#'oh yeah that's the third time this month he's like incapable of saying no it's fine' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

its-a-hil · 7 months

Note

ok. random question. literally from the random question generator at randomwordgenerator dot cahm: What's your go-to funny story now, but was horrendous at that moment?

(i think it gave me a question i already know but eh shoot)

hm.

alright i think this is actually more of the reverse than the forward direction, but sure

when i was in middle school, i was such a horrible procrastinator (note: i am still one of those) that i often wrote rough drafts of essays during lunch

(the one year in middle school i didnt do this was when i had english 1st period. tbh i wish my schedule had worked out like that all 3 years, but alas)

but i got so comfortable just throwing out words with a pencil that i kept doing it and now i almost never edit anything bc i need to write it all in one go or it's wrong

but final drafts still had to be typed & printed, so it was only my rough drafts that were like this

fast forward to high school, and rough drafts became less of a thing

my compulsion to procrastinate did not.

oh also relevant here is that i was emotionally incapable of asking for an extension or submitting online after class or anything

so.

senior year of high school. we had an essay to write on Twelfth Night, where we had to pick a word that was repeated a few times and discuss its effect on the story

i picked 'fancy' and used it to argue the absolute bullshit point that it meant the whole thing was a dream, because i had no other ideas and my brain refused to set aside time to do something more reasonable

except.

i did not begin writing until lunch of that day.

i did not have access to the computer lab i had planned to write the essay in.

i pleaded with a friend to lend me his laptop, on which i did the most frantic writing of my life. i dont remember if i ate any food during that lunch period.

(according to my diary i also said something shitty to that friend even as he was doing me a massive favor, which. god.)

looking at the document now (ty google drive), it seems that i didnt actually finish the essay, just wrote notes on the different uses of the word

im not sure if it was just a rough draft or notes kind of thing that was due, or if i lucked out and the essay was extended or something? unclear

but what is clear is that i wrote 440 words in just over an hour, and that's not counting the quotes i had to transcribe (which also made up over 400 words)

the following night i turned it into an actual 750ish word essay in also about an hour, bc. yeah. (i still didn't write an intro until i printed it out during study hall the next day lmao)

so anyway the essay was shit, the teacher was genuinely confused and pulled me aside after the class where she handed the essays back

note: she was also the theater teacher & that semester i was doing the play afterschool, and i think she knew i was better than what i handed in

in my defense i was fairly depressed that couple of months, partially due to an responsibility that i did not realize i could easily say no to. the only consequence that refusing that responsibility would have had is that i would have hated myself less and possibly liked engineering more

oh also looking at my diary apparently that was also the week that i taught precalc bc the teacher's partner was suddenly out for paternity leave and i had an essentially free period during the precalc class

so yeah that's probably the third most interesting week of my senior after the week that we had the play performances and the week i was out in the hospital when my lungs spontaneously collapsed

the funniest part of that story is that it took me another 3ish years to realize that i wanted to be a teacher, and another 2 years after that to act on that desire. lmao

anyway bc im sure you freaks want to see it, im putting the essay under the cut

Actual essay:

Twelfth Night is one of Shakespeare’s most fantastical plays. Even without the use of magic, the supposedly realistic events are completely improbable. There is evidence that the play was intended to be a fantasy, and throughout the play, the word “fancy” is used to suggest to the audience that the events of the play are little more than a fanciful construction of Orsino’s mind.

Orsino speaks four of the six instances of “fancy” or “fantasy.” Two of these instances come in his first monologue, right at the beginning of the play. He claims that “so full of shapes is fancy that it alone is high fantastical” (1.1.14-15). As Adams says, in this passage Orsino claims “that his own imagination is so fertile that it is supremely capricious and whimsical.” (Adams 58). It is odd that the play would start with this double mention of fancy, especially when the word is not mentioned again until the end of Act two. It is even stranger that the plot concludes with Orsino making Viola/Cesario his “fancy’s queen” (5.1.415). Although Feste finishes the play with his final song, this line is the last spoken by any other character, and is a natural conclusion to the play nonetheless. There must be a reason why the play both begins and ends with a word only used six times throughout. This is the most direct clue that the play does not merely describe events in Shakespeare’s mind, but instead describes events in Orsino’s mind.

More clues can be found by examining the other uses of fancy in the play. Sebastian remarks “Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep” after encountering a smitten, and unfamiliar Olivia (4.1.65). This line comes in one of the more fantastical scenes in the play, where Sebastian enters Illyria and is mistaken by everyone for Cesario. Sebastian can only conclude “this is a dream,” and calls upon fancy - imagination - to keep him from waking up. Sebastian addresses fancy as a powerful being, that has the ability to manipulate the world he sees. If the play does take place in Orsino’s imagination, fancy would have this power. Another thing to note about Sebastian’s mention of fancy is that it is in reference to Olivia. Her love for him, and reproach of the men who were dueling him, is the only reason he would want to continue living in this dream.

Olivia is a common subject of fancy, as used in its alternate definition of love. Malvolio, just before seeing Maria’s letter, thinks aloud that “should [Olivia] fancy, it should be one of my complexion” (2.5.24-25). Almost all references to fancy are directly related to Olivia. In fact, every major male character, except her uncle, is in love with Olivia. It is difficult for Orsino to conceive of a character who is not enamored when in the presence of the beautiful lady Olivia. To him, when Olivia enters, “heaven walks on earth” (5.1.99).

Regarding the rest of Malvolio’s scene, it is no less strange than Sebastian’s. The dour puritan begins with a statement of love for his lady, and then follows the insane directions of a letter that apparently describes her love for him, while the pranksters hide and watch in a nearby bush. Orsino’s mentions of “fancy” also take place in strange scenes. Without touching on the chaotic mess that is 5.1, 1.1 regards a Duke, who has been laid low grieving over his unrequited love for Olivia. She, in turn, decides not to admit any suitors until she has spent seven entire years mourning her dead brother. This scene feels almost surreal, setting the stage for the play that is to follow. Since almost every instance of the word fancy comes during a surreal scene, it can be inferred that the word is an indicator - a message to the audience that this play is a fantasy in the mind of Orsino.

There is one more use of “fancy,” however. During the argument between Orsino and Viola, Orsino speaks of men’s fancies as “more longing, wavering… than women’s are” (2.4.41-42). Twelfth Night is certainly long, spanning three months in Illyria, and the play constantly wavers from uplifting to demeaning, from reasonable to insane. The play as a whole fits so well with Orsino’s description of his “fancies” that one must wonder why that particular description was used. Interpreting Twelfth Night as a fancy conjured up by Orsino’s stricken mind makes a good deal more sense than attempting to reconcile the events with the real world.

Work Cited:Adams, B. (1978). Orsino and the Spirit of Love: Text, Syntax, and Sense In Twelfth Night, I. i. 1-15. Shakespeare Quarterly,29(1), 52-59. doi:10.2307/2869169

The notes i wrote during the lunch period:

The first appearance of the word comes during Orsino’s monologue. The grief-stricken man describes his lovesickness by referring to his imagining of fantasies involving Olivia. Fancy is “full of shapes” to hear him tell it, filled with all kinds of images (1.1.14). This implies an interesting idea of the plot; it may be nothing more than a lovesick dream conjured by Orsino’s mind. After all, the plot is as “high fantastical” as something a distressed lover might imagine. (1.1.15).

Malvolio’s mention of fancy is also about love and imagining it. He talks about “her [Olivia’s] fancy,” but the context of the scene and the rest of his dialogue imply that he is the one who fancies Olivia (2.5.24).. Malvolio claims that Olivia has said she would fancy “one of my complexion,” indicating that Malvolio has, through confirmation bias and imagination, convinced himself that Olivia was in love with him even before reading Maria’s letter (2.5.25). The fact that Malvolio, the outwardly stalwart Puritan, is as fanciful and in love as Orsino is a strong device for making fun of the Puritans as Shakespeare was wont to do.

Sebastian has his reference to fancy when he meets Olivia and finds that he is the object of her fancy.

[Discussing of the other two quotes]

In Twelfth Night, characters mention fancy when in fantastical scenes. Orsino had neglected his duties as a Duke to be lovesick over Olivia, Malvolio convinced himself that Olivia was in love with him moments before happening upon a letter regarding Olivia’s love, Sebastian came to a foreign city and found that a woman he had never seen was madly in love with him, and the final scene is perhaps the most fanciful of them all. Everything comes together in a hilarious, satisfying, and utterly unrealistic way. The use of the word fancy indicates that a scene either was or will be fanciful. This implies that Shakespeare is breaking the fourth wall, drawing attention to works of the imagination when the audience may be considering the play as imagination. In that way, Shakespeare implies that this comedy, however nice it may seem, is just a lovesick fantasy in the mind of Duke Orsino.

Note also that almost every mention of the word is in reference to Olivia. The only exception is when Orsino calls Viola his “fancy’s queen,” but Orsino could just be (Inception-style) trying to prove to himself that he can love another. That is why the timeline does not make sense; Orsino needed to believe that his mind was not so changeable, that he would need three months with another woman to move past his love for Olivia.

Quotes:

1.1.14-15:

Orsino: “So full of shapes is fancy

That it alone is high fantastical.”

Context: These lines conclude Orsino’s opening monologue about his lovesickness and passion for Olivia. The monologue is discordant throughout, and this line sounds very arrogant, that nobody but a lover could have an extreme imagination.

This quote illustrates Orsino’s arrogance about his position (which is expanded upon in his later argument with Viola) and tells the audience that Orsino has spent some time cooped up in his mansion thinking of Olivia.

2.5.23-25

Malvolio: “I have heard herself come

thus near, that, should she fancy, it should be one

of my complexion.“

Context: This comes just before Malvolio finds Maria’s letter, when he is fancying that Olivia might be in love with him. He has almost convinced himself of her love even before he sees Maria’s letter, which would be a strange coincidence if Twelfth Night was not a comedy.

This quote describes Malvolio’s desperation to be loved by Olivia. He uses a few choice words and actions of Olivia as a justification for her love, indicating confirmation bias and lack of perspective.

4.1.63-66

Sebastian: “What relish is in this? how runs the stream?

Or I am mad, or else this is a dream:

Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep;

If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep!”

Context: This comes just after Sebastian enters Illyria and finds a beautiful woman suddenly wish to marry him. It is so illogical that he believes he must be dreaming, and he wishes for fancy to keep him from waking up.

This quote tells us that Sebastian is wondrous at his entrance to Illyria. He forgets about Antonio as soon as strange men wish to duel and a strange beautiful woman claims to be in love with him. Sebastian is far more relaxed than most people would be in this context, especially if they could not find Antonio, the only person he was close with for the past three months.

5.1.412-415

Orsino: “Cesario, come;

For so you shall be, while you are a man;

But when in other habits you are seen,

Orsino's mistress and his fancy's queen.”

Context: This is the last line spoken by any character except Feste. It comes after Orsino learns of Viola’s true identity and gives up his love for Olivia.

This quote implies that Orsino still thinks of Viola as Cesario, at least while she is in men’s clothing.

#lifeblogging #sorry for it being so long #but i also fact-checked myself on a lot of details thanks to having the edit history and thanks to writing everything in my diary #so ty past sahil dont know what we'd do without your need to write for us

4 notes · View notes

bitternest · 1 year

Note

Recently started doing admin on iseries. Please share any and all Big Blue horror stories 🙇🏻‍♀️

iseries

Oh nice. I took classes on AS/400. So that's where I'll start. Let's see if I can do this without doxing myself or my prof. See, she was one of those highly skilled people with a skillset that is nearly out of date, which is to say AS/400 and COBOL. The thing about having a skillset that is nearly out of date is that you can basically ask whatever the hell money you want in order to work, especially if the technology underpins, um. Most of the world's banking systems. You can also basically do whatever the hell you want if you're a professor. So this... irascible old lady would regularly take 3 month contracts in the middle of term for $50-100k and... no one could stop. Good luck replacing a 60 year old IBM guru. And also, like. That's your bank. The one with your money in it.

So yeah. Iseries ain't the worst place to be. Buff them skills, network with some folks and learn to negotiate.

Second story is. Well. Here's the thing about IBM. From your first internship to when you finally "make it" as an engineer, it's drilled into you that your only viable way to advance is how many patents you can submit. Skilled engineers can take advantage of this and bang out a ton of patents for the company pretty quick. The problem is, not many skilled engineers apply to IBM. And a lot of "lifers" do, because IBM will implode around the time of the US government.

This means that a lot of politically-, bureaucratically-minded engineers are constantly looking for competition internally and are constantly fucking each other over. This is the trauma factory. We hired one guy who managed to get out and he was a nervous fucking wreck, took the most defensive positions on everything and was basically incapable of long-term planning. When he could actually code (he took a management position), he actually cranked out some decent stuff. But his mannerisms and performance was the beginning of a "don't hire from IBM" policy.

The rubber stamp on that policy was an interview I was in where less than halfway through, the engineer basically told me that I didn't know what I was talking about on a piece of third-party software, which obviously cooled the room substantially. I gently informed him that that was possible but unlikely and moved the interview on to other topics, but the man clearly had his blood up and eventually basically got HR involved, who joined the call. At this point I'm dying of second-hand embarrassment for the guy and when the politicking back and forth and trying to squeeze in all sorts of slights on my part in, it finally came back around to said piece of third party software. At which point I asked if he knew how to use github, which let me tell you got a flinch from HR. I asked him to navigate to the code repository and look up the commits for basically the whole-ass docs directory. My name was signed to at least a third of them.

He disconnected. And that was my experience with the knife factory.

Which nicely brings me the final story of the night. From the first dude I heard that the internal Pull Request process for legacy code (so like. 65% of it.) is viewed as "at least we're not at Oracle." Because Oracle's PR times can go as long as 18 months. IBM's were closer to a year for things in, say, AIX. For non-tech folks, an especially busy public repository might take two or three months to review, especially if the subject isn't a priority. The absolute longest I've ever had to wait was six months. A year, for a completely internally managed repository? I cannot IMAGINE the bungling going on there.

So basically what I'm saying is don't work for IBM.

#IBM #computer science

8 notes · View notes

pocketramblr · 4 years

Text

Great. Anon now you got my brain starting a princess tutu au

#🎵 let's do this one more time #my brain doesn't care that we've been down this road and didn't like it before #my brain says it will be different this time #less 1 to 1 au with basically the exact ptutu plot with names just changed #and more... wiggle room i guess #current line of thought is Toshi and Dave as Sigfried and Lohengrin #with Izuku and Melissa as uh decedent/remakes/whatever Mythos and Fakir #and since Nejire has gripped the Tutu role and refused to let go #rue mighttttt be Tamaki but we gotta get him his bae outside the story ya know #considered switching it up so that Melissa is nominally dating izuku at the start and Tamaki acts as his brother/roommate #since rue and Fakir both knew at the start and were acting around him #also then it'd be really funny for Nejire to guiltily tell Mel she heard her boyfriend say yes to another girl (toga?) and Mel's like #'oh yeah that's the third time this month he's like incapable of saying no it's fine'#since they uh aren't actually in romo as i personally can't ship it #but anywayyyy #it's just brewing in the back of my head now #and i blame you anon

1 note · View note

atlabeth · 3 years

Text

warmth - zuko x fem!reader

summary: the two times he notices her shivering and the one time he does something about it.

a/n: lmaoo we have been in a DROUGHT my people. i have barely given you any content this whole month and i feel bad. i wrote this out over the course of a few hours after getting the idea in the shower. i did not proofread. i am not sorry. enjoy.

and NO that end part is not dirty it is simply two kids sharing a bed for warmth bc they got cute lil crushes on each other 🔫🔫🔫🔫

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): this is pure fluff bbbbbb

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

Three times.

It happened three times before Zuko was finally able to get over himself and have a real, face to face, one on one conversation with the one person he hadn’t been able to get out of his head.

Y/N. It was a name that had made a home in his mind, belonging to a girl that had made a home in his heart. He knew that she was a waterbender from the Northern Tribe and that she had joined the team after the Siege of the North, but apart from that, her life was a mystery to him. She was a mystery to him.

It was pathetic. How could he become so enraptured with a girl when he didn’t even know the first thing about her? When he had spent the past couple of months fighting against her, trying everything in his power to hurt her? When she had no idea he even thought about her that way?

Sometimes Zuko questioned himself, but then he caught a glimpse of her — the gleam of her hair, the way her eyes crinkled at the edges when she laughed, the fierceness with which she fought rivalled only by the way she cared for her injured friends afterwards — and he laughed inwardly.

There was no way he couldn’t feel that way about her. She was simply enchanting.

But there was only one thing he questioned more than his affections — why in the name of Agni could he not just walk up and start a conversation with her? There was no one else in the world that made him as nervous, as flushed, as completely incapable of basic speech as Y/N, and it drove him insane.

It drove him insane that it took three times.

~~~

The first time he noticed her shivering, it wasn’t on purpose.

Zuko was serving tea to everyone as they gathered around the campfire, chuckling as Aang recounted one of their earlier adventures, back when he was still trying to capture the Avatar. Thinking about his past, who he used to be, was painful, but it gave him all the more reason to be thankful for where he was now.

He wasn’t as focused on Aang’s story as he was on Y/N, though. She could hardly keep her thoughts to herself, interrupting every couple of seconds to add a detail that Aang forgot or give her own input on the events that he was describing. He started to frown as he noticed her shivering despite sitting right next to the fire — Zuko didn’t even realize how distracted he was until he felt someone hitting his arm.

“Hey!” He was snapped out of his reverie by the harshness of Katara’s voice, angrily gesturing at the broken teacup and now spilled tea all over Haru.

“Oh— I am so sorry,” he stammered as he crouched down and started to pick up the pieces on the ground. “Are you okay?”

“It’s just.. really hot tea,” Haru muttered with a small wince. “No big deal.”

“You’re right. It’s not a big deal.” Y/N raised her hand and with a small, fluid movement, she bent the liquid out of the fabric and formed it into a tiny sphere in the air. “See? Good as new. And you’re not even burnt.”

Haru chuckled and pulled at his tunic, giving Y/N a grateful nod.

“Can a sky bison drink tea?” She mused as she moved the liquid orb around in the air.

“I don’t think so,” Aang said with a small laugh.

“Shame we have to waste it.” Y/N bent it away from the group and let it fall to the ground, sinking into the rock below them. “Zuko can always make more though, right?” She said with a hopeful smile.

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“See, guys? No harm, no foul. You’re the best, Zuko.” She gave him an overexaggerated wink then began to pester Aang to get back to the story, leaving Zuko to continue handing out tea and keep his shaking hands as steady as possible.

She really had no idea the effect she had on him.

~~~

The second time? It was definitely on purpose.

The night was unusually cold, even with the bonfire blazing in the middle, and he found his eyes trained once more on Y/N. This time she was the storyteller, giving them all a taste of Northern Water Tribe culture as she recounted a bedtime story she was told as a child. She had a whole arsenal of character voices at her disposal, keeping everyone thoroughly entertained despite the numerous lines she forgot. Zuko didn’t even realize he was staring until Sokka elbowed him in the elbow, gesturing at her with a nod of his head and a cocky grin.

“What are you doing, just gawking at her like that?”

“Wh— gawking? I am not gawking. I’m— I’m just listening to her.”

“Yeah, sure. But I’m pretty sure Appa could start talking right now and you wouldn’t notice because you are hopelessly into her.” He gestured at Zuko’s eyes with his hand then in Y/N’s direction. “Gawking.”

“I— I am not!” He protested, tearing his eyes away from Y/N’s animated face to give Sokka one of his signature glares. He lowered his voice to a whisper to ensure that no one would hear them. “I’m not into her, I’m not gawking, I am appreciating her storytelling.”

“Uh huh, yeah.” Sokka looked at her and grinned before glancing back at Zuko. “If you’re not into her, then I can ask her out, right?”

Zuko didn’t respond, simply kept glaring at him in hopes that it would intimidate him into backing down so he wouldn’t have to say anything and risk embarrassing himself.

Sokka chuckled and held up his hands. “Alright, geez, I’m just joking. But maybe use some of that fire to keep it going? Looks like she’s cold.”

Almost immediately, he broke eye contact and fueled the fire with a simple blast. Y/N shot him a grateful smile and nodded as she continued her story, and Zuko noticed her hands falling back down into her lap from their former place on her arms.

