#thirsty ratty

[honeycombhank]

First time trying the pumpkin cream chai latte from Starbucks! Let me tell you what it’s AMAZING.

Here are the boys trying to take it from me!

9/6/23

#honeycombhank #healing #my pets #rats of tumblr #my rats #dumbo rats #cute rats #ratblr #Emmitt Wild #Dwight Jr #Tobias July #starbucks #coffee #pumkpin #cold drinks #fall treats #rat snacks #thirsty ratty

[comphy-and-cozy]

GASLIGHT - andrei svechnikov

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Summary: A dance of desperation, destruction, and desire with the man who broke your heart.

Word Count: 5.4K

Author’s Note: This is about a year in the making thanks to the thirsty, depraved minds of @pyotrkochetkov and @smileysvech. Inspired strongly by gaslight by inji, I present to you: toxic, cocky ex Andrei.

Warnings: Toxic relationship, dubcon/drunk consent, infidelity. Alcohol use/mention. Smut (18+ ONLY): Unprotected sex, very public sex/exhibitionism, oral sex (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), heavy degradation, Andrei has a filthy mouth.

Your media consumption is your responsibility. Do not proceed if any of the above warnings will trigger, hurt, or offend you. Masterlist / Moodboard

In all fairness, you knew Andrei Svechnikov was trouble as soon as your eyes locked with his at that fateful frat party, bathed in a deep blue light strobing on the ceiling. Even then, it was etched into his handsome face, his smile far too confident to be anything but a terrible, terrible idea. But you were young, dumb, and all too willing to fall for the broad Russian with the dimples and a body that looked like it was sculpted out of clay. He was way too hot to resist, and really, what’s a girl to do?

In all honesty, he was sweet at first, even genuine. He held the door open for you, walked you to class, let you wear his jersey. He swept you off your feet with an ease that should’ve had your radar beeping, but you were already in too deep to notice. Besides, you had no reason to believe that the handsome, charming boy with a toothy smile would be anything but wonderful. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

When you look back on the chapter of your life regretfully titled ‘Andrei’, the pages stained with tears and spilled ink from all of the letters you never sent, you’ll remember the red flags that you didn’t notice (or maybe willfully ignored), heading straight into a myriad of heartbreak. You two were toxic together, in a seemingly endless cycle of hurt and betrayal. 

But it was hands down, unequivocally, the best sex you’ve ever had.

And that’s what kept you coming back, even when he’d pull his shit and make his excuses for the hickeys on his neck that you didn’t put there or the purple thong on his floor that was a size too small for you. You’d turn a blind eye, pretending not to see, pretending that it didn’t sting after the sweet nothings he’d whisper to you after a night in his sheets.

The real turning point of your relationship was when you saw him leaving your sorority house the morning after a night out, a clear walk of shame—except you’d gone to bed alone. Seeing the bedhead and hickeys on your sorority sister, Callie, was all you needed to put the pieces together, your heart shattering for the first time.

So, after crying until you made yourself sick, drinking more tequila than you’d care to admit, you brushed yourself off, rose from the ashes, and did what any logical and sane girl would do in your shoes: fuck his teammate. And then another. And another. You took your rage and all of the hurt that simmered beneath your surface and channeled it into sweet, satisfying, addicting revenge. The orgasms weren’t quite the same, but you were surprised at how good getting even felt. Seeing the look on his face when he’d come down the stairs to find you in the kitchen, in a ratty old t-shirt of one of his friends… priceless.

From then on, you and Andrei were locked in what felt like an eternal battle at who could out-toxic the other. You thrived on knowing you were riling him up, getting under his skin, burrowing your way into his psyche to ensure he’d never forget you and would forever regret betraying you. You were the one who got away, not the other way around. 

From the moment you stepped into the bar that fateful night, instantly feeling his eyes crawling over your legs, you couldn’t deny that you had voluntarily set yourself up for it. Unable to resist his charm, dripping in honey, trouble etched into the predatory gaze he held on you, there was no way you were getting out unscathed. 

His white button-up is a size too small, hugging his muscles in a way that makes the fabric fight against the buttons in the middle. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the corded muscle of his forearms on display, the expensive watch sitting on his thick wrist. He wears it everywhere he goes, so you know he couldn’t have done it on purpose, but you can’t help but feel he knew you’d be there tonight, exposing it with the sole intention of driving you wild. 

So, it’s only to be expected that you make your way over to a friend of his, slinking up beside him at the bar with a seductive smile and wide eyes, leaning into him and letting your hand rest on his bicep while you laugh at his joke. It feels over the top—because it is—but you’re fueled by the knowledge that Andrei will be fuming once he sees it. It’s the same old cat-and-mouse game that you always play, pushing his buttons even from afar.

It makes for the best foreplay.

Your new beau—Scott—struts off to the bar, smug at how easy his win tonight is. He barely had to work to have you hanging all over him, and the prospect of getting you into his bed at the end of the night is all but a slam dunk. Your eyes watch him, appreciatively admiring the broad shoulders and built back, envisioning what it’ll look like littered with angry, red scratches from your pristine, hot pink nails.

He saunters up behind you, and you feel his presence without even needing to turn around. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His words, heavily accented, are slurred—just slightly, but enough for you to know he’s been heavy on the vodka tonics. Part of you wonders if your antics with Scott have influenced his state of mind. Judging by the way his arms are crossed, revealing the curve of his enormous bicep and the thickness of his forearms, you’d wager that they have.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Andrei,” you say, tossing your hair back, dismissing him instantly. 

“Cut the shit, sweetheart,” he sneers. His eyes drag shamelessly over your figure, heat lingering where his gaze travels. “That’s the third one of my teammates you’ve tried to fuck.”

“Fourth, actually.”

“Do you actually want them, or are you just whoring around my friends to get a rise out of me?”

“That’s rich,” you scoff, voice dripping with distaste. The absolute nerve on this guy. “Can’t handle the thought of your friend fucking me better than you?”

Andrei’s smile is sickly sweet. “We both know that was never the issue, sweetheart.”

Unfortunately, he’s right. Memories of late nights punctured by a thick Russian accent, bite marks that turned into bruises that lasted for days flood your mind, a phantom touch along your hip making your shiver. 

“Where's your new bitch?” you pivot. “Let me guess, busy taking your Insta pics?”

His smirk grows, enough to reveal his missing tooth. The mockery in his tone drips from every word as he says, “That’s no way to talk about your sister.”

You bite back your grimace and the urge to say, “That’s not my sister,” but unfortunately he’s picked up your strategy of ticking off your friends on his bedpost one by one, and this latest iteration has landed him in bed with your suitemate, Jenna. When she broke up with her long-term boyfriend, you knew it was only a matter of time before Andrei swooped in with his handsome smile, dimples, and delicious muscles, sisterhood be damned. The fact that you two shared a wall was only the cherry on top.

With a glance at the bar, you see that Scott is stuck in line, your 3rd Mezcal margarita too far away. He sends you an apologetic shrug, gesturing to the growing crowd and signaling to wait for him. Your lips curl into a forced smile, blowing a kiss and offering a cheeky wave.

Andrei shifts on his feet, amused at the overzealous act that his idiotic linemate seems to be buying. With another glance across your figure, doing far more than just undressing you with his eyes, he sidles back up to you. With the way you look, he supposes he shouldn’t expect to resist.

“Seems like your man is gonna be a while. Dance with me?” he whispers into your ear. You ignore the way the heat from his breath travels down your spine, arousal instantly pooling through you despite every nerve in your body trying to fight it. 

“I’m not your girlfriend, Andrei.”

“Doesn’t mean two old friends can’t have a dance,” he counters. 

You resist the urge to snort at the label, as if you were ever friends. It’s the same look in his eye as always, the one that got your heart broken a thousand times before, but you find your hand slipping into his—ignoring the sheer size of it compared to yours—and letting him lead you into the throng of people anyways.

The way Andrei’s firm body slots up behind yours is far too easy, his hands all too familiar on your hips as he pulls you into him, forcing a slow and steady grind to the beat of the music. It should be shocking the way that Jenna—and Scott—completely slips from your mind, replaced by the feeling of his groin pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Look so fucking hot tonight,” he purrs in your ear. Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but your body reacts involuntarily when his praise goes straight between your legs. “Made my dick hard just looking at you.”

“Wouldn’t want your girl hearing you talk like that,” you manage to retort, shaking away the arousal that threatens to warm your entire body.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“That what you said about me?” you ask, ignoring the pang of hurt that strikes your heart. It’s the first—and only—glimpse of a real emotion, hidden beneath snark and quick remarks.

“Aw, baby, let’s let the past stay in the past,” Andrei says, deflecting by pressing your ass against his groin, allowing you to feel the firmness beneath his zipper. The flash of any serious conversation disappears when the tips of his fingers graze against the underside of your breast, fostering the spread of goosebumps over your body. It’s a diversion, and you hate that it works; his hands have always been a source of weakness for you. 

Heat simmers in your core, gradually growing until it’s bubbling; his hands crawling over your body while your hips move in sync with his. The chance of rekindling whatever you had before is long gone, and you’re well past any apology or reparation, so you might as well have fun with it, right?

His hands trail fire down your sides, over the bare skin between your top and skirt, to your bare leg. You’ve lost the ability to speak, to protest—not that you would—when you feel his fingers curl under the hem, tugging it up until you're all but entirely exposed, challenging you to resist. The air, though warm from the crowd, feels heavenly on your hot thighs, cool against the damp fabric of your panties. Your body gives an involuntary shiver when one large hand splays possessively over your hip, the other creeping over to the inside of your thigh.

You know what Andrei’s up to, and as much as you hate him, there’s not a single ounce in your body that wants to stop him. Your legs fall open against your will, making more space for his hand.

“Fucking soaked,” he sneers, laughing at the way you shudder when his finger barely grazes your clit, pressing against the wet scrap of fabric covering your modesty. “Knew you would be. You can never get enough of me, can you?”

Refusing to give in so easily, you reply by slowing the roll of your hips, pressing further against his groin to grind against him. His chuckle is low in your ear, amused at your attempt to keep the playing field even. The pad of his middle finger runs over your pussy, collecting the wetness that’s seeping through the cotton.

Andrei’s hand stays gripped on your thigh while the other comes up to press his finger against your lips. You can taste your own essence on the tip of his finger, coating your lip with the moisture. It presses into your mouth, pushing against your tongue in a display of dominance; though you want to push him away, your body betrays you and your lips close around his digit, sucking hard.

The sound of your moan when he roughly tugs your panties to the side is covered by the heavy bass pumping through the room. The lights are dim enough, strobing around to hide the way Andrei plunges a thick finger into you, though admittedly you wouldn’t notice or care if someone were to spot you, the thought making you even hotter.

“Always so fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs in your ear, shifting his hand to add another finger. “Dripping all over my hand like a fucking whore.”

“Andrei,” you whisper, fruitlessly, the sound of your voice swallowed by the electronic wobs of the remixed rap song overhead. Your resolve is slipping quickly, with each deep twist of his fingers inside of you, knees losing strength with every passing moment. Maybe it’s the cocktail, or maybe it’s just him; either way, you’re intoxicated.

His marriage and middle pump their way into you, the slick between your thighs making it all too easy for him to slide them in and out. Your eyes flutter shut, head lolling back slightly when he strokes you perfectly, even despite the awkward angle of his wrist, shoved between your legs in the middle of a sweaty, crowded room. So far, no one’s seemed to notice—or perhaps, if they did, they just opted to ignore it.

“Fuck, kisa,” he murmurs, and the heat in his voice makes you clench around his digits. It’s rough, deep in your ear, followed by what you presume is cursing in Russian. Andrei grips your hips so tightly you’re certain there’ll be fingerprint-sized bruises on them tomorrow. “Such a desperate whore for me, you’d let me take you right here in front of everyone, wouldn’t you?” 

His finger presses against your g-spot in a way that has your resolve completely melting; suddenly, all you can focus on is the feeling that’s blooming in your core, flooding pleasure through your veins. Fuck it.

“Fuck yeah, give it to me.”

You’re not really serious, at least not entirely, but your stomach flutters with excitement when you feel one of his hands fidgeting behind your ass, fishing out his erection to press it against you. He’s hard, and you can feel the way he throbs against you through the thin material of your skirt. Admittedly, you had missed that specific part of him. No one, not even his linemate Scott with the big dick, could replicate Andrei.

“This what you want, huh? Want it deep in that little cunt?” he says, tapping himself lightly against your ass in the limited space he has between your bodies. “Guess my dick doesn’t know how much of a bitch you are.”

“Probably because your dick has been inside way bigger bitches than me,” you bite back, the throb between your legs not enough to cull the sass and bitterness that lingers just beneath the surface. If his fingers weren’t just buried between your thighs, you probably would’ve had more to say about the matter.

When you feel the curl of his fingers tugging the material of your skirt up farther, you arch into him, your senses ablaze with adrenaline. You can’t help it, giving into the way you throb, empty, waiting for him to soothe the need with the harsh thrust of his cock. 

Andrei is slow, drawing out your torture. He keeps his hips pressed against your backside, shielding his erection with your ass, because you are still in public, after all. His large hand grips your hip while the other reaches between your bodies, and you let out a whimper when you feel his tip lining up with your entrance.

He pushes in, slowly, mainly to avoid attracting attention. His hands flex against your waist, pulling you into him and encouraging you to resume the grind of your hips; only this time, his dick is buried deep inside of you and he’s pressed directly against your g-spot. He hasn’t been inside you for 5 seconds and your legs are already shaking, trying desperately to steady your breathing while heat floods through your body. 

Even through the loud music, you can hear the way Andrei grunts lowly in your ear, and you’re pleased to know he’s just as strung out as you, fucking you in the middle of a dance floor. His hips begin to push forward, subtly, forcing you to feel each inch and ridge of his cock dragging in and out of your soaked pussy. Large hands crawl over your hips, guiding them to gyrate against him and using your body to drive himself deeper inside of you.

It shouldn’t feel so good, getting blatantly fucked by your sworn enemy in the middle of a sweaty crowd, grinding shamelessly on his dick. But the beat syncs with his thrusts, heat flooding your system as he hits the perfect spot at the perfect pace to have your legs squeezing tightly around him. 

“You been thinkin’ about this?” he whispers in your ear, and you can hear the smug smirk on his face. “Think about you while I’m fucking Jenna sometimes. She’s hot, but her cunt isn’t as tight as this one.”

“You’re—” you gasp when he delivers a hard thrust at the beat drop of the song that’s playing, “—such a fucking dick.”

“Aw, but you love it, don’t you?”

You hate him. Him and everything that he’s done to you—breaking your heart, picking up the pieces, only to shatter it again. There had been more nights spent crying over him than nights with him, screaming into your pillow until there were no tears left in your body. Worse than that, he’d turned you into someone you barely knew: someone who takes the low road and stoops to his level when you know you deserve better than all of it.

But damn, if you don’t love the way he fucks you.

It happens before you even have a chance to think about how you’ll mask it, instead crying out as your body goes limp against Andrei’s. His strong arms hold you in place, stilling his hips to feel the way your cunt clenches around him as your orgasm washes over you like a tsunami. The sound of your moan is swallowed by the bass, evaporating into thin air before it has the chance to make its way to any of the club’s patrons around you.

“Fuck,” Andrei husks in your ear, breath heavy against your skin. Your walls flutter around him as he lets the waves siphon through your shaking limbs. “Barely had to do any work for you to fall apart on my cock, huh? Comin’ for me like the pretty little slut you are.”

The retort you want to snap back doesn’t come out, mind still completely blown from the force of your climax. Your heart pounds in your throat, pussy clenching weakly around his thick cock, and you know you have no space to try and pretend he didn’t feel the way you came all over it.

“You gonna give me another one, dorogoy?”

“Drei,” you choke out, a wave of clarity splashing over you. “Not here.”

He hums, the vibration in his chest pressed against your back, so deep that it travels down your spine. “Unfortunate. But I suppose getting arrested for public indecency probably isn’t very good for my career.”

Behind you, you feel him tucking himself back into his pants, using your body to shield the way he adjusts before he’s gripping your arm and dragging you with him. “C’mon. M’not done until your face is painted with my cum.”

He doesn’t bother to fix your skirt, and you’re frantically tugging it back down to cover yourself as he leads you through the crowd. The next thing you know, you’re being pushed into the dark, dingy bathroom before his hands are pushing your crop top up, exposing your bra. Your eyes glance to the unlocked door when he tugs the cups of your bra down.

“Nah, a slut like you doesn’t need privacy,” he purrs, like he’s reading your mind. His eyes glitter as he follows your line of sight. “I wouldn’t even bother charging anyone who walks in for the show. S’a free for all.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he’s roughly pushing you against the countertop, growling when he pulls your skirt back up your hips. Your mouth opens to protest, but he speaks over you. “It’s so cute when you act all modest, but we both know you’re a cheap whore, huh? Pretendin’ that you wouldn’t like an audience. Like you wouldn’t let me bend you over one of those cocktail tables out there.”

“Think you wanna get caught, Svechnikov,” you tease, pressing your ass back against his pelvis, grinding on him in the same movements as earlier—only this time, you’re an orgasm deep, and you have at least some semblance of privacy, so you have no reservations. Your eyes lock with his in the reflection, holding his gaze. “Looking for an excuse to end things with Jenna, are you?”

“Nah, I think I’ll keep her around,” he says with a smile, pushing at your back to press your breasts against the cold countertop. “She’s a good fuck.”

“You gonna fuck me, or you just gonna talk about her? I can go get her, if you want. Catch her up on the details.”

With a laugh, Andrei tsks. “So impatient. Didn’t your mother ever teach you about manners?”

“More than yours ever taught you, that’s for sure,” you spit back. If only his mother knew the things he’d done and said to you; you’re sure she’d have plenty to say about her son’s behavior.

Andrei pulls himself out of his pants, fisting his dick before he’s dropping a wad of spit on the tip, running it through your folds. In the mirror, you see him watching the way it melds with your slick, coating the head of his dick. “I love when you talk dirty to me. Makes me so fuckin’ hard.”

He doesn’t give you the satisfaction of having the last word, shooting back whatever sassy comeback is lingering on your tongue, instead pushing into you so quickly a gasp is ripped from your throat. His hips press hard against your ass, buried to the hilt so you can throb around the entirety of him. “So tight, ‘specially for a cunt that gets used so often.”

The degradation pours out of his mouth, a hot wave of arousal trailing up your spine with every word. He’s the only one that can pull it off, igniting the blue flame inside of you with filthy whispers, paired perfectly with each precise thrust. His hands dig into your hips, pulling you back against him roughly, loud slaps of your ass against his pelvis echoing around the room.

A large hand makes its way up your spine, slipping into your hair and tugging you back until your spine is arched and his chest is pressed against your back. You take in your own reflection in the mirror, cheeks growing warm at the sight: hair mussed, makeup smeared, clothes disheveled across your frame. At the apex of your thighs, you can’t help but stare at his thick cock driving into you, glistening with your slick.

Andrei hums lowly in your ear. “Look at you, filthy fuckin’ whore with your tits out, getting this slutty little cunt destroyed by my dick.”

“Andrei,” you gasp out—whether at the filth spewing out of his mouth, or from the way he’s driving into you, relentless, you aren’t sure.

“Yeah, baby, you gonna come?”

Your reply is a choked cry. “No–”

“No? Yeah, you are, can feel the way you’re gripping my cock. You’re gonna gush all over me.”

Your hand betrays you, slipping from the edge of the counter to paw at your clit. His chuckle makes your cheeks hot, burning even hotter when his breath fans against your neck. “Say ‘please.’”

The last shred of dignity you have left lodges in your throat, and you glare at him in the reflection, refusing to take his bait. His eyebrow raises, and a moment later, his hips cease their movements.

An involuntary whine claws its way out of your throat, feeling the way your pussy flutters helplessly around him. You know he can feel it, too, judging by the way his eyes glitter as he looks at you. His voice is deep, rumbling lowly in your ear, “We both know you want it. Need it. Scott wasn’t gonna give it to you, was he? Not like this. Not like me.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head. You’re not quite sure what game you’re playing, not when he can read you like a book, can feel the evidence of your pending release, pulsing desperately around him. Begging. 

When you don’t answer, still stubbornly clinging onto your last, desperate piece of humility, his hand slithers up to roughly grope at your breast. He massages, then pinches your peaked nipple between two large fingers. “Use your manners.”

