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pixelword · 2 months

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♯┆“But You Didn’t” .ᐟ ★

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Alastor x Gn!Reader <3

Inspired by the poem “But you didn’t”. Set before Alastor died. Fluff with a sprinkle of angst.

Remember the day, I borrowed your brand new radio and dented it?

The radio laid on the dining room table, an obvious dent on the side. It could still play, but it was still damaged. They couldn’t just give it back to Alastor in that condition! He had trusted them to take care of his most prized possession, and they had ruined it! Had it not been for their siblings running around and hitting the table it had been resting on, it would’ve been in the perfect condition they had received it in!

They bit their nail as their foot thumped on the wooden floor of their home, trying to think of how to fix it before Alastor came to retrieve it.

“Y/N! Alastor is here!”

I thought you’d kill me

Y/N freezes in place. He wasn’t supposed to be here for another hour! There’s no way they could fix it before he noticed! Oh he’s gonna hate them forever and never want to talk to them again and ugh why did this happen?!

“Y/N?”

They slowly turn your head to the dining room entrance, Alastor stood there with his usual smile on his face.

“…I’m sorry.” They move to the side, letting Alastor see the damaged gift.

But you didn’t

Alastor walks up to the radio and holds it up, inspecting the damage. Y/N squeezes themselves in a hug, trying not to cry.

“I was taking care of it but the twins were playing and,” the explanation and apologies kept slipping from their mouth.

“Y/N”

“And I’m so sorry I promise I’ll pay you back whatever it costs to get it fixed or get a new one-“

“Y/N,” Alastor puts a hand on their shoulder, making them shut up and look at him. “It’s alright dear.”

“What?” They could've sworn he’d at least get angry.

“Does it play?” He asked them. “Well, yeah-“ He cut them off before they could go on further.

“Then it’s all fine dear! It still does it function.” Their shoulders went down from the tense way they had them as they let out a breath of relief, glad he was not mad at them.

Remember that day, I vomited strawberry pie all over your new carpet?

“Cher, I don’t think you should eat that much.” Alastors gaze looked concerned as he saw them forcing themselves to eat the strawberry pie his mother had made for them. Y/N just couldn’t tell her no no matter how gross strawberry pie seemed to them. They didn’t want her to feel bad or have all her effort go to waste.

“Nonsense, I’m sure I can eat more!” Honestly they felt full already and like they’d regret eating it later. They tried to shove another bite down but the minute the flavor hit their tongue they couldn’t hold it down, puking all the strawberry pie they had eaten.

I thought you’d hate me.

“Oh my goodness Alastor, I’m so sorry!” They immediately apologized, their hands slightly shaking as they panicked and didn’t know what to do. Alastor had recently bought that carpet and they had puked on it.

But you didn’t.

Alastor walked over to them and held them stand up. They moved their hair out of their face as they cleaned their face with a washcloth. “It’s alright dear, I’ll just get it cleaned.” He smiled at them.

Remember that day, I flirted with a guy to make you jealous,

Mimzy’s bar was always full at this time of the night. Many men and many women went there to either have fun or to find someone to have fun with. Some simply went to distract themselves from their sorrows. No matter what someone was looking for, they would have fun finding it.

Sometimes however, what you didn’t want would find you. That was often the case with Alastor. He was a charming man with dashing looks, so it wasn’t a surprise many would try to get lucky and score him.

That let Y/N pouting by the bar, a glass of scotch on their hand. Alastor was too nice for his own good and couldn’t just simply tell all those folks to kick rocks, leaving poor old Y/N by themselves.

A man approached them, slightly flushed, as if he had been drinking for a while. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone?~”

Y/N was about to impolitely tell them to go away till an idea crossed their mind. Why should they watch someone hit on their man like a fool? If he didn’t want to pay attention to them, fine! They’d just get someone else to do it.

and you really did get jealous?