No amount of fire could’ve caused as much warmth as her smile. He was sure of that.

~~~

There was no way he could miss it the third time. After all, she was the only one there.

Zuko hadn’t been able to sleep so he ended up outside, and there she was — sitting there, all alone in the middle of the temple grounds, shivering quietly with a moonless night sky as her backdrop. Before he could second guess himself, Zuko started walking over.

“Hey.” Y/N greeted him without even looking up as she pulled her arms around herself, bringing her legs up to her chest in an effort to conserve all the warmth she could.

“Hey.” Zuko took a seat on the ground next to her and crossed his legs. “Are you cold?”

She let out an airy chuckle and nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? I grow up surrounded by snow and ice and I’m perfectly fine, but after a few months away a couple of breezes are tearing me down. I don’t get it.”

“You’ve been shivering a lot lately,” he said after a beat of silence. Y/N raised an eyebrow and gave him a wry smile.

“What, have you been looking?”

That sent him stammering. “I-I— yes? I mean— no, I’ve noticed, but I’m not actively looking at you, that’s weird, I’m not— I mean—”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed, the same laugh that sent flutter bats through his stomach and made his heart burst with happiness. She set her hand on his and squeezed, giving him a gentle look that almost immediately ceased his rambling. “Zuko, it’s alright. It’s… nice that you’ve noticed. Like you’re looking out for me or something.”

He opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find his voice — he was sure his cheeks were as red as his tunic, just at the simple touch of her hand — and it only got worse as she placed her other hand on top of it.

“You’re warm,” Y/N muttered. “Like… intensely warm.”

“Is that bad?” He wondered aloud, preemptively panicking. “Do you want me to turn it off? I can’t turn it off, but I could find a way somehow—”

“Thank you,” she interrupted with another small laugh, “but no. I don’t need you to uh, turn off your firebending. That already happened once. But you’re adorable to think of me like that.”

The two of them stared into each other’s eyes, the air between them heavy with something she couldn’t quite place. Y/N pursed her lips and bit back a growing smile as she glanced at the ground.

“This is, uh… really helping. With the cold, I mean. And I was… I guess I was just…” Another laugh. “I was just wondering if you’d maybe want to spend the night with me? Just because my room is especially freezing, and you’re so warm, and I think I would sleep a lot better if I—”

Now it was his turn to interrupt her rambling. There was something about her getting so flustered about him in the same way he did around her that made this easier. “I’d love to.”

“Great,” she breathed, the same smile from before returning just a little bit brighter. Y/N stood up and they began their walk back into the temple, hands still intertwined, warmth emanating between the two of them.

Three times.

Two strikes.

One success.

And that was all he needed.

#avatar #avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #atla #avatar fic #atla fic #avatar the last airbender fic #zuko #zuko avatar #zuko atla #zuko fic #zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko x reader fic #avatar x reader #avatar the last airbender x reader

2K notes · View notes

natashawritesstuff · 2 years

Text

Track 16: thinkin’ bout me 📼

"I bet I'm on your mind, boy, all of the time”

third-year yamaguchi x reader

cw. making a bet about dating so angst

"Ugh!" you exclaim, sighing loudly.

"What's up with you?" your best friend, Kanna asks just as your other friend, Miyu laughs, already knowing the answer.

"I'm so bored!"

"Like with school?" Kanna questions.

"No like with something to do," Miyu answers, "more like someone to do."

"Shut up," you say, rolling your eyes.

"Bored, what about-"

"Dumped him last month," you interrupt Kanna, sighing again, "love is so fucking stupid

"Maybe if you stayed in a relationship for more than three weeks and found actual love, not just lust, you wouldn't say that," Kanna figures.

"What do you mean? Y/N's incapable of love," Miyu laughs.

"I'm not incapable!" you argue, "I'm just immune."

"Wanna bet on it?" Kanna wagers and you smile.

"What's your bet?"

"I think you'll fall in love with the first soft boy you see. Hundred bucks."

"That confident Kanna?" you ask.

"We met when we were five, I know you better than you know yourself at this point," she reasons.

"Ohhh," Miyu echos, "not too late to back out Y/N-chan."

"Never," you say standing your ground, "you're on," you give Kanna your hand, shaking it.

"To make it fair, Miyu, you decide the lucky boy," Kanna suggests.

"Oh, I have just the one."

"Already?" you say, surprised but also impressed.

"I have connections," she smirks, "but you know the captain of the boy's volleyball team, heard he thinks you're cute. ?"

"Who the hell is the captain?"

You wrote me and you say I'm all you think about

"Yamaguchi," you say warmly, "I'm Y/N," you introduce yourself as you hop up to sit on his desk in the moments before class starts.

"I- I know."

Look both ways 'fore I cross your mind

"You know because you think I'm cute right?"

"We've had the same homeroom all three years- who told that anyways- it's true but-"

"Do you wanna take me out?"

Lucky that you caught me in the nick of time

"You're forward," he notes as his cheeks start to turn red.

"And you're not answering."

"Don't you have a boyfriend?"

"We just broke up, lucky you. seven, tonight?"

Count your seconds now, time is limited

"I- I have practice today, we're getting out late."

"What time?"

"Eight."

"So nine?"

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Oh yeah, another three years good?"

"What?"

There are more in line, make your best impression

"We all know my reputation, I'm not about to wait for you to make up your mind. So now or never captain."

He takes a couple of seconds to answer and just as you're about to hop down off of his desk, he says, "nine it is."

You smile, lifting his chin up to you before he has a chance to turn away, you make a puckering motion with your lips as you tell him, "good choice."

Listen very well, these are my conditions

It was in fact the best choice both you and him made the whole year. You weren't expecting it, but it was the best time you've ever had on a date. So of course when he asked you out again: again as in wanting another date not that he actually asked you out the first time, you said yes.

After a month, you were seeing him every weekend so you shouldn't have been surprised when he asked, "do you wanna be my girlfriend?"

"Couple conditions."

"Conditions-"

Gotta get permission 'fore you say you miss me

"Find the middle group between being needy and a part-time boyfriend."

"No clinginess...got it."

"Didn't say that," you mutter.

"Wha-"

"Moving on."

Give me all your patience without no complaining

"Whatever happens at the end of this, stays between us, 'kay? I have enough shit being said about me."

"Okay," he agrees, all too quickly and you feel a sense of guilt remembering what this is all for.

I will let you know when you are done with training

"Oh yeah, and when I come to your games, don't look at me before you serve or spike because if you miss it, I'll still have to claim you and I just-"

"You're gonna come to my games?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I wanna see my boyfriend play?"

Throw your money in the fountain, I'll give what you're wishin'

Boy, I wanna make you think about doing

"I- what are you wearing?"

"It's game day," you explain, the reason why you were wearing his extra jersey.

"You- um... you look ni- g-" he stammers and you smile as a small, but noticeable blush sports his cheeks.

Wanna make you see what you're dreaming

"Spit it out, baby," you coo, and two seconds later, his whole face is as red as a beet.

"You- ahem, you look really nice in my jersey, pretty."

"You know maybe if you think of how pretty I look, and you win.." you pull on his shirt bringing his ear up to your lips as whisper to him.

As you pull away he groans, "Y/N, you're killing me."

Wanna make you think about me

You halfway through the race, how's it feeling now?

By the time the team was back on the bus to go home after the game, everyone already knew the two of you were dating. As if the jersey wasn't enough, you running down to the court after Yamaguchi ended the game with a service ace, almost tackling him, was quite the hint.

The night before you go back to school after the weekend, you get a call from Yamaguchi, and you answer.

"Hey, wha-"

"I'm nervous," he interrupts, and your eyebrows furrow.

"Why?"

"Everyone knows we're dating now."

"That a problem?"

"No, no!... yes."

"Tadashi," you say softly, "toughen up okay, 'cause you're gonna get eaten alive tomorrow."

Breathing heavy, but you got another round

You say you like the heat, but you can't handle this

Yamaguchi stops by your house that morning, and the two of you walk to school together. There were whispers as you walked through the hall hand and hand and you could feel him shaking.

You lean into him, whispering, "I'm gonna give you an out now captain."

"What?"

"You look like you're having a hard time so if you can't do this I-"

"No, I-"

"Just make the decision after school," you say, letting his hand go and walking away.

Burn under my sun, make you a little crisp

There's a knock on your door late at night and you open it to see flowers on your porch with a note, "I'll learn to deal with it, Tadashi ♡"

You smile, whispering, "guess I'm growing on him."

I bet I'm on your mind

Months pass and your relationship proves to stand the test of time. It even got to the point where you were dragging your friends to the gym to watch them practice with you.

"I'm just so proud of him," you gush, "and the season wrap-up is just in time for our six month anniversary so-"

"Six months?" Miyu asks, groaning dramatically as she leans back on the bleachers, "wasn't this all supposed to be one month."

"The time frame wasn't really specified," Kanna reminds her before she points out, "should we really be talking about this here, they'll be back from the locker room any minute."

"Miyu, what are you even talking about?"

"Don't tell me you forgot. I guess Kanna really was right.'

Boy, all of the time

You shake your head, truly being clueless and she laughed just as the gym door swung open and closed.

"Hey Y/N, do you wanna go out for some-" Yamaguchi began to say but stopped himself as Miyu screams, "that you dating that soft boy was a bet!"

"A what?" Yamaguchi asks and your head whips around to face him.

"I-" you stutter and he shakes his head.

"Get home safe, Y/N," he tells you then leaves with his things.

"Shit," Kanna mutters.

Can't get me, get me, get me, get me out

Boy, I wanna make you think about doing

You run out after him pausing as you reach the school gates, not knowing which way to turn; not knowing which way he could have gone. But after hearing a small sniffle, you slowly turn your head to your right and your heart shatters as the two of you make eye contact.

"I'm not crying, it's- it's just cold."

You hesitantly approach him as you do, he avoids your gaze.

"Can I explain-"

"I just wanted to make sure you got home, I don't really-"

"I lost!" you scream and he finally looks up at you.

"Wha-"

"Kanna said I would fall in love with the first good guy I meet and I said I wouldn't," you tell him and take a deep breath before you say, "and I lost."

"You-" he pauses, taking a step closer to you, and you nod.

Wanna make you see what you're dreaming

He leans his forehead against yours as he whispers, "I love you too," and you smile

He brings his hand to cup your cheek attempting to pull you in for a kiss but you pull away. His eyes dart to chase yours and each time he moves closer, you move back; as if you're playing a game.

"Y/N-"

"This is scary," you confess.

"Yeah, love's scary," he agrees.

"But I trust you."

"So let me kiss you," he says and you nod.

He moves in to kiss you again, and you don't move away, allowing his lips to crash onto yours as you smile throughout the kiss. Sure, maybe you lost the bet, and a hundred dollars, but now you have him; that was priceless.

Wanna make you think about me

the playlist📼

Karasuno Masterlist

Return to main masterlist

#yamaguchi x reader #hq fluff #hq husbands #hq x you #hq scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu setters #haikyuu angst #haikyuu captains x reader #haikyuu captains #haikyuu angst to fluff #haikyuu x reader #tadashi x reader #yamaguchi fluff #yamaguchi angst

109 notes · View notes

starryhyuck · 3 years

Text

not the same. (m)

pairing: dom!renjun x sub!reader

words: 2k+

summary: you haven’t seen renjun in years, and you can’t deny your crush on him hasn’t gone away.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: multiple orgasms, creampie, choking, degradation

This isn’t weird. You’re hanging out with Renjun for the night just like you used to.

He’s also incredibly hot now, but that’s a different story.

The door swings open and you put on your best smile. Renjun grins back and envelops you in a hug, and you try your best to ignore the warmth pooling at your core.

“Hey, I missed you!”

You giggle and wrap your arms around his waist. “I missed you too, Renjun.”

He ushers you inside and notes that the rest of the boys are gone for the night, so it would just be you two. All alone. For hours.

You can do this.

“I made dinner, I’m hoping you still like that stuff we used to eat in school,” he chuckles, hovering over the stove while you take a seat at the dining table.

“It sounds great,” you beam. “Thank you.”

You cough awkwardly. You don’t really know what to say — you haven’t seen Renjun in a few years. The both of you were practically joined at the hip since birth, but you’ve grown a lot after he left, and so has he. You still kept in touch with his career and his surmounting success, but FaceTime calls aren’t the same as being together in real life.

“Do you still dance?” He questions, stirring whatever contents he was brewing. “I remember how good you used to be.”

You chuckle. “From time to time, but not as much as before. I can obviously tell you’re still dancing. Donghyuck mentioned you’ve been working out a lot lately too.”

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah, I work out, but nothing changes.”

I beg to differ. You cough again.

“When did you start talking to Donghyuck again anyways?” He asks. You think you hear a hint of jealousy in his voice, but you shake the thought off before it grows.

“You know him, he’s always bugging me when he gets bored. He was also trying to find something to blackmail you with.”

He laughs, and you forgot how that sound used to make you feel. You shove down the butterflies blooming in your chest. Your crush on Renjun really never went away, especially after he rose to stardom and kept in contact with you. His parents still call you their daughter-in-law, which doesn’t help your attempts to let the crush subside at all.

You eat dinner in silence, and it isn’t comfortable silence either. It’s after a few minutes pass when Renjun grows upset and throws down his chopsticks.

“What’s wrong with us? We were never awkward like this before.”

You blink, avoiding his gaze. “Um, well, we haven’t seen each other in a long while.”

“But we talk all the time,” he frowns. “We had a two hour call just last week.”

You shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you, Renjun.”

You want to tell him that seeing him in person clearly has an effect on you. Your panties are practically ruined just because you’re sitting next to him. It’s been like this all the time, but you’re usually able to control your affections for him in a more subtle manner.

“Is it me? Is it the food? Do you actually not like it anymore? I can-“

“No, no, the food is fine,” you assure. You feel incredibly bashful trying to speak to him about your thoughts. “I just- I don’t know. It’s hard. Seeing you in person again.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

You exhale. “Because you always make me feel weird, Renjun.”

His frown grows deeper. “Okay, you lost me. Am I making you uncomfortable? I don’t mean to.”

“No!” You hiss, getting frustrated. “I just- The crush I had on you years ago never went away, okay? I tried, but it’s just hard seeing you like this.”

You angrily stab your fork into your food and curse yourself silently. You pause when you feel his hands move over yours, turning so you can face him.

“Renjun, what are you-“

You gasp when his lips press against yours, thumb caressing your cheek slowly. You whimper when he pulls you closer against him, to the point where you’re almost straddling his lap.

“Renjun,” you whisper, and he shushes you.

“It’s okay, baby. How long did you wait for me?”

Your fingers grip his shoulder as he balances you on top of him.

“I- um-“

He laughs. “I heard you tell Jaemin a few months ago about your crush. I was wondering if I should make a move or not.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you knew.”

He hums, and moves his mouth to press kisses against your neck. The sensation has you arching at the touch, and your breath hitches as Renjun’s hands move lower and lower.

“So all that time, you were just imagining yourself under me, weren’t you?”

You swallow. “Maybe.”

He laughs again, but this time, it sounds just a little more sinister. You wonder if you’ve awoken something in him.

You squeal when he picks you up, easily moving the two of you to his bedroom. He lays you down on his bed, fingers still gripping your hips tightly. He smiles down at you.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight?”

“Won’t Jisung be mad? We’re violating his room.”

“It’s my room too,” he muses, sucking at the sensitive spot on your neck. “And he won’t know. I understand you’re incapable of keeping a secret, but I’m actually quite good at it.”

“Hey!” You pout.

He grins. “Cutie.” He pauses as his hands hover over your jeans. “I should let you know something before we go further.”

You nod, sensing the nervousness in his tone. “It’s okay, Renjun. I trust you.”

He chuckles. “I’m not usually- um, I’m not usually delicate with these sorts of things.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You mean having sex?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m not crazy, but I don’t like going slow.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m a virgin, Renjun.”

“I just think it would be best if we have a safe word.”

Arousal builds within you at the thought of Renjun being so rough. You never expected it from him, if you’re being completely honest. Renjun was always your happy, tiny friend who loved you unconditionally.

“Um, okay. How about pineapple?”

“Sounds good to me.”

And then Renjun unleashes a part of him you’ve never seen before. You gasp when he undresses you in a blink of an eye, his eyes darkening at the lace of your panties.

“Did you wear this for me, baby?”

You stutter. “I-I didn’t know-“

He smiles. “Just teasing. You look so cute when you’re on the spot, you know.”

You don’t have time to respond before he’s running a finger up your clothed core. You hiss and arch your back.

“So responsive,” he hums. “Tell me how you like it, baby.”

You blink. “I usually like it when they eat me out first.”

“Yeah?” He asks, taking the shell of your ear between his lips. “You like it when they eat your cunt? When they play with your pretty little pussy?”

You whimper at the filth leaving his mouth. “Yes, yes,” you cry. “I want it, please.”

He growls. “Fuck, baby. I want to make a mess out of you.”

He moves until he’s in between your thighs, pressing kisses against the flesh. Your breath hitches as his fingers tug your underwear down. You’re a little shy to be so bare in front of him, but with the way Renjun looks at you, you swear he’s about to devour you at any moment.

You whine when he takes the first lick up your slit, pleasure shooting through your veins. You watch as he spits onto your cunt, tongue circling over your clit roughly. Your orgasm crashes into you without warning and you cry out, tangling your hands into his hair and pulling him closer. He drinks your essence as you ride out the waves of your high.

“Renjun, Renjun, Renjun,” you chant his name, feeling over the moon.

He laughs when you come down. “You cum really fast. Good.”

“Wait-“

You almost scream when he slides two fingers into you. His thumb presses against your clit harshly and you move to scramble away from him.

“I’m too sensitive, no, no-“

He shushes you. “Don’t worry, baby. I got you.”

You swear you scream when he pushes a third finger inside your dripping pussy, sending you over the edge again. You’re a whimpering mess at this point, begging Renjun to give you a break while he coos at you.

“Aw, you’re so pretty when you look like a little whore for me, baby. Are you always this wet for everyone else?”

“J-Just for you,” you whisper, struggling to breathe. He laughs at your disheveled state.

“It’s just for me? Pretty slut, all for me, right baby?”

You nod and he retracts his fingers, stuffing them in his mouth. He nearly licks them clean and you gasp at how lewd the action is.

“Can I h-have your cock n-now?”

His grin stretches from ear to ear. “Oh? You want more? So greedy.”

“Renjun, please.”

“You can do a lot better than that,” he teases. “Tell me how much you want my cock, sweet girl.”

You scramble. “I want it s-s-so badly, R-Renjun. W-Want you to fill my t-tight pussy with your cock. You made me wait too long,” you whine.

“I did make you wait a long time, didn’t I?”

You eagerly agree, hoping he’ll give you what you desire. You squeak when his fingers close around your throat. He leans down to lick a stripe up your cheek.

“Open.” You follow instructions, opening your mouth wide and observing as his spit trails down to your tongue. “Swallow.”

You obey and he smiles, pleased with your performance.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, baby. Remember your safe word?”

You nod. All you can do is lay down and watch as he frees his cock from the confines of his underwear, his hand still wrapped around your throat possessively. Your eyes widen at the length of his cock, giving himself a few tugs before he positions at your entrance.

You whine. “Hurry, Renjun.”

“Such an impatient whore.”

The stretch is burning and you moan, your eyes locked on how Renjun struggles to push inside of you.

“Fuck. You’re so fucking tight.” When he bottoms out, you both exhale loudly. He pushes your thighs apart further and balances himself on his knees. “Remember that safe word, baby.”

You wonder why Renjun was so concerned about pushing it too far until he actually fucks you. The pleasure is mind numbing, and combined with him choking you and rubbing at your clit, you feel like you’re going to pass out. It gets to be too much for you again, and you whimper, trying to push him away.

He scolds you. “Don’t be such a brat. Take your fucking like a good girl.”

You’re sure you have another two orgasms without actually registering they’re happening. You feel limp in his arms, practically turning into a doll for him to fuck as he pleases. When the fire builds in your stomach again, you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“I can’t, Renjun. I c-can’t.”

“Yes, you can and you will. One more, pretty girl, and I’ll give you all my cum like a good whore deserves. Don’t you want that, baby?”

And you want it. You want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything before.

Your last orgasm is blinding, and you grip his arm tightly, trying to pull him as close as you possibly can. Your whole body twitches and Renjun groans, spilling into you after you continuously clench down on his cock.

When you both recover, you feel like a different person. You faintly hear him rising to clean you up, whimpering when his cock slips out of you. His calming voice returns soon after.

“Shh, good girl. Did so good for me.”

Your eyes widen when you feel him gather the cum dripping onto your thighs and pushing it back into you.

“Renjun-“

“It’s okay, I got you. Last one, I promise.”

You fulfill his wishes, and it doesn’t take very much for you to be thrown off the edge again. You pass out shortly after, hearing his praises before your eyes flutter shut.

“Good girl. So pretty and pliant for me. Sweet dreams.”

#nct smut #renjun #renjun smut

1K notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

✰ ✰ ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

✰ ✰ ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

✰ ✰ ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

✰ ✰ ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

✰ ✰ ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”

✰ ✰ ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

✰ ✰ ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya #no idea how this MONSTER grew so much???#big apologies #part two is DARK and it is coming tomorrow!!!#tw pseudo-incest #tw toxic relationship #tw dubcon #tw drugs #tw cheating

2K notes · View notes

seabass17 · 3 years

Text

All that’s left | Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader

A/n: So, this is... a different reader in comparison from the one in the first part but I kinda like it? Anyway, Im considering making a third part and im thinking it'll contain some smut. I used google translator so please don't judge me. Tell me what you think. Happy reading.

All that's left pt. 1

Warnings: angst, mentions of scars, swearing, implied smut?

Word count: 3.263

Summary: After moving from her life in New York, away from the Avengers and him, she finds happiness and a life that she actually enjoys, but that seems to last little when she spots the familiar jet on the roof of the building she lives in. Is she ready to face them? To face him?

*Three months later*