Your hips cant backwards, attempting to goad him into moving—all you need is just a little bit, and you’ll be falling off the cliff into oblivion. He chuckles, hips moving quickly to avoid being sheathed fully inside you; you’re reprimanded with a slap to your breast. No words are necessary; he isn’t going to bother repeating himself, so you steel yourself and say with a shaky voice, “P-please, Andrei.”

A satisfied smirk curls onto his stupid, handsome face as he releases your breast, knocking your own hand out of the way to rub at your clit as he resumes the same brutal rhythm as before. The warmth of his finger sends a spark up your spine, heightening the pleasure that surges through you.

 “C’mon, kisa. Come on it.”

You have no choice but to obey, the world shattering around you after freezing entirely for the briefest of moments. You swear your soul leaves your body in the middle of that dingy bathroom in the city’s hottest club; one set of fingers pressed against your throbbing clit, the other gripping the edge of the countertop, holding on for dear life. The sound of Andrei’s groan of satisfaction is deep in your ear, approving of the way your hips twitch in his hands.

“You’re so pretty when you come,” he says, patronizing, nipping affectionately at your shoulder. You don’t have it in you to roll your eyes, but you sigh loudly when he pulls out of you; the empty void in your pussy is devastating. “On your knees, sweetheart. Gotta clean up the mess you made.”

He isn’t rough, but he isn’t entirely gentle as he encourages you to your knees; you do your best not to imagine what is on the sticky, tiled floor of the bathroom—or the last time it was cleaned. Andrei smirks as he tilts his head down to look at you. “Knew I’d get you back here someday.”

“You want me to suck your dick or not?”

“I do,” he says slowly. “But I know you want that even more.” 

Now, you do roll your eyes, ignoring him and leaning forward to take him in your mouth.

“Ah ah ah,” he stops you. You hate that he makes you feel like a greedy child going for a piece of candy before you say ‘thank you’. “Want you to say it.”

“Fuck you,” you spit out. 

“Already did, sweetheart,” he winks, and you scowl in response. He’s the worst when he’s right.

“Wanna suck your dick, Andrei,” you say reluctantly, the words tasting awful in your mouth. You’re tempted to slap the smug look on his stupid, handsome face.

Your eyes draw to the way he takes his length in his hand, stroking it slowly. “Want it in your throat, hm?”

A glare, burning hot, shot in his direction. He watches you, expectant, and you know he’s waiting for you to repeat his words. The sooner you say it, the sooner it’ll be over. “Want it in my throat.”

“Want me to spill my cum all over that pretty face?” he smirks. You swallow, hot from the inside out. 

“Want you to come all over my face, Drei.” 

It sounds so sincere he pauses to stare. Then the smirk returns. “Aw, baby, all you had to do was ask.”

His dick meets your lips and you whimper as soon as it presses into your mouth. The weight of him is familiar, almost comforting on your tongue, though the width of him is something you never got used to. He’s big, and he knows it. 

“Forgot how much I like the way you look with my cock stuffed in your mouth,” he says, pulling his phone out of the back pocket of his unzipped pants to snap a photo of you. “Should I post on my private story, you think?”

“You post and I’ll never suck your dick again, Svechnikov.”

“Don’t worry, kisa,” he coos. “Want to keep that for my eyes only. Now, put that pretty mouth to work, yeah?”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and part your lips again—reluctantly. You can’t explain why, but there’s an inexplicable urge to have him back in your mouth, to deliver the pleasure he never fails to offer you. 

To keep him addicted to you the same way you are him. 

He presses in, doesn’t give you the time to adjust before he’s hitting the back of your throat, nor does he bother to hide his dark chuckle when you choke, tears brimming in your eyes. With a groan, his thrusts grow quicker, drool spilling out the side of your mouth.

“Not sure what I like fucking more: your cunt or your face,” he drawls, accent thick as he draws closer to his release. Thick fingers card through your hair, securing a hold at the back of your head and you blink away the stream of tears pooling in your eyes. A string of broken Russian falls from his mouth, eyes squeezed shut while his hips increase their pace. “Fuckin’ love when you gag on it though, baby.”

Andrei lets out another loud groan and a frantic series of thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth quickly, wrapping his fingers around length and stroking himself. He jerks a few times before releasing another curse in Russian before he spills onto your face, dripping thickly over your skin.

“Fuck,” he says, this time in English. “Now I gotta get a picture of that.”

 When he tugs his phone out, you do your best to scramble away, but you hear the telltale click of the camera anyways. Andrei’s hum is smug as he admires his artistry. “M’sure Scott will love this preview of you for later.”

“You are the worst,” you huff, glaring at him as you clean up your face. Still, you can’t help the heat that creeps into your cheeks.

“What? All I was doing was warming you up for him. Think about how much dick you can take now that I’ve stretched you out.”

Not bothering to even waste the energy arguing back, you opt to flip him off. The effect is much less powerful given that you’re tossing out the paper towel that wiped his cum off your face. He raises an amused eyebrow, eyes raking over your figure before stepping beside you to grab his own paper towel.

While he’s cleaning himself up, you adjust your skirt, ensuring you’re properly covered. A glance in the mirror renders your reflection less than stellar, but you clean up the smudged lip gloss and wipe away the runny mascara from under your eyes. When you look back at Andrei, he’s distracted by his phone, so you seize the opportunity to take his wallet and pull out two crisp hundred dollar bills, fresh from the ATM. 

Rubbing the bills together catches his attention, and he grimaces as he lunges toward you. Holding them just out of his grasp, you offer a big pucker of your lips, pressed to his cheek with a loud, “mwah!” before tucking the bills into your top, snug against your breast. With a wink, you walk out, feeling his gaze hot on your ass as the door swings shut behind you.

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #andrei svechnikov smut #andrei svechnikov x reader

[weird-an]

Jim is pretty sure that he's not qualified for whatever this.

He is a father though, once again - rather unexpectedly. Maybe it's that what makes him drag Billy Hargrove's ass from behind the Camaro's wheel when he's obviously wasted as fuck or it's too cold to sleep at the quarry. Because while the Hargrove kid doesn't admit it, Hopper has seen the ratty blanket and the fucking school books on the backseat.

"Hargrove," he grunts and can almost hear Joyce telling him that using his last name probably isn't helping.

"Billy," he corrects himself. "Do you need a place to stay?"

"I live at Cherry Lane. You know that." Billy chips a bit of black nail polish off his fingernails. "I'm not some hobo."

"Chief," he adds after a heartbeat, shooting Jim a calculating glance like he's trying to make a run for it. It wouldn't be the first time that happened.

"That's not what I'm asking," Jim grunts. He knows his tone is too rough, so he shoves a cup of watery hot chocolate towards Billy.

He wishes he had more patience, but he's just so angry. At himself, mostly and at Billy's dad. Because at first, he bought the whole "Billy needs a firm hand" act. He fucking fell for it. He drove Billy home several times and Neil Hargrove promised to take care of it. He gave a disapproving head shake towards Billy and gave Jim a long speech about America's youth and their queer antics and lack of manners. He has no prove, because Billy doesn't talk, it's just a hunch, but that kid needs help.

"I can stay at Harrington's," Billy mumbles. "When it gets too bad."

He takes the cup and gulps the chocolate down. Jim wonders if he's hungry, nervous or thirsty. Or all of it.

"Then why did I have to pick you up at the quarry again?"

"You don't have to do shit," Billy sneers. He sits up, hand crushing the paper cup. "I didn't fucking ask you to."

"Of course I have to," Jim barks. Billy has the talent to rile him up with ease. It's like he wants Jim to explode. "Every goddamn night I wonder if you're the next dead kid they'll find at the lake and I don't want to let this happen."

"I don't get you," Billy shouts back. "I don't get you ... or Steve .. What do you want? Why are you being so fucking nice? Why does he even like me?"

Jim blinks. Why should he know anything about Steve Harrington?

"Are you sleeping outside..." he asks slowly. "...because Harrington likes you and you don't know how to deal with that?"

Billy rubs the bridge of his nose. His voice grows smaller with each word. "He always... wants to talk and to cuddle and shit."

"Cuddle? That's sounds fucking qu-"

Billy flinches, eyes wide, like a rabbit about to bolt.

Hopper's mouth snaps shut. In his mind Joyce is already berating him softly to choose his words wisely.

"Do you want to cuddle with Harrington?" he asks. God, police school didn't brace him for whatever the fuck is happening right now.

"What?" Billy croaks. He looks as confused as Jim feels.

"Jesus," Jim sighs. "Let's go."

"What?" Billy repeats like a broken record.

"I'll drive you to Harrington's." Jim clears his throat. "So that you can... cuddle." He finishes lamely.

"What?" Billy seems to have forgotten any other words.

Hopper gets up. "Let's go."

He has no idea what he's doing. Maybe Steve and him can work together to make sure Billy is kinda safe.

#hopper turns up at steve's manhandling billy inside: pls cuddle so that he sleeps inside #exhausting hopper with harringrove #harringrove #billy x steve #jim hopper & billy hargrove #jim hopper #billy hargrove

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Rabbitt's monstrous october fics.

Relaxing

Carmen Berzatto x Reader

Carmy brings home a relaxing scented candle that comes with a surprise..

Smut! 🔞🔞

A/N: Surprise! An unplanned bonus fic for my monster appriciation collection!

🎃 🔥 🐻 💦 🎃

Carmy stared at the candle in his hands. "Calming" its old smudged label read. The jar lid still functioned properly and it looked to be new in all other aspects. With all the stress making its wat into his life he was suggested to pick up some scented candles from the ratty looking shop two blocks away. He was told to not be fooled by the shop's strange interior and various curiosities sold there as the items the old lady sold really served their purpose.

The candle lid was sealed with wax that cracked at the twist and crumbled off onto the table.

A strong scent of something he couldn't place but very pleasant nontheless filled the room as he lit the wick and smoke rose from the small flame.

He hadn't realized he had dozed off and was woken up by a strange feeling on his lower abdomen.

Bringing his hands up to rub the sleep from his eyes he blinks a couple of times only to freeze at the sight of..

"What the fuck?!" He tries to scramble back away from underneath the almost nude creature above him.

"Relax, like the candle tells you. You lit it, you summoned me." Your clawed hands splayed across his chest as your tail happily swished around. You hadn't been summoned in a long while and your last partners were nowhere near as gorgeous as this one.

"I didn't-- what even are you?" He had stopped struggling as the candle next to you still gave off its relaxing scent.

You ground your hips down on his and pulled a whine from his lips. "Oh.. fuck me.." He froze again, at his own words this time. "No wait. No no no not like that I meant-- ooh shit.."

You rolled your hips again and clawed at his chest underneath his shirt. Your tail snuck its way down the front of his pants and wrapped lazily around his cock. "Ahw look at you, all hard for me~ such a good boy.." You leaned down with a smirk that showed off two sets of fangs and traced a forked tongue down his neck.

"You wanna fuck me, baby?" Your voice was as soft as butter and he nodded at you with pleading eyes. "Y.. yes, please.."

With a small flick of your small wings your lewd attire went up in small flames and your nude self was revealed. Your hands pulled up his shirt to reveal his toned torso as your lifted your hips and pulled down his pants.

His eyes went from the dark markings that accentuated your hips down to where your tail was still lazily stroking his cock. He still had a hard time wrapping his head around who or what you were but seeing and feeling it happen made his worries quickly disappear.

He watched as your smooth, thin tail pumped his shaft. Muted red thighs right above him, positioned to sink right down on him. Your tail unwrapped off him and you slid its end between your soaked folds, only to move it all the way up to prod at his mouth and shove it between his lips. He gagged at the sudden intrusion but moaned around the appendage immediately after. The taste was unlike anything he had ever had before and wanted more.

His hands landed on your hips and pulled.

"What is it you want, dear? Tell me and I'll do it all." You teased by letting him pull you all the way up but not budging any further.

"Please, taste you.." You hummed at his words and swiped your tail between your folds again, lathering the tip in your fluids and dangled it above his lips. A drop threatened to fall as he looked up at it with his mouth open and his tongue out.

"So thirsty.." You lowered yojur tail just enough for him to capture it between his teeth and pull it down to suck the juices off it.

You giggled at his eagerness and crawles your way up his chest and ended with your thighs beside his head and your core right abobe his lips. "Can I have my tail back now?" Slowly you pulled it from his lips and replaced it with your soaked core. The first broad stripe licked along it had you both moaning. His hands grabbing at the plush of your thighs, pulling you closer onto him. His tongue felt so good you knew this one was gonna make you cum tonight. One of his hands snaked up your body to grab at your tits and squeeze them roughly while he lapped at your entrance like a starved man. You let him enjoy himself until he stopped to breathe. Pulling yourself away from his face he whined but you kept moving back to straddle his hips. Grinding on his crotch until he begged for more. "Please.. Wanna fuck you.." He sounded so desperate you couldn't tease any longer. You took his cock between your fingers to position his properly and sank down all the way in one movement.

His choked out gasp had you smile down at him as you bent down to catch his lips with yours and push your forked tongue down his throat. For a quick moment you thought you might have been a little too rough with him, but his delicious sounds proved you wrong. You bounced up and down on his cock, tits pressed against his chest and yoir hands tugging at his hair as one of his hands found the base of your tail. His fingers rubbed at the portruding spines there, which sent such a shock right to your core you came with a loud scream, muffled by his lips. You hid your face in the crook of his neck. "Hah.. fuck how- how did you know?" You panted as your hips stilled to catch your breath.

"Like your tail, wanted to touch it." He breathes out a chuckle, head rolled to the side to rub his cheek against the palm of your hand. Your claws lightly scratching at his temple.

He plays with it some more and you cry and whine into his neck, biting and sucking to keep quiet. Your fangs breaking his skin in multiple places.

The way you tightened around him had him thrusting up into you to shase his own release. He kept massaging the base of your tail in a matching rythm only to feel you come all over him again, the tight squeeze sending him over the edge as well, spilling deep inside of you.

You both laid there, panting. You looked over at the candle and thought of blowing it out. Your summoner was relaxed now so your job was done and you'd come back when your candle was lit again but you felt that staying and catching some sleep with the pretty man was the best plan for now.

Besides, you never even asked for his name.

#sometimes i write #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto smut #the bear

[starstruckkittensweets]

“Everything” Pt. I | Dabi x Reader

“You love him—everything he was, everything he is, and everything he will be.”

Fandom: My Hero Academia  Pairing: Dabi x Reader  Words: 13.9k 

A/N: I’m a slut for Dabi. Scratch that—I am a MASSIVE slut for Dabi. And that couch scene in 6x17 only solidified my obsession with him. I have no excuse for this fic, except that it’s angsty, filthy, and way too long for its own good. I just have too many thoughts on Dabi as both a character and a love interest and I shamelessly projected myself onto Reader the entire time writing this. I wanna hold him and tell him it’s all gonna be okay, but at the same time I wanna fuck his brains out like there’s no tomorrow. The second half will be uploaded later this week, once I finish editing it. I hope you enjoy! (Now let me go hide my face in shame...)

Also a huge thank you to my dear friend @lostinwildflowers​, who’s just as thirsty for Dabi as I am! Birch, it’s because of you cheering me on that this fic finally got finished! (And further down the rabbit hole we go!) 

Warnings: 18+ only (minors please DNI), fem-bodied reader, spoilers for Season 6 (up to Episode 17 at least), Reader and Dabi may or may not be in the healthiest mindset to fuck right now (that won’t stop em though), Reader is somewhat dependent on Dabi, oral sex (f. receiving), face sitting, vaginal sex, spanking, quirk use, branding, crying (Reader is a bit of a crybaby but she means well), hair pulling, fingering, blood tears, Dabi’s an asshole and doesn’t want to admit that Reader actually loves and cares for him 

Part I | Part II 

You’ve been to this mansion exactly three times before.

The first time was in the middle of the fall, when the leaves were crisp and the winds were brisk. It was an old shabby building in the middle of nowhere, worn out and run down by the countless inhibitors that came before you. At the time Dabi had brushed it off, claiming they were no longer a threat to you, that it was now the perfect little getaway from the rest of the world. (As long as the rest of the League was off elsewhere, of course.)

He had wrapped you up in his arms and pulled you down on that ratty old couch, the one with faded gold carvings and fluff poking out of the torn cushions. You had been a little wary at first; it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant smell in the world. But he kept you busy with his burning kisses and wandering hands, and eventually you dozed off right there in his arms, with his chest pressed against your back.

The second time was in the dead of winter, just before the New Year. You had forced him down on that damn couch and pressed every wad of gauze you could find to the fresh wounds on his arms and torso. The bastard had been too rough and ripped his staples again, a thin trickle of red seeping down his skin. You had yelled at him for that, as though you were his mother and not just the girl he’d preferred to keep his bed warm. So loud your voice rang throughout the halls of the mansion, enough for Twice and Toga to peek their heads around the corner to see what all the fuss was about.

The third time was a little more pleasant, on the eve of the eighteenth of January. A night of strolling around the city too far from home led you back to the quiet mansion—luckily you were the only ones there at the time. The two of you were tipsy on whatever booze Dabi had managed to get his hands on that day; your lips were thrumming from his kisses, your body as light as a feather in his arms. He carried you into a secluded room on the second floor, the one he’d claimed for his own so long ago, and his fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs. Before you knew it you were being crushed beneath him on the bed, moaning his name into his mouth as he slipped your shirt over your head.

Neither of you awoke until late the next morning, when he oh-so generously accompanied you on the walk back to your apartment, pulling a worn black hoodie over your head to hide the bruises on your neck and arms. It was frayed at the sleeves and smelled of smoke, but it was the warmest thing you’d ever worn in your life.

And now you’re standing outside this mansion a fourth time, with that old hoodie hugging your chest, keeping out the last winter chill of the season.

The League has never kept the doors locked—both for easy access and knowing just how they managed to wipe out the last group that lived in this mansion—so it’s not hard to slip in through the front. The halls are dark and silent, the scent of musk so strong you cover your nose with the sleeve of the hoodie. Not like smoke is much better, but still…

And that’s when you hear it: a faint chuckle, deep and raspy, at the very end of the hall. The slightest flicker of blue coming to life among the shadows.

You swallow once, stilling your trembling fingers in the pockets of the hoodie, and start to walk forward.

He’s standing there in the middle of the living room (at least that’s what Toga calls it; it only has a couch and a few dressers for decorations, mostly the knives she likes to keep on display for the rest of you to see). Your jaw drops at the sight of marred skin, a deep purple shade stretching across the length of his back, over his arms and down to his hipbones. He grunts as he presses down hard on one of the staples in his wrist, locking it back into place with a sigh.

You gasp, but he doesn’t turn around at the sound. Instead he rolls his shoulders back, cocks his head as he focuses on another staple splitting his skin apart.

“Dabi.” Your voice is a whisper, too quiet for him to hear. Or maybe he’s just ignoring me. You clear your throat and try again: “Dabi, you’re hurt. I can—”

He says your name then, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. He heaves a sigh as he tugs out a rusted staple from his wrist, flicking it to the ground before reaching for a fresh one on the dresser closest to him.

“I told you to stay away. So go home.”

Your breath catches in your throat; your heartbeat echoes in your ears. The black hoodie suddenly feels too snug around your neck as you glare at him, at the ragged skin his flames have left behind.

“You’re not serious. Two weeks—no, three weeks of complete radio silence, and that’s all you have to say to me?” It’s getting harder to stare at him when your eyesight’s getting all blurry. You brush your eyes with the sleeve of the hoodie, but that just makes you feel even worse. Damn smoke.

He doesn’t answer, only winces as another new staple buries itself into the skin of his wrist. You take a step forward, ready to clean the blood off his back or smack him upside the head, you’re not sure which one just yet.

But then he’s staring at you from over his shoulder, and all you can see are the patches beneath his eyes, the fresh burns stretching past the silver staples in his cheeks.

“Why are you here?” he asks, and you shiver at the forlorn look in those beautiful blue eyes. “You’re supposed to be home by now, it’s getting late. Leave already.”

“No.” The words pour out of you so fast you barely register what you’re saying. “Not again. I’m not leaving after you—” You swallow the lump in your throat, well aware of those eyes on you. “…After seeing that video—I couldn’t even…”

Fuck, it seems so long ago. Nearly a month of silence from Dabi, of sitting in your apartment wondering if you should leave the window unlocked for him even though he hates it, of checking your phone for any messages from unknown numbers, of constantly wondering if there was anything you could’ve said or done to keep him from walking out that night—

To staring at the little TV in your living room, a broken mug lying at your feet, your second cup of coffee soaking through the carpet. To feeling the tears well up in your eyes as you saw him, burn scars and all, revealing the truth about himself and the family he’d come from.