Alastor gave a glance over to Y/N, making sure they were fine and still there before having to do a double take. Some man had decided he was good enough to blatantly flirt with them. His flirting wasn’t even creative or charming! Straight up simple common flirts one could find in a ‘how to get laid’ guide written by someone who was never even touched by another human being with a 10 foot pole! And what was worse is that their dear Y/N was flirting back! If there weren't too many witnesses Alastor would’ve murdered that man right there!

“Excuse me ladies.” He excused himself, his smile now strained. Anyone who truly knew him would know he was in a horrible mood now. Mimzy could only giggle, such a basic plan that for the exact reaction Y/N was looking for.

I thought you’d leave me.

Alastor walked over to the man, grabbing his shoulder rather firmly. “Excuse me, kind sir, but I must inform you that you’re flirting with my spouse!”

The man’s face only held shock as he stuttered out apologies, leaving the couple alone. Y/N simply crossed their arms and poured at Alastor.

“Now my dear, what were you even thinking when you decided to entertain the behavior of that man.”

Y/N's eyes drifted from Alastors face, they could never lie to him when making direct eye contact. “So you can flirt with all those dames but when I do it’s wrong?”

But you didn’t.

“Is that what this is about?” Alastor chuckled, grabbing their chin and easing their face so they’d make direct eye contact. “My dear if you wanted my attention, you could’ve simply asked.”

Yes, there’s a lot of things you didn’t do…

Y/N sat at the table of the restaurant, waiting. He promised he’d be there on time, but it had already been half an hour of him still not arriving. They waved the waiter over, tired and too hungry to wait even more and ordered their food. They’d eat and if Alastor didn’t show up, they’d just go home.

But you put up with me,

They walked alone back home. Alastor had never shown up to the restaurant. From a bit up the sidewalk they could see a man dressed in red, rushing over.

“Y/N…” Alastor took deep breaths as if he had been running. They simply glared at him.

“I’m so sorry cher…” he apologized, his smile wasn’t as big as it commonly was but it was still there, which annoyed them more than anything.

“Fuck off Alastor.” They tried walking past him before he grabbed their arm.

Loved me,

“Mon Cher, I’m so sorry, I swear. It was not my intention to have you wait.” Y/N simply pulled their arm away from his grasp.

“No! You always do this Alastor! You make promises and then you always keep me waiting! I’m tired of it!” They walked away, crossing the road.

Protected me.

Alastor grabbed their arm again and pulled them back towards him in the nick of time. Y/Ns eyes were wide as shock took the over, paralyzing their body. Has Alastor not pulled them back, they would’ve surely gotten hit.

There were a lot of things I wanted to make up to you,

Y/N picked up Alastors coat from the hanger, helping him put it on as he was finishing getting ready for work. They gave him a goodbye kiss and closed the door behind him once he left.

They immediately got to work and started preparations for when he’d get back home. Today was their anniversary and they wanted to surprise him with a clean house and his favorite meal, a recipe you’d gotten from his momma.

When you came back from work.

They put on the finishing touches for their outfit as they checked the clock. Any minute now Alastor would be home and they could celebrate together.

They stood by the door, everything done, and waited.

And waited…

…And waited.

But you didn’t.

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#⸝⸝ ꒰ scheduled programs 💿 ⁞ ˎˊ˗#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #alastor x y/n

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escapenightmare · 1 year

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sick bf bakugou, cursing, lowkey a crackfic n word vomit, written at 4am.

bakugou was extremely stubborn.

when you officially started your relationship, you found out that it was a really annoying trait he had, one that sometimes had your hands itching to aggressively shake him by the shoulders until he shut the fuck up and did what you asked him to.

bakugou was stubborn as hell even when he was painfully sick. a blanket wrapped around him and over his messy and fluffy bedhead as he sat up in your shared bed, looking at you with a sharp frown and disgust even though he looked absolutely adorable in that tired and just woke up state.