The warm air surrounding my body made me take a deep breath and unconsciously smile. I was happy, I was free, I was whole. I was with my neighbor drinking coffee in our usual spot, which was a cafe near the main street of the place that I decided was going to become my new home.

“Продолжай рассказывать мне о своем боссе, который сводит тебя с ума” (Keep on telling me about your boss who drives you crazy) Andrei said making me laugh and shake my head.

“Не о чем говорить, он просто засранец, который дает мне слишком много работы и заставляет меня плакать” (Nothing to talk about, he's just an asshole who gives me too much work and makes me want to cry) I laughed. I had met Andrei a week after I moved in and there was an immediate connection. No, it wasn’t in a romantic one, god no, we were just really good friends that had a lot in common.

“Now now, that was not what i saw the other day when i went to pick you up from work” He said with a playful smirk plastered on his light brown face. I gasped, a fake indignant expression on my face while my hand went to my chest. He laughed loudly. “Don’t play that card, I saw you!” he added

“I don’t know what you are talking about” I said, trying to fight the smile that tried to come out but failing miserably, we both laughed.

He and I had become quite close in the little time that we had known each other. He was an American with a Russian name. He explained that his mother was from the states while his father was a russian spy, they fell in love against all odds and eventually, Andrei was brought to this world. When he was fifteen his father died and he and his mom went to America, where he finished high school and surprisingly, entered the military. He did two tours before he decided that he had enough and returned to Russia. Hence why he could speak both Russian and English fluently. As for me, I told him that I was in some sort of organization that worked for the government, and that’s why I knew russian. He believed me, thank God, I didn’t want to talk about how I was part of the Avengers and why I left. Obviously I will tell him when the time is right and I know that he can be fully trusted.

“Oh, come on Ames, are you going to tell me that you don’t like him one bit? Not in the slightest?” he asked, smiling and I shook my head. He stayed silent for a second and stared at me, like he was considering whether he should ask me something or keep quiet. “Is it because of him?” he finally asked, watching me closely to see my reaction. I felt my stomach twist at the mention of him. Of course it was because of him, because of them, I couldn’t afford getting hurt and betrayed one more time. Andrei didn’t know his name, or theirs for that matter, so I smiled weakly and nodded.

“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid but… I just can’t afford getting hurt, not again, not anymore” I said looking at my hands.

“I understand, believe me I do” he said, his hand reaching out to hold mine. I looked up to find his brown eyes looking for mine, I saw nothing but genuine love -the friendly kind- in them. I smiled and squeezed his hand. He was going to say something but his phone rang; a notification. He withdrew his hand to look at his phone and the moment he did, people around us started getting up and running in the same direction. I looked at him confused to find him frowning at his phone.

“What is it?” i asked.

“The Avengers are here…” He said and my heart skipped a beat and my body went rigid. Andrei noticed. “What 's wrong?”. Well, there’s no use keeping him from the truth anymore.

“So, remember when I told you that I worked for an organization for the government? Okay don’t freak out and hate me but, here it goes” I took a deep breath. “That organization was called The Red Room were they trained me from a very young age to be a perfect cold-blooded killer, years later i escaped and was on the run until i got a new identification, name, address, new everything and then joined the avengers to amend the wrongs I made in the past. To my luck, it didn’t go great because it ended up breaking me the same way The Red Room did, so I left to find a fresh start and came here where I met you. Please don’t hate me” I concluded in one breath. Andrei was silent with a straight face, which was hard to read, and eventually after a few seconds that felt like an eternity and shrugged his shoulders. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN.

“Believe it or not, I've heard worse” he simply said

“Worse than finding out that your best friend is a train killer and former avenger?” i asked incredulously and he tilted his head and smirked

“US Agent mother and Russian spy father” He said. I laughed and he followed right after. “So, I'm guessing we are running away?” he asked. Say what now?

“We?” I asked, almost in shock to which he simply nodded, “You don’t think im just gonna let you go like that, please, is not that easy to get rid of me” he snorted. “And I'm supposing Amelia is not your real name either, given the fact that you ran off,” he added. Damn, he is good.

“Y/n, y/n y/l/n” I said and he slowly smiled

“Well y/n, nice to meet you, my name is Andrei Petrova” he said, extending his hand, i repeated his action with the same smile. “I’ve got to say, I like the name y/n more than Amelia '' he added and laughed. We were brought back to the matter at hand when the screaming of the people were getting louder. I snapped my head up and saw the familiar jet on the roof of the building where I was living.

“Here’s what we are going to do, I’m going to my apartment and buy us some time while you go get a car and,” i handed him my card “you are going to get all the money from my bank account. I will meet you in front of the cafe that’s two blocks away from my place”

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with clear worry in his eyes. I smiled and nodded

“Yes, I promised. Now go” I said before he got up and ran. I sighed and went to my apartment. Was I really going to do this? After months, was I ready to face them, already knowing the truth? Well, guess I'm going to find out.

Once in the building I decided to programmed the lights to go out in 50 minutes and then I went to the elevator, wanting to appear as normal as possible even though I felt like my heart was going to explode from how fast it was beating inside my rib cage. When the elevator stopped at my floor I walked until I was standing in front of my door. I didn’t need to wait and confirm, I knew they knew I was here, now there’s only one thing left to do. But before I did anything, the door creaked open.

*10 hours earlier*

Bucky paced from one side to the other, finding himself incapable of staying put. Natasha sat silently on her chair, Tony was in the front with his head in between his hands, Steve was resting on the side of the wall looking at the floor, Bruce was just standing there holding his chin analyzing everyone in the room. Sam sat on the couch looking through his phone, Vision was sitting next to Wanda on the other couch, while Clint and Thor were sitting on the other chairs. Peter had some school stuff to deal with like the teenager that he was. They’ve been looking for her for the past three months, and about a week ago, a picture was found of someone that looked exactly like her, all except her hair that was a bit shorter and the color was different, but other than that, it was practically her.

Not wanting to get their hopes -or rather enthusiasm- up, they decided to look deeper and found out that the picture was taken a month ago in the city of Magadan located in Russia. They found out that before three months, the name Amelia Agapov, didn’t exist. The more they looked into it, the more they were convinced that it was her.

“The mission report from Agent Carter arrived, should i put it on the screen?” the voice of the AI filled the room. The team had been waiting for that report for days, the nerves of the question that lingered in the air ‘was it her?’ being present for that time only grew stronger as Stark asked FRIDAY to project the report on the screen.

Pictures were shown, most of them were about this woman buying in the market, having coffee with a guy, but there was one, where her face was looking straight into the lens of the camera, and it was that picture that left the people in the room absolutely rigid. It was her.

“We found her…” Tony said in a whisper. Everybody kept their gaze on the picture on the big screen. After months looking for her, they finally had found her. To everyone, it was like someone just discovered something new, a kind of relief and anxiety all at the same time.

“Suit up, we’re going to get her” Steve said to the group, but see, it was the choice of words from Cap that Bucky found unsettling.

“Get her? Like she is some kind of criminal?” he said, looking at his best friend dead in the eye. Steve opened his mouth to say something but Tony beat him to it.

“She was trained by The Red Room to be an assassin, we can expect nothing more from her '' He said, trying to calm Bucky down, but instead it only caused him to get angrier, and not only him.

“So was I” Natasha said, her voice low that could scare anyone to the bone if they weren’t so used to her.

"It's different" Tony said

“How is it different?” Wanda said this time, “It wasn’t when you practically recluded me after I helped Ultron and tried to kill you all” she added.

Tony sighed and looked down, realizing that he might be overreacting.

“Let’s just get suit up and get on with it” Steve said, cutting the rather awkward silence that filled the room.

The avengers were suit up and on the quinjet in less that forty-five minutes, and they were in Madagan in nine hours, it took them an hour to find her building, and once they found it, Clint landed the jet on the roof and they all got out and looked for her apartment. Funny enough, it was the same number as the one she used to live in New York; 108. They waited for what seemed an eternity until they heard footsteps just outside the door. Suddenly, the air felt thick with anticipation, but Bucky couldn’t wait any longer so he crossed the living room in two steps and opened the door. She was standing there. Silence took over the entire apartment until she broke it.

“Well, are you going to move so that I can get inside my goddamn apartment Barnes?” she said expectantly. Bucky realized that he had been staring at her since he opened the door. Her hair was different, more wavy and a shade or two lighter. He moved to the side and she was able to see the rest of the team. This was going to be one hell of an evening.

Breathe. In… and out…

It was hard. Fuck. Okay i can do this.

“Well isn’t this nice. All the team back together again!” I said with sarcasm dripping from every letter.

“What the hell did we ever do to you?” Steve said firmly.

“Damn, getting straight into it. That’s okay” i shrugged as I went to my room but the sound of the blasters of Tony's suit stopped me.

“Stop, don’t take another step” He said, lifting his hands and I smiled.

“Really? Well unfortunately i have to change, so i’ll leave the door open if it makes you comfortable” i said as i continued to walk to my room, and like I said, i left the door open.

“Y-you don’t have to do that, you can…” Wanda said but trailed off. I had taken my shirt off; my scars were shown.

“So, Steve” I broke the silence as I put on a black shirt, “the thing that you did wasn’t as bad as tin man over there, but you still let Hydra take me the day we took out the helicaries” i added. His face got pale and started shaking his head.

“What? No, you made it out safe, you-” He started saying but i interrupted him

“You sure? Who do you think stopped Rumlow when he tried to interfere with the exchange of the chip when you were in the helicarrier with Bucky?” He started thinking for a moment until he realized what I said fell into place. “Yeah, I took one hell of a beating, and if that wasn’t enough, I fell to the water. I fell thirty floors down, and I alone got myself out, because I didn't have anyone to cover me or have my back” i concluded.

“Your scars…” Tony said this time and i turned to him

“Yeah, thanks to you Mr. Stark” i said and he looked at me. “Doctor said that 74% of my body is covered with scars, along with one or two burns”

“You were that girl in The Red Room” Natasha said, causing me to turn my head to look at her and I smiled cynically, “You are Eliza” she finished.

“Давно не виделись с Натальей” (Long time no see Natalia) i said and she looked at me in pure surprise in her faced. That’s something coming from the famous Black Widow.

“What about the rest of us y/n?” Sam said this time, redirecting my attention from Natasha to the rest of the group. Thor was standing there holding his hammer, Bruce was next to the fridge, Clint was by the sink, Wanda was with Vision beside the kitchen table and Bucky was by the door. They were all looking at me. I took a look at the clock, I have to leave in less than thirty minutes.

“Long story short, Clint, Bruce, Sam, Wanda and Vision are the ones that didn’t do anything, so just chill out, you are still on my good side” I smiled and waved my hand.

“Hold on, but what did I do?” Thor asked and I looked at him.

“God it really is unfair how such a little thing can cause such a big problem. The first time you came down to earth, met Jane, bla bla bla… when her stuff was under custody of shield, and you took that notebook; they blamed me. I know it may seem weird because, how? Thing is, I was undercover at that time inside Shield, so when the notebook disappeared, guess who was the one that got beaten for it. I couldn’t move from the pain.”

Thor was standing completely still.

“Lady y/n…”

“How is it possible? I was there and never saw you” Clint interrupted Thor.

“It was before the avengers, i was on the run and a girl's gotta eat. Don’t worry, I never gave them anything. Got the money and then killed them, they were nobodies” I shrugged off.

“So, that’s all you needed to know, so if you please leave my…” I said but then he interrupted me.

“No” I would be lying if I said it didn’t send shivers down my spine at his tone, and I hate even more that he noticed it. “You’re missing one doll” Well fuck me

I turned to see him and he was walking painfully slow towards me and I was praying for my legs to not give out.

“Barnes” I simply said, thanking God and all the saints that it didn’t come out as a whimper. I took a look at the clock once more. I have to leave. Now. “Such a shame, wish you had fought for us, I would have gone through hell and back for you, Buck” his eyes were looking straight to my own and I felt like he was staring at my bare soul. In a way, he was. I smiled and I saw behind my back that the team was looking at us, we’ve never been this close, not in public anyway. I standed on my tiptoes and reached for his right ear, he instinctively reached down so it was a bit easier for me.

“If you want to know, you’ll have to find me first дорогой” (Sweetheart) I whisper. Next thing, the light went out just like I programmed it to and I slid beside Bucky to reach out to the door and to the hall. I could hear the team screaming ‘what the hell just happened’. I ran to the emergency stairs, and once out I could still feel him behind me, getting close. I went into an alley, having to detour, knowing that he eventually was going to catch up to me and I couldn't have him follow where I was really going. A few seconds later, I felt him caging me to the wall on the alley, both of us breathing heavily. His flesh hand went to my throat and his metal one rested on the wall.

“Given a different occasion, I would have loved this, don’t get me wrong, I still love how you…”

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked huskily and I smiled.

“I told you, you’ll have to wait until you find me again. Alone.” i said

“Come on Barnes, do you really think that the charade of being your personal fuck toy would last forever?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It wasn’t like that, i…” he said but trailed off. The pain in my chest starting and clenching my heart.

“There it is…” i said lowly, the hurt in my voice evident, “listen, i’d love to keep talking about how you used me, but like i said,” i got close to his face, my nose touching his, “find me to found out” after that, I raised my knee kicking him right in between his legs.

He let out a pained groan and fell to the floor, causing his grip in my neck to give out. I took advantage and ran. Two blocks away, I saw Andrei. When he saw me running to him, he immediately got in the car and turned the engine on, then I got in.

“Drive, fast” it was the first thing i said

“Where?” he asked while we took off. I smiled and looked at him

“You’ll see”

Taglist

@silentkiller2374 @vikingqueenlove @girlfriday007 @supraveng

#avengers #bucky x reader #steve x bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes angst #steve rogers #natasha romonova #tony stark #the red room #wanda maximoff #marvel #imagines #hydra

141 notes · View notes

onbeinganangel · 3 years

Text

warmup ficlet for @the-starryknight! she picked 'i know we’re not together but i might die today so i’m going to kiss you just in case there is no later' from this wee list of kisses and asked me to drarry it up and I rubbed my hands together in glee knowing fully well i was about to put together a hell of an angst sandwich

not beta'd, not edited, just angst with a happy ending directly from my heart to yours! (cw: some canon-style mentions of blood, violence, injury and also kind of patient/healer relationship)

damned if you do it and damned if you don’t

(draco/harry, 1.8k)

Draco had pictured it so often throughout his life he sometimes couldn’t honestly believe he had made it all the way to twenty-seven.

He remembers saying it after being thrown on his arse by the family Abraxan. He’d been very little, then. Five or six, maybe. He’d cried, big fat tears running down his face, and when his Mother finally managed to pull his tiny fists down and stop him from hiding his crying behind them, he’d announced, “Maman, I am dying.” She had assured him he very much wasn’t. They’d had scones with big heaped spoonfuls of clotted cream and raspberry jam in the garden and he’d soon forgotten about his fall.

A few years later, he fell off his broom and straight into the lake. Dobby had spelled him dry to avoid him getting in trouble and he was still heaving, coughing up water and panicking when he told the Elf, “Dobby, I am dying.”

Then there was the incident at Hogwarts. He still felt the sharp talons on his skin way after the hippogriff was far, far away, as he bled, holding onto the gashes on his arm and announced to the whole class, “I am dying, it’s killed me!”

Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, it was more constant. It was the heavy burn of the Mark settling on his arm, it was the feeling of all his organs lighting up in pain and his bones breaking under Crucio after Crucio, it was the sounds of Nagini slithering outside his bedroom door at night, the sickening thud of death, the unsettling screaming, his aunt’s shrill nails-on-chalkboard voice, Greyback’s growls. A neverending chant of “I am dying, I am dying, I am dying, I am dying” inside his head.

It was confiding in a ghost, it was crying because the fear of failure was so intense he reckons he would have preferred to be dead then, it was the only person he believed was actually kind and pure and incapable of willingly inflicting pain on anyone slashing him open and leaving him for dead on a bathroom floor. Draco had looked at Snape, murmuring spell after spell over him, and he’d whispered, “I am dying.”

It was learning how to be numb, how to not feel, how to keep everyone out of his mind and away from his thoughts, it was the paralysing terror of crawling around in the shadows, the bone-deep dread of dropping leftover bread rolls on the floor by the bars on the dungeon and kicking them swiftly into the other side, where they kept his classmates. It was sneaking a blanket or two down and saying to himself, “If they find out…”

It was the persistent horror of knowing you don’t believe in what you’re doing and knowing you’re damned if you do it and damned if you don’t. Between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, Draco would lie in his bed at night — his own at home, his own in the dorms, Pansy’s in the girls’ dorms when it got bad, and he would say it to himself, hoping it would become true, “I am dying.”

But he hadn’t. Despite all odds, Draco is happy. Twenty-seven. He’s got friends, a flat, a job he loves and he’s good at. He’s no longer spat at on the streets. He survived, he made amends, he managed it all. Most of all, he had managed not to die.

Until now, that is. This time he’s pretty certain he won’t be afforded such luck. He feels the curse hit him square on the chest. It’s his own fault, really, for not realising there was someone already in the room he entered. He’d been too busy throwing a rather flourished Incarcerous across the room at the two potions dealers he’d been running after for the past five minutes to notice the third man.

Draco is falling backwards before he has time to even think about anything, his wand clanking noisily seconds before he joins it on the floor.

Then: “Incarcerous.” He hears it — muffled but there. And after, “Fuck, Draco.”

He’s way too familiar with the way his Auror partner works not to know it’s him when the strong arms wrap around him and pull him up. “Oh, Merlin,” he hears. His eyes flutter back open for a couple of seconds and he can tell he was right, even if it’s all blurry: red robes, orange hair, worried blue eyes.

Fear. “I am dying,” he thinks. “Harry,” he says.

“You’re gonna see Harry alright,” Ron says. “He’s gonna have words about having to heal you again,” it’s almost like a joke. Like a Ronald-typical joke. But there’s an edge of worry there. There’s panic. Ronald doesn’t panic.

And it dawns on him. Draco tries to look down but it’s all red. The burgundy of his robes, the sticky dark red of drying blood on his hands and the fresh and vivid blood still pouring out of his chest. He’s not gonna make it to St. Mungo’s, he’s never going to make it to Harry.

“I am dying,” he says, and Ron makes a noise that can only be described as half agony, half agreement.

It smells like St. Mungo’s when he wakes up thinking “I am dying.” Very faintly, he hears the same voice he always hears in his dreams. Maybe he is dead. The voice never sounds like this in his dreams, though: disembodied, frantic, quick. Draco catches half words, half sentences, half conversations that don’t make sense. A different voice is saying “just do it” and “you’re powerful enough” and “sod protocol” and “I am his partner, I brought him here.” The voice from his dreams responds with things like “unstable” and “I don’t know” and “can you please try” and a “I can’t get in touch with her” and “not without consent forms” and a louder, angry “he’s not going to d—“

Draco tries to move towards the voice.

“Draco!” Says the first voice and three pairs of feet come towards him.

“Don’t try to open your eyes, don’t try to talk, don’t try to move, okay? We have stopped the bleeding for now, but we’re still trying to reverse the curse.”

“Harry.” His Harry.

“Yes, hello. We have got to stop meeting like this.”

“I am dying,” Draco croaks out.

“I won’t let you.”

Draco wants to speak. He wants to say “I am dying, I don’t want to die without telling you,” but he has no strength. His thoughts are going faster than the newest Firebolt as he hears Harry tell whoever else is in the room (Ron?) to leave. He wonders if this is it. This what they show you in the films: your life flashing before your eyes right before you die. He thinks of Harry shaking his hand after his Auror graduation ceremony. “Well done, Malfoy,” he’d said. He thinks of that first time he’d been invited over to Ron and Hermione’s, a few weeks after he became Ron’s partner, and Harry had laughed at his stories, lips wine-red and plump, eyes kind like he’d never expected. He thinks of every moment of almost in between them, every moment where Draco considered blurting it out, saying what was on his mind. The Christmas Gala as he towered over Harry and fixed the little chain on his robes for him, and that night at that dingy club for Hermione’s birthday where they’d stared at each other for forty minutes and when Draco had decided he couldn’t take it anymore, he found out that Harry had left. Or just last month when they’d gone out to buy a housewarming present for Luna and ended up eating leftovers on Harry’s sofa, exhausted from people and walking. There are too many. Too many instances of hesitation, too many “nearly-but-not-quites.”

And he’ll die and won’t ever get the chance to tell him, to kiss his handsome, stupid, precious face, and it aches — it hurts almost as much as that spot just to the left of his breastbone where the Curse had hit, where he was profusely bleeding not long ago.

“Closer,” he manages, very quietly.

Harry approaches, but not close enough, not even close enough for Draco to grab at him.

“Cl— clos—uh—closer,” he tries again.

And Harry’s right there, by his bed and he looks beautiful in his Healer robes (unheard of, really) and Draco is blinking his view into a sharper focus and listing all the things he knows he loves, the things he doesn’t want to forget: the white-ish storm of a scar that slashes through Harry’s eyebrow, the shiny (shinier than usual?) green eyes, the touch of stubble, the slightly crooked nose, the lips — oh, the lips, plump and sweet looking and Draco will never get to find out just how sweet. And then, he has to do it. Because if he’s going to die anyway, he may as well use his last breath on this.

He pushes himself off the pillow slightly and his hand pulls Harry’s green robes closer until their lips meet, clumsily and hard — Harry not expecting it, Draco waning from the efforts of pulling Harry closer, but Draco will die knowing he’s kissed Harry. And if there’s no later, at least he’s done it. At least Harry knows.