“Touya.”

It used to be your little secret. Something he mumbled into your hair as you patched him up one night, assuring him and yourself that he wouldn’t die. Something you’d panted into his mouth as he pressed you into the mattress in your bedroom, curling his fingers around your own. Something he’d trusted you with.

And now everyone knows about it; his family, his story, his name. Everyone knows and he can’t take it back.

But a part of you thinks he doesn’t want to take it back. That wild look in his eye, that gleeful smile that nearly rips his staples apart. The world is in shambles because of him and he fucking loves it.

“Touya,” you try again, “let me help you. You…you need to be cleaned up, I can take care of you…”

He makes no move to run as you step closer, hands barely brushing his ragged arms. Tears are spilling down your cheeks, mirroring the trickles of blood sliding down his chest. You can remember burning your hand on the stove so many years ago, even when your mother warned you to be careful. You had whined about the pain until she wrapped it up and gave you a kiss, chiding you for acting like such a child.

You can’t imagine being burned like this—your body being eaten by your own flames—the thought makes your stomach roll into itself.

“C’mon.” You pull him closer to the dresser, grimacing at the tray of fresh staples in front of you (as well as its bloodied twin). A familiar dance for the two of you. “I got you.”

You’re safe with me.

He’s silent as you clean out his wrists, leaving bloody tissues all across the dresser and floor, wincing at every bit of silver biting into his skin. Open, close, open, close. He doesn’t complain, not even once as you try your best to stitch him up. You keep your mouth shut, even though your tongue is burning with all the things you want to say. Too scared that even the slightest bit of noise will chase him off again, and you’ll be left at square one once more.

When the blood is cleaned off and the staples are secured, you steal a glance at the palm of his hand. Cringing as the rough purple skin stretches all the way up to his fingers. Can he still feel anything? Or are his nerves shot for good?

The thought makes your stomach churn. Without thinking you lean into his palm, splaying his fingers across your cheek.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sor—”

“For what?”

His voice is rough, and when he pulls his hand away you want to burst into tears. He gives your head a messy pat, mussing up your hair before walking to the other end of the room.

“You got nothin’ to feel sorry for, doll. So don’t go saying shit that’s not true.”

Your tongue feels heavy against my lips. “W-what?”

“You patched me up, I won’t bleed out. So you can go already.” He sprawls himself across that ratty old couch, legs hanging off the arm as he drapes a hand across his forehead. “Leave.”

“But… I don’t want to…”

Suddenly you feel like a child again, clinging to your parents and begging them for just five more minutes of fun before bedtime. There’s a horrible nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, laughing at you, taunting you for how stupid you are.

He doesn’t want you here. Just get out of here before you make things worse.

But you know that if you walk out that door right now, you may never see this man in the flesh ever again.

You can’t let him get away. Not again—not ever.

“I’m staying.” Dabi’s eyes are practically glowing in the dark, watching your every move as you cross the room to follow him. “You don’t get to tell me that after all this time. So I’m staying, whether you like it or not. So stop trying to get me to leave!”

The chuckle he gives sends a chill down your spine. He leans further into the couch and rests his arm against his forehead.

“Everyone leaves sooner or later, dollface.”

Oh.

That’s where his mind is at right now.

He likes to put up a front. Likes to hide behind sarcastic comments and unimpressed looks. Shows off his power any chance he gets just to remind everyone how strong he is, how easily he could incinerate everyone with a single flick of his hand.

But you can still see the little boy with white hair, begging for his father’s approval, masking his sadness with a smile.

“…Well, I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon.” You flump down on the floor with a huff, back pressing into the worn out couch, legs sprawled out in front of you. “So get used to having me around.”

He doesn’t seem happy, but at least he’s not trying to get you to leave anymore. For now, at least.

The two of you bask in the silence of the shadowy room, neither one acknowledging the other. You pull your knees up to your chest and keep your eyes forward, staring at the sliver of moonlight that seeps through the single window ahead, as Dabi’s soft breathing lulls you into a semi-relaxed state.

There are so many things you want to tell him, to ask him, to scream at him. Why didn’t you come home after that night? What did I do wrong to make you stay away? Why do you insist on pushing me away when you know all I want to do is help you?

It’s still so raw, the memory of his last night in your apartment. Early February—just two days shy of Valentine’s Day, the prick—at close to three in the morning. One minute you were sleeping soundly in your bed with his arms wrapped around your waist; the next you were begging him not to leave, fat tears streaming down your cheeks.

Demanding to know why he decided to leave after all this time, after so many months of bliss. Recalling the promise you’d made to him on his birthday in this very house, in the old room he’d claimed for himself. And when that didn’t work you started throwing things—pillows, clothes, his stupid pack of cigarettes—anything you could get your hands on. Anything to get him to stay, even for just one more night.

But he’d pulled on his shirt and walked out the door—the first time he’d ever used the door instead of the window. He left you there in the living room, tearing at your hair as your chest wracked with sobs.

I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I fucking—

“Still have that shitty hoodie, huh?”

His voice is raspy when he speaks, a low sound that snaps your head from your arms. You try not to look at him as you nod, hugging your knees closer to your chest. A whiff of smoke crosses your nose when you tug the collar of the hoodie over your mouth, as though it were a scarf.

“Looks good on you, doll.” Dabi gives a breathless laugh, and it’s hard not to turn your head to look at him. Of all the things he could talk to you about, he chooses that?

Maybe it’s just his way of appeasing you, as though you’ll forget the last few weeks ever happened.

“Better on you than me; I always hated wearing it. Too stuffy and hot. It always got—”

“Caught on your staples, I know.” The words are already falling from your mouth; no matter how hard you grip your arms or bite your tongue, they just keep on coming. “That’s why you don’t like to wear sweaters, they make you itch and you overheat way too fast.”

Silence—for a moment you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing. You swallow hard and twist your head, nails biting into the sleeves of the hoodie. His arm is over his eyes, but you can still see the slight quiver in his jaw when you start talking.

“I know you can’t stand being in a car for more than ten minutes, or else you’ll start to feel sick. I know you like to drink but not too much, because you hate the way it makes you feel like you’re losing control of your body. You hate the way your head starts swimming and you have to lay down with a rag on your head. I know you prefer Camels but you can’t always find them, and that’s why I keep a stash of them on the kitchen counter, in case you end up running out.”

Your hands are clenched into fists now, your heart leaping in your throat with every word you say. You have no idea if he’s even listening, or if he’s fallen asleep from exhaustion or boredom. But there’s no stopping the words from spilling out, your tongue burning with every syllable, every breath you suck in just to calm your racing heart.

“You like sleeping on your left side rather than your right because you think it helps you fall asleep faster—and it doesn’t hurt as much, the worst of your scars are on your right side. You’re a fan of that special cherry-scented shampoo in my bathroom, the one you always use whenever you beg me to bathe with you. You still have that stupid keychain I got for you last Christmas, the one that splits into two halves of a heart. And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you leave out some food for the stray cats in the alley behind my apartment—because I know it’s you. Only you could leave a tray of cat food smelling like an ashtray, dummy.”

That was quite a sight to wake up to: a ragtag group of kittens right below your kitchen window, lapping up food from a little silver tin—something that had definitely not been there the night before. And while the whole alleyway smelled of smoke and ash, there wasn’t a single cigarette stub to be found on the pavement. Too worried one of the cats might decide to chew on them, probably. As much as he tried to downplay it, Dabi did have a soft spot for animals. He had a heart of his own, somewhere in that scarred, ragged chest of his.

Which is why this whole situation hurts you so much. You know he cares about whatever kind of bond the two of you have. You know he’s so much more than what he claims to be. You know that deep down inside him, he’s still the boy with the bright blue eyes—Touya Todoroki, the boy who dreamed of becoming a hero one day.

I know you, so let me in. I’ll still be by your side, no matter what you do.

“And I know that I could never leave you when you’re in pain like this, even if you tell me to.” It’s hard to keep your voice soft, but you try your best anyway. Anything for him. “Even if you scream at me and try to scare me, I’ll never leave you. Not now, and not ever. So please, just…”—suddenly there’s a lump in your throat, your eyes growing blurry at the edges—“…let me help you.”

He could scoff and brush you off. He could glare and demand for you to get out. He could crush you so easily, referring to the last actual conversation you had, where he claimed you were nothing more than a way for him to blow off some steam. He could incinerate this entire mansion, taking you down with it—and quite possibly himself. But no matter what happens, or what he may do, you have to stand your ground. You made a promise not only to him, but to yourself as well. To keep the two of you safe, even if the entire world stood against you. To love him until you took your dying breath, and to trust in him to do the same for you.

I don’t care what you’ve done or who you are, or even what you plan to do. No matter what happens, I will always have a special place in my heart for you.

Those were the exact words you’d said to him on his birthday, in this very mansion. And you still meant every single one of them, as if you’d said them just moments ago.

“…C’mere.”

Your mouth falls open when he finally moves his arm away from his face, only to drum his fingers against his bare chest. Those blue eyes are unnaturally bright, beckoning you closer—as though he’s the devil you’ve been warned to stay away from your entire life.

It’s a bit awkward at first, stumbling off the floor and crawling up the length of his body. But there’s no word of protest, no sign of discomfort as you throw one leg over his waist, settling down on his hips as gently as you can. Suddenly those scarred palms are stretching out to you, and you lean in to press a line of kisses across the fresh purple marks.

“Stubborn little shit.” The words are harsh but there’s no bite to them—only a soft glint in those beautiful eyes of his. “It’s too late for you to head back home already, isn’t it?”

You give him a shrug, dragging your mouth to the inner part of his wrist. “I guess so. Like hell am I leaving you here all alone with those injuries.”

You both know he’s lived through worse, a few misplaced staples aren’t going to kill him overnight. But you’ll take any excuse you can get to stay with him, even for just a bit longer.

He hums at that, leaning his head against the arm of the couch. His fingers are warm against your skin, brushing across your forehead as he sweeps a few stray pieces of hair off to the side. When he’s done you take ahold of his wrist again, pressing a few kisses against the fresh staples in his palm, as soft as you can manage. That gets a laugh from him—short and breathless, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Never know when to quit, do you? You keep chasin’ after me, even when I tell you not to. I thought you had a brain in that pretty little head of yours, doll.”

“I do, and I could’ve easily let you bleed out from your wounds.” You run your hands across the staples on his chest, down his abdomen before working your way back up his arms. “But I didn’t, because I’m just that kind of person.”

“Hm, a good girl who’s got a soft spot for a dangerous villain?”

“You’re not a villain,” you tell him, even though you both know that’s a blatant lie. “And I don’t have just a soft spot for you. I…”

One minute the words are there on your tongue—and the next your lips are pressed together, too afraid to speak as those burning blue eyes bleed into your own.

I love you. That’s all you have to say; three simple words, and your fate is sealed.

So…why are they so fucking hard to say out loud?

You do love him. You love him so much your chest aches whenever you look at him. It hurts whenever you know he’s putting himself in danger, risking his life to destroy what made him this way in the first place. He tries to hide it with a cocky smirk and a few flirtatious comments, but you know him better than that. This is the same man who huddles deep under the blankets of your bed with you, even though he claims they’re too scratchy against his skin. The same man who rests his head in your lap and lets you play with his hair, who will sometimes ask about whatever book you’re currently reading at the moment. The same man you’ve caught, on at least two separate occasions, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, hunched over the running sink, a thin trail of blood trickling from the staples embedded beneath his eyes. The same man who doesn’t even protest as you wrap your arms around him and lead him back to bed, reminding him of just how much he’s needed—how much you need him—with gentle kisses and soft-spoken words.

You love him—everything he was, everything he is, and everything he will be.

He reaches up and presses his thumb and forefinger into your chin, bringing your face down to his. Apparently you’re taking too long to respond.

“Listen to me, doll.” A shiver sweeps down your spine at the familiar pet name. “Are you really willing to sign your life away for a piece of shit like me?”

There he goes again, degrading himself and his worth. Sometimes you wish you could meet the man who did this to him. Stare his father straight in the eye and demand to know what prompted him to treat his own son this way. As though if he wasn’t the epitome of perfection, he was just a worthless waste of space.

“We’ve been over this, Touya.” You can see the twitch of his jaw at his name, his real name spilling from your lips. “You are not a piece of shit. And I wouldn’t be signing anything away; I knew damn well what I was getting myself into when I let you kiss me for the first time.”

A memory from so long ago, of drunken laughter and his heavy coat draped over your shoulders—and your incessant whining that the sleeves weren’t long enough to keep you warm. He had rolled his eyes and shut you up with a kiss, before scooting over to sit behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. Claiming that he would keep you warm instead, while you’d been too stunned to speak. Too preoccupied with the taste of his lips—of booze and smoke…and of the slightest scent of cedarwood.

“You’re a pain in my ass and you always know what to say to push my buttons, and I’m still pissed at you for leaving that night—and not coming to visit afterwards. You’re an asshole, no way around it.”

You can feel the tension slipping from your shoulders, the cloud of frustration finally easing from your mind as you reach down to take his face in your hands. Palms pressed against his ragged skin, thumbs grazing the staples below his eyes, savoring the way his lips part at your touch, the way his eyelids flutter as you lean in close. His fingers are burning against your waist, but you trust him not to burn you to ash. You still trust him, even though he’s given you every reason not to.

“But you’re mine. My pain in the neck, my villain, whatever you want to call yourself. My Dabi, my Touya—it doesn’t matter to me, as long as I get to have you.”

It’s the closest you can get to those three damn words without bursting into tears. But he seems to understand, because suddenly he’s twisting his hands into your hair and yanking you down for a searing kiss.

You can remember the first time he kissed you, how you knew you would never get tired of feeling his mouth on your own, or tasting his lips, or seeing the smug look on his face as he pulled himself away, just to see you breathless and begging for more. It’s still the same now, more or less, but with an underlying heat between your bodies. An undeniable wave of desire, crashing over your heads until the only thing you can see, touch, taste, is each other.

A groan slips through his mouth as he tugs you up the length of his body, mismatched lips finding their way to the familiar pulse point in your neck. He’s quick with his work, sucking a fresh bruise just below your jaw, where he knows his hoodie won’t be able to reach. It’s hard not to whine as he works his way down your neck, nipping and sucking as you bury your face and fingers into his soft white hair.

Fuck, you’ve missed this. How long has it been since he’s held you against his body like this, drawing out this wild side, this primal need for him, that only he can hope to tame?

Too long—too fucking long.

“D-Dabi,” you’re panting against his hair, moaning as he ruts his hips up into yours. “…It’s too dark in here—n-need to see you—”

He’s sitting up in a flash, one arm coiled around your waist with his other stretched out behind him. A gentle stream of flame erupts from his palm, illuminating his eyes before settling into the fireplace beside the couch. A thin trail of smoke rises from his wrist, reminding you of all the cigarettes he would smoke out on your balcony in the dead of night.

“Better, doll?”

“Better,” you whisper, and he smirks before pressing his mouth to yours once more.

For a moment, you forget about everything that’s led you up to this point. For a moment there’s no war between heroes and villains, no innocent civilians caught in the crossfire, no heartbroken memories or damning videos. There’s just the two of you within these four walls, all alone for the first time in almost a month.

And fuck if you’re not going to take advantage of every single second you can.

You push down on his chest, mindful of the scars and staples, and he falls back against the arm of the couch with a grunt. That lopsided smirk, the mischievous glint in his eye—he looks way too pleased with himself, a surefire warning to be on guard. He can be dangerously unpredictable in bed, more so after a mission or a fight with some heroes. All that adrenaline pumping through his veins gives him an extra edge, one he’s all too willing to exploit when he’s tangled up with you.

“Let’s get this off,” he mumbles, lifting the hem of your hoodie, his hoodie over your stomach.

“I’ll be cold,” you whine, but you still let him slip it over your head.

“Don’t worry, doll.” He tosses it to the floor, his mismatched lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I’ll be sure to keep you warm.”

Your shirt follows not too long after, and then he’s kissing his way across your chest, needy fingers already fumbling with the clasp of your bra. You roll your eyes and bat his hands away, and it’s hard not to giggle at the unimpressed look on his face. As though you had the sheer audacity to deny him of what’s rightfully his.

“Your turn, dummy. I’m not gonna be the only one who gets stripped down tonight.”

“Aww, this isn’t enough for you?” He motions to his bare chest with a wave of his hand, looking even more offended when you shake your head at him.

“No, not yet.” He groans when you shift a bit lower in your place against his hips, thumbing the silver button of his pants, licking your lips at the thin trail of white hair that disappears below the waistband. “I wanna see even more of you.”

“Then you better work for it,” he growls, but the feral look in his eye and the way his lip curls over his teeth tells you he wants this just as much as you do. He nestles into the arm of the couch, hands resting behind his head, as he gives an experimental buck of his hips—one that makes you gasp and your face flush with heat.

“You want it that badly, doll? Then show me what you’re made of.”

“Oh I plan to, Touya.”

You crush your mouth against his own, fumbling with that tiny silver button, sighing into his mouth when you finally manage to unclasp it. Your fingers dip down beneath the waistband, down the fabric of his boxers and over the slick patch of skin beneath. He’s so hot, literal flames coursing through his veins with every breath he takes. So dangerous, so lethal.

But you’ve never been scared of him, and you don’t plan on starting now.

He sucks in a sharp breath as he lifts his hips slightly, allowing you to slip his pants down to his thighs. But when you drag them down to his knees his hand suddenly curls around your wrist, freezing you in place.

His eyes are wide, his mouth agape, his fingers trembling against my skin.

“Doll…”

It’s not a warning, rather a plea. And it makes your heart ache in your chest all over again.

He’s always kept some of his clothes on during sex, even if they irritate his skin. Usually it’s enough for him to lower his pants just enough to free himself, especially if you’re in a well-lit room. Unless you’re in complete and total darkness, he refuses to strip down completely when he’s with you.

Part of you thinks he’s ashamed of the scars. You know exactly how much of his body they cover, from his face, down his chest, and over his legs. But you’ve never shied away from them, even when they’re still fresh and steaming. They’re just a part of him, the same as his eyes or his hair or that sharp tongue he likes to flaunt around. Another bit of Dabi you’ve grown to admire and love.

“Let me see,” you whisper, kissing the healthy swath of skin on his cheek. “You’re beautiful, Touya, and I want to see all of you.”

Touya, Touya, Touya. How many times has that name crossed your lips? How many nights had he drawn it out of you, breathless and soft as you squirmed beneath his body? How many times did you whisper it into your pillow, tears staining your lashes, as your last night replayed itself over and over again in your head?

Such a lovely name, and you’re still so proud of him for trusting you with it.

“Because you’re mine, right?” His fingers slowly unravel themselves from your wrist. Slowly, but surely. “You’re mine, as much as I’m yours… If you’ll have me, that is,” you add with a nervous giggle.

You’ve been so caught up in wanting to prove to him that you want him, that you never stopped to check if he wants you in the same way. I guess that’s what I get for being so eager.

He scoffs, tangling his fingers in your hair once more. “Fuck, you know I want you, dollface.”

Your chest swells with pride—and something else you’re not quite ready to put a label on just yet.

“I’m glad to hear that. Now lift your hips, I wanna see you.”

There’s a rustle of fabric, the sting of staples as he kicks his heavy boots and pants off and onto the dusty floor. Large patches stretch along his legs, marred skin mixed with healthy flesh, rusty staples and crude stitching piecing him all together. It’s a sight that makes your chest ache, one that would’ve made your stomach roll at one point or another. Just another reason for you to despise the bastard who did this to him.

His kisses are light against your lips, a stark contrast to the harsh rut of his hips beneath you. Trace every bit of skin and staples you can find with your fingers, ragged and smooth, until it blends together beneath your palms. Until the only thing you can feel is Dabi.

He manages to slip your pants down over your ass, letting you lean on him just enough to slide out of them and toss them on the floor. That gets a chuckle out of both of you; it’s not exactly easy to undress while simultaneously trying not to fall off this old fucking couch. For a brief moment you wonder if you should move upstairs to an actual bed, but that thought quickly turns to dust when he dips a finger into your panties, and you realize you can’t fucking wait any longer.

