushing when Mal leaned up to kiss your cheek. Yes, these women were crazy, but right now you felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #literalhedgehog

[timeoutforthee]

More Guardian Angel!Remy

“So be mean and get drunk? That’s what you my guardian angel is encouraging?”

“Yes. Be mean, get drunk, punch homophobes.”

Taglist: @scrapbookofsketches, @thekeytohappiness-is-you, @khadij-al-kubra, @beautifully-terribly

TW: one homophobic slur, slight violence, and drinking

Disclaimer: I don’t really know what I’m doing, but this story just keeps getting longer. So. Also this chapter was inspired by this amazing post by @awkward-turtle-patton

“You did what?”

“Oh my God, it’s totally not a big deal. The kid wanted proof. I lowered my sunglasses. Big deal.”

“Yes big deal! Very big deal!” Nate sighs and rubs his temples, “Remy, why are you like this?”

“Um, better question, why are you such a buzzkill?”

“Because I take my job seriously, Remy, unlike you-”

“Oh, just because I want my charges to work for their success instead of rearranging everything around them so that everything falls into their lap-”

“I don’t want my charges to suffer, Remy!”

“So instead you’ve just created waves and waves of self-entitled dickheads-”

“I should have gotten Virgil-”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s been 22 years, let it go-”

“If I had, he would have been a respected intern in an office right now-”

“He would have given up art, Nate!”

“So?!”

“If you would get your head out of your own ass-”

“Well at least my ass has wings!”

And, okay, rude. He definitely didn’t have to go there. Remy purses his lips, and even with the sunglasses, Nate can feel the glare behind them.

A guardian got their wings when they significantly changed the outcome of their charge’s life. Nate had made it his mission, as a guardian angel, to rearrange their lives until they had the most power possible. Remy was more focused on happiness, and honestly, who knew their own happiness better than the human? That’s why he stayed back and let them have most of the control. It’s also why he still didn’t have his wings yet.

Which he wasn’t bitter about. At all.

“Fine,” he said, “I’ll go back and check on Virgil.”

^

Virgil was going to be okay.

That was a mantra he had repeated to himself since day one, and now he had a guardian angel to confirm it. Which should, in theory, be comforting. Except he had found out that his guardian angel was kind of a mess, which was fitting, really, and Virgil couldn’t really judge. Still, maybe he should, like, pray or something and request a switch. Could he do that? He really should have asked more questions. Did it even matter who it was? How could he trust that a random guy could have his destiny all planned out?

Remy told him to trust fate. Until yesterday, he didn’t even believe in fate. He believed in choices and consequences. He made the wrong choice by studying art, and he was suffering as his consequence.

He gripped his beer a little tighter. He didn’t know why his co-workers had asked him to come out tonight. He didn’t particularly like any of them, and he had a feeling they didn’t really like him, either. But his choices for the night were either sulking in the bar or sulking at home. And he was getting really tired of his mother fluttering around him like he was a directionless teenager again. He was a directionless twenty two year old, thank you very much.

He tipped his bottle back and tried to change his line of thinking.

I’ve come a long way. Just to end up in the same place- I have friends. Who haven’t called- I have professors on my side, professors who believe in me. Too bad you’re disappointing them-

The bartender sat a glass filled with dark brown liquid in front of him. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What’s this?”

“Black Russian,” the bartender replied, then he pointed, “From that guy.”

Virgil turned. There, lounging on a chair across from the bar, was Remy. His glasses were still in place, but his Starbucks cup was replaced with a wine glass.

He looked back at the bar. He needed some stupid angel magic to get him out of this mess. He needed to know why destiny put him back here. He needed something.

Remy didn’t offer him anything, except for this. A very, very human way to forget.

What the hell?

Virgil twisted in his seat, raising the glass. Remy raised his in response.

“Here’s to you, Remy,” then he downed it.

^

Oooooh, he was dead. Nate was absolutely going to kill him.

But, like, honestly? Worth it.

Virgil did not get drunk often. He was always so carefully guarded, and having all those walls come crumbling down in the blink of an eye was not something he actually wanted to do. Most of the time.

“It’s bullshit, if another entitled angry white man comes into the God damn store and asks me why ‘is card isn’ working I’mma scream. Sir, I am paid to take your money, my degree is in art how the everlovin’ fuck should I know the inner workin’s of a GAS PUMP?!” Virgil slurred as he stood on top of the bar.