“Stop. You’ll hurt yourself,” Harry says, and pushes him back down. Gently, like everything he does.

“But—“

“I know, darling. Me too.”

Darling? Harry… too?

“I’m going to heal you, okay? I’m going to heal you and we’ll do that again. I’ll take you to dinner, or brunch, I know you like brunch. Or just coffee. We’ll go to the pictures. I’ll hold your hand. We’ll go flying. We’ll go clubbing and I’ll dance with you, I promise I will, and I’ll let you tell me how bad I am. I’ll find you a copy of that book you were talking about with Hermione, no matter how much it costs. I’ll throw my name around if I have to, okay? And we’re going to do that again, properly. When I’m not your healer and you’re not hurting. I’m going to heal you now, you just—“ he stops, then, breathing wild and panicked.

Then, a small sob. A kiss to his forehead. Draco doesn’t remember closing his eyes.

“You just hold on, yeah? Don’t go anywhere.”

And Draco would cry if he had the strength, he would say yes to all those plans and more, but he focuses on the feeling of Harry’s magic sinking into his body like and he holds on, just like he was told to. He holds on, even if he doesn’t know exactly to what. And he thinks maybe he’ll get lucky again, and he’ll stop picturing himself dead like he’s been doing his whole life. Harry’s magic feels like love, like poetry, like cascading words of affection whispered into the space between his ribs, it feels like hope. And Draco holds on and thinks to himself, as loud as a thought can go, “I am not dying.”

#i may actual edit this and pop it on ao3?#i kind of like it?#thank you starry baby for this delicious prompt #warmup ficlets #drarry #m writes #angst with a happy ending #cw blood #cw injury #cw violence

155 notes · View notes

jackrrabbit · 4 years

Note

im glad your opening asks for haikyuu bc not to be a whore or anything but i want to be wrecked and degraded majorly by oikawa. like ill let that man stomp on me of he were real😌

Fanatic [pt. 1] /// Oikawa x f!Reader (18+)

A/N: Skipped ahead in my asks a bit to answer this yummy little req!!

Summary: Oikawa takes advantage of a devoted fan for some stress relief after a bad match. [Part 2]

Warnings: noncon, bullying, degradation, humiliation, manipulation/coercion, crying, basically Oikawa is mean to you, yandere vibes?, shy reader, oral fixation/saliva, all characters adults

You’ve been in love with Oikawa Tōru since you were 14 years old.

Well, love is a strong word—maybe admiration is a better description of the way you feel about him? Or maybe not. Is admiration enough of a reason to attend every game that he’s played for the past 4 years, ignoring the hours of travel and dozens of unexcused school absences? Would admiration explain downloading and rewatching every play and amassing a collection of all his press mentions and magazine articles, to the point where there’s a table in your bedroom devoted to him that your friends have jokingly dubbed the “Oikawa shrine”? Was it admiration that made you transfer high schools in the middle of your third year just so you could join the Aobajohsai cheering squad?

No, the word you’re looking for isn’t admiration. It’s fanaticism. Look, you’re not proud to be such a die-hard, but you can’t help it. It’s not even romantic for you. You’ve never wanted to be his girlfriend. The look of joy on his face when he scores is all the reciprocation you need for your feelings.

You’re not an admirer, you’re a fan. You could watch Oikawa score points until the end of time—which is why your heart breaks a little bit every time he loses.

Really, you just want to cheer him up. Is that so wrong?

“Do I know you?” Oikawa’s head is cocked to the side, but he couldn’t look less interested. You fidget under his stare—he’s even taller in person than he looks on the court—and wonder if maybe it was a bad idea to wait in the hallway for him like this. It’s not like you were trying to corner him or anything, you just wanted a chance to tell him not to worry about losing the match.

When you can’t find the voice to answer, Oikawa’s eyes narrow and he leans in toward you a fraction. “Oh…wait. I’ve seen you before. You’re on the cheering squad, aren’t you? That third-year transfer? You’re in Makki’s class.”

You nod rapidly. Who knew it would be so hard to talk to him in person? You really should have rehearsed what you were going to say.

“So…” he prompts.

“Um, I—“ Why is your mouth so dry? “—I just, I wanted to say, I mean I know you lost but, well—“

“Spit it out.” He’s not smiling. In fact, he looks annoyed. You’ve pretty much only ever seen him beaming out of your TV screen or concentrating during a game, so this is new.

And how can you blame him? Aobajohsai just lost brutally on a block from his serve, and now he has to deal with this random fangirl who can’t untangle her tongue long enough to eke out a full sentence. You’re an idiot. “I—sorry, I just wanted to say as a fan that you looked really cool out there! So don’t—don’t worry about…you know. Um, losing.”

He looks at you a second too long, and inside you’re kicking yourself. Just your luck that the first time you meet your idol in person, you’re incapable of talking to him like a human being. But after a long moment passes, he rocks back on his heels and smiles, his face so neutral and handsome that it’s hard to even remember he was almost glaring at you a moment ago. “What’s your name?”

“Um, it’s (Y/N)…”

“(Y/N)? Ah, okay. Thank you.” Oikawa tilts his head back and runs his fingers through his bangs, and your eyes trace the motion unwillingly. His hair is damp from his post-game shower, dripping cold water onto the towel draped over his shoulders. “To be honest, I’m in a bad mood right now.”

“Oh, well—of course! I mean, no one would expect you to be happy, not after you just lost.” Stop rambling. “And, you know, you should take time to think but if there’s something—anything I can do to help—“

His eyes glint and he takes a step toward you, close enough that you have to tip your head back to meet his gaze. “Anything? You’ll do anything?”

There’s something about the way he says anything that makes you want to take it back. But how could you? You’re his #1 fan. You’d do his laundry for a month if he told you it would make him feel better. Your chin bobs up and down in agreement.

“Really? Thanks, (Y/N)! I think there’s something you can do to help me out.” Your cheeks flush pink at his praise, and you’re so thrilled that you barely even notice him grabbing your upper arm with a grip so tight it hurts. You do, however, notice when he starts steering you down the hallway into into the men’s bathroom.

“Um…I think this is the men’s room,” you tell him nervously as he folds the two of you into a single stall.

“Don’t worry, there’s no one in here.” Oikawa backs you into the stall before turning and sliding the lock shut with a click.

“But why are we—ah?” Your statement is cut off abruptly as Oikawa reaches toward you, immobilizing your jaw so he can forcefully shove two fingers into your mouth. You don’t want to hurt him, so you stop yourself from indulging your immediate impulse and biting down. What are you doing? you try to ask, but with Oikawa holding your mouth open the question comes out as a series of unintelligible gurgles.

When your frantic gaze meets his, he looks…different. He’s smiling, but it’s not the innocent grin he shows to the press or his teammates or his fans. There’s something wrong with his eyes.

It takes you a second to place the emotion, but when you do a chill passes through you. Oikawa looks angry.

Your arms twitch at your side—should you try to pry his hand out of your mouth?—but before you can make a move his other hand pushes your shoulder into the door of the bathroom stall. You can’t move. You can’t break his grip. He’s so much stronger than you.

What is happening?

“Hey, want to know something?” As he speaks, his fingers swirl around your mouth invasively. “When I saw you in the hall, you looked really…pathetic.”

Pathetic? It’s nothing you haven’t said to yourself, but hearing it from the man you’ve idolized since you were in middle school is agonizing. You try to swallow down your unhappiness, but you can’t—not while Oikawa is still forcing your jaw open.

“Yeah…” he says, an air of dark amusement coming over him. “Waiting for me and begging for my attention like a little puppy dog. Thinking you’re going to make me feel better. What did you say you’d do for me?”

You said you’d do anything. How were you supposed to know he’d meant…whatever this is?

“Anything, right? You said you’d do anything for me?” His fingers probe deeper into your mouth. “Can you try to say it?”

“Eh— An— hin—“ you choke out, well aware that you’re not making sense. Your eyes squeeze shut so you can concentrate on not gagging.

“Mm-mm, not quite. You’re not trying hard enough.”

You try again, but you can’t make your mouth form the right syllables. Why is he asking you to do this? Why are you letting him?

And why is his knee nudging your legs apart?

The effort of trying to speak with your mouth held open is making your jaw ache, and you can’t stop your saliva from spilling over your lip and onto your chin. Oikawa’s thumb leaves your mouth to wipe the drool off your face. “That’s kind of disgusting. Can’t speak in full sentences, can’t control yourself…what exactly are you good for?”

Your cheeks burn and you almost want to cry. It’s not your fault you can’t swallow properly. You shouldn’t be tolerating this, you should just bite down and make him deal with the consequences…but you know you won’t.

“Say ahh,” Oikawa tells you, tipping your head back to face his. He’s leaning in—wait, is he going to kiss you? No way, that’s impossible. Why would he be so mean to you and then turn around and treat you nicely? Still, you can’t keep your stupid heart rate from speeding up as he gets closer and closer, his eyes never leaving yours—

Until he spits. Directly into your open mouth.

His saliva feels disgusting—warm and sticky and foreign as it sits on your tongue. Oikawa releases his hold on your jaw but you don’t move, instead just standing there with your back to the stall door, staring at him in shock. Your mouth hangs open like you’re…showing it to him or something. What are you supposed to do? Spit it back out? Or—

“Swallow.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to swallow. You don’t want to have his spit in your mouth at all. If you think of it as if the two of you had kissed, it’s not even that bad, but you didn’t kiss. He did this to you to make you feel filthy, and it’s working. There are tears springing up in your eyes, and you’re certain it wouldn’t take much for them to fall.

But he’s not moving, he’s not letting you past him, and you can’t keep your mouth open forever. Maybe if you do this you can apologize for…whatever you did that made him so angry, and he’ll let you leave. Logically, you know that swallowing his spit shouldn’t feel any different from your own, but it does.

Oikawa watches the movement of your mouth and throat carefully as you give up and swallow. This is weird…the whole situation is strange. It’s not like him to do these things to a fan, but he’d been upset about the match and you just showed up and said all the wrong things so sincerely that he was caught off guard by how much he wanted to bully you. There’s something about the contrast between then and now—your shy, eager expression when you were rambling to him in the hallway versus you swallowing his spit looking like a kicked puppy—that he finds adorable.

Adorable? Yeah, adorable. Your pitiful face is so cute it’s making him hard.

Well, what do you know. Looks like you’re going to help his bad mood after all.

“I guess that’s one thing your mouth is good for,” Oikawa says. Your eyes jerk up to meet his and then slide off to the side. You can’t even look at him. He’s grinning at you—laughing at you. He’s enjoying this.

“I don’t—“ You have to stop mid-sentence to swallow again, trying to pretend your mouth doesn’t feel repulsive inside. “I don’t understand? I just wanted to cheer you up…”

“Did you?” Oikawa steps back and tilts his head to the side again like he’s assessing you. “Let me guess. You’re trying to get fucked, aren’t you? Saw me on TV and thought this was your chance to try out the real thing in person? You’re not the first.”

“That’s not true!”

“Are you sure? You’re saying you never wanted me?”

You shake your head from side to side, but you can’t muster a verbal denial. Your intentions had been innocent when you approached him, but the truth is…you’ve thought about it. You’re not one of those fans who thinks they’re destined to fall in love with their idol, but it would be a lie to say you’ve never…fantasized, late at night when you’re by yourself, about him kissing you and touching you and treating you like a princess. And when the fantasies get a little more heated, you have a habit of letting your hands drift down between your legs…

In your imagination, Oikawa is kind. Gentle. He cares for you. It couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, and he reaches up under your skirt to rub roughly against your panties. “This pussy is begging to get filled up.”

“Wha— You’re wrong—“ Your hands are trembling when you grip Oikawa’s shoulders, intending to push him away from you, but then the fingers prodding at your panties find your clit through the fabric and it’s all you can do to stay standing up. “Haahh…wait…”

“Wow, you’re soaking through your panties. I spit in your mouth, and you’re getting off? What kind of dumb girl…”

“No I’m not!” But the truth is slicking onto Oikawa’s long fingers as he rubs the length of your slit. The friction of your damp panties between his index finger and your sweet spot is excruciating. Your toes curl inside your shoes, and you’re only half aware of the way your vice-like grip on Oikawa’s shirt is actually pulling him closer.

“Dumb…stupid little slut…trying to deny it but you want me to fuck you, don’t you? You wanna cum?” His breathing is getting heavier along with yours as his fingers swirl around your sweet spot. “Gonna cum for a man you barely know? Tell me you want it.”

“Ah—I—no, I—“ You bite your lip to keep yourself from moaning. Whether or not you can admit it, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself if he keeps touching you like this…

Except that he doesn’t. He pulls his hand out from under your skirt with you right on the edge, leaving you aching and tense and so frustrated that you want to hit him. “You-You’re stopping?”

“You don’t get to cum. You don’t deserve it.” He studies you for a minute—your flushed cheeks, rumpled clothing, and the unadulterated despair written across your face—and then places his hands on your shoulders and pushes you down. “Get on your knees.”

With him forcing you down, your knees buckle easily and smack against the bathroom floor, sending a spike of pain up through your legs. Your natural aversion to touching the floor of a men’s bathroom is overruled by the knowledge of what he’s asking (not that he’s asking) you to do to him, and you scramble backward until the back of your head raps against the side of the stall. The sharp impact stuns you for a second, and Oikawa wastes no time in twisting his fingers through your hair and dragging your face toward his crotch.

His dick is already out, stiff and throbbing red while he pushes your cheek into it. You try to recoil, but Oikawa isn’t letting you get away. “Open up, (Y/N). I’m going to put that mouth to good use for once.”

It’s hard to shake your head with Oikawa’s fingers in your hair, but you manage, at least enough that he understands your refusal. He clicks his tongue, the gesture almost playful. “You said you’d do anything to make me feel better. Was that a lie? You were fine with me fingering you—don’t tell me you’re going to back out now.”

That’s not fair. You don’t want to do this. He’s being so mean to you.

“Anything…” Oikawa says in sing song. The hand that was tugging your hair lets up a bit and he combs through it gently. It’s the first remotely kind thing he’s done to you.

You wish you had the guts to tell him to leave you alone. You wish you were confident enough that you wouldn’t take his insults to heart. But you’re spineless, and whatever courage you possessed before this has already been crushed. So you open your mouth.

Oikawa’s cock is…salty, already dripping with precum while he nudges it onto your tongue. He slowly leans his hips forward into you, pushing a little deeper into the irresistible warmth of your mouth. His hand, gently cradling the back of your head, doesn’t push you down, but it doesn’t let you pull back either.

Ah, this is wrong…it’s fucked up that he’s getting off on this. Regardless of what he said earlier, he’s well aware that he’s the deviant here. Your misery and shame really shouldn’t be a turn-on for him. But it had been such a bad loss, and he’d been in such a nasty mood, and the feeling of your tongue squirming against the head of his cock is really taking the stress right out of him.

Maybe he deserves this. You’re his new favorite method of stress relief.

“Mm…yeah…yeah, stay still like that and let me use you…that’s all you’re good for.” His voice gets progressively huskier as he fucks your mouth, his cock getting a bit deeper into your throat every time he tilts his hips into you. He’s so thick and heavy between your lips that even if your jaw wasn’t already sore from how he held it earlier, it’d still be aching now.

By the time his cock hits the back of your throat, you’re trying to push his thighs away from you. It’s useless, though—even with just a single hand in your hair, he has no trouble keeping you exactly where he wants you. His cock is just as big as the rest of him, and he’s almost triggering your gag reflex even with just half of it in your mouth.

Oikawa thrusts again and the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, making you seize up around him and earning a grunt from him. “Fuck…that felt good, do it again.” He holds you down and pushes himself deeper, forcing you to dry gag around the heavy mass filling up your throat.

The way you’re twitching against him must feel good—you can tell by his huffs of breath and the half-coherent backhanded compliments about how how were made to suck cock. His huge hand is rigid in your hair, fingernails scratching thoughtlessly into your scalp. “Yeah…taking me so deep, you really are a whore aren’t you? My personal cheerleader cocksleeve…gonna wait for me after every game and take my cock just like this? You know, maybe I’ll fuck you before I play…I think I’ll hit better if I know you’re in the stands cheering me on with my cum dripping out of your pussy…”

You want to be somewhere else, anywhere where you’re not forced to listen to him tell you how worthless you are while you hold back your gag reflex. Your jaw is cramping, and your pussy is still traitorously wet and unsatisfied. Is what he’s saying true? Are you really that useless? Why is it so wrong that you like—you liked him? Why are you being punished for being his fan?

Oikawa looks down when he feels your hands stop pushing at his thighs. Repressing a growl of annoyance, he pulls your head back off his dick so he can haul your body up and meet your eyes. God, you’re wrecked—hair mussed and tangled, spit dripping down your chin, eyes rimmed with red—and you’re crying. He feels a tug in his abdomen while you sniff and try to wipe your tears away. “You look ugly when you cry.”

The insult brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes and you furiously rub at your eyes and nose, but you’re only smearing the tears around. She’s not really an ugly crier, Oikawa thinks looking at you. In fact, you look oddly appealing with your nose all red and teardrops hanging off your eyelashes.

“I-I w-wanna leave—I wanna stop,” you whimper out between sobs.

“Oh...oh, did I hurt your feelings?” Oikawa folds your limp body into his arms and you hate yourself for taking comfort in him and melting into his chest. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry.”

“I-I-I—“

“Shh, shh.” He rubs your back in slow circles, steadying your trembling form. “You can’t be so loud, someone will hear. And besides…I’m not done.”

What?

Before you can understand what he said, Oikawa pushes you back down and palms his still-hard weeping cock. “I was looking forward to cumming in your mouth, you know? Since you’re so good at swallowing. I was going to make you show it to me first. But now—I guess you can’t take that, huh? My personal cheerleader is a little too fragile today! That’s okay though, we can save it for next time.” His voice is excited and his eyes are wide with boyish exuberance while his hand pumps up and down the length of his cock.

He’s jacking off. On you.

You try to move out of the way, but once again he holds you in place. “Stop that, you don’t want to cause…a mess…ugh, fuck!”

It’s all you can do to close your eyes and screw up your face before the breath leaves him and he lurches forward. You feel it rather than see it, just like when he spat in your mouth—a hot sticky liquid, this time soaking onto your skin…through…your shirt.

You open your eyes and there it is, a smear of off-white liquid staining your plain green cheering T-shirt.

He came on your clothes. He came on your clothes. He came on your clothes.

“Oi, Oikawa!” There’s an audible bang as the door of the bathroom is slammed open and someone—no, two people—walk inside. A shiver passes through you and you chance a look up at Oikawa, whose gaze is trained on the closed stall door as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants.

“Oikawa?” another voice calls out. “You in here? The bus is waiting for you.”

“Yeah, I’m in here,” he says. You shoot a terrified glance at him, bidding him to keep quiet, but he just winks back at you. As if you’re sharing some fun secret and not hiding with tears in your eyes and semen spilling down your chest.

There are two sharp knocks on the stall door, and it’s all you can do to hold back your squeal of shock. “Hurry up and get out, dumbass. What the hell have you been doing this whole time? Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“Sorry, sorry—“ He pulls you up one more time, this time by the back of your collar like a kitten, and reaches for the door lock despite your best efforts to shake your head violently and telepathically communicate please please please don’t open it— “but I promise I had a good reason. See for yourself.”

You’re seriously considering kicking him in his bad knee and making a run for it, but as always his instincts outpace yours by miles. When the door swings open, Oikawa pushes you out in front of him and directly into the person standing in front of the stall. Who is it? Tall, tan, spiky dark hair—you’ve never spoken, but you know from your extensive practice observing the Aobajohsai volleyball team that it’s Iwaizumi Hajime, vice captain and Oikawa’s best friend. His arms move up to grab you by reflex, steadying you before you’re forced to crash into him.

“Wha—“ Iwaizumi looks just as startled as you feel. Behind him, Hanamaki—the third-year wing spiker who’s in the same class as you—is wearing a similar expression of surprise. For a moment, everything is perfectly still: Iwaizumi holding you by your upper arms, Oikawa grinning back at you from the stall, Hanamaki watching all three of you with an eyebrow raised—

And then, like a scene from a horror movie playing out in slow motion, two pairs of eyes move from your disheveled face down, inch by inch, until both Iwaizumi and Hanamaki are staring at the cum stain on your shirt.

They recognize what it is immediately. Hanamaki grimaces in disgust and Iwaizumi drops your arms like he’s been burned. “Ugh, that’s fucking nasty. You couldn’t wait til we got back to campus?”

“Nah, my little cheerleader was too impatient. I can’t say no to her.” Your gaze swings back to Oikawa in betrayal, but he looks as effortlessly flippant as ever, no evidence of the lie on his face. He steps out from the stall and wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you closer against your will.

The awkwardness in the air is so thick you can barely breathe, but you’re not the only one affected. Hanamaki is resolutely avoiding looking at either of you and Iwaizumi looks like he can’t decide whether to be angry or disgusted. “I mean…still…you shouldn’t be causing trouble for the rest of the team.”

“Hear that, (Y/N)?” Oikawa pats your waist without releasing his grip. “Say sorry to Iwa and Makki.”

You want to escape. You want to run. You want to faint, even, because at least if you fainted you wouldn’t have to experience this humiliation.

“S-Sorry. I’m sorry for c-causing trouble.” The apology comes out hoarse from your raw throat, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that you’d had a cock stuffed down it just a few minutes ago. You duck down into a bow, hating Oikawa almost as much as you hate yourself.

Aaaand, you’re crying again. As soon as you feel the tear trickle down your cheek you swipe at it furiously, but with all attention in the room trained on you it’s impossible that they didn’t see it.

“Look, Iwa, you made her cry!” Oikawa easily pushes your hand down and his takes its place, dabbing at the tears spilling down your cheeks.

To Iwaizumi’s credit, he looks even more horrified at the fact that you’re crying than he did at the cum stain. He steps toward you a bit and then thinks better of it and moves back again, hands gesturing aimlessly in the air. “Whoa! Hey, it’s fine! It’s fine, okay? It was probably this loser’s fault more than yours anyway, I know what a dog he is.”

You have no idea. You gulp and try to stifle your tears. Oikawa’s constant contact (his thumb stroking your face, the arm pulling insistently at your waist—something about it is almost possessive) isn’t helping your anxiety.

“Can we get going?” Hanamaki says after a long moment. “They’re waiting for us.”

Iwaizumi scratches his head and looks at you. “Ah…sorry (Y/N), but I think the cheer squad bus already left.”

“She can ride with us, can’t she?” Oikawa says.