“Oh? So fucking wet already, aren’t you?”

He smirks against your mouth, dragging a couple of fingers across the slick patch of skin. You gasp and roll your hips, and he seems to gain some of his confidence back—you can feel it in the way he touches you, his fingers teasing your soaked slit.

“Tell me, did you just get this wet for me now, or did you walk in here already dripping like a bitch in heat?”

A shudder courses through your veins, nails finding purchase in his scarred shoulders. Not too rough, you don’t want him to start bleeding again, not so—

“Answer me.”

You’re squirming in his lap as he spreads your folds apart, his thumb barely ghosting over your clit. But when you try to squeeze your thighs together he tightens his grip and slaps your ass hard.

“J-just now,” you manage to choke out between gasps, “…I-I swear—”

“Hm, my pretty doll,” he whispers, and his fingers curl around your chin to pull you closer, “for some reason, I don’t fucking believe you.”

He’s pulling away all too soon, smirking when a whine slips past your mouth. He shifts himself lower on the couch, his head resting on the cushion rather than the arm. He licks his lips, brings his hand to his face—the same one he just had buried between your thighs—and taps his mouth with the tip of his finger.

“C’mon, doll. Sit on my face like a good girl.”

It’s almost laughable how fast you’re tearing your panties off, absolutely pathetic how easily you submit to his will. It’s been too long since you’ve had a night like this, a night where the only two people in the world are you and him.

He groans when you settle yourself over his face, nails digging into the ratty arm of the sofa, shivering at the touch of his hands on your waist. His palms are warm—too warm to be natural. And sure enough you can see a wisp of blue emitting from his palm, before he tugs your entire weight down to sit on his face.

“Dabi, wait—”

Your breath catches at the first brush of his tongue, that familiar piercing he has right on the tip—shit, he knows just how that drives me crazy—

“Y-you’re staples!” Another gasp as he holds you in place, his palms heating up ever so slightly against your outer thighs. “Just d-don’t rip them out—ah—be c-careful!”

“’S fine,” he mumbles, pulling himself away just enough to lick at his wet lips, “I know you’ll just patch me up again if I tear them out.”

You don’t even have time to argue before he’s forcing you down on his face again, lapping at your pussy like a starved man. It’s all so exhilarating—the heat of his hands, the slight pinch of the staples in his jaw, the way his tongue slides against your folds in every way imaginable—

Suddenly his lips find their way around your clit, sucking hard and fast—and you sink your nails into the white roots of his hair.

“Dabi!”

You’re grinding yourself on his face now, gasping as each thrust brings you right against his tongue, his nose bumping against your burning clit. His eyes are glowing beneath your body, matching the shade of the flames in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the two of you. So warm, so comforting, so powerful—and absolutely feral.

He slips his tongue inside, tightens his grip on your thighs as he rocks you back and forth on his face. Your palms are slick with sweat, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you scream out his name at the top of your lungs. So loud you’re surprised any heroes that may be nearby don’t start breaking down the doors and crashing through the windows. Though you have no doubt in your mind Dabi would refuse to stop at this point, no matter what could be lurking beyond these walls.

“Dabi, Dabi, Dabi…” His eyes flicker up to yours, his eyebrow quirked and his nose pressing against your clit. “I—ngh—I can’t take it—please, let me come—”

Like he needs to be told twice.

His nails sink into the flesh of your thighs—part of you is already wondering if you’ll still have bruises by tomorrow morning—and he starts thrusting your hips against his tongue at a rapid pace. You try your best to keep up and rock yourself against him but he’s just too fast. Never mind the strain on your muscles, the coil in your stomach that’s growing tighter and tighter with every buck of your hips. You might as well be a toy at this point, boneless and pretty, made for his pleasure rather than your own.

A doll. His doll.

And suddenly you’re bursting at the seams, the corners of your eyes sparkling with stars, the coil in your stomach finally snapping apart. Dabi’s all too eager to lap up your release, his tongue making you shiver as you gush all over his face.

“Such a good girl,” his voice is raspy as he finally lifts you off of him, circling his hands over the fresh marks on your thighs.

Your sight’s a little hazy, but you can still make out a few split staples on each side of his mouth, ripped apart between burned and healthy skin. But he’s on you before you can say a word, hoisting you into his arms and pulling you against his chest, with your legs wrapped around his waist. He presses his mouth to yours, dragging his tongue across your own, smirking when you gasp at the taste of yourself on his lips.

“Still taste so fucking good, dollface.” Suddenly he’s pushing his hands on your chest, caging you against the cushions of the couch, his elbows on either side of your head. “I think you’re ready for my fingers now. You think so?”

You’re nodding as hard as you can, nearly clunking your foreheads together, and he lets out one of those rare laughs you’ve come to love so much.

“Need to hear you say it.”

“Yes, yes—fuck, I’m ready!”

This is Dabi in his element: painfully patient, well aware of the power he holds over your body, and relishing every single second of it.

He hums in delight, slipping a finger beneath the strap of your bra, resting against your shoulder. “Take this off for me—unless you want it turned to ash.”

You’re certain the clasp snaps apart with how fast you rip it off, tossing it over the arm of the couch. He smirks again as he lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your breast. A stark contrast to the primal way he was handling you earlier, but it makes you whine all the same.

He’s slow with his movements now, kneading your breasts together, pressing a line of kisses down your chest, dragging his tongue against the pulse point in your neck. He’s so soft and gentle you can feel your eyes fluttering shut, the exhaustion from your orgasm finally catching up to me.

“Dabi,” your voice is soft against his temple, “Dabi, I—ah!”

He slides a finger inside, smirking down as he brushes his mouth against your forehead.

“Eyes on me, doll. Don’t want you dozing off on me just yet, now do we?”

You can’t find the words to answer him as he adds another finger, curling them upward, drawing out another pathetic whine from the pit of your chest.

“We’re not even close to bein’ done for the night, so you just keep those pretty little eyes open for me, and let me do all the work. You understand?”

You start to nod but think the better of it, opting to choke out, “Y-yeah, I do…”

“Hm, so you can listen.” He starts pumping his fingers at a gentle pace, keeping his other arm beside your head on the couch. You can’t stop yourself from squirming beneath him as he curls his fingers, pressing his thumb against your swollen clit.

“D-Dabi—”

“Good girl,” he hisses against your temple, “good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s achingly slow with his thrusts, dragging his fingers against every inch of you, every bit of flesh he can reach. Your hands find their way around his shoulder blades, nails cutting into the scarred skin as he presses down hard on your clit. You’re squealing against his mouth now, dragging your hands down the ragged skin, wincing when you pull away and see a faint shadow of red beneath your nails.

“Shit, I’m so s-sorry,” the bastard’s still pumping his fingers into you, “I-I didn’t mean to m-make you bleed—”

But he’s quick to shush you, his other hand hovering over your neck. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, pretty girl, it’s not important.”

Like hell it is, I’m not patching you up again just because you like it rough—

“Ah, there it is.” He smirks as he brushes his fingers upward, hitting that special spot that has you whining and squirming and digging your nails even deeper into his skin. “You gonna come for me, doll? Be my good girl and squirt all over my fingers?”

Your chest is heaving, legs raised to wrap themselves around his hips, gasping out his name as he drives his fingers deeper into your body.

“Y-yes, Dabi—fuck!” You’re so close, that familiar coil winding up in the pit of your stomach, almost there, almost there—

“That’s it, come for me. Make a mess for me, doll. Come on—oh, that’s it—so fucking good for me, aren’t ya?”

You’re shuddering against his burned chest, carving your nails into his skin as the coil finally explodes. You can feel yourself clamping down hard on his fingers, legs jerking as he traces his thumb over your clit, his voice as he mumbles a slew of filthy words against your ear.

“Hey, keep your eyes open.” He taps your cheek, leaving a smear of your juices on your skin. But he’s all too eager to press his lips to it and clean you off. “Turn around, doll, get on your knees. Can you do that for me?”

Anything for you, but your tongue is too thick to get the words out. Instead you give him a nod, twisting your body around as he shuffles himself off of you. Before you know it you’re leaning against the arm of the couch, grasping at the torn fabric as he settles himself behind you. There’s a soft rustling sound as he slides his boxers down, but when you try to glance back at him his hand curls around the back of your head, keeping your head forward and hanging over the arm of the couch.

“W-wanna see you…”

“Later, pretty girl. You’ll get to see me later.”

There’s a familiar bite to his tone; not the one that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, but the kind that makes your hands twitch and your throat burn. He’s still doubting the way he looks, even after everything you’ve done so far. Does he still not trust you enough to see all of him like you let him see all of you?

But then your mind goes blank as he leans into you, hands hot against your hips, the wet sound of slick filling your ears as he takes his cock in his hand. He thumps it against your clit, and the edge of the piercing on the tip has you trembling all over again.

“Deep breaths for me,” he mumbles, his breath hot against your nape, “deep breaths, doll…”

He pushes himself in, bit by bit, groaning when you whine his name beneath him. He’s stretching you out, so tight and warm you think you might burst, the collection of piercings adorning his cock making your eyes roll into the back of your skull. Every ridge of skin, every touch of metal and breath against your body sends you over the edge, sucking him in as he bottoms out inside you with a moan.

“Fuck, so tight…”

It’s all too much; the heat of his body against your own, the touch of his lips on your neck, and the throb of his cock deep inside you. Suddenly you’re dragging the back of your hand over your eyes, praying with everything you have that Dabi won’t see what he does to you.

It’s been so long, I didn’t think I’d have him like this again. Not after that night…

Not after what had been said. Not after he’d screamed that he wanted nothing more to do with you, that you were just a body to keep him busy in the dead of night. Not after you’d told him to get out of your apartment, to walk out of your life forever, that you would be better off without him. The words still rang in your head, echoing through those late nights in your bed, the sheets damp with sweat and the pillow stained with tears.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it, I was only trying to hurt you. Just like you hurt me. But I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, because I—

“Still with me, doll?” You swallow hard and nod your head, keeping your eyes on the arm of the couch. His hands are surprisingly soft against your hips. “Gonna start moving, you ready?”

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his skin, both burned and smooth, against your own. “Of course I am. Just fuck me already.”

He’s steady at first, mindful of his size and your position on the couch. Rolling his hips into your own, massaging your hips with his scarred palms, the occasional curse slipping through his mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve found yourself in a situation like this; despite your best efforts, you haven’t been with anyone else since that last night. Every face, hand, pair of lips against your own reminds you of him.

But now you have him, after all this time, and you’ll be damned if you don’t have him at least try to make up for the month of hell he put you through.

You’re thrusting your hips against his own, relishing the groan and startled look in his eye when you gaze up at him from over your shoulder. “I said fuck me, didn’t I?” Come on, I know you can do better than that. “So don’t hold back.”

And suddenly he’s wrapping a fist around your hair, rutting his hips into yours like an animal in heat. The wet sound of his skin slapping against your own, his cock sliding in and out of you, the feral groan he lets out in the form of your name—it’s too much too soon, leaving you gasping for air over the arm of the couch.

“Little fucking slut, aren’t ya? Always so eager for my cock. Tell me,” he sneers, and you jolt when his breath clouds over the shell of your ear, “did you come all the way out here tonight hoping to get your pretty little brains fucked out?”

Not entirely—the possibility hadn’t even crossed your mind on the trek here. But that’s not what comes out of your mouth.

“M-maybe—fuck, yes!” You cry out as his palm comes down hard on your ass, your pitiful words only fueling his ego. “S-so rough…”

“Aww, doll, I thought you liked it when I’m rough with you?” Another thrust of his hips, his cock pounding against that sweet spot deep inside you. “Let me ask you, how many men did you fuck while I was gone?”

“N-none…”

“Hm? Couldn’t hear ya, doll. Speak up.”

He smacks your ass again, eliciting another scream from your throat. “None! No one else, only…only you, Dabi…”

The tears are spilling freely down your cheeks, leaving little pools on the arm of the couch. Dabi groans again as he yanks your hair back, his lips searing against the skin of your jaw.

“Say it again. Say my name.”

“Dabi, Dabi—”

“Not that one, doll.”

Your heart thrums against your ribcage, eyes wide and teary, but you can still feel a smile on your face.

“Touya!”

He’s pounding into you at a brutal pace, one hand still wrapped around your hair as his other hand slides down the length of your body, between your thighs to circle over your burning clit. You’re gasping out his name, nails biting into the arm of the sofa, bucking your hips back to meet his thrusts halfway.

A stray tear slides down your cheek; he releases his hold on your hair just to wipe it away and kiss the heated skin below.

“Touya, I-I’m so close—so fucking close—”

It’s right there within your reach, burning on the tip of your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut with every thrust he gives you.

“Don’t hold back,” he hisses as you push back against him with a whimper. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing them in hard, tight circles. “Wanna hear you scream, got it?”

You can only nod your head, your words slurring together as he brings you closer and closer to your peak.

“C’mon, cream all over my cock—”

“F-fuck, Touya!”

Suddenly you’re tumbling over the edge, pressing your face into the arm of the couch, clenching your thighs around his hand. A tremble courses through your body, vision flooding with white, whining out his name as he continues to circle your clit, even when you’re spent and slumped in his arms.

“That’s it, doll, such a good girl for me.” But there’s a strain in his voice, a familiar fire in his thrusts as he chases his own release. “So good, so fucking good—”

Something warm and rough closes over the back of your hand; your eyes open to see his fingers lacing through your own, pinning your hand to the arm of the couch. It’s not long before he shifts himself to grasp your other hand, caging your body against the couch, his voice raspy and his breaths short against the shell of your ear.

“Gonna come—where do you want it, doll?”

You squeeze his fingers with your own, eyes fixed on the burned skin of his arm. “I-inside… Want you inside me, Touya…”

His chest shudders against your back, face pressed against your neck as he stills his thrusts, spilling himself inside of you. He stays there for a moment, panting against your skin, still holding your hands in his scarred ones, the heat of his body giving you an entirely new sense of bliss you thought you’d lost for good.

But then he slides himself out, his cum dribbling onto the cushions below, and you can’t help but giggle when his cock brushes against your inner thigh.

“Still hard?” He scoffs and starts to pull away—but your hands are already curling around his wrists, tugging him back down to your level. “Lay down,” you manage to slur out, “wanna be on top now.”

He barks out a laugh but settles down on the couch anyway, tracing the skin of your hips with his nails.

“Sure you’re up for this, dollface?” You nod, straddling his hips for the second time tonight. “You look worn out, don’t want you falling asleep on me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fucked me in my sleep,” you murmur, and he only smirks at the memory. Needy asshole. “Besides, you had me the way you wanted. And now it’s my turn.”

“Oh? And in what way do you want me?” He squeezes his hands around your ass and pulls you in close. “My cock not good enough for you anymore?”

“No, it’s more than enough.” You press your hands to the planes of his chest, smiling as he sinks into the messy cushions below. “I just wanna see your eyes when I tell you how beautiful you are.”

That’s when you see it: the tiniest clench of his jaw, the glazed look in his eye that lets you know, he thinks it’s all bullshit. That he won’t believe you, no matter how many times you say it to his face.

“…I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I said I wanted all of you, didn’t I? I meant it, even your looks. Your hair, your eyes, these scars…” You lean down to kiss his neck, eliciting the softest groan from his chest. “They’re my favorite part about you.”

“Why?” The look in his eyes is so uncertain, so terrified—as if he’s still a child, begging for someone to accept him. “They’re just scars. They’re…ugly.”

“Not really. They show just how strong you are. How strong your flames are, how determined you are. No matter what’s standing in your way, you always find a way to persist. And that’s why I—”

Love you.

You clamp your mouth shut, fighting the urge to slap both hands over your face. Idiot, you’re such a fucking idiot! Now he’s staring at you with those big eyes and you’re fucking everything up and—

“That’s why I…I want every part of you.” Anti-climactic, but it eases some of the weight off your chest. “Every bit you have to offer. Scars, fears, sins—none that scares me. I want all of them, because I want you. All I care about is you, Touya.”

He’s growing increasingly uneasy, you can see it in the way his eyes dart back and forth between your own and the ceiling, the slight quiver of his hands against your waist. Words have never really been his strong suit in situations like this, so you can tell he’s having trouble coming up with a response. So before he can you lean down to kiss him again, your hands roaming all across his body.

Actions seem to speak louder than words, anyway.

A thin sheen of sweat gathers along the healthy skin of his chest, the silver staples glimmering at the corners. He’s gorgeous in this light, sprawled out beneath you on the couch, the faint hue of the fireplace flickering over his skin. Matching those beautiful eyes, so sad and lost, and the wisps of flame dancing along his fingertips.

You lower your hand down his abdomen, over his hips, and smile when he gasps when you take his cock in your hand. Hot and heavy in the palm of your hand, adorned with little silver piercings along the base and tip. You remember asking him about them when you first started your little relationship, how he smirked when you asked him if they hurt at all. At the time he’d shrugged his shoulders and pulled you into his chest, insisting that they didn’t hurt anymore, that they would feel much better inside you anyway. Even now you still can’t believe how desperate he can be just for a good fuck.

Those blue eyes are still wide, burning with that same hint of lust from earlier. As if he’s trusting you to make him feel good—to take care of him, just as he’s always done to you.

“Breathe, Touya.” It’s hard to keep the smile out of your voice as he squirms beneath you, tightens his grip around your waist. “I’ve got you.”

And I’m never letting you go ever again.

It takes a few strokes of your hand before he’s bucking himself into your palm, silently whining for you to get on with it. You spread your thighs and position yourself over his cock—but not before pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead.

I love you.

He groans out your name as you sink yourself down onto him. That familiar stretch of his cock makes your chest shudder, a moan slipping through your parted lips. Despite the mess of cum and sweat between your bodies, neither of you seems bothered all that much. What’s the point of getting upset over it when you’re just going to add to the mess later on?

“…Maybe you were right about this position, doll.” He lifts a hand and squeezes the underside of your breast, earning a pleased hum from your throat. “Gonna enjoy seeing your face when I fuck you like this.”

“As if,” you try to laugh, but it’s hard to keep your voice steady. “I’m the one who’s fucking you this time.”

“We’ll see about that.”

But before he can move you take his hands in your own, raising them up and pinning them beside his head on the arm of the couch. Smirking at the mischievous look in those hooded eyes.

“Not a chance, Touya. You’re gonna be good for me—whatever I have to offer, you’re gonna lay there and take it.”

“Oh am I, doll? Since when did you get all demanding and feisty, huh? I guess me being gone for a bit made you needier than usual, huh?”

Probably, but there’s no way in hell you’ll admit it to his face. So instead you grind your hips down onto his, and he gasps and moans out your name.

“C-can’t say I don’t like it.” His breaths are growing shorter with every thrust of your hips. “You used to be s-so shy and timid, and you still are. Sure didn’t put up a fight when I fucked your brains out earlier, now did you?”

If he’s still talking, I’m not doing a good enough job.

“N-no, you didn’t—!” He still tries to laugh even when you pick up the pace, sinking your nails into the marred skin of his wrists. “Loved every second of it, didn’t you? I know you did—always a little slut for my cock—my little slut—”

Suddenly your nails are digging into the patches on his throat, his blue eyes blown wide with lust as you lean in close, so close your nose brushes against his own.

“Shut up. Just shut up and let me fuck you.”

Let me love you.

That seems to convince him; curiosity and lust seem to win him over as he complies with your orders, keeping his hands above his head, snapping his mouth shut for good. But then he’s moaning again as you roll your hips down, and his sounds only encourage you to go faster.

You press your palms against his chest, nails cutting into the healthy flesh beneath the staples, and start bouncing yourself up and down on his cock. His hands are free for now, but he doesn’t try to take control and subdue you. Instead he’s grabbing onto your hips, ramming himself deeper inside you with every thrust.

He’s hitting that same spot deep inside you, the one that makes you see stars and scream his name out to the world. The muscles in your thighs are burning; three orgasms in and you’re still chasing after a fourth like a bitch in heat. But it’s hard to resist the urge when you have him below you like this, staring up at you with those beautiful blue eyes, whispering “good girl” and “fuck, that’s it” into the musty air around you.

“C’mon, harder. I know you can do better than that—fuck—”

Dabi, Touya—it doesn’t matter what he wants to be called, you still end up screaming both names out at the top of your lungs. So loud you want everyone to know just who can make you feel this way, who holds your heart and soul and body in his scarred hands. Because he’s worth everything to you, someone you trust with your life even if you shouldn’t. Someone you don’t have to hide yourself from, to put on a front or a fake smile for. Someone who makes your heart flutter and your palms sweaty and your chest ache, because you—

“…Love you.”                              