The patrons were starting to become uncomfortable. Mainly because they were entitled, angry white men who definitely have told off someone in customer service at least once. The bartenders, however, seemed to be entertained, and were hesitant to yank him down.

Okay, also Remy had, like, a little bit of influence.

“And you know what else I hate?”

“Virgil, maybe you should-”

“Shhh!” Virgil said, raising a finger to his lips to cut off a co-worker, “I hate when pregnant mothers come in and buy cigarettes. Like, it’s 2018, are we still doing this? And like, fine, I guess you do you, but fucking secondhand smoke issa thing.”

Virgil trailed off as he stared in wonder at the ceiling. Remy noticed that the song in the background was changing. “I LOVE this song!”

Virgil slowly started swaying to the music. Remy clapped a hand over his mouth. He was so, so dead, but his human was having fun, and didn’t he deserve that?

However, it was brought to a halt when someone shouted “Fag!” at him from across the bar.

Virgil stopped and narrowed his eyes. He scanned the crowd until he landed on the guy, some rando with a trucker hat. He jumped off, with far more grace than he really should have, and stalked over to him.

As he got closer, the guy started to second guess if that was exactly a good idea. Virgil may have been lanky, but he was currently towering over him with a fire burning behind his eyes. They stared at each other for brief moment before Virgil swung and decked him. Between the punch and the surprise, the guy fell off the stool he was sitting on.

“Yes!” Remy cried, standing up. He technically should be against violence, but honestly? He was against homophobia more. Punch more homophobes, 2k18.

The bartenders headed over to kick Virgil out, but he just waved them off with a slurred “‘m goin’, ‘m goin’.”

His guardian angel followed him out, finding him sprawled on a patch of grass.

“V, honey? You good?”

“Mmmmhmmm. I’m stargazing,” he said, pronouncing his words carefully. Remy glanced up. Whoa. He had never really been on Earth at night time. He didn’t know the stars looked this beautiful. Pausing briefly, he laid down next to his human.

“Remy?”

“Hm?”

“I’m gonna regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t need to look into the future to see that.”

“D’you look into my future a lot?”

Remy sighs, “Kinda. I have a few charges, and they all have multiple outcomes based on life choices that they make everyday. I can’t look into every choice or option you have, especially since I know I probably won’t step in. But I always look at the major ones.”

“Thas a lotta big words fer you,” Virgil says, still staring at the sky.

“I’ve been around for centuries, doll, I can speak as fancy as I want to. I just don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Oh my God, you sound like my coworkers. Like honestly? It’s not that deep. I talk like this because I want to. I drink Starbucks because I want to. I wear these sunglasses because I want to,” he pauses, “I may be an angel, but I’m not above enjoying humanity.”

“Y’know, I bet if I was sober, that’d be real deep.”

“I literally said it wasn’t that deep-”

“Shhhhh,” Virgil says, bringing a finger to Remy’s lips.

Okay. Maybe he should have cut Virgil off a little bit earlier.

Suddenly Virgil is moving his arms so that he’s hugging Remy to him. He lays his head on his shoulder.

“V? You good?”

“I don’ get hugs anymore, leave me ‘lone,” Virgil says, “So, how does the angel thing...work?”

“Okay, first, you have to be more specific. Second, work is boring and I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“D’you like it?”

Remy pauses, let’s silence hang in the air for a bit.

“Yes,” because he does. He doesn’t like some of his coworkers’ snide remarks or judginess. But he likes seeing humans rise to the occasion, likes seeing all the twists and turns their life could take, likes to see where they ultimately choose to go.

Virgil nods, his cheek rubbing against Remy’s shoulder. Actually, now that they’re cuddling, Remy can’t remember the last time someone hugged him. He reaches over and brushes a few purple locks off of Virgil’s forehead.

“Don’t do that, I’ll fall asleep…”

“Honey, I’ve seen your sleeping habits. You need it.”

“Ruuuuuuuuude,” Virgil says, then, “Why’re you here?”

“My boss was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle seeing an angel. It’s a lot for humans, sometimes.”

“Tell your boss I am a-ok.”

Remy laughs, “Considering the circumstances, I think he’ll have some other things to say.”

“Whaaaaat? You mean you’re not supposed to get drunk with your clients?”