You don’t want to ride with them, but what’s your other option? Take the train for hours with a cum stain right in the middle of your shirt? On the other hand, that might be better than spending another second in Oikawa’s presence. “I...I can take the train…”

Then again, you don’t know why you’re bothering to have this internal debate at all. It’s not like he’s going to give you a choice.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re coming with me.” You flinch at the insult and then regret it, hoping the others didn’t notice.

“Ah, I guess that’s fine,” Iwaizumi says. “By the way, do you…want a clean shirt? I have an extra in my bag…”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he says it, which is fine because you’re pretty sure you’re incapable of doing so either. Still, you open your mouth to say yes, awkwardness be damned. You’d do anything to get out of this filthy shirt—

“She’s fine,” Oikawa interrupts.

Iwaizumi frowns and looks to you for confirmation, but you can feel Oikawa’s oppressive stare pinning you in place and preventing you from disagreeing. You’re so weak. Pathetic. Just like he said.

You nod shakily to Iwaizumi and he sighs. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”

The three of them file out of the bathroom and for one hopeful moment you think they’re going to leave you there and you’ll never have to see Oikawa again.

But since when do you have that kind of luck?

“(Y/N)? Come.”

It probably sounds like a request to Hanamaki and Iwaizumi, but you know it’s not. It’s an order.

And you follow.

➠ [Part 2]

3K notes · View notes

johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

When Lappland woke up that morning, the first thing she noticed was how cold her bed was; the second thing was the Doctor-shaped hole in it; and the third was that it was, in fact, her bed and not his. This series of observations confused her - she’d definitely fallen asleep in his bed last night and had been for the past four months - and so she did what any rational person would do: yell.

“Doctoooor!” The Lupo roamed around her apartment, finding neither hide nor hair of her captive darling...darling captive? He was hers, that was what mattered. “Dooooctooooor! You there, my guy?...No?...Well, shit, where’d he go? I’ll try texting him.”

A rigorous search of her phone told her nothing - or, rather, it told her ALL information related to the Doctor she’d kept on there (contact info, some pictures both safe for work and otherwise, conversations, anything related to him) had been precision-stripped from her device while leaving everything else intact. It was like he’d never existed according to her phone. “Well, fuck. Weird bug, but maybe someone can help me find him. Or fix my phone. One of the two. Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

“Lappland?” A voice at her front door. Since she was wearing pajamas (for some reason), there wasn’t anything to stop her from answering.

“Yeah? Oh, hey, Pipsqueak.” Her ‘affectionate’ name for Sussurro. “What’s up?”

The Vulpo simply gave her a look - not offended, at least not at this hour of the day. “You were calling for a doctor.”

“Huh? No, I was calling for Doctor.”

“The only difference is a definite article in there.” She walked around the Lupo in a tight circle. “Feeling alright?”

Lappland...well, she might as well tell someone what was happening, and Pipsqueak seemed to know something. “You know where The Doctor is?”

“Who are you referring to? Dr. Kal’tsit?” Now Sussurro’s tone was drifting into confusion.

“No, The Doctor.” The Lupo shook her head. “Company hoodie, runs strategy and personal relations, been shacking up with him for the past four months?”

More, deeper confusion. “I’m sorry, Lappland, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Four months, you say?”

“Yeah. Look, he gave me thi- what the fuck?!” There should’ve been a bite mark from the other night on one of her shoulders, but it, too, was gone.

“Calm down, Lappland,” the Vulpo advised. “Would you mind coming with me to my office so we can get this down in writing?”

She certainly did...but she needed her Doctor and she needed him NOW, damnit. At least Pipsqueak wanted to help. “Yeah, sure, whatever brings him back, take me with you.”

“Alright. If you wouldn’t mind stepping in front of me? I’ll tell you when to turn.” With that, the Lupo took the lead, following Sussurro’s directions to Medical, then to a small office near the front.

“Good morning, Dr. Sussurro,” Ptilopsis chirped as they entered the office. “How may we help you?”

The Vulpo gestured to the door. “Close that for us; I’ll be writing a transcript for an exam with Lappland here.”

“An exam? You think I’m lying?”

“Lying, no,” the Medic replied, “but there’s a reason you remember this Doctor person and I don’t- Ptilopsis? Something wrong?”

At the mention of ‘Doctor,’ Tilly had stutter-stepped. “Corrupted database entry found: one file labeled ‘The Doctor.’ Peripheral contamination detected; quarantining affected data...This unit needs to record this infraction.”

“Close the door and record it for the transcript; this is more serious than I thought. Perhaps some kind of cognition hazard...” Sussurro hopped over to where she kept her medical journal, flipped to a fresh page, and began writing furiously.

“You remember him, too, then?” Lappland grabbed the Liberi’s shoulder as she turned away from the now-closed door. “Do you know what happened?! Tell me if you do!”

Ptilopsis shuddered. “This unit apologizes, User Lappland, but this unit’s memory bank has been corrupted. This unit cannot determine the veracity of their data-”

“To hell with that! What. Do. You. Know.” The frenzy was starting to kick in.

“Lappland, control yourself or I will be forced to control you,” Sussurro called from her desk, eyeing her patient with a frown. “Please give us time. We’re working through this together.”

The Lupo growled. “I could throw you across the room and make sure you wouldn’t bounce.”

“I believe that. Ptilopsis, how are you doing?”

“Data recovery complete,” Tilly replied as her eyes changed color. “Assuming direct control.”

Both Vulpo and Vulpo-chucker looked at the Liberi. “Ptilopsis?”

“She realized I was the only one who knew what happened to him, so I’m gonna take over for a minute. Nice to see the outside after all that time cooped up in her head.” She giggled.

“...Ah.” Sussorro reached for her tranquilizer setup. “What happened, then?”

The Other Voice grinned at Lappland. “This is all a dream, lil’ Lappy. Alllll a dream.”

“Then get me the fuck out of it.”

“Oh, I can’t.” ‘Ptilopsis’ opened the door. “Go find Dusk. She’ll get you out.”

The Lupo was gone before the tranq dart landed in the analyst’s neck.

Locating Dusk was actually rather simple: find Saga. “Hey! Saga! Where’s Dusk?”

“Oh! Hail and well met, Miss Lappland!” The Perro gestured to a nearby wall that was curled in on itself - attempted camouflage? Hard to say. “Surely you shall come upon her in here, although she has most graciously asked for a warning-”

“I’ll give her a warning, alright. Thanks.” No further questions; the Lupo charged across the painting’s threshold.

The monk looked on for a moment. “If only I’d spoken more precisely. I meant to give her a warning, not ask her to give one in turn...”

“Ashes to SilverAsh, dust to Dusk!” Lappland called into the inky blackness she’d found waiting for her. “I don’t know why I’m here, but you’d better take me back quickly!”

“Even a facsimile of Saga can’t help but be helpful, it seems. Will you stop shouting so much if I send you back?” The Dusk addressed her without revealing herself.

Her visitor, though, knew exactly where she was. “You’re my world’s Dusk?”

“Obviously.” The artist waited. “So?”

“Take me back, or my shouting will be the least of your problems.” Lappland’s hand was pressed against the back of her neck.

Dusk sighed. “A thousand rivers will dry before a drop of my blood meets the earth. You really think-”

“I don’t.” The Lupo struck the Dusk’s back with her other hand in three very specific places, and her victim fell forward. “I also found the exit while you were replying. You’ll be back on your feet in an hour. The next time you do this, you’re dead.”

“Ah...So this is where she took her?” The Doctor was standing in front of a conspicuous, swirling void made of paint.

Saga nodded. “Verily, I witnessed her in the midst of crossing the threshold. Doctor, thine anger burns brighter than I hath seen.”

“Don’t worry, Saga, I’m not angry.” He cracked his neck. “I’m furious. When I see her-”

“Doctor!!!” Lappland, like a streak of white lightning, bolted across the threshold and sent them both flying into the opposite wall.

Their Perro witness clapped. “Lappland! Thou hast spared Dusk the wrath of thine beloved!”

“Why?” Said beloved’s face was covering her with kisses and secondhand tears at the moment. “Why the fuck did she take you?”

She didn’t have an answer for that, and she didn’t care; much more important was the fact that she was home.

“If I might interject? Lady Dusk oft spoke of Lappland’s cackling having a powerfully distracting effect on her. Mayhaps she found herself incapable of restraining herself and acted out in anger?”

“...Sounds like what she said,” the Lupo muttered in the Doctor’s ear. “Can we go home?”

He squeezed her tightly to his chest before letting her rise to her feet and following suit. “Let’s go home...Saga? Let Dusk know I’ll need to speak with her tomorrow. I see a lot of Orirock in her future, and I’m not talking about her painting a fucking mountain.”

“Um, yes, I shall inform her of thine will post-haste.” Saga took her leave into the ink dimension.

“She’s got another fifty minutes of time-out,” Lappland noted, her entire demeanor muted by relief, both hers and her dearest’s. “Some god...same weak points as a Lung...”

The Doctor squeezed her hand. “Let’s forget about her for the rest of the day, hmm? All that matters right now is that you’re here, and I’m here, and that’s not changing any time soon.”

“Mmm...Yeah. You have my phone on you?”

“Sure do.” He handed it to her, and she opened her photo album. “Everything there?”

The Perro nodded, scrolling until she was satisfactorily reassured that this was the right reality she was in, before putting it away in her pajama pants pocket. Everything was back to the way it should be.

Everything, that is, except for Dusk’s locomotive capabilities, but they’d sort themselves out eventually.

#arknights #arknights fic #lappland (arknights)#this was the 'an Operator dating the Doctor wakes up and the Doctor's been forgotten' prompt #went with Lappland because i am not immune to Lappland attraction #especially after she saved my ASS in the R6S event #silence+ranged arts damage?#woof woof #i am definitely some kind of hypocrite for being attracted to her in spite of her whole personality #but i'm a simp first and logical person second

21 notes · View notes

arrow-guy · 3 years

Text

Spill Your Guts

Summary: You’re used to working in the shadows. You’re happy with that. But when you unexpectedly meet Steve Rogers on a roof one night, something changes. What happens when you run into him out of costume two months later at one of Stark’s infamous parties?

A/N: A One Night Stand type story came to me one night, and this was it. BUT, considering I’m incapable of writing that kind of content, this is what really came from that idea. I think it’s kind of fun, and I hope you guys will enjoy it!

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong

Pairing; StevexReader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: None

“It can’t be as serious as you’re making it out to be.”

“Matt, I swear on your stupid little glasses, it’s serious. He caught me on the roof after you abandoned me two months ago and then cornered me at that fucking Stark soiree you dragged me to last week. Something is going on, and I don’t think that I’m cut out for this shit!”

“Okay, but how do you even know he knew it was you?” Matt asks. “It’s not like he saw your face on that roof.”

“Have you never gone through any of their files? Rogers has a damn near eidetic memory and super hearing. You think he wouldn’t recognize my dumb voice?!”

"Your voice isn't dumb."

“Were you listening when I was talking to him?”

“Well… no, I wasn’t.”

“Then you don’t know that it wasn’t dumb when I was talking to him.”

“Since when are you all worked up over an Avenger?” Matt asks. His mouth quirks up in an amused smile. “Three months ago, you couldn’t care less about them.”

"Because it's Rogers," I hiss. "I know you can't physically see him, but the man is gorgeous."

"And?"

"And I'm still trying to figure out what the hell he was doing talking to me, of all people." Matt stops in the middle of the sidewalk and I turn back and stare at him. “What?”

He carefully navigates to the bench near the brownstone we just passed and sits down. “Sit.”

“Okay.” I plop down beside him. “Why?”

“You’re gonna tell me exactly what happened that first night.”

“On the roof?”

“Yes.”

“You already know what happened on the roof.”

“You’re being weird about this, so clearly there’s something you didn’t tell me.”

I drum my fingers against my lips and sigh. “Okay, well, you heard something I didn’t that night, abandoned me on the roof, and then…”

“Huh.” I freeze at the sound of a familiar voice. “Could’ve sworn I heard two voices.”

“That’s because you did. My, eh… colleague just abandoned me.”

“Colleague?” I can’t read his expression through his helmet, but he sounds amused.

“Yeah, I think he heard you bounding across rooftops and decided to be anywhere but here.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

“He has better ears than I do.”

Rogers tilts his head to the side. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” I snort in my attempt to keep from laughing. “I’m the eyes of the operation.”

“Judging by the way your shoulders are shaking, there’s a joke here that I’m not getting.”

“You ever met the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, Captain Rogers?” I ask.

“Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.”

“Yeah, well… keep up with these little midnight patrols, and you’re bound to bump into him.” I look him over, knowing full well that he can’t see me through the veil over my hood. “You seem like an observant guy. I’m sure you’ll get the joke eventually.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhm, really.”

He hooks his thumbs around his belt buckle. “So your colleague is Daredevil. What do they call you?”

“Eagle Eye,” I answer.

He tilts his head to the side. “Eagle Eye?”

“Well, you see, as apt as it would’ve been, Hawkeye was taken.” I lift one hand to the side of my face and, in a conspiratorial tone, say, “And by someone much cooler than me, might I add.”

Rogers laughs and I smile. “So what’s your deal then?”

“My deal?” I shrug and shake my head. “I have no deal.”

“But you hide your face.”

“I hide my everything, Captain. It’s part of my schtick.”

“Sounds like you’re hiding something.”

I snort. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Well… yes. That’s the point of highlighting something obvious.”

“I see. Well,” I move across the rooftop towards where Matt disappeared earlier. “This has been a real gas, but I’ve got places to be.”

I jump over the side and just barely manage to catch myself on the edge of the building when I hear him call out to me. I haul myself up enough to see him quickly drawing closer.

“Wait!” he says.

“What?”

“I have more questions I’d like to ask you.”

“I’m afraid I’m booked solid tonight, Captain. I’ll have to slot you in some other time.”

“But-”

I mockingly salute him and drop down to the alley below. “Catch ya later.”

I don’t wait for his response and disappear into the shadows as fast as I can manage.

“After that, I didn’t run into him,” I say. “It didn’t seem like he tried to follow me, and he was never close enough to put a tracker or whatever on me. As far as I know, there was nothing left to worry about.”

“Honestly, (Y/N), it sounds like you made yourself a mystery.”

“I did not.”

“Someone who covers their entire face and answers anything with more questions? You literally turned yourself into a walking puzzle.”

“Well how the hell was I supposed to talk to Captain America? With a “Yes sir, here’s my face, sir. Have a nice night, sir”? Absolutely not. He’s old, but he barely looks older than we are.”

“That doesn’t mean the man doesn’t deserve at least a little respect.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t! And I wasn’t disrespectful towards him. I just wasn’t playing his game.”

“Because you didn’t have a buffer.”

“You abandoned me!”

“I didn’t abandon you. I just didn’t stick around when I heard trouble coming.”

“You’re an asshole, Matt Murdock.” I shake my finger at him. “Not many people would have the brass to tell you that, but I’m not scared of you and I don’t feel sorry for you.”

He just laughs. “Good. But that makes you and about five other people in this city.”

“Does it ever get old?” I ask. “Hearing the pity in people’s voices?”

“Well, yeah, but there’s relief too, sometimes. Like when they realize that I’m blind, they don’t have to worry about what they look like for once.”

I hum. “That makes sense. Especially in our little corner of the city.”

“Mhm.”

I jerk my thumb up the street. “Can we get going again?”

“Only if you tell me what happened at the party on the way to the café.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again.” I haul myself up from the bench before I offer Matt a hand and pull him to his feet. “Because now I feel like either I missed something when you first told me about it, or you did a terrible job of explaining yourself.”

“You’re forgetting the third option in which both of those could’ve verywell happened.”

“Could be. Anyway,” he bumps my arm with his elbow. “Start from the beginning.”

“Okay, well,” I offer him my elbow and he takes it and allows me to lead him down the sidewalk. “You dragged me with you to that party because you wanted to pass someone off as your guide, but I’m still convinced that you just wanted to force me to be social.”

“You need it sometimes, (Y/N).”

“Debatable. Regardless, you wandered off to talk to someone and I didn’t know anyone and didn’t know what to do with myself, so…”

Without Matt close to me, I quickly get overwhelmed by the steadily growing volume of the party and it feels like the large room is slowly growing more crowded. I spot someone returning to the party from one of the balconies and I immediately cross the room, slip through, the door, and out into the cool night air.

I lean heavily on the railing, eyes squeezed shut, and take deep, calming breaths. My panic drains away with each passing minute and, when I’m calm enough, I look out across the city and admire the view.

“It’s beautiful out tonight.”

I stand stock still. I know that voice.

I glance over my shoulder and find Captain Rogers standing in the doorway, staring up at the sky. His cheeks are rosy and he wears an easy smile.

“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I guess it is.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, I probably startled you, huh?”

I shrug. “A little, but you walk softly. There’s no way I would’ve heard you over the wind.”

“Mm, probably.” He moves to stand beside me and regards me silently. “Have we met before?”

I shake my head. “Can’t say that we have. Parties aren’t really my scene.”

“Yeah?”

I nod. “Parties like these are especially overwhelming.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He sighs and leans on the railing. “Tony’s parties can get pretty out of hand.”

“I could definitely see that happening, with all the people who showed up tonight.”

“Sometimes Thor will bring Asgardian mead with him.”

“Oh?”

He flashes me a grin. “Yeah, things can get interesting after that. It’s nice to actually loosen up.”

“Is it safe to assume that’s what happened tonight?”

He shoots me a grin. “What makes you say that?”

“You seem like the kind of guy who would stick with either his friends or his colleagues at this kind of shindig. Considering I’m neither of those things,” I shrug. “I guess there’s one conclusion to draw.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“I’m (Y/N), by the way.” I offer my hand and he shakes it.

“Oh, you came with, uh…” he snaps his fingers a few times, trying to recall the name. “Murdock, right?”

I nod. “Matt, yeah.”

“I think he’s a lawyer?”

“Mhm. Good one, too.”

“Well he’d have to be, working with us.”

“Wait, he’s worked for you guys?”

“A few cases, yeah.”

I shake my head. “Figures that’s how he’d get invited to a party like this.”

“Like what?”

“Funded by Tony Stark. Attended by the Avengers and just about every powerful person who could pass the background check.”

He smiles lopsidedly. “You think everyone here got screened?”

“Well, you knew who I came with, for starters. And I figure you guys throw these things to let loose, right? There’s no way you’d let a threat walk through the door on your night off. It’d kill the mood.”

“You’ve really thought this though, huh?”

I laugh. “I guess I kind of have.”

“You do that a lot?”

“What?”

“Overthink?”

“I… ” I frown. “Yeah, probably. Kind of a force of habit.”

He just nods and falls silent. He looks more relaxed than he did on the roof the first time we met. He gives no indication that he recognizes me, but I can’t just assume that he hasn’t figured it out, even if he truly is tipsy.

After about five minutes, he starts pointing out things around the tower that were different when he was a kid. The places he and his best friend would loiter. Which bodegas would let them take a candybar every once in a while as a reward for good grades. I rest my chin on my fist and listen intently as he explains. He winds up going off on a tangent about how different he thought the future would be.

“Lemme guess, you thought there’d be flying cars?”

“Yeah, actually,” he says. “I did. You should’ve seen the one Stark presented at the World’s Fair in forty-three.”

“As soon as time travel is a thing, I’ll have to go check it out.”

He laughs. “You know what I mean. The thing damn near blew up, but it hovered for a good ten seconds before it gave out.”

“Sounds like it would’ve been pretty impressive for the time.”

“It was! Buck was so excited about it.” He sighs and shakes his head. “He always liked stuff like that.”

“Sounds like you two were close,” I murmur.

“Yeah. We’re working back to it, but after everything that’s happened over the years, it’s gonna take a while.”

“If you’re both willing to put in the time, it’ll be worth the wait, won’t it?”

“I-yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“If what I’ve heard about the situation is true, and I haven't heard much, then you remember him as he was. And, not that I’m any kind of expert on this or saying that you should take my advice, but it’s hard to live up to an image that someone has of you when you know damn well you haven’t been that person for a long time.” He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it and sighs. “Sorry, that was a little much. We don’t even know each other.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I hadn’t thought of it like that before.”

“Oh. Then you’re welcome? Maybe?”

“No, I definitely appreciate your perspective. Thank you.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pick it up immediately. I frown and Rogers shifts closer.

I open the text and frown. “Huh.”

“What is it?”

“It looks like Matt’s trying to find me.” I type out a quick response and turn the screen off. “I'm so sorry, I’m being called away.”

“No, I understand, you don’t need to apologize at all.”

“It’s been really nice talking with you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a lopsided smile. “You too.”

“Well…” I shove my phone into my pocket and back towards the door. “Have a nice night, Captain.”

“You too.” I smile at him and pull the door open. “Oh, (Y/N).”

I pause and look back at him. “Yes?”

“I…” His smile softens. “Call me Steve.”

“A-alright.” I glance into the tower and then to him. “Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight.”

“Then I left to find you and we went home.”

Matt steps through the door I hold open for him. “Well you definitely didn’t tell me what you’d talked to him about.”

“I did so!”

“You didn’t go into detail like you did just now. I didn’t know you gave him advice on his brainwashed best friend. That puts this in a completely different category.”

“Which is?”

“I think you’re kind of friends with him.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It sounds like he was comfortable around you.”

“You’d know better than I would.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. You could have worse friends than Steve Rogers.”

Someone behind us says, “Well, I’d certainly like to think so.”

I grip Matt’s arm and he winces. I murmur, “Is that-?”

Matt nods. “Yup.”

“Ah. Well.”

Matt turns us around and greets him first. “Captain Rogers, it’s good to see you.”

“You too, Mr. Murdock.” He glances at me, then back to Matt. “Could I speak with (Y/N) for a moment?”

Matt nods. “Of course.”

“Go ahead and order without me,” I murmur.

He nods and turns back to the counter. I gesture for Steve to follow me to a table at the back of the café. We sit and stare at each other for a few minutes before I can't take it anymore and break the silence.

“So, um…” I chew at the inside of my cheek. “Hey.”

“Hi.” His eyes flit over my face. “How are you?”

“I’m alright.” I frown. “What’re you doing here?”

“You never called or texted. Did I do something wrong?”

“I… Steve, I don’t have your number.”

“I gave it to you last Saturday,” he says.

I think back to that night and shake my head. “You definitely didn’t.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I did, just before you left.”

“You paused like you were gonna say something big, but then you asked me to call you Steve.” I hold my hands out in defense. “Not that you asking me to use your legal name isn’t a big deal, or anything, there just wasn’t any mention of phone numbers.”