It’s out there—you can’t take it back now. Not when you’re so close; not when he’s staring up at you like that.

As though you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

But your words don’t seem to deter him in the slightest. Instead he’s slamming you down on his cock even harder than before, swallowing your squeals as he pulls you in for another searing kiss. He’s sitting up now, arms wrapped around your waist as you bounce yourself in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” the tears are already bubbling in your eyes, “but I love you—love you so fucking much—”

“Yeah?” His voice is hoarse, as though he hasn’t used it in years. “You mean it?”

“Yes, I do! Y-you’re the only one for m-me—”

Your hands close around his shoulders, his breath burning against your neck—you can already feel the coil in your stomach, ready to snap. So close, so close—

“Almost there, doll. Ride me—give me everything you’ve got—”

You roll your hips as hard as you can, and at the first touch of his fingers against your clit you’re clenching hard around his cock. Screaming his name out as you feel every ridge and piercing move against you, inside of you as you’re gushing all over his lap.

But he’s not far behind, chasing his own release as he picks up the pace. You gather his face in your hands, running your thumbs along the lines of staples that keep his jaw secure, tasting his breath on your tongue.

And you know you should stop talking before you make everything worse, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing your mouth against his own and whispering, “Love you, Touya.”

Suddenly he’s gasping into your mouth, palms unnaturally hot against your hips—and when you give him a nod he presses his fingers deeper into your skin. A blistering sense of heat spreads throughout your body; a scream bubbles up in your throat. Touya groans out your name as he gives one final thrust, spilling himself inside you as his fingers sear their prints into the skin of your hips.

The two of you are shuddering, kissing each other furiously, blinking the sweat from your eyes. His body is already starting to overheat, a thin layer of steam rising from the stapled skin of his chest. But that doesn’t seem to be his main concern; instead he’s lowering his hands to inspect the fresh burns on your hips.

“Does it hurt?”

“Only a little,” you tell him, but he’s still kissing along the marks anyway.

It’s not the first time he’s branded you in the heat of the moment. It took him a while to agree to it, along with an incessant amount of begging on your part, and he’s still always so attentive to them whenever he does it during sex. It always baffles you how he can be so concerned and caring with taking care of the light burns he leaves on your skin, but he completely neglects his own.

“Touya, it’s fine, I’ll just clean them up in a bit. I promise I’ll be—”

But then he glances up at you, and your chest swells when you see the trails of blood leaking from the staples underneath his eyes. You try to wipe them off but he catches your wrists and tugs you close, pressing kiss after kiss against your sweaty palms.

“To—”

“Say it again.” His voice is almost pitiful, the look in his bloody eyes worse than any burn mark on your skin. “Please.”

In all the months you’ve known him, you’ve never heard the man beg. Not as Touya and definitely not as Dabi. But the hopeful look in his eyes makes you want to cry. To hold him in your arms and shield him from the rest of the world. To fight off his insecurities tooth and nail, to chase away all those horrible thoughts and memories that keep him up at night. To press a thousand kisses along his face and down his body, ending at his lips before giving him a thousand more.

You take his face in your hands and kiss his forehead. His white hair tickles your nose, still smelling of smoke and ash.

“You know I love you, Touya. When I said I wanted you, I meant it. I want everything that makes you, you; I want to see you grow and thrive and make the best out of this world we’re in. And no matter how many times you try to push me away—even if you think it’s for my own good—I won’t ever leave you alone. I promise to stay by your side, no matter what you’ve done or what you may do in the future. Because I love you, and I’ll say it as many times as I have to until you believe me.”

There’s nothing he can do, nothing he can say that will make you change your mind. He is the one you’ve decided to trust with your heart. The one you’ve grown to care about more than anyone else in the world. And you’ll keep saying it, even if he never believes you. Even if he never sees you in that same light.

He doesn’t speak a word, doesn’t even make a sound. He simply holds your body against his own, pressing his stapled cheek to your breasts. You can feel his heartbeat below the ragged skin of his chest, the vibrations lulling you into a light sleep.

B-bmp, b-bmp, b-bmp.

Finally he breaks the silence with a grunt, lifting you off his lap and sliding himself out of you. Your thighs are burning with exhaustion, not unlike the heat engraved in your hips. But Dabi’s careful as he swings his legs over the side of the couch, gathering you in his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Wordlessly he carries you to the nearby bathroom, where he sets you down on the counter and washes out your burns. He reaches for the little tube of ointment in the cabinet—the same brand you have back at your apartment—and squirts a small amount on his fingers. You do your best to stay still as he slathers it over the burns, trying to be as gentle as he possibly can. And once he’s done he cleans off his hands, grabs a roll of bandages from the counter, and presses them over the marks on your hips. Definitely not the first time you’ve worn bandages like these on your body—or the first time Dabi’s been the one to apply them.

It’s not like him to go this long without saying anything. Not a single snarky comment or flirty remark, just to get a reaction out of you. It’s almost terrifying, the way he refuses to make any sound—or even talk to you.

Did I say anything wrong? Was I too forward with my little speech earlier? Is he angry at me for admitting my feelings to him?

“…Touya?” No answer. You clear your throat and try again. “Touya, are you okay? …Are you—”

“How can I be, after what you said out there?”

Oh.

Did you read the entire situation wrong? Perhaps he’s ready to leave you for good this time, making sure you can’t follow him wherever he goes?

The mere thought hurts you more than it should. Idiot, you’re such a fucking idiot, thinking he’d feel the same about you.

“…I’m sorry—”

“No don’t, don’t fucking do that…” He lets out a sigh, swiping a hand through his hair as he all but tosses the roll of bandages on the counter. “It’s not…you don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Then…why? Why are you still pushing me away when you know I love you?

And then it hits you: the problem lies within that phrase, those three simple words that crawled their way out of your mouth. Maybe he does feel the same, and he doesn’t know how to come out and say it. Or even if he should say it. Because as much as it pains you to think about, those three little words must’ve been pretty rare in his old life with his family.

Or maybe he doesn’t feel that way at all, and you’re still stuck in a perfect little fantasy, hoping it’ll all work out in the end.

You suck in a deep breath, until your chest aches from the stretch, and begin to speak.

“Touya, do you…feel the same way about me?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. You clear your throat and rephrase the question.

“Do you care about me? Say no if you don’t.” He snaps his mouth shut, and the tiniest bit of pride blooms in your chest. “So then, do you…like me the same way I like you?” And suddenly you’re a child on the playground again, wondering if your crush thinks of you in the same way you think about him.

“…I…I think I do, but…”

Blood trails are streaming down his cheeks. With every word he looks more unsure of himself, more confused, as the man he’s built himself up to be begins to crumble down before your eyes. It’s hard to breathe as you watch him break down. The blood, the scars, the way his hands curl around his face—and suddenly you’re jumping off the counter, legs shaking, heart leaping in your throat, and taking him into your arms.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. You don’t have to say it out loud. You don’t have to give me an answer right away.”

You stretch out your fingers, the tips brushing against the staples beneath his eyes. He doesn’t flinch away, even as you wipe away the trickles of blood, and you sigh in relief. A small victory, one that gives you hope that maybe this can all work itself out.

“If you don’t wanna say anything, that’s okay. I get it, believe me. But please don’t push me away anymore. I want to be close to you, okay? To stay by your side even when you don’t want me to be. So please, just…let me stay with you…”

It’s an eternity before he moves again. He slides his hand into your hair and tugs you in, mismatched lips finding their way to your forehead. You lean up to kiss his split jaw, giggling softly when he brushes his nose against your own. And for a moment, it seems like everything’s going to be okay.

You’ll be alright. You can wait for him, as long as he needs you to.

It takes some convincing (and a few heated kisses) for him to let you clean out his wounds for real and reapply his staples. The bastard’s jaw is barely hanging on at this point, a look he wears like a badge of honor. He doesn’t even wince as you snap a batch of fresh staples into his cheeks.

“Why the long face, doll?” You roll your eyes and drop another bloody staple into the tray on the counter. “You know damn well this isn’t the first time you’ve done this.”

“And it’ll be the last if you keep running your mouth like that.”

“Not if I can help it—”

“Touya.” There’s a warning in your voice but he only laughs it off.

“Touya,” he mocks in a high pitched voice, “let me come! Touya, please don’t rip your staples out! Touya, please fuck me, I need you inside me!”

“Touya!” Louder this time, but he only laughs harder.

“Yeah that’s it, doll. Sure weren’t complaining earlier, when you had my tongue inside your—”

You slap his chest as hard as you can without damaging the staples. It seems to shut him up long enough for you to finish patching him up, but he’s still wearing that fucking smirk that makes you weak in the knees.

At least he’s eased up for now. As much as you adore him, it’s not easy seeing him act all unsure of himself. As though he has to hide who he really is from you.

When the blood’s finally cleared off and his scars are treated, he takes a fresh cloth from the cabinet and soaks it under the sink. He runs it along your thighs, wiping away any traces of his cum. After he’s finished you rinse the cloth with warm water and press it along his sweaty chest. Careful the fabric doesn’t get caught on the staples lined across his skin.

Once the two of you are cleaned off, he scoops you up in his arms with your legs wrapped around his hips, and he leads you back into the room with the fireplace. You’ll have to wait until you get back to your place for a proper shower; unfortunately this old mansion doesn’t have much to offer when it comes to running water. But judging by the way Touya’s carrying you, with his arms tight around your waist, you’re starting to think he’s not ready to leave this mansion just yet.

He cleans off the messy cushions—which consists of him wiping them down with a wad of tissues before flipping them over—and plops himself down right in the center. He pulls on his pants and slips on his boots, before tossing you that old hoodie of his that still smells like smoke. You pull it over your head, mindful of the bandages on your hips, and try not to think of how dangerously low his pants are resting on his hips.

He reclines back against the arm, kicking his legs up and pulling you down on his chest once more. You’re straddling his hips again, wearing nothing but his old hoodie, your face pressed against his scarred chest.

“…Wish I had a cigarette right now.”

You stifle a laugh, reach into the pocket of the hoodie, and hold out a little white package to him. His eyes go wide for a moment, before he tugs it from your grasp and gives you one of those all-knowing smirks.

“Aww, how did you know? And these are my favorite, doll.”

You shrug and snuggle deeper into his chest. “Thought you’d want one or two so I brought ‘em with me.”

He slips the little stick between his lips and wiggles his eyebrows. “So that’s why you came here—I was right after all, huh?”

“As if, fuckin’ pervert. It’s not my fault you only wanna smoke after sex.”

He lets out a chuckle, lifting a blue-tipped finger to the end of the stick. Your eyes follow the tiny flame, the gorgeous hue of its sparks, the gentle wisps that coil into the air, before it vanishes with a quick wave of his hand.

A comfortable silence stretches over the two of you. Your gaze wanders up to the window above, revealing the pale half-moon behind the dark clouds. You wonder what time it is… But then you realize it doesn’t matter and press your face against the ragged skin of his neck. It’s just you and him for now, nothing else matters right now. The whole world could burn to ashes and you wouldn’t care—because you have the man you love wrapped up in your arms.

“Tell me,” he finally rasps, stubbing out his cigarette with his thumb. A blue wisp of flame engulfs the little stick, and seconds later he’s dusting the ash off his hand and onto the floor below. “Did you mean it? What you said earlier?”

Oh, I guess we’re back to this.

You lean up against his chest, chin propped up on your palm, to find him staring up at the dirty ceiling above. His fingers drum along the small of your back, the heel of his boot thumping against the arm at a gentle rhythm. He doesn’t meet your eyes, even when you start to speak.

“You know I meant it. Every single word. I promise. I’m not gonna leave you alone, no matter how much you push me away. And I’ll keep saying it until I’m blue in the face, you got it?”

When he still doesn’t look at you, you reach up and brush the backs of your fingers over the line of staples in his cheek. He lets out a sigh before catching your hand in his own and bringing it up to his face. And it’s hard to ignore the ache in your chest when he kisses your fingers and knuckles, one by one, before stopping right at the center of your palm.

Suddenly those blue eyes are burning right through you, and the whole world seems to vanish around you.

“Stay with me.”

You nod at once. “I will.”

“Say you love me.”

“I love you—so fucking much—I love you, I love you…”

I love you.

He’s kissing you now, mismatched lips tracing over your cheek, your jaw, your neck, anywhere they can possibly reach. You twist your fingers into his hair and hold him close to your chest.

Nothing else matters. It’s just the two of you in this little mansion in the middle of the forest, the only ones who matter in this world. No heroes, no villains, no secrets, no lies. Just you and Touya, and for now that’s all you need.

Even if he never says those three simple words back to you.

“Touya—” But then he’s kissing you again, and you’re giggling uncontrollably against his mouth.

I’ve got you. I’ll stay with you for as long as you’ll have me. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll patch up your wounds, and I’ll—

“Hey, stop! That tickles!” But he keeps on nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Touya, come on, you’re—”

That’s when you feel it, hard and insistent, pressing against your inner thigh. He only smirks and licks his lips.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Mm, I’ve been called worse, doll.” He slides a hand down to your hips, caressing the bandages, the burn marks seared into your skin. “Promise I’ll be gentle.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, as he trails his hand down just a bit lower.

It’s not perfect, the relationship you have (if it can even be called that). There’s tears, blood, burns, nightmares, and you know it’ll only get worse from here on out. What Touya’s decided to do with his life, and how he plans to leave his mark on the world—it still leaves your stomach rolling and your throat burning with tears. But beneath all the words and scars and flames, you know he’s hurting inside. And you’ll be damned if you let him suffer through this ordeal all alone.

You’re in love with him—everything that makes him the man he is. No matter how much he’s hurting, how often he thinks of himself as a failure. You’re determined to give him everything you have, in hopes one day he’ll do the same for you. To wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest and press a thousand kisses against his skin. To let him know he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

That you’re here for him; that you’ll stay with him, no matter what may happen in the future.

So that’s why you only laugh as he lays you back down across his chest, his fingers weaving through your hair, careful not to get any of it caught on the staples of his palms. There’ll be another time for conversations like those. For now you can lose yourselves in each other, hand in hand, with the warm glow of the blue flames casting over you.  

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #touya todoroki x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi smut #touya todoroki smut #mha fics #smut #sweets and treats

[doorrobloxstuff]

*Sets this down like a plate of sugar water and you are a nest of thirsty bees. Runs away.*

Sunshine graced the skin of the unholy.

Rush watched as the sun grace the marble blue sky. A gift rarely seen except for small glimpses from hotel windows. Never on this grand scale.

Rush took it all for granted as it sipped away the citrusy yellow goodness that it’s partner called ‘lemonade.’ It watched clouds seemingly fluffy as its wool drift on by.

Its partner, Ambush was close by. It had been watching a deer carcass it torn to shreds just an hour prior roast over an open flame.

“Hey big guy?”

“Yea?”

“Ehh..Stuff’s gettin cold right?”

“Yea sorta- why do ya think it does that?”

“I dunno.”

Ambush floated over before resting its body on its partner’s, taking care to approach on its non-injured side as not to disturb it while Rush scooted a little and allowed it’s partner to nest into into its fog.

The two watched the clouds drift on by mindlessly.

Ambush snuck a sip of Rush’s lemonade. Something of which Rush quickly took notice of.

“Hey! That’s my drink!”

Ambush’s jaw creased a little bit into a ‘smile.’

“What are you talking about I didn’t steal no dr-“

Rush bonked it lightly on the head with a large hand.

“..Ow..”

“No stealin.”

“Eaugh...did you have to wack me though..?” It laid its head back down on Rush’s shoulder.

“Ya lied to to me to..”

“Yea, but your lemonade was delicious.”

“And mine.”

Ambush grumbled before setting its head back into Rush’s fur while Rush sipped on the now Ambush-tainted lemonade. Slightly more eager to drink it now that its been contested over.

Ambush stayed there for awhile like that. Resting and occasionally stirring there in Rush’s soft fog.

“Bush..?”

“Hm?”

“How much longer until whatever your makin is ready?”

“Two more hours.”

“Alright just makin sure so you don’t fall asleep and burn ya food.”

“Mmmmh..” Ambush pressed its cheek on its partner’s shoulder.

Rush fluffed up a little. “Ah shit, does that hurt you babe..?”

“Tch...nah..” Rush’s hand instinctively made its way to its scar. Which, Ambush reached for as well. But much more gently.

“Ambush..” It murmured.

“Can I..?”

“Yes..”

Ambush traced Rush’s scarred face and followed the scar’s path down its chest. Rush mutually did the same. Running its hand down through Ambush’s ratty fur.

“Your..your so soft..”

“Not as much as you Blushy..”

Rush wrapped a hand around Ambush’s waist which elicited a excited ‘kzzzt!’ out of the other as it pulled it close.

Ambush snuggled even closer to Rush. “Ya know.. I’m goin to the abandoned town tomorrow..maybe I can find somethin we can rip apart..”

“Mmm.. maybe we can find somethin interestin to do around here..this hotel is so damn quiet nowadays.”

“Yea, I’ve practically read the entire library..even eh..some of Figure’s old stuff..it’s eh..a pretty good writer..” It looked a tiny bit sad.

“Seek’s actually found Figure apparently. It told me it’s in pretty bad shape..”

“Oh shit really?”

“Yea, apparently Screech found it in a cave just lying..there..”

Ambush shrank into Rush’s fluffy chest even more. “Is it eh..is it okay right now..?” It said meekly.

“..Maybe we can go and see?” Rush said comfortingly. Brushing another hand down Ambush’s cheek that immediately got another purr out of it.

“That would be nice..” Ambush nestled knee deep in Rush’s fur. “I’m just glad itsomfkay....”

“Eheheheh..” Rush smiled took another sip of its lemonade. Continuing to watch the clouds roll on by.

Ambush peeked its head out.

“By the way big guy..I..eh..I found found your quilts! It’s so coolmfjkppphhh..!”

“Shshshsgshshhsh..nobody must know..” Rush pushed Ambush back into its fur and took another large sip.

——

I had to cut it short again. Darn it I ran out of idea juice

Don’t have much lore for these two yeeeet….

#author.txt #roblox doors #doors roblox #don’t give the admin of this blog lemonade he doesn’t like it #probably has an allergy #UPDATE: HE DID #writing #Rush #Ambush

[gooopy]

Ive been scullypilled lately so im gonna dump all the art ive been making

[Image id: nine images of a character named scully, a butch lesbian with a short spiky mullet, lidded eyes, and a square face. The first image shows him in a white tshirt and grey sweatpants in a loose A-pose. He is smoking. Beside him is text stating 'fat but muscular, heavy lidded eyes. Wider nose. Hair is short on top but gets long in the back. Wears a white t-shirt and sweat pants and is often smoking. 5'11. Wears ratty beat up sneakers that are a bit too small for him. Hair is messy and a little greasy. Tan lines from wearing tshirts.'

Second image shows the same character in a tank top and a pair of boxers. He is shouting, sayong 'my tan lines arent even that bad!'

Third image is a simple four panel comic. First panel shows scully standing impatiently in a tank top and boxers, he has a toothbrush in one hand and toothpaste in another. He looks tored. The second panel shows him knocking on a door, saying 'hurry up!' And seeming irritated. Next panel shows him making pancakes, with a squirt bottle in one hand. The pancake in the pan is misshapen. The last panel has the pancake on a plate and scully looking proud, saying 'dog shaped pancake, pretty good huh?'

The next image is drawn in yellow on a white background, showing scully dressed as heavy from team fortress two. He is holding a large gun and has a grin on his face as he shoots it. To the right you can see scullys back, standing facing a counter with sandwich ingredients on it. Theres text sayong ' makin sammiches forbthe whole team. (No mayo for scout. No tomatoes for engi. Toasted for pyro. Etc)

The next image shows a messy drawing of scully blushing, showing an edited screenshot that says 'i need a woman to hold me down and pick bullets out of me man'

The fifth image has a drawing of scully with messy long hair. He is sitting at a desk and we are looking at him from a high angle. Hes saying 'i got a feeling its gonna be a long winter'

The sixth image shows the outside of a window, looking in. Scully sits up in his bed, looking out the window at the viewer in his dark room. A caption says 'sometimes i think i hear a dog outside. Panting like its thirsty. Or tired. Think its just a stray. Not eatin the food i set out though.'