“Okay, the only one drunk here is you, I was kicked out before the party started-”

“Wait, wait, wait-d’you make my coworkers invite me out tonight?”

“Nope, that was all them. I know you’ll find this shocking, but people like you, Virgil.”

“But I do not like them,” Virgil blinks, “Do they have tragic backstories? Should I be nicer?”

“You’re already nice-”

“Thanks, I have anxiety.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ve noticed. But honestly, you should try and get a liiiiittle bit meaner. Like, your comebacks are iconic, and it’s truly tragic I’m the only one that’s heard them.”

“So be mean and get drunk? That’s what you my guardian angel is encouraging?”

“Yes. Be mean, get drunk, punch homophobes.”

Virgil laughs.

“And, like, for realsies? Your co-workers have been through some stuff, but mostly, they’re just a result of living in this place. Call it a small town curse.”

Virgil nods, then quietly says, “Remy?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I gonna end up like them?”

“I already told you, V, there are bigger things in store for you.”

“I know,” Virgil yawns, “But I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not surprised,” Remy says. He glances down. Virgil is resting his head on his shoulder with his eyes closed. Remy sighs. He needs to give the kid some tiny spark of hope, enough to encourage him but minor enough that he doesn’t change the outcome of his life.

No pressure.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #guardian angel!remy #remy sanders #me @ me: hey did u know u can write without projecting #me @ me: lol sounds fake but ok #virgil sanders #my writing

[littledenning]

Unhinged: Part Two

As requested by a few of you, here is part two! Thank you for all your feeeback on the first part, if you see anything that seems inaccurate or if you want anything included - let me know! Enjoy :)

***

You felt on edge for the rest of the week.

It was ridiculous, as though you had contracted some sort of nervous disease, constantly watching over your back and eyes never resting. It’s like you could already feel the dirty shiv in your back, just waiting for the moment one of them got you alone. You tended to stay with the other C.O’s more, feeling a lot safer when you at least had back up.

Carol acted like you didn’t even exist. It was almost irritating, the way her eyes would do one of her routine scans and she’d completely skip over you as though you wasn’t even there. Most of you was grateful of course, she was a fucking murderer for crying out loud, what business did you have with her. Most of you was angry that you hadn’t shoved her away that night, marched her back to her cell and regained your dignity. Most of you was being rational.

But of course there was that tiny part of you that had lay dormant for so long, a horrible whispering voice that reminded you how it felt to have her so close to you, feel her breath on your cheek, those eyes flickering over your face. That tiny part of you that almost wanted her to press closer, until you could just reach out and touch-

That part was minuscule in the grand scheme of things. So why was it the loudest?

You were snapped out of your thoughts at the broken sound of your talkie, one of the C.O’s calling you into the bubble. You gathered in there with a few of the other guards, smiling politely at Franks when he beamed at you from one side of the room. The guard who initially showed you round stood in front of you all, arms folded across his chest with an object on the table in front of him.

Your eyes widened as you looked at the rusty shiv, small but could clearly carry out a lot of damage.

“This was found in one of the inmates pants in the shower search this morning. Thankfully Franks over here seized it off her before anyone could get seriously hurt,” he gestured to the guard next to him with a large hand, before looking at all of you.

“I’m not an idiot. We’re not like them out there, we know exactly how they work. You think there isn’t hundreds of these things in this place? You think someone hasn’t been shivved before, huh?” You swallowed roughly as he spoke, “I don’t give a shit if they slit each other’s god damn throats in the yard but what I do care about is if one of us goes down with them. Because that means paperwork, that means mess and I don’t like mess.”

You almost scoffed at his words. It begun to sound like he actually gave a shit about the inmates welfare, like this place did actually contain humans not animals. He heard the low noise in your throat and looked at you directly.

“Williams. You can conduct the search,” he smirked and you cast your eyes down, nodding. “I want their bunks turned upside down, I want their rooms ripped to shreds if need be, if they wanna act like the criminals they are then we’ll treat them like it. Any contraband found, even a damn piece of gum, I want that inmate thrown in Ad Seg immediately.”

You followed the other guards, pausing when he called out once more. “Williams? Start with Denning.”

Shit.

***

“Inmates, hands flat against the wall, it’s search time!” Franks yelled out, before walking beside you, a subtle grin on his face. “Can’t believe you got Denning, I bet she’s got shit loads in her bunk. May as well cart her off to Ad Seg now.” He nodded at you as he went into one of the rooms, and you watched him go, eager to delay this as much as possible.