His cheeks flush pink. “Then I apologize. I should’ve just asked instead of tracking you down like this.”

“Honestly, I’m just surprised that it was important enough to you to find me in the first place.”

“Why?”

“I’m a nobody who got lucky enough to be on that balcony at the same time as you. Even luckier that you even talked to me that night.”

“You’re not nobody, and you didn’t get lucky.”

“Wh-explain.”

“I saw you with Matt at the party and your build and the way you carried yourself seemed really familiar. So I watched you for a bit-” he notices my discomfort and backtracks. “I wasn’t stalking you or anything-”

I lift one eyebrow. “But you followed me out onto the balcony?”

“Yes.” He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “I wish I could blame the alcohol, but I was only slightly tipsy.”

“Just enough to be relaxed,” I say.

Steve nods. “What I’m trying to say is that I know you’re Eagle Eye.”

I grip the edge of the table. “What?”

“I wasn’t sure until I actually talked to you, and even then I figured I was just seeing what I wanted to.”

“What convinced you that you were right?”

“Your reaction just now.”

“Makes sense.”

“So I’m right?”

I nod. “Well, I never did have a good poker face.”

“Is that why you cover your face?”

“Among other things.” I lean back in my chair. “Did you figure out my little joke?”

He laughs. “About a week after we first met, yeah.”

“That true?” I ask. I look over Steve’s shoulder and see Matt nod. “Good for you, then.”

“How long have you known Mr. Murdock?” Steve asks.

I shrug. “Going on, maybe… seven or eight years now? We started working together about four years ago.”

“Which work?”

“Corporate type work. We started our nightly routine a year after.” I gesture to the counter. “Do you want anything? I’m kind of starving.”

“Uh, sure. Anything you’d recommend?”

“Their croissant sandwiches are pretty good. I usually just go with ham and cheese.”

“Then I’ll trust your judgment on that.”

I shove myself up from the table. “You want anything to drink? Coffee, tea, water?”

“I feel kind of bad giving you an order like this,” he admits.

“Don’t, I offered.”

“You sure?”

“Of course. Now,” I gesture dramatically. “Drink?”

He chuckles. “Just water, thanks.”

Jo greets me when I step up to the counter. She seems a little nervous, and I can’t really blame her.

She slides the sandwiches across the counter and asks, “Is that Captain America?”

I nod. “It is.”

“I thought you didn’t run with guys like that.”

“I don’t, usually, but Matt worked a couple of cases for the Avengers a while back and I got dragged along to a party with him because of it.” I tuck the sandwiches under my arm and grab the water and the cup of tea I ordered. “Now we’re here.”

She glances back at Steve. “Just make sure all my furniture is intact when you leave today. Replacing single chairs every few months isn’t cheap.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen, Jo.” I blow across the surface of my tea, dispersing the steam. “It’s a friendly visit, and I intend to make sure it stays that way.”

“Good.” She pauses, slow smile creeping onto his features. “He’s pretty handsome, (Y/N).”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help smiling. “I’m doing my best to not think about that right now.”

“Is he at least nice?” she asks. “I always thought he looked like he’d be a nice guy.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “He’s pretty nice.”

She grins. “At least there’s that.”

I head back to the table and pass Matt along the way. I tell him to head back to the office without me when he’s done and that I’d meet up with him later. He just nods and takes another bite of his sandwich.

I place Steve’s sandwich and water on the table in front of him before taking my seat. I immediately tear open a packet of sweetener and pour it into my tea. When It’s stirred in, I take a sip and lean back in my seat.

“I’m sure you have questions,” I say. “And I figure it’s only fair that I answer them, considering you spilled your guts to me at that party.”

“I did what?”

“You rambled about what New York was like when you were a kid.” I rest my chin in my hand and smile at the blush that creeps across his face. “It was cute.”

He focuses his gaze on the sandwich and starts to unfold the paper. He mumbles, “Well that’s kind of embarrassing.”

“I don’t think finding joy in your childhood is embarrassing. I think it’s a sign of a good childhood.”

“It wasn’t all good,” he says. “But I had good people around me.”

“And it sounds like you were happy.”

“Most of the time, I was. But that’s how it is for most kids, right?”

I shrug. “I guess.”

He picks up half his sandwich and, before he takes a bite, asks, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, what was your childhood like?”

“It was fine. My parents were pretty strict about grades, but they just wanted me to succeed. When they found out about my abilities, they tried to capitalize on it a bit, but didn’t really push when I got bored.”

“Abilities?”

“Oh, right. I’m called Eagle Eye because of my enhancements. I’m like a low-level version of you. Enhanced strength, hearing, healing, speed, all that, to a slightly lesser degree. But the big thing is my eyesight.”

“So when you said you’re the eyes of the operation-”

“I meant it. My parents used it to their advantage when they started taking me to the range and putting me in shooting competitions.”

“Oh?”

“Everyone on my mom’s side is a fuckin gun nut. I’m not a huge fan of them, to be honest.”

“What’s your weapon of choice, then?”

“I’d prefer a bow and fistful of arrows to a gun any day.” I grin. “But I think knives are pretty fun. More versatile than a gun, and definitely more of a challenge. Playing cards will do, in a pinch.”

He laughs. “That’s kind of terrifying.”

“I know. At this point I use a beanbag gun and a few throwing knives, but that’s about all I carry.”

As I take a bite of my sandwich, he asks, “So what is it that you do?”

“Well, I started out as a bounty hunter.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m a bounty hunter and a masked vigilante.”

“When you say bounty hunter-”

“I mean someone who tracks down people evading arrest. I don’t hunt and kill people. Besides, Matt wouldn’t let me, even if I tried. Terminally good Catholic boy, and all that.”

“Mm, yeah I could see that.”

We talk as we eat. Steve asks more questions about my abilities and how I got them. I don’t have answers for him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. The conversation eventually turns to mundane things like art, literature, and sports. I don’t have strong opinions on New York baseball, but listening to Steve get worked up over it is entertaining. I find myself smiling more than I have in a very long time.

“You are so much more interesting than you let on, (Y/N).”

I roll my eyes and crush up the sandwich wrapper. “You’re just saying that because I threw out all three of my fun facts one after the other.”

“No, I’m not. I didn’t try to find you because I wanted an answer. I had a feeling about you when we talked at the party.”

“Oh, a feeling?” I laugh. “Sounds scary.”

“Is it?” he asks. “Because I don’t think it’s been this easy for me to talk to someone outside of my team for a very, very long time.”

“Pure exaggeration.”

“It really isn’t. A lot of people would’ve jumped at the chance to try and use this situation to their advantage. But I’ve been watching you try to talk yourself out of the possibility of there being something here.”

I clutch my tea between my hands and frown. I refuse to get my hopes up. “Something?”

“Some kind of connection,” he says.

“I’m gonna need you to paint me a really detailed picture here, because I don’t want to misinterpret what you’re saying.”

“(Y/N), I think that you’re interesting and intelligent and, uh…” he coughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his neck. “I think you’re attractive.”

“Oh,” I murmur, my voice suddenly very small.

“If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine, but I’d hate to just let this go, even if it’s just friendship.”

“It’s not that I don’t feel some kind of attraction to you, Steve. I’m just… I really am nobody.”

“Well I don’t think Matt thinks so. I’m sure the people that you help don’t think that. And I certainly don’t think so.”

“Even so-”

“You don’t have to make headlines for me to like you, okay?” His brows pull together and he reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I just want to be able to spend more time with you. Get to know you better. I don’t want to push you for anything you don’t want, especially considering we haven’t known each other all that long.”

I squeeze his hand. “Okay.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah?”

I smile and nod. “I’ll warn you, though. I move really slow with this kind of stuff.”

“So do I. But…” He runs his thumb over my knuckles and I relax just a little. “That just means I have ample time to get to know you. And that’s been the best part of this so far, anyway.”

“I’ll make no promises about showing up to Stark’s parties. But…” I cover the back of his hand with mine. “I have a few more questions about you.”

He grins. “Ask me anything, sweetheart.”

I don’t really know whether or not they’d be a long term thing in the end. Like as sweet as I think it’d be, all I can really think about are the shenanigans she and Clint would get up to when they’re introduced. I mean, two master marksmen in the same room? It just screams trouble.

I’d love to hear what y’all thought about this onshot! Do you think that Steve and the reader character make a sweet couple? Do you think they’d make it work? Or do you think they’d wind up just being friends in the end? Be sure to like, reblog, comment, and/or shoot me an and and tell me all about it!

If you’d like to be tagged in future fics, please let me know!

Tag list:

@ghostlyhamlet, @claws-of-vibranium, @creaturefeatures101, @buckysendoftheline, @imagine-assembling-the-avengers, @ptprocrastination, @1950schick, @amayasymone23, @arfrona-and-marvel, @ek823, @fanaticfangirl001, @furrywerewolfcollector, @kissofvenom922, @dawn-phantomhive, @fangirlwithasweettooth, @silas-aeiou, @mairhof1, @starryeyesbadguys, @trap-house-homiecide, @buckywhitewolfbarnes, @kaepm981, @howdoesoneadult, @pcdmesamidala, @thefandomplace, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @lady-thor-foster, @jazzcutie, @gaytonystark, @geeksareunique, @nyxveracity, @idalinette, @breezy1415, @darling-loki, @lemonadeorange73, @tofeartheunknown, @queenoftheunderdark, @tomorraw, @feelmyroarrrr, @thisismysecrethappyplace, @princess-unicorn124, @hermionie-is-my-queen, @avengerscompound

#steve rogersxreader #readerxsteve rogers #steve rogers x reader #reader x steve rogers #steve rogers #captain america #steverogersxreader #readerxsteverogers #captain america fanfiction #reader insert marvel fic #the other boi

139 notes · View notes

writingfortoomanyfandoms · 4 years

Text

Mudblood

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Muggleborn!Reader

Summary: The complicated relationship of a pureblood and a muggleborn, shown through their time at Hogwarts

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing, blood purity, angst, death, mentions of torture, all that kinda stuff

A/N: can you truly count yourself as a Harry Potter writer if you haven’t written something about Malfoy dating a muggleborn??? I hope you guys enjoy this! Please let me know what you think - hearing your comments always perks me up and inspires me to write more! Also this is a long’un so strap yourselves in!

First Year

Y/N Y/L/N wasn’t scared of Draco Malfoy.

It wasn’t because she was brave, or because she knew she could outsmart him or anything like that - nothing like the reasons so many Gryffindors and Ravenclaws gave to try and convince themselves that they held no fear of the Slytherin bully.

No, it was nothing like that.

In a way, she felt sorry for him.

Sometimes, it seemed as though he was merely parroting his father’s words when he spoke so harshly to people.

She had been scared of him - most Hufflepuffs were. Hufflepuffs were aware of the way that a lot of the students - Slytherin’s in particular - viewed them. Knew that they were often perceived as being the ‘lesser’ house. And being a muggleborn as well just seemed to reinforce the point that there was no way that Draco Malfoy and his band of Slytherins would ever allow her a single peaceful moment.

During her first term at Hogwarts, she had dreaded every lesson she had with Malfoy, who she felt went out of his way to make her and Justin (the other muggleborn Hufflepuff student) feel inferior to everyone else.

But it didn’t take her long to get over that initial fear.

It probably came from her friendship with Harry, Ron and Hermione. It wasn’t as though they were close friends, but after helping them out during Herbology class and studying in the library with Hermione fairly regularly, it was safe to say that they were definitely friends.

And any association with the trio was immediately seen as a red flag by Malfoy, putting an even larger target on Y/N’s back.

But after hearing the many, many, rather creative insults thought up by Harry, Ron and Hermione about Malfoy, it was difficult for her to fear him.

“Watch where you’re going, Mudblood.”

Y/N had collided hard with the floor, her books falling from her bag, scattering on the ground.

“You walked into her, Malfoy,” Ron piped up from where he had been walking with Harry, a little behind Y/N and her friends, all of them on their way back into the school after Herbology.

“Then she should have gotten out of my way, shouldn’t she, Weasley,” just one glance up at Malfoy’s face allowed Y/N to understand how happy he was to pick a fight with anyone - the fact that Ron was also getting involved only served to cheer him further.

There was nothing that Malfoy enjoyed more than aggravating Harry and Ron, goading them into a fight just so that he could somehow swing it to a teacher to place the blame on them instead, causing the loss of Gryffindor house points.

Harry had dropped to the floor beside Y/N, kneeling down to help her gather her books back up.

“Thanks,” she muttered with a small smile, standing up and watching the interaction of Ron and Malfoy, both of whom were getting more and more worked up. “Ron, just leave it,” Y/N called, grabbing the attention of both boys mid-argument.

Malfoy glared at her but Y/N ignored him, looking instead at her friend.

“It doesn’t matter,” she told Ron, who opened his mouth to argue, but Y/N cut him off. “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated more forcefully, looking to her Hufflepuff friends before walking away.

It was a surprise for Y/N when Malfoy approached her the next day, when she was sitting alone in the library, getting her Potions homework finished.

“Can I sit here?”

“You’re asking?” Y/N asked in surprise. She shook her head quickly before offering a slightly nervous smile. “Go ahead.”

Malfoy sat in the chair opposite, but didn’t say anything - instead he stared at her from across the table, seemingly deep in thought as he studied her.

“Did you want something?”

Malfoy glanced down at the parchment Y/N was writing her homework on, tilting his head just a little to be able to read it.

“You got question four wrong.”

“Oh - right.”

Y/N was still frowning in complete confusion at Malfoy’s actions.

“Seriously - can I help you with something?” She asked after they had sat in awkward silence for another five minutes at least.

“You never fight back - is it a Hufflepuff trait? Being a pushover?” Malfoy inquired cooly.

“I’m glad you sought me out to attempt to insult me.” Y/N commented mildly.

“Attempt?”

“It’s not a Hufflepuff thing, being a pushover. I just don’t think you really mean it when you’re rude to me, or to most people, in fact.”

“You think I secretly like you?” Malfoy asked scornfully.

“No - I just don’t think that you’re as big of a dick that you act. I think that you’re trying to live up to some stupid expectations that you think everyone thinks that you should.”

Silence fell between them again, but (and maybe it was just Y/N’s imagination) Malfoy’s gaze seemed a little less harsh on her. She returned to her homework, aware that Malfoy was still watching her and feeling embarrassed under his scrutinising look.

Second Year

“Y/L/N!” Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin at the harsh call of her name.

She saw Justin’s eyes widen a little, looking over her shoulder to see who it was.

Y/N turned around, equally surprised to see Draco Malfoy stalking towards her - unusually, he was not accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, or any of his usual Slytherin crew.

When he came to a stop in front of Y/N, his eyes slid over her to glare at Justin, who quickly caught onto the message.

“I’ll just…” he pointed helplessly towards the Great Hall, where the feast was about to start.

“Save me a seat.” Y/N responded, smiling to her friend who nodded, before rushing away, evidently wanting to be as far away from Malfoy as possible. “Hey, Malfoy,” she tried to maintain her smile but was incapable of keeping the mild worry off of her face - even now that they weren’t on exactly bad terms, it wasn’t like Malfoy to go out of his way to seek out a conversation with her - Y/N wouldn’t kid herself, she knew how Malfoy continued to view her.

“You’re awake,” Malfoy finally breaks the awkward silence between them, stating the obvious. It brings a real smile to her face as she nods.

“I am.”

“I’m… I’m glad,” Malfoy confessed, looking uncomfortable, breaking their eye contact.

“So am I.”

“Do you… remember anything?”

“I don’t know what happened while I was petrified if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh… right,” a faint tinge of pink rose in his cheeks and he scuffed his shoes. “I… I visited you.”

“What?” The shock-induced word was out of her mouth before she could think better of it and she stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Nothing - it’s stupid,” immediately he had built his barriers back up, meeting her eyes again but the harshness was back in his gaze, his jaw set in place, all angles and hard edges.

“You visited me?” Y/N repeated, finally regaining control of her surprise and beaming at him.

“Well… yeah,” Malfoy looked wary of her as he confirmed his actions.

“Why?” A light laugh accompanied her words and she could have sworn that she saw the corner of Malfoy’s mouth twitch, too, as though he wanted to smile back at her.

“I… I didn’t want you to die.”

“That makes a change,” but it’s clear that she’s teasing him from her smile, from the tone of voice that suggests that she’s about to start laughing again and she sees Draco soften a little, even allowing himself to smile back at her, albeit tentatively.

“I can help you catch up, if you want,” he doesn’t seem to be aware of making the offer, judging by the look of mild surprise that crosses his face, but which he quickly covers up as best he can.

“Pardon?”

“I know we only have a few days left of term but, I could try and help you catch up, if you wanted - I’m pretty good at Potions,” he seems more sure of himself this time and it causes Y/N’s smile to widen.

“Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Third Year

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Y/N turned her head to look at Draco, not at all surprised to see him standing there, with his arms crossed, glaring at her.

“Is that so?”

“You know you have,” Draco grumbled, pouting a little at her.

“You’re acting like a child,” Y/N warned, turning the page of her book dismissively.

“You’re being a bitch,” he huffed in response. “Hey!”

Y/N had hit him with her book the moment the insult had left his lips.

She lifted her book to hide the smile growing on her face from his indignant reaction.

“What do you want, Draco?” She sighed.

“I want to know why you’re ignoring me.”

“I thought you didn’t care what mudbloods think?” A groan slipped past his lips and he fell to the ground beside her, watching her intently.

“What’s it really about?” Draco asked at last.

“I thought everything was about blood purity,” Y/N commented.

“Y/N.”

“Why did you do it?” She burst out, snapping her book closed and staring at him.

“Do what?”

“Make such a big deal about your arm - I know it didn’t hurt that much and Madame Pomfrey healed it immediately. You didn’t need to get it executed.” Tears were burning in her eyes.

“I didn’t know it would be executed,” Draco protested.

“You knew your father wouldn’t let it go easily - you must’ve known something like this would happen,” Y/N declared, shaking her head.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because Buckbeak was a living creature, Malfoy! It didn’t deserve to die just because you were too bloody proud to listen to what Hagrid was saying!”

“You weren’t in the class! You don’t know what happened!”

“Harry told me what happened.” Y/N muttered, aware of the reaction it would bring from her friend.

“So you’ll believe Potter over me?”

“You haven’t denied it,” Y/N pointed out darkly.

“You’ve been avoiding me for months because of a fucking Hippogriff?”

“Well it does make a change from it being you avoiding me.”

Her words had an immediate effect on Draco, who recoiled a little, becoming even more defensive, wounded by her accusation.

“You know why I avoid you.��

“Yes - because your reputation is more important to you than your friends.”

Y/N went to stand up but Draco caught hold of her hand, looking utterly desperate when Y/N cast her eyes back to him and he tugged, evidently hoping that she would sit down and join him again.

“Please don’t leave me,” guilt laced his voice, and Y/N wondered if he understood at last where she was coming from - if he understood how it felt for her every time he pretended she didn’t exist, when he scorned her in front of their classmates but acted like she was his closest friend when it was just the two of them. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t take much to get Y/N to give in to his pleas, one look into his puppy-dog expression and she sighed, resuming her previous position beside her friend.

“You’re really important to me, you know,” Draco said after a while, his words quiet and when Y/N looked to him, he didn’t look up, studying his hands as though lost in thought but by the blush on his cheeks it was clear that he was just embarrassed.

“It’s okay, Draco - I understand. It’s how you were brought up.”

“But you really are - you’re one of the most important people in my life,” Draco insisted, finally looking up. Y/N gave him a small smile. “But… not just… as a friend,” he was frowning a little and y/N’s heard began to thud in her chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… that I like you. I like you a lot,” he breathed a slight laugh with his confession, giving her a nervous grin that sent her heart fluttering even more.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“You know that makes everything between us even more complicated than before?” Y/N asked, but she moved closer to him, resting her head onto his shoulder, wanting to reassure him that she wasn’t rejecting him.

Draco seemed to pick up on what she was truly trying to say and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Are you okay with hiding with me a little longer?” He whispered.

Y/N squeezed his hand.

Fourth Year

Y/N had been able to feel Draco’s eyes glaring into her all day, and she had a feeling that she knew exactly what it was about.

This knowledge was why she wasn’t exactly surprised when she was walking with Ernie, Justin and Hannah towards the Great Hall for dinner, after Transfiguration, and a hand reached out and clasped around her wrist, tugging her to the side.

A slight yelp left her lips, however and her fellow Hufflepuffs turned to look at her, frowning in concern.

“I just realised I forgot something - go in, I’ll catch up with you,” she offered with a strained smile. Her friends exchanged looks before doing as she asked and Y/N turned to the figure that had retreated the moment that her friends had looked towards them, rolling her eyes at him. “Way to be subtle,” she told him, but Draco just glared at her. “What’s wrong?” She sighed, following Draco a little further into the shadows, out of view of any other students.

“Is it true?” Hurt was clear in his voice and it was only then that Y/N took in the sadness that gleamed in his eyes.

“Is what true?” A feeling of dread settled in her stomach, though - she was well aware of what Draco was asking her.

“I heard Potter talking during Potions - apparently he’s taking you to the ball. Is that true?” Draco’s words were stiff, desperately trying to hide how much it hurt him to speak them aloud.

“Yeah, I’m going with Harry,” Y/N confessed.

“Why?” He didn’t even attempt to keep the shake from his voice.

“You weren’t going to ask me - Harry needed a date so he asked me to go with him. As friends,” Y/N shrugged.

“You wanted me to… to ask you?” Draco repeated a little faintly, his eyes searching hers desperately. Y/N smiled just a little and gave a half shrug of her shoulders.

“I thought that much was obvious.”

“I couldn’t ask you.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to.”

“I know,” Y/N reached up a hand, cupping Draco’s cheek and angling his face carefully to force him to look at her and she gave him a sad smile. “I understand, Draco - I do, I promise.”

“But why Potter of all people?”

“Because we’re friends, Draco,” Y/N laughed, watching Draco lean into her touch, his eyes closing contentedly. “And I knew you were going with Pansy,” she admitted in a whisper, not wanting to allow her own insecurities to be heard too clearly in her voice, but it was clear that she had failed in that regard when Draco’s eyes snapped open and met hers.

“It’s not like that,” he hastened to assure her and Y/N responded with a half-smile accompanied with a slight shrug of her shoulders. Silence fell between them before Draco let out a slight sigh. “I wish I could go with you,” he confessed, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers.