The next image shows scully head on. His hair is normal and he has a large grin-like grimace on his face. Hes sweating. A caption says 'Sally 'scully' hooper. Heavy weapons. Age 34'

The last image is scully with a relaxed smile, a caption says 'woah had a dream i was in a psychological horror movie. Good thing im in a comedy game.' End id]

Scully my best friend scully i put him in tf2 because im normal. Bro is FUCKED UP!!!! He has a bloodlust. He cant talk to women. Hes a great cook. Hes worn nothing but tshirts for 20 years. Hes awesome

#scully #ocs #tf2 oc #described #hes awesome he needs a girlfriend so bad

[weministertomonsters]

The Dove Cage

Daphne trembled on the stoop of The Dove Cage, pulling her wet shawl tighter around her shoulders as she hesitated. Someone was crooning a soft siren song in there and the piano tinkled along like an afterthought.

Daphne was thirsty. She had never drunk alcohol in her life or afterward, but anything sounded good now. She lifted a timid hand and knocked. The door creaked open almost immediately.

"Finally," a shrill voice said from the floor. "You've been standing out there for hours!"

"Just a few minutes," Daphne said, looking at the fat honey tabby. "You're a cat."

"If you're going to tell me we can't talk, save it. Things are different here. I'd offer to take your coat, but I'm just a cat," the tabby said, flicking her stripey tail.

"It's okay," Daphne sniffed. "I can get it."

She peeled her shawl off, shivering as the damp material peeled off like a second skin.

"What is this place?" Daphne asked. "I've been walking for ages and this was the nicest place I found."

From the dusty chandelier that offered minimal light, a pigeon roosted. Its wings were ratty like a cat had tried and failed to eat it and it had loosened its feathers in its bid to get away.

"This is The Dove Cage. I'm sure you saw the sign in the window?" The cat said. "Please tell me you can read."

"I can," Daphne said.

"Then that's all you need to know. Follow me, dear. I'll show you around."

"But I want to know what this place is. Is this heaven? Or hell?"

"If you believe in those, then sure," the cat said nonchalantly. "The Dove Cage is anything you wish it to be."

"But that doesn't make sense," Daphne said, stumbling over a discarded Wellington boot in the narrow entrance hallway.

"This isn't life, dear. It doesn't have to," the cat replied. "Now, straight through these doors, you'll find a wealth of people from all sorts of life with every affliction known to man, named, labeled, or otherwise. I'm sure you'll find someone or someones to befriend if you're lucky."

"I..."

"Go on, don't be shy," the cat said, pausing to lick her paw. "I have to watch the door and welcome the next person. I won't miss welcoming a soul because I'm showing someone around. I'm fair like that. Good luck!"

Then the tabby slipped back to the door, waiting for the next person to stumble in. Daphne hesitated, smelling cigarette smoke and incense mingling from within those doors. The piano pinged now and then, played absentmindedly. That soft voice sang on.

Daphne pushed the door open and slipped in. The room was cast in shades of brown and purple. Lamps scattered around the room offered pools of gold for people to play cards in, read or do a crossword puzzle. The pianist was hunched in the dark, cigarette twisted between two fingers while the other hand poked at the keys.

The singer was perched in a window alcove, pale fingers pressed against the pane like they were looking longingly at a world they wished to be a part of. The window showed the view of a bruised sky stuck in a cycle of dawn. Their breath frosted against the glass as they sang,

On a dark desert highway

Cool wind in my hair

The warm smell of colitas

Rising up through the air

Up ahead in the distance

I saw a shimmering light

My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim

I had to stop for the night

Daphne listened, wiping the tears from her eyes as they came. Her damp handkerchief hardly helped now. She stepped forward.

"I love your voice," she confessed.

The singer turned to her, masculine and feminine, with shy doe eyes and rounded white shoulders leading down to a muscular torso barely hidden by their gauzy robe. They had no mouth, but a soft indent where one should be.

"Oh," Daphne said. "I'm sorry."

They shook their head, held out a fine-boned hand, and shook Daphne's hand gingerly.

"I'm new here," Daphne confessed, "and I have no idea what place this is."

The singer took one look at Daphne's damp ensemble and slid from the window, gesturing for her to follow. Up the stairs, they went. The singer held the long hem of their robe up and away from the floor and Daphne glimpsed their feet, white and bloodless with pointy, neatly trimmed nails.

There was a faint scent of cooking food, simmering cauliflower, curry stew, and toasting bread, and the round, heavy scent of boiling potatoes. It reminded Daphne that she hadn't eaten for a long time. At least her stomach still worked. She could eat. She used her damp fingers to wipe the streaming tears from her eyes and blinked to clear her vision.

The singer stood in front of a door marked with a golden 15, waiting. Daphne came up to them, and they pushed open the door and stepped in. A mysterious light shone hazily through the windows, like the closer they were to the shrouded sun, the more light they could win. The room was a romantic nest of pillows and plush-looking sheets, the corners and angles of the walls hidden in a blur of pastel colors. There was a clothes closet draped by a curtain, and there was a path permitted to lead to the bathroom, which had no door. Everything was clean and smelled like sun-baked fresh laundry.

The singer picked a big pillow and patted it, giving it to her and gesturing to the room.

"You want to share your room with me? That's very kind but I wouldn't want to intrude-"

A bony finger pressed to her lips, silencing her. The singer shook their head, shining strands of hair whisking against the air.

"Okay," Daphne said. "I'll share a room with you. Thank you for the kind offer.

The singer lifted a hank of her clumpy, pond-scented hair and pointed to the bathroom.

"Yes, I would like to have a bath if possible," Daphne said. "I'm cold."

The singer nodded, gestured with an open hand to the wardrobe, and then left the room, closing the door gently. Daphne entered the bathroom. It smelled like the ocean. Running the water in the sink, she cupped a handful, lapped at it, and found the water tasted like the sea, like salt, fish bodies, and grit.

The water from the bathtub was warm and fluoride-scented, at least. She stripped and twisted, investigating her body in the long mirror. The bruises on her skin had faded from hand-prints to watercolor blooms, but she doubted they would fade any more than that. She stepped into the bathtub and washed her skin with the soap bar. When she ducked underneath the surface to wet her hair, she felt a hand around her neck and another on her head, pushing her down.

She thrashed and came up gasping uselessly for air she no longer needed. The hands were gone but the sensation of dying remained, the endless falling, the stuttering of her lungs as they filled with bracken water. She still remembered the algae slime on her face and mouth. She drained the tub and used the shower instead, letting it spray in hot spikes against her face, scrubbing with the soap.

She didn't need to force herself to cry, because the tears came freely.

─────────────── · · · · ✦

If you ever wanted to know the kind of dreams I have... Well, now you know!

#dream #orginal story #orginal writing #writeblr

[whats-k-popping]

Runaway - Origins

Summary: He’s dirty, hungry, tired, and alone. So excruciatingly alone. For five days, he’s been on his own, wandering the vast expanse of South Korea with no destination in mind. He would stop only when he was sure he’d be safe. He isn’t sure what city he’s in, or how far he’s traveled.

Words: 6709

Pairing: Primarily Jinkook and Taekook - Written as a familial relationship. Do not ship Jinkook in here as Jin is an adult and Jungkook is very much a minor. Taekook is open to interpretation.

TW: Mentions of abandonment || Mentions of foster families || mentions/descriptions of previous abuse || Mentions of orphan-hood || allusions to trauma || moderate to heavy angst || exhaustion || fainting || hunger/dehydration

See Also: February 2nd - Set in the future of the same AU.

A/N: I usually save my author's notes for the end of the fic. But I got some interest in continuing this AU. And I thought it would be best to go back to origin story. If you're read the February 2nd fic, then you know that I was working on this AU for another fandom and decided to edit it to fit BTS. When I originally wrote it, it was set in south west USA and the family came from a different ethnic background than the Jungkook character. I think I removed any references that would allude to that previous AU, but let me know if I missed anything. Anyway, enjoy it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~June 27 (Monday)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He is determined. He will never need anyone again. He will never rely on anything, anyone, again. He’s fine. He can take care of himself. No more case workers. No more foster families. He’s had enough, he’s endured enough. He can make it on his own. He is sure of it. He will travel far far away, where no one will ever find him. No one will ever hurt him again.  

He’s dirty, hungry, tired, and alone. So excruciatingly alone. For five days, he’s been on his own, wandering the vast expanse of South Korea with no destination in mind. He would stop only when he was sure he’d be safe. He isn’t sure what city he’s in, or how far he’s traveled. But the journey is finally starting to catch up to him. His legs won’t be able to take him much further. His throat is drier in the scorching summer heat. The hungry ache of his stomach is becoming too much to ignore. And his skin stings from the sunburn he’d contracted the last few days.

He realizes at that point that he has to stop. If he has any hope of surviving, he has to give himself a break. He is far enough away, in the middle of nowhere. A short rest won’t compromise his freedom. As he scans his surroundings, he notices a large house nearly 500 meters away. It’s the only one for a while from the looks of it. Maybe he can ask for some water. Something to get him back on the move. He has a little bit of money in his bag, surely he can bargain for something. So he sets out, determined to cross those last few meters without killing over. 

It’s arduous. His knees shake and his legs feel like jelly, but he makes it. Standing at the front door, extending his wrist to knock, he realizes exactly what he was doing. He definitely looks like a runaway, with the ratty appearance and a bag of belongings over his shoulder. What if the person who answers the door called the police? Or worse, what if no one answers. The frightening possibilities flood his already clouded mind. 

But he is so damn thirsty. At this point, he will do anything just for a sip of something cold to drink. So he knocks. He knocks with as much force as he can muster. And he knocks until someone opens the door. When the door finally opens, he looks up at the grown man who answers. He looks to be in his prime with curly deep brown hair and broad shoulders. His big brown eyes look down at him with something he’s never seen before. He eyes him up and down, subtly glancing to the bag on his back. “Good afternoon? Can I help you?” He asked, a Seoul accent thick in his voice. He started in Busan. Had he really made it that far on foot? 

He never gets the chance to ask for a drink; instead, he collapses into the man's arms. 

Some time later, he wakes up on what he recognizes to be a sofa surrounded by unfamiliarity. He doesn’t recognize the ceiling, or the fireplace, or the family in the photos displayed on the wall. He does, however, vaguely recognize the man sitting down next to him, though. He is the man who answered the door. He’s pressing a cold cloth against his forehead. Jungkook coughs lightly to get his attention and he instantly turns to him. “Oh, good, you’re awake. You scared me quite a bit, sweetie, just falling into my arms like you did. I wasn’t sure what to do. But you looked like you needed rest, so I brought you inside.” Jungkook melts under the cloth. It feels so good against his skin, which is coated in something cold and undeniably sticky. “Where did you come from?”

He refuses to answer, keeping his lips pressed tight. If this man finds out, he may call the police. Or his case worker. Or his foster parents. He doesn’t want him to know and send him back into the system for another terrible placement. Or worse, send him back to where he came from. 

The man seems to understand the silence, his discomfort, because he stops waiting for an answer. Instead, he speaks again. “You don’t have to be afraid here. I want you to know that you’re safe. I won’t hurt you.” He hesitates, “I, uh, noticed some of the bruising on your arms when I put the aloe lotion on your sunburn. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but if you work with me, I can make sure it won’t happen again. I’ll make it so no one ever hurts you again.” He resists the urge to scoff. He’s heard that before. From his case worker, from his foster parents. What makes this guy any different?

“Jungkook. My name is Jungkook. I came from Busan.” He props himself up on his elbows, looking the man straight in the eyes. Something in his gut tells him to trust him. But he’s never listened to his gut before.  

“Well, you've wandered pretty far away from your home, Jungkook-ssi. Do you know where you are?” Jungkook just shakes his head, “Uiseong. A three hour train ride away.” 

Uiseong. Jungkook knows it as a rural town in the Gyeongsangbuk region. Had he really traveled that far from Busan?

“Is there someone I should call for you, Jungkook.” The man asks. 

“No. There’s no one to call.”

“Jungkook-ssi.” He carries a scolding tone to his voice, “You’re just a boy.” He continues. 

“Please, ajeossi-nim. Please don’t call anyone.” Jungkook immediately perks up. No, absolutely not. No phone calls. Not the police, not the child welfare system. No one who would ruin this peaceful moment for him.  He begs the older man not to call anyone. Other families always call and then people show up and take him away. He doesn’t want to go through that all again. He’ll be fine all by himself.  

The older man presses a hand against his head, “Aigoo, kiddo. Don’t get yourself worked up. I won’t call anyone for now, until I absolutely have to.” He promises. “Tell you what. You must be hungry. Can I make you something to eat?”

Jungkook sest a hand on his stomach, feeling it ache in his abdomen. He isn’t sure when his last meal was. He nods and is led toward the kitchen. Jungkook stands in the entrance as the other man wanders around the kitchen with practiced grace. The kitchen is large; Jungkook equates it to something out of a remodeling magazine. Glossy, tan quartz countertops and dark wooden cabinets. Elegant bar stools resting by the island in the center and a small round table for four on the other side.  

As the man dances around the kitchen, he sends Jungkook a small smile. “Jungkook, why don’t you go wash up. There’s a bathroom right behind you.” 

Jungkook looks behind him and sees the door he hadn’t noticed when he walked in. Silently, he dismisses himself and creeps into the small room. He takes his time washing his hands and his face, noticing how much dirt he’s wiping away and hoping he wouldn’t make too much of a mess in the nice, clean bathroom. 

He enjoys the peace of the bathroom. And the feeling of the warm water on his skin. It feels like centuries since he last washed himself. The soap smells of strawberries and lathers smoothly over his rough hands. Drying his hands on the towel, he looks at his reflection in the mirror. He looked pathetic- his normally tan skin glowing red with sunburn, his hair out of place. But for the first time, he feels safe. He has to give himself some credit.    

The smell of food draws him out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen. There’s a bowl with some food Jungkook doesn’t recognize set on the table. And for a bowl of white mush, it looks good. Hot steam rises off the contents, Jungkook’s first hot meal in a while. Taking a seat at the table, Jungkook looks at the man with a shy smile. “This looks very good,” He stutters when trying to address him. 

“Kim Seokjin, dear. But just Jin is fine." He smiles, “And it’s just some instant jook. If you finish that there’s some more warming on the stove. I figured you might eat more than just one bowl.” 

Jungkook nods, taking his first bite and burning his tongue. He winces at first, but actually found the feeling to be comfortable. He feels grateful that he actually had something to burn his tongue on. He ignores the burn and feeds himself another spoonful. 

“Jungkook, honey. I want to help you. Are you sure you can’t tell me anything about how you ended up on my doorstep?” Jungkook looks down into the bowl, trying to avoid his prying eyes. Seokjin continues to pry more into where he came from and how long he’d been missing, asking questions but not getting many answers from Jungkook. 

Jungkook finishes the first bowl of jook and asks politely for more. Seokjin smiles. Quickly, he scoops him another helping and sets it in front of him. “How old are you, Jungkook.” He asks, electing to drop the personal interrogation for more introductory questions.

“15” Jungkook replies with a mouthful of jook. 

He smiles. “I have a son your age - Taehyung.” Jungkook is grateful for the break from the personal questions, but he isn’t all that keen on learning Seokjin’s story either. He doesn’t really care about what he is saying. He just nods periodically and continues slurping down the meal.

When he meets the bottom of the bowl, he lets out a satisfied sigh and stands up to take the bowl to the sink. “Would you like anything to drink, Jungkook.” Seokjin offers and Jungkook nods, standing awkwardly beside the sink. Seokjin stands up and pulls a glass from one of the many cabinets. He gives Jungkook an option between at least four different kinds of juices. He asks for milk and Seokjin pours him a glass. He gulps the entire thing down in one large sip. 

Seokjin smiles, “Sweetie,” it took Jungkook a minute to realize that he was being addressed. “When was the last time you had a nice, hot shower?” He asks and Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. He doesn’t actually know the answer to that question. “Would you like to take one?” He offers and Jungkook nods with a small yet eager smile. “You look about the same size as my Taehyung. I’m sure you’ll fit into something of his.” He takes Jungkook into his room and lets him use the master shower. “I’ll grab something of his and set it out here for you. Okay. Towels are here, washcloths over there, and you can use my body wash.” Seokjin explains as he shows Jungkook everything he may need and how to operate the faucet. He even breaks open a brand new toothbrush and encourages him to brush his teeth. 

Once Seokjin leaves, Jungkook stands dumbfounded for a while. He appreciates Seokjin's kindness, his welcoming hospitality. He knows eventually he will have to tell him the truth. But maybe that can wait a little longer. Maybe he can bask in his hospitality for a while longer. He’s just about to step into the shower when he hears the bedroom door open. “Jungkook, honey, Taehyung's clothes are out here on my bed. Hopefully they work for you.” He shouts back a thank you as the bedroom door closes and finally steps in the shower and stands under the hot water for at least five minutes, just letting it run over his skin. He ignores the way it stings his sunburn. He doesn’t know when he may shower again. Once he’s comfortable in the water, he starts the washing process. 

It’s embarrassing how much dirt covers the bathtub after he finishes washing himself off. He tries to get it all to wash down the drain, but every time he thinks he’s finished, there’s another spot. 

Eventually he gives up and steps out of the tub and wraps a towel around his waist. The long wall mirror is fogged up by the steam, but he can still see some semblance of his own reflection. He takes a second to touch his abdomen, covered in fading purple bruises. They don’t hurt as much anymore. The more the fog fades, the more Jungkook can see. The scars on his chest and the bruising all over his arms. But before he starts crying in the bathroom, he runs out to find the clothes Seokjin left for him. A pair of black sweatpants with a flame pattern running down the side and a white T-shirt with roman block letters. He doesn’t recognize the word, but his English was never very strong. 

He puts on the clothes and towel dries his hair the best he could. Now covered, he walks back into the bathroom prepared to clean up any mess he may have made. There’s a knock on the bathroom door and Seokjin’s sweet voice from the other side. “Jungkook, honey, are you all cleaned up? Do the clothes fit okay, sweetie?” Jungkook opens the door, showing him how well Taehyung’s clothes looked on him. “Well, look at you. You’re rather handsome when you’re not all covered in dirt.” He hands him a comb for his still dripping hair.

He starts pulling at the knots in his hair. “Thank you for letting me use your shower, and for the food, and the milk.” He realizes at that moment that he hadn’t thanked Seokjin for anything since he showed up and feels guilty. Seokjin had shown him kindness and he hasn’t expressed gratitude for any of it. 

“Don’t you worry about any of that, dear.” He waves him off, starting the process of cleaning the bathroom. He collects Jungkook’s old clothes and sets them in the laundry basket. “You’re safe here, Jungkook. Nothing bad will happen to you while you’re here. I promise.” Jungkook has a hard time believing that. “Now, what would you like to do? You look tired, do you want to go take a nap?” he offers. 

Jungkook shakes his head. Against his better judgment, he sighs and looks up at Seokjin. He might have a hard time trusting people, but he feels like Seokjin is a man he can trust. And he owes it to him. He knows he’ll feel terrible if he gets into trouble for helping him. “I ran away from my foster parents five days ago,” he admits. Seokjin remains reasonably calm as he ushers Jungkook into his room and sits him down on his bed. 

“Okay, sweetie. Tell me everything that happened. We’re going to make it alright.” 

Jungkook doesn’t know if he wants him to start at the beginning or if he just wants to know why he ran away. Why he ran away… He can’t tell him that. He decides to just go with the basics. “I’ve been with this foster family for three years. And they recently started hurting me. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I ran away and I just kept going. But then I ended up here.” Jungkook starts to cry, “And I really can’t go back there. They are going to hurt me again. They are going to do terrible things to me and I don’t want to hurt anymore. Seokjin-ssi, please don’t make me go back there.” Jungkook covers his eyes with his hands as he sobs. He feels Seokjin’s arms around him in a very gentle, very loose hug. 

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I promise no one will ever hurt you again, okay. I promise, and a Kim always keeps their promise.” He hushes him, “Now sweetie, I’m going to need you to tell me your last name, and the name of the family that hurt you. Okay, I’ll take care of everything for you.” 

Jungkook isn’t really sure what he can do for him, but he’s honored that he’ll at least make the effort. “My last name is Jeon. The foster family name is Bak. Kwan and Sunhi.” He even provides their address. 