You reached her room and took a deep breath before walking in, breath releasing suddenly as you meet eyes with her. She stands with her palms flat against the wall, lollipop tucked in her cheek and a bored expression on her face. You regard her silently before heading over to her drawers first, pulling open the top one.

There’s wasn’t much in there, aside from an extra white undershirt and some underwear. You hated the blush you could feel on your cheeks as she watched you intently, smirk twisting her mouth.

“Bet you have nicer ones than that, huh?” You looked over at her, flush deepening. “Got you pegged as a lace girl,” her voice rumbled, sliding over your skin and you tried to stop the shiver that traveled down your spine. You chose to ignore her, opening the next drawer and shuffling a few objects out of the way before your fingers touched something shiny and glossy.

You pulled out the Playgirl magazines and she didn’t break eye contact as you held them in your hands, staring at them. Was she straight? Jesus she had just admitted that she thought about you in panties, and yet she was looking at a collection of magazines with nude men. You felt awkward as you took in the pictures yet unable to look away.

You wasn’t a prude. You had just always been awkward when it came to bedroom activities, something you struggled to talk about aloud. It wasn’t that you didn’t like sex, it was just a subject that wasn’t popular in your house growing up - your parents often shyed away from the topic as a whole so you was left curious and confused all at the same time.

Yet as you looked over at Carol you could feel that tug in your stomach, that urge for her to just reach out and pin you against the wall, reach her hand into your-

“Don’t cream over my magazines there, girl. I don’t wanna be drying Burt out over the wall later.” There was a low chuckle in her voice and your face was practically on fire at this point as you threw the magazines back in, not caring if they were contraband or not. You slammed the drawer shut and her smirk grew into a full on grin, front teeth settling on her bottom lip as she took you in like a predator looking at their prey.

You rushed over to her bed, throwing back the covers in a hurry to complete your search and as you lifted her pillow you found a small collection of jawbreakers, a few of many you were sure. You turned to her, holding them in your hand and speaking.

“These are contraband. I should be marching you to seg right now,” you spoke fairly confidently for once, fingers holding tightly onto the sweets. You couldn’t help but think of them rolling around her mouth, thoughts drifting so much that you didn’t notice her moving. She stood in front of you, lollipop stick dangling elegantly between her lips as she regard you.

“Well technically, if they somehow happened to just not be seen, then you haven’t got anything to put me in seg for? Because trust me, that’s not how I was planning on spending the next few days, you see?” She proceeded to crack the lollipop in her mouth, chewing it and swallowing before taking the stick and placing it in her pocket. She took one of the jawbreakers from you, fingertips brushing along your palm as she lifted it and placed it into her mouth, pushing it into the side of her cheek.

She then lifted her hand, the same one that had been near her mouth literally seconds before and gripped your jaw between her thumb and forefingers, applying pressure harshly. “Open up,” she ordered, eyebrows furrowing as though she was suddenly angry, and you hurriedly opened your mouth. She took another jawbreaker from your hand with her free hand, placed it in your mouth then watched as you closed it, the burst of flavour making you blink rapidly a few times.

And there you both stood, her hand on your jaw sliding down until her fingers rested at the base of your throat, not quite squeezing but there was a pressure there all the same. Her other hand landed on your hip and she watched thoroughly as you sucked on the sweet, trying to get it small enough that you could crunch it and swallow it. Who knows what would happen if you sauntered out of Carol Dennings bunk with one of her infamous sweets rolling around your mouth.

The sound of the crack startled you when you bit down onto the sweet, as it broke down into shards on your tongue. You swallowed it down quickly and loudly, the sound resonating between you both. She kept hers in the corner of her mouth, looking at you with a a fierce stare before speaking.

“Good girl, ain’t ya? Now get that pretty arse of yours out of her, tell the guards that we’re all clear and maybe I won’t ram a jawbreaker down your throat next time I see you.” Your heart jumped at that as she stepped away from you, arms crossing as you headed to the door. “Williams?” You looked over your shoulder, pausing as she grinned at you.

“I really hope you’re a lace girl.”

You blushed and hurried out of the room.

#young carol #carol x reader #carol denning #carol denning imagine #oitnb #oitnb season 6 #barb denning