“I would’ve said yes if you’d asked - just for the record,” Draco breathed a laugh, his eyes closing again.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers, feeling her smile her shy, sweet smile.

“I’ll always wait for you,” she responded instead, stating it as though it was a simple fact.

Harry had conveniently forgotten to mention to Y/N that agreeing to being his date to the Yule Ball also meant agreeing to dancing in front of the whole school and their visitors.

“I thought you’d say no if I told you!” Harry laughed as he led Y/N off of the dance floor, towards Ron who was standing with his rather disgruntled-looking date.

“And it would have been perfectly reasonable for me to say no!” Y/N announced, pushing her friend’s shoulder playfully.

“Can we go sit down?” Ron muttered, barely sparing a greeting for his friends. Y/N raised an amused eyebrow at Harry who grinned at her, a silent promise in his eyes to fill her in later.

As Y/N crossed the room with Ron and Harry - Padma Patil in tow, though not looking at all happy about the company she was in for the evening - she could feel eyes watching her. Y/N looked over in the direction of the group of Fourth Year Slytherins. Sure enough, Draco was standing there, Pansy in front of him, evidently attempting to engage him in conversation. Draco was nodding along with whatever she was saying but his eyes were on her, an expression on his face that Y/N didn’t quite understand.

She offered him a small smile and thought she saw a slight quirk at the corners of Draco’s lips before he managed to get control of his expression again and returned to his conversation with his date.

Y/N felt a pang in her chest when she saw Draco laughing at something Pansy had said.

It was late into the evening when she was, once again, grabbed by the wrist from the shadows, having been on her way to get butterbeers for herself, Ron and Harry.

Draco pulled her into an alcove off of the Great Hall, where they could still hear the music being played by the band. He smiled down at her.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he told her, squeezing her hand. Y/N’s skin crawled with embarrassment and she looked down to the floor, grinning to herself.

“Thanks - so do you.”

“I look beautiful?” Draco asked, laughter in his voice and when Y/N looked up at him, her heart fluttered at his crinkled eyes.

“You always look beautiful.”

Draco flushed a bright pink but his smile only widened.

“I know it’s not the same but - would you like to dance with me?” He offered, tilting his head a little in the direction of the source of the music. Y/N bit her lip and nodded, stepping closer to him and breathing in the scent that she had become so familiar with lately.

“I should warn you, though, I stepped on Harry’s toes a lot when we danced.”

“I’m sure that was Potter’s fault, not yours. He strikes me as an awful dancer,” Draco commented, beginning to lead them in their dance.

“I never thought you’d be so good.”

“Most purebloods are - we go to a lot of galas and dances, see?” He looked a little embarrassed. Y/N knew that, when he was with her, he didn’t like to talk about his blood status, it only served as a reminder to what she was - to the reasons why they had to dance in alcoves, rather than with the rest of the school.

Y/N didn’t reply other than to rest her head on his chest, her eyes squeezing shut as they continued to dance, wanting to savour every moment of happiness.

Fifth Year

“She’s a bitch.” Y/N stated, fixing Draco with a glare that practically dared him to disagree with her.

“She’s not that bad,” Draco insisted.

“You only like her because you share a dislike of Harry!”

“That’s not true.”

“She’s an awful teacher,” Y/N pointed out and Draco sighed heavily. “And she’s just awful to everyone!”

“She’s not that bad to me,” Draco shrugged, going back to his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework that him and Y/N were both meant to be working on.

“Of course she’s not that bad to you,” Y/N laughed.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re a pureblood - and a Malfoy at that! She respects you!”

“I am pretty deserving of respect,” Draco mused and Y/N rolled her eyes, throwing a scrunched up piece of parchment at his head, causing him to laugh, batting it away. “Does she really give you a hard time?” He asked and Y/N could see the concerned look in his eyes as he asked.

“It’s nothing that I’m not used to,” was her response, immediately feeling bad for bringing up her blood status.

“Y/N…”

“You of all people understand how some witches and wizards feel about mudbloods.”

“Don’t call yourself that.” Draco snapped immediately, a harsh look in his eyes.

“Why not? Everyone else does,” Y/N pointed out drily, going back to her own piece of parchment. “You did.” She added, not looking up. Not needing to, to know the reaction that her words would cause.

“I was stupid,” Draco told her, a pained edge to his voice.

“You still call the others it.”

“You’re different.”

“Why?” Y/N inquired, looking up again, tilting her head just a little to the side, taking in the expression on Draco’s face.

“You know why,” Draco muttered.

A heavy silence fell between them, unlike any that they had experienced since their second year. Y/N broke it at last, scooting over towards him and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said quietly. Draco hesitated for a moment before dropping his head down to rest atop hers.

“I don’t want this.” He admitted and Y/N tensed up, unsure if she wanted to hear what else Draco was going to say. “I don’t want to hide you.”

“You said that it was for the best,” she reminded him mutely.

“And it is,” Draco agreed through a long sigh. “Especially now he’s back,” they were approaching dangerous territory.

They had yet to discuss Voldemort’s return. Y/N was aware that Draco’s parents were Death Eaters - Draco had confided in her that his father had indeed returned to Voldemort’s inner circle the night marking the end of the Triwizard Tournament the previous year. But other than that, it had been very much a taboo subject - it made their relationship even more turbulent than before. Even less certain of a future.

“But just because it’s for the best, it doesn’t mean that I have to like it,” he finished and Y/N couldn’t help but smile a little.

“You sound like a child.”

“I wish it were all easier.”

Y/N thought she heard a slight crack in his voice, but knew better than to mention it. Instead, she nestled a little closer to him, craning her neck to press a kiss to his cheek.

“One day it will be.”

Sixth Year

Y/N allowed her fingers to trail up and down Draco’s arm, lost in thought.

Lately, they had gotten into the habit of sneaking Y/N into the Slytherin boys dorms after everyone had already gone to sleep. Draco didn’t go to bed until well past midnight anymore anyway, choosing instead to spend his time working on the Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement.

He had confided in Y/N fairly soon into the term - he never had been very good at hiding things from her, and while he would by no means allow her to help him directly, completely refusing to let her be tied to his awful assignment in any way, she had done her best to help him.

Joining him in his dorm after he would turn in for the night was one of the ways she would attempt to soothe her boyfriend.

Draco didn’t sleep anymore.

His mind was plagued with far too many anxieties, overworked with ideas of how to fix the Vanishing Cabinet, of how to get Voldemort to forgive his father.

He was carrying the weight of his family on his shoulders and he was only sixteen. Y/N wondered how he hadn’t cracked yet.

“Draco?” Y/N whispered into the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“What’s going to happen now that… now that you’ve fixed it?” She asked and she felt Draco take a deep, shuddering breath and held onto him a little tighter.

“I have to… fulfil my duty,” his voice was hoarse and Y/N could feel dampness on the top of her head and felt her heart break. She moved so that she was looking up at him, meeting his eyes, swimming with tears that had begun to overflow.

She reached up a hand, cupping his cheek, using her thumb to gently brush away his tears.

“Hey - it’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” He sniffed, turning his face to kiss her palm, his eyes shutting. “I’m so fucking scared - and it’s happening tomorrow. There’s nothing I can do anymore.”

Silence engulfed them again, broken only by the sounds of Draco’s dormmates snoring.

“I think we should break up.”

Y/N physically recoiled from him, staring at her boyfriend in wide-eyed hurt shock. She can see the response that the loss of her touch has on him, Draco looked a lot more alert, a lot harder than before, but a little more broken, craving the reassurance that her gentle touches would bring him.

“It’s for the best,” he whispered, another tear slipping down his cheek.

“Draco…”

“He’ll hurt you if he finds out about you - he’ll use you to get to me, just as he used my Father. And it’ll be worse for you because you’re...”

“A mudblood,” Y/N finished for him. Draco gave a quiet, pained moan at her words, grimacing.

“I shouldn’t have started this,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have let myself fall in love with you.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh, though her cheeks were wet with tears.

“If only it were that easy.”

Seventh Year

“Where is she?” Draco demanded Harry.

Tears were burning in his eyes, pain radiated off of him, the aura of loss hung around him. He had just lost Crabbe - one of the closest things he had ever had to a friend, one of the people he figured he’d always have, even just as back up.

He needed her.

The one person who wasn’t scared or intimidated by him, but who loved him because she thought that he could do some good.

“She was tortured because of you!” Harry screamed back, the two of them seemingly unaware of the Battle that continued to rage around them.

“I love her,” Draco told him, utterly defeated. “I’ve always loved her.”

“We had to rescue her from your home!” Harry raged, his gaze murderous, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s calls to him.

“Please just tell me that she’s not here - please tell me that she’s safe somewhere - somewhere far away from here,” Draco pleaded.

Harry didn’t respond, but the look on his face before he rushed away with his friends was answer enough for him.

It was enough for him to pull himself together, heaving himself up off of the floor outside the Room of Requirement and, leaving Goyle still recovering on the ground, he moved towards the sound of fighting, determined to find her.

Determined to put her right.

The last time that he had seen her was one of the worst days of his life - it was tied with the day that Voldemort had looked into his mind and discovered her existence and the importance that she held to Draco, and also with the day that she had been captured and brought to Malfoy Manor.

It was his Aunt that took the most pleasure in her company.

While Draco had screamed and writhed against his father’s restraints, wanting to get to her, Bellatrix had cackled and tortured Y/N, though Draco wasn’t exactly sure what she had hoped to gain from it.

Y/N was screaming for death by the time Bellatrix had grown weary and she had been taken to the basement to join Ollivander and Luna who were already being kept captive down there.

Draco had screamed himself hoarse and was sobbing, pleading with his parents to let him go, to let him free her.

It hadn’t taken long for him to realise that they kept her alive only to keep him in line.

Anytime he showed even the slightest sign of doubt, Y/N was brought back up.

When Fenrir had appeared with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dean and the goblin, Draco had for the first time since her arrival, allowed himself the slightest bit of hope.

“Take her with you,” he had pleaded in his mind as the group were thrown down to join the others in the basement. Draco knew that there was no chance of Harry remaining there - he knew he would escape because it was Harry Potter. As infuriating as it was, getting out of tight situations was what Harry did best.

Draco didn’t find her until he entered the Great Hall after Voldemort had called a truce and implored Harry to find him in the forest.

He skirted around the sides of the room, not wanting to disturb the mourners. He felt a pang in his chest when he caught sight of the group of redheads, all of them gathered around a body on the floor.

But his sympathy didn’t last long because only moments later did he catch sight of her and relief flooded through his veins.

He was running towards her before he could think better of it. Tears were streaming down his face and she looked up, hearing the fast approaching footsteps. Her lips parted in shock and then they seemed to twitch upwards in the beginnings of a smile.

Y/N stood up, opening her arms to embrace Draco the moment that he barrelled into her, muttering apologies to her over and over again.

“I’m okay,” Y/N whispered, running her hand through his platinum-blond hair which was, at the moment, tinged black with soot and grime. “I’m okay.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Draco hiccuped, trying to get a hold of his emotions, pulling back but before he could wipe his eyes, Y/N had lifted her hands to do it for him.

“You still look beautiful, you know.”

And even though the word was burning around them, even after the horrors that they had both seen in recent days, months, years, even with the grief in the room and the hollowness in their chests, Draco laughed.

And then, aware that they were being watched by many of their former classmates, he pushed some hair away from her face and kissed her.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy x y/n #courts writings

558 notes · View notes

moeyy-writes · 3 years

Text

Second Chance

Zak Bagans x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, arguing (nothing violent), mention of break-ups, happy ending (with fluff!). Oh, and a super cheesy, silly title. Let me know if I’m missing anything.

Word Count: 3.3k

My Master List

Zak lifted his head as a purple glimmer caught his eye. The room around him was loud, and the lights were flashing in a nauseatingly rapid rhythm. Why the hell did Aaron drag him to a place like this, especially when they had a lockdown the next night? He should be resting and reserving his strength, not wasting his time in some random Vegas nightclub.

It’s a good distraction, Aaron had told him. Although the music wasn’t bad, it wasn’t exactly Zak’s scene. Not anymore, anyway. He preferred less people, and more intimate conversation.

But, right now, he was mentally thanking his best friend for dragging him to this god-awful place as his eyes lifted to a familiar face in not-so-familiar clothing.

“Y/N?” He greeted you, his eyes scanning up and down your glittery purple dress. The deep cut accented your curves better than anything he had seen, and the length was shorter than he ever imagined you wearing.

Not that he was complaining one bit. You looked beautiful.

“Uh, hiya Zak.” You glanced around. “What the hell are you doing here?”

There was no way in hell Zak was there on purpose. He hated places like that, you knew that. But, you remembered seeing Aaron a few minutes earlier, which meant the other paranormal investigator wasn’t far behind.

It had been two weeks since the two of you had talked, and a day less since you had resigned from the show. The last time you talked to the blue-eyed lead investigator, he had admitted to you that he had more than platonic feelings for you. So, you ran.

It wasn’t that you didn’t share those feelings. No, it was quite the opposite. You had been harboring feelings for the older man for at least the past year, probably longer. But, there was no way he truly felt the same way. You knew Zak wasn’t the kind of person to stick around in a relationship for long, and you didn’t want to be the latest victim.

Zak glanced around, as if he was desperately searching for his partner in crime. But, the older friend was nowhere to be found. So, he relaxed his shoulders and locked his gaze on yours.

“Aaron dragged me here as a ‘distraction’. I guess that failed miserably, thank god.” He smiled sweetly, then his expression turned serious. “I’ve been calling you for days. I left voicemails. We thought something bad happened to you.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. You didn’t want to be there either. Honestly, you had no idea why you were there. Distraction was the best word you could come up with. You were hoping to pick up someone to keep your mind off the man you wanted, but knew you could never have.

“Well, I’m alive, and I’m probably not going to be in town for much longer. I took a job in California. My condo there is going to be about a third the size and the same price as the one I have here, but it looks like a nice area.” You peered away, unable to look him directly in the eye. But, even in your peripheral vision, you could see the pain on his face.

“You’re moving? Wow. I guess I never saw that coming.” His voice was softer, almost hard to hear against the pounding music. His shoulders sank more in defeat, making your stomach ache. You knew he felt something for you, but it wouldn’t last. He’d get over you just as fast as the others you had seen come and go.

“Yeah, it’s a good gig. It’s with a news station outside of Sacramento. I’ll be editing their videos before they air.” Zak’s eyes remained wide and painful. You had been friends for years and had been on the show for about half a decade. So, it was obviously a shock to him when you resigned. It was a shock for everyone.

Billy, Aaron, and Jay had also left you multiple voicemails asking where you were and if you were okay. Hell, even Dakota reached out to see what was going on. You knew they loved you and cared, but you weren’t one for goodbyes, and you definitely didn’t want to think about Zak anymore.

“Y/N, we miss you. The last investigation wasn’t the same without you.” He stared down at his feet. “You didn’t even give an explanation. We thought you were in some kind of trouble.”

You narrowed your gaze. “Zak, don’t be stupid. You know exactly why I left.” Your body tensed. Was he really that naïve? Or was he in denial?

“What?” You rolled your eyes.

“Zak, what was our last conversation about?” You crossed your arms over your chest. He wasn’t this dumb. He wasn’t dumb at all. Sure, he had a dorky sense of humor, but he was brilliant. He had to know what was really going on.

His eyes widened again, this time in realization. “Wait, you left because I told you that I love you?” Bingo.

“Zak, do you know how many women I’ve heard you say that to, just for you to toss them to the curb within a few months? You haven’t had the best track record over the years I’ve known you.” You sighed in frustration. “You love ‘em and leave ‘em pretty quickly. I didn’t want to be another statistic.”

Zak slammed his back into the cement wall behind him. His gaze left you, hazing over with an emotion you couldn’t quite recognize. His tight, black shirt hugged his chest as he crossed his arms.

“You think I picked you as a target or something? Y/N, I wouldn’t have told you I loved you after five years if I didn’t mean it! I wouldn’t risk our entire friendship over something like that!” Zak’s chest heaved as his voice got louder. “I know I’ve had several girlfriends since I’ve met you, and I know none of them ever turned out to be much of anything. But, I didn’t know them for more than a week before things progressed. I didn’t have the time to get to know them like I know you.”

You clenched your teeth as you listened to his words. Oh, so he loved you because he knew you long enough to realize you weren’t after his money and fame? Great.

“Zak, why the fucking hell didn’t you say anything before? You’ve had five years to realize your feelings for me, to say something. We’ve traveled all over the country together for years, and we live within four miles of each other. Why are you just saying something now?” You could feel the frustration, and heartbreak, washing over you.

“Because it didn’t seem like you were going to be the one to say it.” You blinked as you took a half-step back.

“Excuse me?”

Zak smirked, pissing you off even more. “You think I didn’t notice they way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t looking? Or how your hand lingered on my shoulder a little too long while we looked over evidence at Nerve? Y/N, I’m not blind.”

Shit. Shit, fuck, damn. He wasn’t blind at all. And, you were sure that the others saw it too. You had flirted with him for as long as you could remember, to the point that it became second nature.

“I didn’t say anything for the same reason I left. I didn’t want to be another Zak Bagans statistic.”

Zak unfolded his arms and stared at you. His eyes were dark, but not with anger, but pain. He tilted his head ever so slightly as he took a step forward.

“Y/N, do you really think I’m that much of a monster? After all of these years, spending weeks at a time with each other, do you really think that I’m incapable of loving someone?” Your heart was about to pound out of your chest. No, you didn’t think he was a monster. Hell, you loved him for how caring and kind he was to everyone around him. He may have carried a cocky, bad-boy persona, but he was really a complete marshmallow under those muscles.

“I don’t think that. I just saw a pattern and didn’t want to be a part of it.” Zak just nodded at your words, leaning back against the wall. You could see his thoughts forming behind his eyes. His face was surprisingly soft, considering his obvious anger.

Zak nodded as he sighed. “Y/N, do you know what the problem was with those other girls?” He let out a sigh. “They weren’t you—”

“Oh, don’t give me that cliché crap, Zak.” You rolled your eyes, unable to contain a frustrated chuckle.

“I mean it. I know it sounds cheesy, but you know me. That’s my humor. And, that’s my entire point. You know me, my humor, and almost everything that swims around in my weirdo brain. And, for a while, I think that scared me. But, now I know that’s something special. You get me like those other girls didn’t. I mean, you know me in ways most other people in my life don’t.”

He wasn’t wrong. When he needed someone to talk to, and Aaron was busy, he called you. He knew you’d give him an ear at three in the morning and would help him with just about anything. And, until now, it was a two-way street. He was there for you whenever you needed someone.

And that was what set you apart from the others. You bothered to know him. You quickly realized that he reached out to you even when he was in a relationship. He didn’t go to whoever he was dating at the time because they didn’t listen like you did.

They didn’t care like you did.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Zak, I—” Tears threatened in your eyes. It was you who was blind all this time. And now you had pushed away the man you loved when he said he loved you back.

You turned away from him, squeezing your eyes shut. Who cared if your mascara was waterproof or not? You didn’t care what you looked like, or where you were anymore. All you could think about was the pain in your chest.

“I’m sorry, Zak. I have to go—”

“No! I’m not letting you walk away again. Y/N, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I get it. I know what you saw.” Zak reached out, gently taking you upper arm.

“It’s what I didn’t see that’s killing me now,” you muttered, nearly drowned out by the music.

Zak turned you back towards him, smiling sweetly at you. “I know. I get it. I think we both do.” He glanced around the packed room. “How about we take a step outside so we don’t lose our voices,” he suggested with his award-winning smile.

It was his softness that sent you over the edge. You let the tears fall as they nodded, allowing your best friend to lead you out of that bustling club and onto the quieter, cooler sidewalk outside.

It took you a few minutes to form another coherent thought; your mind was reeling. Zak wasn’t the monster, you were. Not that you actually thought he was a monster, but this whole situation made you feel like the biggest nightmare of a person one could ever think up. You had to just run from a scary situation instead of being a grown ass woman and expressing your fears. You had been able to openly talk about all sorts of emotions on the show when you were with the guys. But, when it came to actual adult emotions, you ran.

Very mature.

And now you probably skewed the way Zak thought of you for the worse, and there was probably no coming back.

Zak leaned down in attempt to meet your tear-filled gaze. “Y/N, tell me what you’re feeling right now.” You sucked in a whimper and squeezed your eyes shut, letting a new stream of tears free.

“I feel like a fucking idiot. I feel like I royally screwed up and I’ve ruined something I wanted for years, but never thought could happen. I-I don’t know. I don’t know what to think now.” Your voice trembled. You were tired of trying to look tough. It was too exhausting.

“You aren’t an idiot. You were scared, and you weren’t seeing the whole picture. I get that. And I forgive you, not that I really think that I need to forgive you for anything.” His hand cupped your cheek and lifted your head up. “This whole thing was a huge misunderstanding.”

“Definitely. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most, Zak. I did what those other girls did when you needed someone. I’m so sorry—”

“No, don’t be. I told you, Y/N, I understand. Fear makes us do stupid thing. Out of everyone in the world, I know you know that.” He sucked in a long breath, then let out a shaky sigh. “I love you, Y/N. I do. I don’t just throw those words around. I love you so much, and I have for a long time. If you want to move to California, I get it.”

Shit. Fucking shitty fuck. You clenched your teeth. What the hell have you done?