“Thank you, Jungkook, for trusting me enough to tell me. I’ll take care of it from here. Now you go rest up and I’ll make a few phone calls, okay.” Jungkook nods and lets Seokjin lead him out of his room and up the stairs. “This is the guest bedroom, you can rest in here. Come downstairs whenever you’re ready, okay.” He smiles before leaving him alone in the room. Jungkook lays down on the bed and closes his eyes. He can hear Seokjin’s voice through the floor. 

“No, you listen to me. I’m not going to let you take that child back to that house.” he’s shouting. “He says they physically abuse him. And he has the marks to prove it.” “No. I didn’t take him. He showed up at my house exhausted, starving and filthy.” “He ran away because they were hurting him.” “I frankly don’t give a rat’s ass how this works. I promised him I would protect him and that’s what I’m going to do.” “He will not leave my house unless you can promise me he will be well taken care of. And I demand that the Bak family be punished for their crimes.” “No, I don’t care about his track record. I don’t care about his past. I can tell he’s a good kid that just needs a good family.” “Fine, I’ll do whatever it takes to become a legal foster parent. But the boy stays with me.” “Yes, I have five children of my own.” “We have more than enough room for him.” “Look, those are all technicalities. If you need to see my house, come see my house, come meet my family. Come do whatever it is you need to do. But I’m not letting Jungkook go.” “My mind's made up. I’m only doing what is best for Jungkook.”

Jungkook can hear the argument clearly. He feels like crying. He feels he doesn’t deserve to be treated so well by such a kind man. For as long as he can remember, he has only been treated badly. No one had ever shown him this level of genuine kindness. He wonders why Seokjin’s doing it. He isn’t in it for the paycheck, he isn’t in need of any kids. He wonders how such a sweet and caring person can actually exist. And why he was causing himself trouble for his sake. 

Despite the exhaustion coursing through his entire body, he can’t bring himself to sleep. All he can do is cry. He doesn’t deserve kindness. He doesn’t deserve to be laying on such a large, soft bed. He isn’t worth Seokjin’s trouble. And so he cries, curled up in a ball on the floor, he buries his face in his knees and weeps. Seokjin wanted to keep him. If only he knew about all the trouble he’s gotten himself into. If only he knew. 

Jungkook stays in that room for hours. Eventually, he runs out of tears to cry and settles with sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. Hours later, Seokjin knocks on the door and invites himself inside. He expects Jungkook to be sleeping.. But he finds Jungkook sitting on the floor and sits across from him. “Jungkook, sweetie, dinner is ready.” 

Jungkook makes a slight movement, “Why are you being so nice to me?” He asks, fresh wet tears piling up in the corners of his eyes. He thought he had run out. 

Seokjin sends him a soft smile, “Because, Jungkook, you’re a good kid who just got dealt a crappy hand. You deserve a few good cards, don’t you think?” He opens his arms invitingly. Jungkook thinks it’s wonderful how he presents comfort as an option, rather than just pulling him in. Jungkook does bring himself into Seokjin’s arms and rests his head against his shoulder. He’s never been held like that before. It feels nice. “I was on the phone with social services. I have to get an official license, but we are going to be your new foster family. Is that okay with you?” 

Jungkook knows it’s a difficult process. He’s heard previous foster families complain about it. Jungkook knows it was probably very illegal for him to stay during the interim. But Jungkook had also heard a lot of the conversation. And he can tell that Seokjin is the kind of person who doesn't stop until he gets what he wants. He’s thankful for that. “I don’t want to be a burden on you, or your family.” Jungkook replies, still pressed against his chest. 

“Nonsense, dear. You need a place to stay. I’ve already talked to them all about it. We all want to help you out. Come now, dinner is probably getting cold. And everyone is down there waiting to meet you.” he helps Jungkook to his feet, then presses himself up off the floor and guides him down to the dinner table. “Everyone, this is Jungkook-ssi. He’s going to be staying with us from now on.” Seokjin’s hands were hovering around his shoulders, not touching. “Come on, introduce yourselves.” 

So many unfamiliar faces. To his left sits a petite man, probably in his late teens. He has long dark hair and a flat expression on his lips. “Yoongi.” He introduces himself plainly. Next to him, another child. This one looked much younger. He has a wide smile and a mop of thick brown hair on his head. “I’m Jimin!” Next to him was one of two identical faces. Both very young with clean cut black hair and such prominent dimples. “I’m Hoseok. And he’s Namjoon.” Hoseok points to his twin sitting across the table. Jungkook knows he would have trouble telling them apart. For now, he’ll just have to rely on which side of the table they were on. Thank god they sat on different sides. The last face he saw was one of a boy similar to him. This must be Taehyung. “The name’s Taehyung,” He smirks. Jungkook notices an empty seat between Taehyung and Seokjin. He assumes it is for him and cautiously takes a seat. The glass at that setting is filled with milk. Jungkook smiles fondly. 

Members of the family exchanges glances at him through the whole meal. With the exception of Jimin, who just stares at Jungkook a lot and made him feel as though he was under intense scrutiny from a nine year old. No one has ever paid that much attention to him before. Jimin keeps his smile wide until he finally breaks the silence of the table. “Your hair is really cool. It swooshes up in the back and it’s all black.” Jungkook isn’t sure what to say, so he twinges his lip into what might have been a smile. 

“Mini,” Jungkook assumes it’s a nickname for Jimin, “Don’t be rude. You’re making Jungkook feel uncomfortable.” Seokjin scolds. 

Jungkook is just about to defend himself when he bites his tongue. It isn’t his place to intervene. Jimin’s voice fills the room again. “I wasn’t trying to be rude, appa. I was complimenting his hair. If he’s gonna be my hyung, I want him to like me.” 

A piece of chicken lodges itself in his throat when he takes a sharp breath. Hyung? He thinks as he coughs. No one has ever called him a brother before. He’s been called a lot of things. But hyung was never one of them. Seokjin gently pats his back to help him catch his breath. When he can finally breathe again, he takes a sip of milk and tries to regain his composure. The whole table is staring at him. “Uh, Oh, Excuse me. I’m sorry.” He shrinks back in his seat.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. Are you okay?” Seokjin comforts him, sending his family eyes that screamed ‘stop staring.’ 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, bit off a little more than I could chew, I guess.” He lies. But maybe it isn’t a lie. Maybe he really did bite off more than he could chew by absentmindedly stumbling upon the Kim household in his time of need. 

Seokjin sits back down and the meal continues in silence again. It’s only silent for a few minutes until Seokjin addresses the table. “So how was everyone’s day today?” 

They went around the table sharing the events of their day. The twins talk about their play date with the family friend. Jimin talks about his piano lessons. Yoongi tries to downplay the conversation, but ends up confessing that he went to see a movie. Taehyung talks about the project he was working on in school. 

Wait, school? It’s the end of June. School should be out by now for summer break. Was Taehyung taking summer classes? 

Thankfully, no one expects an answer from Jungkook. He’s glad because he wasn’t sure what he would have said. He hasn’t done anything to report. Seokjin knows what he did all day. He knows what he’d been through. 

Regular conversation continues until all the plates are clear, with the exception of the twins who refused to eat their vegetables. Once Jungkook finishes, he sits and waits for any signals of what to do. Being in so many foster homes showed him that many families do things differently. He has yet to learn the customs of the Kim family. Seokjin stands up and collects everyone’s empty dishes. Jungkook offers to help him, but he hushes him and insists he stay seated. 

“Who wants hotteok?” he calls from the kitchen. The entire table erupts in cheers. 

Jungkook’s never heard of it before. He sees everyone cheering and wonders what everyone was so excited about. He leans over to Taehyung and taps his shoulder. Taehyung looks back at him. “What’s everyone cheering about?” He asks quietly, so not to be heard over the cheers of the twins. 

“Oh,” He chuckles, “Aren’t you Korean? Appa made hotteok. It’s like a pancake, but my Appa has his own secret recipe, so it’s like 100 times better than anything you can buy on the streets. He learned to modify the recipe when he lived abroad. It’s super super sweet! He only makes it on special occasions. He must have made it for you.” Taehyung admits so casually, sending Jungkook a friendly smile. Jungkook just stares back. He’s never even heard of a pancake before. Everything he’s ever eaten came prepackaged or from a microwave. And come to think of it, he’s never had anything made especially for him before, either. “You’ve gotta try it. It’s amazing.” He emphasizes. 

Seokjin comes back from the kitchen with a dish stacked high with flat pastries. “Appa, Jungkook’s never had hotteok before.” Taehyung announces over everyone’s excitement. Jungkook feels only slightly betrayed. 

“Well, we’ll change that. Won’t we?” he passes the first round out, starting with Jungkook. Once everyone is served, Seokjin sits back down and all eyes are glued to Jungkook as he stares down at the pastry. It looks like bread. He doesn’t see the big deal. “Go ahead, sweetie. Give it a taste. It’s a modified family recipe.” 

Jungkook notices them all staring at him. He nods curtly as he takes a small bite. It’s sweet and chewy. It reminded him of candy. He chews it up carefully before swallowing. Everyone waits for some kind of reaction. 

“Well, what did you think?” Taehyung asks with wide eyes. 

Jungkook smiled, immediately scooping up more, “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” He looked at Seokjin, “Thank you.” Seokjin sent him a warm smile in response. 

Jimin laughs, “Just wait until Appa makes you his bungeoppang. That’s my favorite.” The young boy digs into his own hotteok greedily. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~June 28 (Tuesday)~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook once again finds himself holed up in the guest bedroom. But this time, he is actually expected to spend the night there. He sits idly at the edge of the bed, staring at the pastel blue walls adorned with abstract art. This seems to be the only room in the house that isn’t plastered with family portraits, which makes sense. Any company they may host might not want to fall asleep staring at the perfect Kim family all wearing matching sweaters and sporting wide, genuine smiles. 

Jungkook likes the abstract art. Collections of complimenting color gradients or photographs of random objects. He is particularly fond of the black-and-white photograph of a golf-ball up close, pennant flag intersecting a clear sky. Jungkook wonders where they got all of this wall art. Perhaps Seokjin is a photographer, or Yoongi is a painter. And the walls of the guest room are their canvas. It’s all fascinating to Jungkook. Maybe that’s what families do. Maybe they displayed their talents, their masterpieces, on the walls of their often empty guest bedrooms. It is a charming sentiment. 

Eventually, the wall art stops being interesting. And neither the chotskies strewn across the shelves nor the complex pattern of the beige bedding can capture his attention. With nothing to focus on, he’s reminded of the emptiness of the room. He’s reminded that he’s supposed to sleep there, all night, by himself. That in itself is an intimidating thought. Jungkook had never had anything to himself before. He’d always have to share, with foster brothers and sisters, with other orphans. Having something that belongs to him was just an outlandish thought. He struggles to grasp it, he doesn’t believe it.

He struggles even more to cope with it. This entire space belongs to him. Jungkook thinks for a moment how many cots would be able to fit in the room. He estimates about three; six if they were bunked. In any other foster home, he would be sharing a room this size with at least two other kids. But now, the space was all his. And he really doesn’t know what to do with it. 

He falls back onto the bed and wills his eyes shut. Maybe if he tries hard enough, he could just close his eyes and fall asleep. And he will wake up and it will be morning and he won’t have to spend any more time alone in this room. Lord knows he’s still extremely exhausted, the few hours he’d spent passed out on the Kim’s couch wasn’t enough to make up for the past five days of restlessness and fitful existence. He could probably sleep for three days and still be tired. But he’d settle for just a few hours. Just enough to get him to sunrise. 

The digital clock on the night table reminds him it was well after midnight. Everyone in the house is already sound asleep, and has been for at least two hours now. He is the only soul awake. That thought unsettles him even more. He is the only one awake in a house that isn’t his own. He is the only one awake in a house he doesn’t understand, a brand new location. He’s always had trouble adjusting to new foster homes. It always takes him a few days to get the hang of things. But usually it wasn’t that much of an adjustment. Usually, things tend to follow the same pattern. 

But the Kim household is a completely different entity. Seokjin doesn’t know how to be a foster parent. He only knows how to be a parent. And Jungkook knows he is a damn good one. But he’s the worst foster parent Jungkook has ever had. He doesn’t follow any of the expected foster parent procedures for introductions or tours or rules. Jungkook isn’t bothered by that. Not at all, he rather enjoys the dynamics of this new house. He just knows it will take him longer to adjust than ever before. 

His first adjustment is to learn to sleep in his own room. And he can say with confidence that it is impossible. Springing up from the bed, he paces around the room trying to collect his thoughts, trying to tire himself out to the point where he just passes out again. At least then, he’d be resting. Somewhat. The pacing is getting him nowhere. And he is still anxious about the size and emptiness of the room. 

In a spur of the moment decision, he quietly opens the bedroom door. Maybe a few laps pacing the hallway will tire him out. As he starts his trek, he notices one other light still shining through an open doorway. It’s Taehyung’s room. Taehyung must still be awake. Well, either he’s awake, or he sleeps with the lights on. Taehyung’s room is the farthest from the guest room, having to make his way quietly past everyone else’s room before he finally finds himself standing in Taehyung’s doorway. 

Taehyung is awake and sitting at his desk, back turned to the door. Jungkook notices a pencil gripped in his left hand, moving vigorously across a page. He taps lightly against the doorframe. Just loud enough to get Taehyung’s attention and still quiet enough that none of the sleeping siblings will hear it. 

Taehyung turns around with a jolt, clearly thrown from some deep level of concentration. He looks at Jungkook, then to the clock on his night table, then back to Jungkook. “Jungkook, do you know how late it is? What are you still doing up?” Taehyung inquires, a quizzical look in his eyes.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, rubbing one roughly against the doorframe. “I guess I could ask you the same thing.” He replies. 

“I’m finishing up my homework for school tomorrow. Or, I guess, today.” He gestures to his notebook with a casual smirk. “I have to be awake right now. But you don’t. You should go to sleep.” Taehyung’s voice gets quieter as he speaks.

Jungkook’s head drops and a small pout forms on his lips. “I- uh, I tried to fall asleep. But it just wasn’t happening.” He explains.

Taehyung’s facial expression softens from a look of confusion to a look of sympathy. “Do you, maybe, want to come in?” Jungkook is still lingering in the doorway. He gingerly accepts Taehyung’s offer, stepping further into the room. “You can lay down on my bed if you want. I probably won’t be going to sleep for a while.” 

Jungkook accepts that invitation as well. He finds that Taehyung’s bed feels well slept in. There’s a body mold that nearly matches up with his own, give or take a few inches in Jungkook’s favor. He curls in on himself. 

The scratching of Taehyung’s pencil keeps him awake. He wonders if he should be talking. Is Taehyung waiting for some kind of explanation? Is he waiting for a conversation? “I’ve never had my own room before. And the size of your guest room is just kinda overwhelming.” He tests the waters. It isn’t exactly the most inviting conversation starter. But Jungkook figures Taehyung can run with it if he wants to talk. 

Taehyung’s pencil stops for a brief second. “Yeah, we’ve never really had anyone stay over. It’s never really been used before.” 

Jungkook wonders if he should say anything else. Taehyung is busy with his homework, after all. “Your family is really nice.” 

He thinks he hears Taehyung laugh, “Yeah. Well, we have our good days.” 

“Really, does that mean you also have your bad days?” 

“Every family has their bad days, Jungkook-ah.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” 

“Oh. Right, Uh, sorry. Appa mentioned that you’re a foster kid.” 

That stings a little. “Don’t worry about it.” He plays it off, fiddling with the corner of the sheets, “Did he tell you anything else about me?” 

“Nothing else; just that you’re a foster kid who will be staying with us for a while. Why? Should he have told us something else.”

“No.” Jungkook’s eyes slip closed and he hopes the conversation can end there. 

“If you ever need to talk about anything, I’ll listen.” 

Jungkook wants to respond, but sleep calls for him. He sleeps soundly knowing that he can confide in Taehyung, if he wants to, that is. 

He doesn’t know when Taehyung finally goes to sleep. But when Jungkook wakes up, the clock on Taehyung’s night table tells him it was almost 5:30 am and Taehyung is in a sleeping bag on the floor. Quietly, Jungkook sneaks back to the guest room to wait out the rest of the night. As Jungkook sits impatiently on the guest room bed, he ponders his feelings of guilt about Taehyung having to sleep on the floor in his own room, in his own house. He resolves to not bother Taehyung at night again. He will just  have to make the guest room work. 

The Kim family finally starts to stir around 7:00. Well, just Seokjin and Taehyung. When he hears them moving around, he decides it would be safe to emerge from the guest room. He can just write it off and say he’s a light sleeper. 

As soon as he opens the bedroom door, he locks eyes with Taehyung. 

“Morning Jungkook-ah,” The slightly older male greets with a smile. 

Jungkook has been awake for nearly an hour and a half, there’s no trace of sleep in his voice. “Morning.” 

“What happened to you last night? I woke up and you were gone.” 

“Yeah. I woke up early and went back to the guest room. I’m sorry you had to sleep on the floor, by the way. I really didn’t want to inconvenience you like that. It’s just…” Jungkook thinks back to their conversation from last night. 

“You don’t have to be sorry about anything, Jungkook. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor. And I get it, you know. Jimin and I used to share a room until I turned 12. It took me a long time to adjust to having my own room. So you can come to my room whenever you need to.” Taehyung is so kind and understanding. Jungkook can’t help but smile. “And I’m not sure if you heard me or not, but I told you that if you ever need to talk about anything, I’ll listen.” He rubs at the nape of his neck, “I- uh, I said that last night, but you kinda passed out on me. I just thought you could use a friend. I mean, you don’t have to talk to me. But if you ever need to.” 

Jungkook stops his awkward ramblings, “Thanks, Taehyung. I appreciate it.” 

Jungkook and Taehyung sit together at the island in the kitchen. A platter of egg dumplings await them on the counter, and there’s an untouched glass of milk set out. Taehyung points out that it must have been for Jungkook, because Taehyung doesn’t like drinking white milk. He only likes chocolate milk or strawberry milk. Jungkook smiles at how well Seokjin already seems to know him and accepts the milk with a smile. The boys can hear Seokjin getting ready in his room, but the house is otherwise silent. 

Taehyung fixes himself a heaping portion of rice and two dumplings on the side. He starts eating while Jungkook eyes him suspiciously. “Let me guess, you’ve never had dumplings either?” He chuckles.

“Never that looked like that? What’s in them?” 

“Eggs, mostly. And some vegetables.” Taehyung answers. He picks up a piece with his chopsticks and holds them out to Jungkook. 

Jungkook accepts the food into his mouth and chews. His eyes grow wide, savoring the flavor. “It’s good.” 

“Everything appa makes is good.” Taehyung smiles while he serves Jungkook some dumplings and rice. 

“So, you have to go to school.” Taehyung nods. “Oh.”  Although Taehyung doesn’t seem too upset about having to attend school over the summer break, Jungkook decides to leave it at that. He doesn’t want to insinuate that Taehyung might just not be a bright student. But he also doesn’t want to ask about any circumstances that may have caused him to get stuck in summer school. 

The rest of the breakfast remains silent.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Well, that's the origin. Let me know what you think of this AU??? I'm still messing around with it every once and a while. As always, thanks for reading to the end! Feedback is always appreciated. And please let me know if I missed any tags or TWs. There's a lot to unpack in here and I want to make sure it's appropriately warned. Please call me out for any errors you notice!

#bts #bts sickfic #sick!Jungkook #caretaker!seokjin #caretaker!taehyung #bts au fic #bts domestic au #bts runaway au #jungkook angst #tw!abuse #tw!fostercare #bts exhaustion #bts fainting #tw exhaustion #tw fainting #jinkook #taekook #aki sickfic #aki writes

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT 50

✨GT Stands For Galvanic Twerp✨

Ugh, okay.  Rage Shenron.  Here we go. 

This episode has very little to do and it takes a long time to do it. 

We open on Pan and Goku at lakeside, admiring how the sky and environment seem to have dramatically improved since they defeated Haze Shenron.  Goku reasons that if they defeat the other six Shadow Dragons, then it should restore the rest of the world the same way.  Which... I think was made abundantly clear in the previous episode, which was recapped very thoroughly at the beginning of this episode.  I’d ask why we’re going over it again, but I already know.  Rage Shenron.

Then we cut to the womenfolk back at Capsule Corp?  I guess?  Videl’s sore about Pan running off on her own, so I’m not sure if she knows that Pan went with Goku.  Everyone just sort of restates the situation and hopes Goku’s doing okay out there. 

Then we slowly meander into the plot, as Goku’s team arrives in a town where a Dragon Ball is located.  Pan wants juice, so she stops at a vending machine and really takes her time with it.  They show her putting the money in, and she lingers over the buttons while she makes her selection... just milking this moment for all it’s worth.  Then purple goop comes out of the machine instead of juice, which gives her a scare.

Coincidentally, the only two people left in the town happen to walk by and explain to our heroes what’s going on around here.  This purple slime has been appearing all over the city, “stealing all the electricity.”  Everyone fled the city to get away from it, and this couple is the last to leave.  They give Pan some juice before they go, so I’m glad GT made sure to resolve the “Pan’s Thirsty” subplot.

✨Positivity Page✨ 

Oh, hey, it’s the Dragon Ball Building.  So this is kind of a cool place.  If you’ve ever been to this town, you should check it out.  I guess it’s open to the public?  I mean, the doors aren’t locked and there’s no one inside, so I’m not really sure.  Anyway, there’s this big statue of Piccolo in it.  It’s like ten feet tall, and it looks really old and ratty but you can tell it looked really awesome when it was first made. 

And there’s a bunch of plastic bins full of loose action figure parts.  Like you just walk around and there’s a box with nothing but Perfect Cell arms or Vegeta heads or whatever. 

There’s also a concession stand, like in a movie theater, so maybe they used to show movies there?  I don’t know.  It looks like it hasn’t been used in years, and all the candy in the display case is like fifty years old.  You can just walk around to where the employees would go and check out the popcorn machine and stuff. The weird thing is, you’d think it’s been abandoned, but they have one of those modern soda dispensers, with the touchscreen and you can get like Coke Zero with orange or lime flavor shots.  And there’s a standee of Goku next to it and it looks well-done, but it’s clearly just some fan-made deal.  Anyway, he’s got a real apron and paper hat on him, and a word balloon that says “Have some soda!” And it looks like someone’s taking care of that part of the building at the very least.  I mean, the power’s on in the building.  Restrooms are nice and clean.  

Oh, and on the top floor, there’s this really neat wall mural.   All these little tiles on the wall are arranged to make this cool diorama of Gohan through the series.  His first appearance, his Namek look, SSJ2 Gohan, Great Saiyaman, etc.  The last one is a skeleton, and someone wrote a little caption next to him with a sharpie: “Momento mori.”  Which is Latin for “Remember that you have to die.”  That’s a weird thing to put on there, but I don’t know, the aesthetic kind of works for me.  Also there’s a big water fountain in the middle of the room that looks like it hasn’t had water in it for decades. 

So yeah, it’s kind of neat that they put the building in this episode.  I should go back sometime, see if anything’s different.

✨"Good" "Ideas", Poorly Executed✨

Okay, Rage Shenron.  Tell you what, I should explain the naming system first. 

So far we’ve seen Haze Shenron and now Rage Shenron.  That’s not what they’re actually called.   “Haze” and “Rage” are dub-isms.  Apparently Funimation decided these characters should have their own names, and I’m pretty sure “Shadow Dragon” is a dub-ism as well.  This is my first time watching it in Japanese, and so far Goku just refers to them as “those guys”.  The narrator calls the Dragons by the Dragon Ball they have embedded in their bodies.  Rage is known as the “Five-Star Dragon” or “Five Star Shenron”.  Whatever.

Funimation went a different way with it, probably to make the brand easier to market.  The cute part is that if you order the dragons by their star number, their names make an acrostic:

Syn, the 1-star Dragon

Haze, the 2-star Dragon

Eis, the 3-star Dragon

Nuova, the 4-star Dragon

Rage, the 5-star Dragon

Oceanus, the 6-star Dragon

Naturon, the 7-star Dragon.

See?  They spell “Shenron”.  You might not ever notice this because in the anime, the Shadow Dragons are introduced in no particular order.  I only found out once when I looked them up on the Dragon Ball fan wiki. 

Here’s the thing: It probably doesn’t matter much, because these characters are so stupid and boring, but I appreciate Funimation for making it easier for me to remember which one is which.  Some of the names are a little out-there, but at least I know “Nuova” is the fire guy, even if I don’t understand why he has a ‘u’ in his name.  “Eis” is spelled like that because they needed it to start with “E”, and I’m assuming “Rage” got his name because they couldn’t think of any good “R” names that had anything to do with electric slime. 

And people always crap on the dub.  “Oh, the Funimation dub is the worst!” I’ve seen people say that the GT dub is the worst example of Funimation’s dub problems, which is pretty rich considering Dragon Ball GT sucks so hard.  What difference does it make if the dub sucks or not?  Chris Sabat could have made fart noises for the whole recording session, and it still wouldn’t make this show worse than it actually is.  All I know is I’m watching it in Japanese, and I feel like I hate GT now more than I ever did before.  It’s not that the Japanese version is worse, but it’s just that I’ve peeled back the last possible curtain.  This is the original version that aired on Japanese television in 1996-7, and they didn’t even bother to name these stupid evil dragons, because even Toei knew it didn’t matter.  At least Funimation was like “Hey, if they make an action figure of the little purple chicken dude, it’d be nice if they had a name to put on the blister pack.”

All right, so Rage Shenron.  He’s even smaller and crappier looking than Haze was.  He’s the one controlling the electric slime, so he sics it on Pan and Goku and gives them an electric shock.  It hurts them, but it doesn’t stop them, so he summons all of the electric slime to surround his crappy little body with a giant simulation of himself.

Then he tells Goku that he was created from the minus energy produced when the Dragon Balls were used to resurrect Goku at the climax of the Saiyans Saga. 

Rage then uses his signature only attack, Dragon Thunder.  And he uses it a lot.  I only got four stills of him saying “Dragon Thunder!” but it felt like he said it about 100 times. 

Goku turns Super Saiyan 4 to counter this, and you know, if he had just done this at the start, the fight would have already been over with.  You know, the same way he should have taken out Haze in the last episode?   That whole debacle was supposed to be a life lesson for Goku, and he and Pan even said as much when they beat Haze, but it’s like ten minutes later and they’ve already forgotten.   So Goku tries a 10x Kamehameha, and it doesn’t work because the electric slime surrounding Rage’s body just absorbs the blast and bounces it back on Goku.  For some reason, this forces Goku back into his base form.  I don’t know if he just wore himself out blocking the effects of his own attack, or what. 

So Rage starts making himself even bigger, and Goku tries to get some distance.  But Rage sends out tendrils of electric slime in all directions to pull even more electrical power from the local infrastructure.  He claims to have taken all the electricity in the world, but that sounds a bit  hard to swallow.  Anyway, he has more than enough to kill Goku and Pan, so he catches them in slime tentacles and starts electrocuting them. 

This is sort of like the last episode, where Haze had Goku and Pan dead to rights, but Giru rescued them because he was immune to the pollution.  Well, this time Giru can’t make the save, because he’s more vulnerable to electricity than Pan and Goku are.  So Giru bugged out pretty early into the fight.

So how does Goku beat Rage Shenron?  He doesn’t. It just happens to start raining while all this is going on, and it shorts out Rage’s powers.  He tries to disperse all of his electric slime, but there’s too much of it in one place to separate in time, and he’s too big to seek shelter. 

Let this sink in.  Rage Shenron defeated himself.  This is the final arc of GT, and the big villain gang is supposed to include seven world-ending dragons.  So far we’ve seen two of them, and they both absolutely suck. 

But wait, it’s not over yet.  Pan tries to recover the Dragon Ball, and Rage appears to surrender it peacefully, but it’s just a trick to zap her with slime again, so Goku blows him away with a regular base-form Kamehameha... which he could have just used from the start to save himself a lot of trouble. 

See, the big problem with this Shadow Dragons nonsense isn’t just that the Shadow Dragons suck.  The big problem is that they also make Goku look incredibly weak as well.  Rage defeated himself, so what was Goku supposed to do while this was happening?  That’s right, Goku defeated himself too. He forgot the moral of the Haze Shenron fight, and made the exact same mistake all over again.  Then he tried to overwhelm Rage using Super Saiyan 4 and it backfired, so the worst hit Goku took in this whole encounter was his own finisher. 

We already saw Super Saiyan 4′s reputation take a beating in the Super 17 arc, but this arc takes it to a whole new level.  When Goku resolved to defeat the Shadow Dragons, he insisted on going alone, because he was confident that his SSJ4 form would see him through.  But he didn’t even need it against Haze, and it actually made things worse when he used it against Rage! 

And Super Saiyan 4 ended up being GT’s greatest legacy!  But it’s like this show was desperately trying to make it was weak and unappealing as possible.  This whole episode is a farce.  Goku had so much trouble beating Rage that Rage took himself out before Goku could get his shit together. 

✨Is This Episode Worse than "The Roaming Lake"?✨

Yes. Oh my gosh yes, this is so terrible. 

I’m not sure if there’s any point in doing a “Ten Worst GT Episodes” list, because they’re all so bad, but Rage Shenron has got to be somewhere in that field.  He’s like the bad guys in the Imecka arc back when the show first started, just a complete joke of a threat.  Except Imecka was the first real adventure of the series.  This is Episode Fifty and we’re still doing this idiot-versus-idiot combat.

This is what’s wrong with GT.  It never figured out what it wanted to be, and now the series is almost over, and it shows.  There was never any build to anything, because it keeps starting over with a new dumb premise.  The Rage Shenron right feels like Episode 3 of a whole new anime. 

✨The Blade Braxton Memorial Haiku*✨

Now! Dragon Thunder!

Dragon Thunder! Dragon Thun-

der!  Dragon Thunder!

#dragon ball #dragon ball gt #really sucks #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #*haiku does not come with crown as illustrated #rage shenron #goku #pan #giru #fuck this episode forever #the dragon ball building

[rotzaprachim]

im interested in a doubter in the city of belief & a pink carnation and a pickup truck !!!

a doubter in the city of belief is my inej crowpernatural AU! the title is from this poem from louise erdrich i just love to pieces. here's a snippet:

----

As a kid Jesper had counted distance by the number of Boxcar Kids books he could slap through, tucked into the backseat of his dad's car with a ratty flannel blanket and a box of service station loot.

"You'll make yourself sick reading like that," his dad always said, but perhaps since he'd been on the road since before he'd been born, Jesper never did. He learned to tilt the book to keep reading without vertigo on the roads that twisted off of interstates and he learned to catch more words with his eyes then his brain could really think at once when reading at night, page lit intermittently by the fast pools of margarine-yellow light that came in from the streetlights. And he learned to always, always bury his nose in a book when they were around his dad's friends and they were talking about hunting.

"You need a lamp," his dad said. They were sitting at a bar somewhere outside Wichita, noshing on packs of salty bar peanuts. Intermittently a waitress would bring his father a beer and tell him how a man must be thirsty on a night like tonight. Jesper wanted to be anywhere but there, somewhere where kids did the normal things kids did, like go camping for fun and catch murderers with cyphers and really energetic after-school detective work. His dad looked the waitress in the eye and said to get something for my boy here, too, it's a hungry place out here to be a child. She returned with a freshly microwaved White Castle burger and some cranberry drink mixer in a frosty Coors glass. His father slid it to him with a wink. We'll be somewhere we can feed you up on all your greens real soon, he said. There was no where on earth Jesper would have wanted to be more, than in some dinky bar and at his father's side. His dad squinted at the book Jesper was reading.

"It's too dark in here to see the letters. You'll go blind."

But Jesper hadn't, not yet, not with another decade and a half of bar-room reading under his belt, now even when he paged his way through his Lit 201 doorstoppers when it was Inej's turn on the big straight highways, and they printed the words way smaller in those.

#crowpernatural #jesper fahey #colm fahey #a doubter in the city of belief #i just have sooooo many feelings about jesper and colm so so many they are unexpectely THE part of this fic for ME

[neathnights]

The Coquettish Relicker and Mathilde are Making the Rounds

Relickers are the rag-and-bone men of Mr Cups. They salvage junk and occasionally pay for it. The Coquettish Relicker and her rat companion Mathilde deal with the rag trade.

→ Hand over a paltry few creditable scraps for Silk If you have some scraps from lodgings cards or other places, the Coquettish Relicker and Mathilde will be happy to accept them in return for something from the rainbow-decked cart.

→ Hand over a small collection of scraps for Surface-Silk "Don't be shy, hand 'em over," says the Coquettish Relicker. Her grubby lace gloves glide daintily over your scraps while Mathilde scurries about.

→ Hand over a box of scraps for Whisper-Satin Business is slow, so the Coquettish Relicker makes Mathilde do a ratty clog-dance on the cart as it travels. Mathilde looks mortified.

→ Hand over a sack of scraps for Thirsty Bombazine As the rainbow-hued cart bounces over the rough cobbles, Mathilde scurries to and fro, folding fabric and re-stacking the piles of scraps.

→ Hand over all the scraps you can carry for Puzzle-Damask Heave your armloads of scrap onto the cart, and try not to squash Mathilde.

→ Hand over a cartload of scraps for Parabola-Linen Mathilde scowls up at you over her little ratty shovel and gets to work. The Coquettish Relicker is ready to hand you something no bigger than a handkerchief.

→ Hand over a roomful of scraps for Ivory Organza The Coquettish Relicker will have to bring a spare cart and a spare rat to cope with this lot.

→ Hand over a multitude of scraps for Veils-Velvet Your house is surrounded by relickers. Four carts, four rats, eight shovels. A great deal of shouting and several upset neighbours.

→ Have the Coquettish Relicker recertify some scraps There might be more here than you think. On the other hand, she might reject them.

...

Some nice things "Ooh, lookit that. That's a genuine Gorchett that is. Yeah, I'll take that. Mathilde, break out some fancy silks."

→ Recertify an armful of scraps Get the Coquettish Relicker to look closely at this heap of junk. She has a fine eye for it.

This could go on for some time "Wot are you trying to pull, eh? Do I look like I was born yesterday? You might fool Mathilde, but I've been in this business twenty years, and let me tell you..."

...

→ Recertify a double-armful of scraps It isn't worth spending much of your time on junk, so let's do this quickly. This is risky – they might turn out to be nothing at all.

→ Tell the Coquettish Relicker your woes A lady like her is sure to be trustworthy and discreet.

...

A sound drowned out "You did wot? Hoo-eeee. I wouldn't worry about it dearie. I hears things, so I does, and let me tell you, there's a storm of scandal coming. And you aint in it, for a change."

#chance cards #The Coquettish Relicker and Mathilde are Making the Rounds #relickers

[whatever-dude]

So ummmm.......what do we have to do to get matty to wear a chain??

#matthew tkachuk #matty tkachuk #ratty matty #i need to see him in a chain #for.....science reasons #not to be thirsty on main #but #i would pass away if the man wore a chain #like i need to see it #please #matthew. we need to see it. #calgary flames #flames #nhl #hockey #god chains are so hot #and its unjust that we dont get to see him wear one #like sir. please. just once. thats all im asking

[doorrobloxstuff]

Ambush x Abandoned + child!Entity

Ambush has to give a small entity a bath. (platonic) and Y/N listens to its musings. Based off the writer trying to bathe his kitten.

Y/N uses it/it’s :)

Also Rushbush yay

I just wanted to do something that wasn’t a request.

---- "Cmere little guy..it's okay.."

A frightened chirp came out from under the desk. The new smells and sounds overwhelming the child's senses.

"Aw.. cmere..Please..?" Ambush said, sticking its hand under the desk. But the smaller entity scooted deep and deeper under the desk in fear. Ambush sighed and shook its head. "Alright little guy..Sorry I have to do this to ya, but you leave me no choice.”

Ambush slowly lifted up the desk and with one hand carefully scooped the now shivering baby entity off the floor and tucked it in into its thin fur.

Ambush curiously tilted its head downward, only to shrink a bit noticing the look of pure fear in its eyes.

“Aaaaagh!! Don’t look at me like that!! It’s not like I’m trying to drown ya..!!! it’s just a little water..” It urged, gesturing towards the bathroom door. But Y/N didn’t even seem to comprehend that. Ambush’s words useless sounds drowned away by anxious scurrying thoughts.

Instead digging burrowing itself into the ratty static. It gave Ambush some time to move them both into the bathroom were the soft scent of lavender and sound of warm running water welcomed them.

“See..nothin spooky..” It murmured as it floated over to the edge of the bath. It hesitated for a moment. ‘What if it hurts itself…oh shit..what if I hurt it..?’ It thought nervously before shaking its head.

‘Oh come on damn it! You’ve done this before with your other kids! You can handle one more!’

Carefully, Ambush reached into its fluff. Which was now unusually soggy and pulled out a shivering little ball of tears that made its heart melt.

‘..But they never been this scared.’

Ambush’s eyes softened as that thought radiated through its mind. Getting back to its priorities, it slowly lowered the little entity into the bath.

“It’s okay.. it’s okay.. I’m here…” It soothed. The fizzy static energy in its voice chirping like singing crickets on a summer evening.

Y/N had a death grip on Ambush’s hand that almost reminded it of Rush. Even with how tiny it’s hands were and how young it was..it was still pretty strong it mused.

Other then that, they also were..eerily silent for a baby it’s age.

“You okay there Y/N..?”

The little Entity peeled its eyes open and let go of Ambush’s hand for a few seconds. It’s gaze filling with a defensive glare and it’s body tensed and arched.

And then it sneezed.

“Menacing...” Ambush said with an amused grin.

It grabbed a sponge from a nearby cabinet and carefully swabbed the smaller entity with it. The two stood there in abject silence for a few minutes.

The tiny entity beginning to relax and Ambush scrubbing away the dirt and grime that had made its way into the child’s body. Finally Ambush spoke again after a long and awkward silence.

“Ya know were this sponge comes from?” It said, brushing the suds, bubbles and bits of dried lavender off their body.

The tiny entity tilted its head.

“The bottom of The Hotel pool. Whole bunch of ‘em grow down there apparently along with a bunch of other stuff like seaweed and apparently some reeeaaaal big fishies. But I haven’t seen em yet.”

Y/N looked up and blinked curiously for a few seconds before looking back down and started drinking the bath water.

“Gah, Nono. Don’t be drinking any bath water on my watch.”

Ambush carefully pushed Y/N away from the water. Who squeaked in protest once it did so.

“It’s full’a soap. You’ll get sick.”

It kept attempting to do so a few more times to immediate pushback before giving up and sitting down in the water sourly.

“If ya thirsty I can get you something later. Just don’t drink that yucky stuff.”

Ambush continued to scrub the back of their head and with a small scratching-scrubbing motion that it enjoyed.

“Aww.. ya know, you really remind me of ‘120 when it was all tiny.. it liked that little trick too.” It said thoughtfully, scrubbing the last bits of dust off of Y/N.

“Oh wait, you haven’t met your older siblings yet have ya, little guy? Ohhh yep, their gonna love ya the second they lay their eyes on ya.” It continued, giving it another little scratch on the back of its head with the sponge.

“Ya know, I could look for some old bath toys for ya too. I think the hotel makes some- maybe it’ll make this whole thing a little less scary next time.”

After a little while It turned off the water and carefully pulled it out of the tub and plucked a fluffy towel out from under the sink and wrapped it around Y/N like a little burrito.

“There we go.. nice and clea- Oop-” It carefully reached down and lightly flicked off a piece of lavender that was on the little one’s nose.

“THERE we go!” It said triumphantly as it pulled the swaddled entity close to its chest. Ambush quietly took note of the little entity shivering noticeably less.

Instead, a pleasant rumbling took its place.

“Nice and clean. Now let’s go get ya some water eh?”

—

I just wanted to write something. Btw this mafia sounding guy isn’t what my Ambush sounded like at all in source. I just wanted to give it a personality so I CAN write about it.

Honestly, I thought that I wasn’t capable of writing coherent stuff anymore dhdhhddh.

Anyways enjoy mafia guy Ambush giving a child a bath. Also yes, it does pronounce fish as “fishies.”

#wardenrush.txt #roblox doors #doors roblox #doors x reader #doors figure

[gmrsysteme]

#Thirsty ratty

[jemrps]

the way matteo martari is literally so ugly ( affectionate ) ... he looks like a shark and a rat had a baby ... but i love him ??? 

#me everyday : icb im in love w this ugli fucker .... #ugli fucker ( affectionate ) #he looks so ratty in l'alligatore ... but i would 100% let him *** me #its almost 1am lemme be thirsty