“I—well—not really. Shit, Z, I really fucked up.” Your mind raced as your breathing quickened. Your head started to feel funny, but you tried to keep yourself grounded. “I mean, I haven’t sold my condo yet, and I can withdraw from my offer on the one in Sacramento. And I can decline the job. But, I left the show. I don’t have a job anymore.” Your words came out in panicked breaths as your hands clenched into fists.

Zak smirked. “Well, if you do want to stick around, I think I can pull a few strings and get you your old job back. I mean, we haven’t replaced you or anything. It’s not like we could if we tried.” You nodded slowly, taking everything in.

“Zak, I’m so sorry,” you muttered as you reached out, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His arms quickly supported your waist, cradling you against his chest. He gently rubbed circles with one hand on your back.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay. Y/N, it’s alright.” You nodded against his chest, repeating the mantra in your head. After a few minutes, you started to believe it. Everything was going to be okay. You were there, and you just happened to run into Zak that night. Not that you were much of a believer in fate, but that had to mean something.

After a while, you pulled away from him. You peered up at him, fully aware that you had proven your mascara was less that waterproof.

“I’m sorry Zak.” You nibbled nervously on your lower lip.

He just shook his head. “I know, Y/N. You don’t need to keep saying it. I told you, I forgive you, not that I blame you for anything.” He reached head hand out. “So, are you staying after all?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m staying.” Zak’s smile stretched across his lips.

“Good. And what about us?” Your heart raced like it did just a few weeks ago, when he admitted his feelings for you. But, you sure as fuck weren’t going to run this time.

“I love you too, Zak. You already know that. I know I’ve done a piss-poor job of showing that over the last few weeks. I have some catching up to do.” You finally smiled under the drying tears. Zak chuckled, shaking his head.

“Bullshit. You’ve done enough over the years. No catch up needed, just a little Dijon mustard.” You blinked for a moment, then busted into laughter. He could never pass up a pun, no matter the circumstance.

“Oh my god, Zak,” you chuckled. “Really? Now?” You couldn’t stop laughing, which only made him smile wider.

“Hey, I made you smile. I call that a win.” He wrapped his arms around you again, causing your heart to speed up yet again. This time, you welcomed the feeling, loving the way you felt at home in his arms.

You glanced up at Zak and sighed. “Well, I guess there is no point in either of us being here, huh? I mean, I look like a fucking mess, and well, I guess my original plan is no longer happening.” Zak raised in eyebrow and huffed a laugh.

“Wait, what was your original plan?” His face tensed as he came to a realization. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Either way, you look stunning.” You blushed under the streams of black mascara you were sure were plaguing your face.

“Thanks, Zak.”

You glanced around, eyeing the door as people came and went around you. You had totally forgotten about Aaron. Had Zak driven there with him? Or was Zak Aaron’s ride home?

“I hope Aaron is okay in there,” you mentioned casually, not wanting to sound too nosy. Zak’s eyes widened.

“Oh, man. He probably thinks I either went home with someone or got lost. Probably the latter.” Zak reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His screen was littered with notifications, probably from Aaron. Zak rolled his eyes. “Yep, he thinks I’m lost.” You both laughed.

“Did he drive you here? Is he okay to drive home?” Zak shook his head.

“Nah, we got a cab. He’s probably loaded. We should fine him before he hurts himself.” Zak and you rolled your eyes in sync, then laughed. He was probably right, there was no way Aaron and alcohol were ever a good mix, especially when he was alone.

“Good idea.” You took Zak’s arm and made your way for the door.

Zak paused a few steps from the door. “Did you drive here?” You shook your head. “Do you want to ride with us? We can go back to my place for a while and just, I dunno, do something boring. If you want to talk more, we can do that. Or, we can just watch a movie or whatever. I just know that I don’t like being alone after emotional situations like this, and I know you’re the same way.” He placed his hand over yours, which rested softly on his arm. “No pressure.”

He knew you all too well.

“Yeah, that actually sounds great. I wouldn’t mind a movie in your fancy shmancy theater.” You grinned as Zak chuckled.

“Deal. I don’t know what my inventory situation is on popcorn, but we’ll survive.” You nodded in agreement, then went to take a step towards the door, but Zak gently stopped you. You turned to him, raising a brow.

“Zak?” He just smiled at you for a moment.

“One more thing.” You should have seen this coming. He reached out and took your jaw gently in his other hand, then leaned in, pressing his lips to yours.

You gasped as you made contact, but quickly eased into it. He lingered, letting out a low laugh, before pulling away. You followed him as he leaned back, not wanting to separate just yet.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Zak whispered. You rolled your eyes and shoved his chest. He truly was the king of cliches.

“Oh my god, you cheeseball! One serious moment is all I ask of you!” you teased, before taking his arm again.

“You’ll get one of those at some point, hopefully.” You rolled your eyes for the millionth time.

“Way to keep me on my toes, handsome,” you retorted. Then, you followed him back into the club in search of your friend.

Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated! <3

#zak bagans x reader #zak bagans #zak bagans and reader #zak bagans reader insert #aaron goodwin #gac #ghost adventures

122 notes · View notes

greatbigbellies · 3 years

Text

New commission story. This is an anonymous commission about a dysfunctional couple who wind up pregnant with sextuplets! Contains heavy multiples pregnancy, stuffing, humiliation, and discomfort.

They had been dating for three months, and living together for one, and Morgan was already at his wits end. Lilith, his girlfriend, was lovely, and sweet, and pretty, and all the things he wanted in a girl… but she was also ungodly frustrating because of one reason, and one reason only: she refused to do ANYTHING that might be considered work.

She was between jobs, hadn’t so much as taken out the trash, and still hadn’t unpacked from moving in with Morgan! Now he made good money. Morgan could support the two of them and then some, and he didn’t want a maid for a girlfriend, but what he did want was some backup. Coming home from work every day to see Lilith sitting on the couch playing videogames, with a sink full of dirty dishes, a can full of trash, and a pile of takeout containers was absolutely grating.

So finally, he hatched a plan. Something almost cartoonishly vindictive, but it had to be done, as far as Morgan was concerned. He’d ruin her. He’d knock her up, stuff her full of food, and watch her inflate like a balloon. If she wasn’t going to move, then he’d make her physically incapable of moving! Multiples ran in both of their families, so with any luck, she’d land pregnant with more than one. He also did all of the cooking. ALL of it. So sneaking fertility meds into her meals wouldn’t be too difficult either, he’d decided. And so, his campaign of corpulence began.

13 Weeks

“Nrrrrggghhh… come ON! Damnit!” Lilith swore as she attempted to button her favorite jeans. They had been holding up well through the first trimester, stretching with her skin, but that was starting to change. Of course, a lot had changed in the last 3 months… she’d found herself pregnant, with SEXTUPLETS no less, and was dealing with the ramifications poorly. She’d been stress eating a lot, something Morgan had been enabling quite a bit, and her tummy was already showing some growth. Both from food and babies, her waistline had a definite visible baby bump, and her belly button was flattened and preparing to pop.

“What’s wrong?” asked Morgan as he stepped into the room, a smile in his voice. He looked to see her wearing just jeans and a bra, fighting with the waistline of her pants. “I’m too big for my favorite pair of jeans! These have the cute patches in them!” she lamented. “Oh babe...” he trailed off, circling around to her front. He pulled something out of his pocket and knelt down. She eyed him suspiciously, not sure where he was going with this. He revealed the item to be a thin rubber band, which he stuck through the button hole and wrapped both ends around the base of the button. “Voila!” he grinned. She frowned in return. “Really? A rubber band? They’re not buttoned properly, people will judge me!” “Babe, we’re just going to the mall, it’ll be fine, now put a shirt on and do your makeup so we can get going!” he urged. “Are we going by JCPenny’s to get me a bigger wardrobe?” she asked. Morgan had turned to leave but stopped at the question. He had to think of an excuse quickly.

“Not yet…” he said. “But I’ll get my quarterly bonus soon, then we’ll go clothes shopping then!” he lied. She crossed her arms and glared at him, somewhat temperamental from pregnancy hormones. “You’re really going to make me walk around with unbuttoned pants and a top that rides up because you want to wait for a bonus?!” he grumped. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “We can’t be all willy-nilly with money anymore, Lilith, we have six kids on the way!” he retorted. Her face tightened, then softened. He was right. She rubbed her tummy and sighed. “Yeah, okay, what’s like… one more week with tight clothes? Your bonus is coming in soon right?” He nodded, “Any day now,”

20 weeks

7 more weeks came and went, and Lilith saw no sign of that bonus… or her feet. Now looking full term with one baby, Morgan had been doing a number on her figure. All of the weight seemed to gravitate to her midriff, and so her tummy grew both with child and with a thin layer of fat. Still despite the small wrapping of chub, her bellybutton managed to work its way into a full fledged outie, about as big around as her thumb.

She sat on the couch in her usual spot, playing a first person shooter on the console, but it didn’t feel the same anymore. She’d gotten in an argument with Morgan before he went to work. A conversation about job prospects got ugly when Morgan pointed out she was too visibly pregnant for anyone to hire her. “Get comfy babe,” he’d said, almost mockingly, “You’re not going anywhere for a while,” There was some yelling, and swearing, and Morgan ended up stomping out the door, it was an all around rotten day.

That was, until the door opened, to reveal Morgan carrying what had to be $40+ dollars in takeout from Lilith’s favorite restaurant. “Oh my god, babe, what’s all this?” she asked, turning to watch him. “I felt bad about our fight earlier, so I bought enough food to keep you and the babies happy, as a gesture of good will,” he explained. “Oh, honey, that’s so sweet of you, but I already had dinner! I-” “All the better!” he cut her off. “You’re eating for seven now, and the doc said to let you eat as much as you could, so…” he set the bags on the coffee table beside her. Morgan smiled down at Lilith, looking at her with those cold steel blue eyes. Lilith brushed some of her bright blue hair behind her ear and broke eye contact. “I don’t know hon… that’s a lot of food there…” she trailed off.

Morgan sat next to her, between Lilith and the food, and placed a hand on her bare midriff, running a palm over her stretching skin. “I know it feels like a lot, but this is for the babies! We have to get them up to weight by the time you’re full term, and the only way to do that is to eat everything your stomach can handle,” he explained, somewhat firmly. She sighed, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, for the babies,” she took the first of three heaping takeout containers full of teriyaki chicken, chow mein, and rice, and got to work.

Morgan kept close to make sure she ate every last bite, only getting up to bring her water when she asked for it. The first box went down pretty quickly, her pregnant appetite getting the best of her. The second was remarkably slower, and Morgan could see it filling out her tummy, causing it to push farther out, just slightly. By the time they hit the third box, she was struggling. “Babe I’m too full… I’m done,” she whined in protest. “Nope, you need to finish what you started,” Morgan said, once again rather firmly. “Morgan I’m gonna throw up if I push it any more…” He took the plastic fork and gathered a mix of rice, chicken, and noodles, and slowly delivered it to her mouth. “Just one more bite, for the babies,” he smiled coyly. She begrudgingly took the bite and began chewing, brushing her blue hair out of her sweaty face.

She was the fullest she’d ever felt, her belly feeling overstretched from a combination of growing babies and filled stomach. The pressure radiated from her midriff to make her whole body uncomfortable. She was miserable, and Morgan knew it. He tried not to show his enjoyment, but the truth was this was going better than he could have hoped for. 6 babies would leave her massive, and his mission to stuff her with every calorie under the sun was going smoothly. At this rate, they’d need a bigger bed to both fit on, an expense he was more than willing to make happen.

33 weeks

Lilith’s flip-flops pattered against her feet as she waddled toward the mall food court, moving as quickly as she could, which admittedly wasn’t very quick at all in her state. Wearing shorts that were stretched to capacity, held up with Morgan’s rubber band trick, and a “PINK” tank top that functioned more as a bra than anything else, she blushed red as she made her way. Everyone, from the young to the elderly, stared at her, or more specifically, her massive, mountainous middle. She was rivalling octomom in size, and the bigger she got, the more Morgan found excuses to take her out. He held her hand and tugged her along, leading the charge to the burger joint.

“Babe everyone is staring! I want to go home!” she hissed at him. He turned to give her a side-eyed look and hiss back “You’ll be fine. Now come on, the babies are hungry!” the pair rounded a corner and Lilith came face-to-face with her highschool BFF. Gwen. “Lilith?” she asked, recognizing the hair color. “Y-yeah…” stammered Lilith. Morgan beamed. “Oh my god! Girl you didn’t tell me you were preggers!?” Gwen smiled and circled around to give Lilith a genuine hug. The two girls looked to Morgan, Gwen with excitement, and Lilith with embarrassment. “And Morgan, you’re looking suave as usual,” Gwen smiled. Morgan smirked. “Why thank you,” Gwen turned her attention to Lilith’s pendulous belly, “Gosh I wondered why I haven’t heard from you in months!? When’s the baby shower? I wanna spoil this little…” she trailed off… “These little… guys?” she asked. “We don’t know the sexes yet-” Lilith was cut off “In about a month and a half, we’re going to have lots of fun little games centered about this tank right here,” Morgan gave Lilith’s belly a hearty pat, “So tell all your girlfriends they’re invited, cause it’s going to be big!” he grinned. Lilith shot him a radioactive death glare, but he ignored it, his plans already in motion. “Okay! I gotta run cause I can’t be late for an interview but I’ll catch up later! Bye hon!” she said, running off.

“Bye… Gwen…” Lilith shot another look at Morgan. “What the hell was that?! We’re NOT having a babyshower!” “Says you,” Morgan smirked. He proceeded to pile it on, “But your friend was so excited! Are you really going to dash her hopes like that? She just wants to spend time with you,” Lilith pouted, “I… guess so…” her response was cut off by a deep rumbling from her tummy. Morgan shot her a mischievous grin and took her hand again, continuing their trek.

Seeing as she was too big to fit in the booths, Morgan sat Lilith down at one of the chairs, and went off to order. She could feel all eyes on her as she placed a hand on her tummy to try to calm the movement she felt deep inside. What was in reality only a few minutes felt like hours as she waited for Morgan to return with the food. She was happy when she heard him approach, but was upset at what she saw him carrying. “That’s six burgers!?” she whisper-yelled incredulously. “Yeah, one for each baby!” stated Morgan, matter-of-factly. “I’m not about to pig out in front of all of these people!?”

Morgan’s smile dropped when she said that. “Are you really going to let the stares of a few strangers deny food for your babies? OUR kids?” Lilith sighed. “Well… no, but can we take this home?” her tummy rumbled again in protest. “I don’t think they can wait,” Morgan whispered. “F-fine… but when I’m full I’m stopping,” she sighed. Morgan placed both hands on the firm, warm front of her belly, feeling her popped bellybutton under his right palm. “You’ll stop when THEY’RE full, alright?” Lilith looked down at herself. Her massive, bloated, overly pregnant self, and sighed. “Yes dear,”

She picked up the first juicy, tender steakburger he’d gotten her, and took a huge bite. The food itself actually tasted great, the mustard, tomato, and pickles. She had been craving pickles today, she just didn’t want to admit it. One by one, each burger disappeared into her huge pregnant gut, eliciting happy kicks from its occupants. Morgan smiled as he watched her. These burgers would have given her trouble a month ago, but now? Her stomach was stretched, her babies were hungry, and she had the capacity to be a professional speed-eater, all thanks to him.

Lilith was enamored by the tastiness of the burgers, she was downing one after another, about 40 seconds a piece. She was starting to get embarrassed though. The way Morgan was grinning at her… the way the other mall goers were just… staring. She was a big, fat, pregnant spectacle… and she hated it. She felt a *pop* from the front of her shots and her heavy belly lurched forward slightly, and she knew what had happened. “Uh oh, babe,” Morgan said loudly. “Looks like that rubber band wasn’t strong enough against your belly. I guess you were right,” he shrugged. Lilith’s cheeks burned with bright red embarrassment, but she kept eating, pretending not to hear him.

She jumped slightly as she felt his hand touch her bare tummy, rubbing it gently. “Now isn’t this better? Eating to your stomach’s content?” she swatted at him and pointed to the nearby slushy stand. “Cherry,” she grunted through a mouthful of food. “Whatever you say,” he slipped away. In reality, she just wanted some space from him. Ever since she found out she was pregnant, he’d been so clingy, spending every spare moment with her, making her eat and drink. “For the babies” had become as commonplace as breathing, she felt like, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was doing this all on purpose.

Her thoughts were interrupted by his quick return. “They were out of cherry, so I got you tiger’s blood,” he said, handing her the 44 oz drink. She swiped it form him with one hand, and polished off the sixth and final burger with the other. She felt heavy. Well… heavier, as the six greasy sandwiches settled in her gut. 7 more weeks… then she’d be due, and this would all be over.

39 weeks

Morgan had made good of his promise. He threw a baby shower, and Lilith was the center of attention, despite her wishes. Gwen, along with four other friends of theirs, had come to the party, and despite the relatively small gathering, Lilith felt absolutely smothered. She sat in her usual spot, in the center of the couch, and she was surrounded by her physically close, if not emotionally close friends. Her tummy had absolutely ballooned, and she was so big she couldn’t reach her popped navel anymore. While she’d stayed relatively free of stretchmarks, red and purple veins made themselves known on her shiny, overstretched skin. Her underbelly hung between her legs, which were forced to spread to make room for her massive mound of a womb.

No matter what she did, how much she complained, or what she threatened, Morgan would not buy her maternity clothes. Her belly hung proudly on display for all to see, weather she liked it or not. This had become so much more apparent during the shower. While Morgan brought food and drinks for all, Lilith sat planted on the couch, cooed at and touched like a walking petting zoo. She felt like she couldn’t go 10 seconds without a hand brushing against her belly, and the visible motion from the sextuplets inside did not help. “You’re positively glowing!” They all said. “You exude motherhood!” “I hope I look as good as you when I’m pregnant!” she hated all of it.

She snapped out of her surly stupor when she heard Gwen address her by name. “Lilith, I haven’t seen you covered up once this whole pregnancy! What made you decide to go belly-out the whole time?” Lilith forced a grin, “Well, Morgan had a LOT to do with it,” she replied, mentally grinding her teeth. “You’re just so brave, like it’s such a powerful look! You’re like ‘look out world, pregnant mama coming through’!” Gwen laughed, resting a hand on the side of Lilith’s gargantuan midriff. Morgan stepped into the room with some sort of plastic box. “You girls ready for another game?” he asked. Lilith turned red, the last game had been all about guessing the measurement of her waistline. All the guests had estimated her bigger than she was, and Morgan made a big show of measuring her, having a hard time getting the tape measure all the way around. 72 inches. She was 72 inches around. She was bigger around than she was tall. She almost cried at the realization.

Morgan opened the box to reveal a rainbow of different body paints and brushes, “You all get to belly paint!” Every girl there except for Lilith beamed with excitement. The various paints and brushes were snatched up lightening fast, and before she realized fully what was happening, Lilith was surrounded by five women all kneeling around her and applying paint to her overstretched, pregnant skin. Lilith couldn’t see what was being painted on her due to her sheer size, but she could only imagine how awful and embarrassing it would all look. Morgan already had his camera out, taking pictures.

Shivers went down her spine as Lilith felt the bristles and thick paint run over her sensitive bellybutton, Gwen giggling as she ran the brush up and down. Lilith felt so embarrassed, so large was her middle that she could be used as five canvases at once! Her face turned redder and she frowned as Morgan snapped shot after shot of her massive, bare tummy.

As time passed Lilith grew increasingly agitated. The sensation of paint brushes on her belly was absolutely grating, and the feeling of dry paint caking on the skin wasn’t helping either. She realized she was getting hungry, which was only souring her mood more. She felt her stomach gurgle and saw Morgan’s eyes light up. He as attuned to the sound of her rumbling tummy like a shark to blood, Lilith could tell he had something planned for this event in particular. Her belly rumbled again, this time louder, and the girls started to notice. “Damn girl, we gotta get you fed!” said Gwen, patting the belly. “You must be dying over there!” Lilith shook her head, “No, no I’m fine, I just need-” “Some cake!” beamed Morgan as he carried in a triple layer devils food cake. Lilith gulped.

“Gosh Morgan you treat her so well!” said one of the girls. “Anything for my girl!” he replied, setting the cake on the shelf of her belly. Lilith’s pleading eyes met Morgan’s powerful gaze, and she knew he was about to make her pig out. Right here. In front of all of her friends. He took a seat next to her on the couch, grabbed a fork, and scraped off a big mouthful. “Say Ahh,” he whispered. The girls went back to talking amongst themselves and painting, and Lilith was feeling pinned down by the weight of her sextuplet belly, and triple layer cake. She winced, and took the bite. “There… for the babies,” Morgan said, getting another forkful.

Bite after bite went down and Lilith could feel the brushes on her tummy slow down until nobody was painting anymore. All eyes were on her. She chewed and swallowed bite after bite of the sickeningly sweet cake, the frosting getting on her face and the top of her belly. She felt a couple of hands start feeling up her belly again as she pushed past the halfway mark of the cake.

It was so heavy and rich, and Lilith could feel every bite of it go right to her midriff. The babies began to stir and kick, which only landed more hands on her tummy. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Bite. Chew. Swallow. It became almost rhythmic as she entered a food induced trance. She could faintly hear the girls saying things like “wow, she can really put it away,” and “Is she going to stop?” and “I think I feel her belly getting tighter!”, but she was lost to the caloric intake and sheer, painful embarrassment.

She only came to when the cake stopped coming. When she had eaten it all. Gwen clapped for her. Morgan gave her a kiss on the cheek to congratulate her. Everyone else kept their hands on her belly. “She gets real strong cravings for chocolate sometimes,” Joked Morgan, the other girls giggling at her expense. Moran got his camera back out. “Smile!” he said, mockingly, as he snapped a photo.

A perfect shot of Lilith, 39 weeks pregnant with six babies, her belly bare, resting between her legs. Her tummy was covered in little paint doodles of flowers, trees, landscapes, and stick figure families, except for the top shelf, which was stained brown from the smeared chocolate. Her mouth was open as she breathed heavily through it, feeling ready to burst. Morgan sat down next to her again, and showed her the picture on the camera’s display screen. “This is you babe!” he laughed. “This is what you really are!”

#writing #not bellies #commissions #anonymous

69 notes · View notes