"drink the damn soup already," you urge for the fifteenth time in the past twenty minutes, crossing your arms across your chest and looking at him, standing by the edge of the bed.

he looked like he was having a staring contest with the soup bowl you had kept in front of him. he glared at it for a few seconds before looking back at you, eyes narrowing into slits as he basically spat. "no. don't tell me what to do, idiot."

"why not?" you narrowed your eyes back at him, choosing to ignore all his words except for the first one. "you literally manhandle me and shove soup down my throat when i'm sick but you don't want to drink it? and you drink soup every other day so why not now when you actually need it?"

he rolled his eyes and seemed to sink a little into the huge blanket. you don't know which question he answered when he says, "that's different."

you just accept it as an answer to your first question.

"how?" you question, moving closer to him and the bed to fix his big, soft pillows and heavy blanket. "do you want me to manhandle you and force you to drink it?"

"fucking try it and i'll stop making you food for two weeks." he hisses like a cat when you shrug, and he glares when your next move is to move the soup bowl a little closer to him. he shoots you a don't you fucking dare look before speaking again. "it's different 'cause you're the one that was sick, not me."

"well," you wreck your brain for any ideas to make him drink the soup. "i'm not talking to you until all the soup in this bowl is gone." you nod after saying it as if to confirm your own words and he gapes at you, scoffing.

"okay, fine," he grits out after a moment of silence. you begin to smile when he finishes his sentence, "don't talk to me, dumbass."

the smile wipes clean off your face and you glare at him once more, but you don't back out. "fine."

you wordlessly sit on the chair in the bedroom and scroll through your phone, feeling bakugou's gaze burn into the side of your head. too bad for him, he was told not to use his phone since he was sick so all he had for entertainment was the dust particles dancing around the air that he could see from the sunlight streaming in through the opened window.

the silence continues for a few minutes before the rustling and ruffling of sheets told you that bakugou was slowly getting out of the bed. you don't bother turning to look at him, hellbent on completing your self given mission of ignoring him until he drank the soup and emptied the bowl.

bakugou doesn't come to you, instead, he just walks out of the room and heads to the bathroom. you hear him harshly slamming the door shut behind him, making you wince as the sound echoed.

he comes back a few minutes later and you quickly look away the moment he enters the room, going back to your phone and doing whatever.

you start to hear the clinking of metal meeting glass and hide your grin when you realize bakugou was actually drinking the soup, the stubborn bastard. who knew he couldn't stay twenty minutes without talking to you?

seconds later, you hear his heavy footsteps on the carpet come closer and closer towards you until the empty soup bowl is shoved in front of your face. you move back and look up to see bakugou's cocky and quite wolfish looking grin.

"i won your stupid game, idiot." he smugly tells you, setting the bowl and spoon down on the table in front of you, smirking in triumph.

"how the hell does your game logic work?" you shake your head but still wrap your arms around his midsection, closely hugging his stomach and patting him on the back with a smile. "good job, kats."

bakugou pats your head a few times with the smug look still on his face, pleased with himself, coughing and sniffling a little due to his cold.

in no time, you have him under the blankets again (—only because he wanted to and was tired, definitely not because you told him to.) but he forces you to join him as well, telling you that, "i don't give a shit about you getting sick 'cause of me. i'll have to take care of your dumb fuck ass anyways."

"fine, fine," you cave, going under the blanket yourself and keeping your back to him. even though what he said was true, you didn't want to get sick and face the pain of bakugou's nagging and overbearing motherliness.

you could literally hear his voice in your head, forcing you to drink the bitter medicine and syrups and eat the healthy food that was supposed to make you feel better but definitely didn't.

"your soup tasted like shit by the way," he tells you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head while you get comfortable and drift off to sleep with his arms securely wrapped around you.

but he had no clue what the soup actually tasted like.

and you didn't need to know that he had flushed it down the toilet.

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shares-a-vest · 4 months

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@steddielovemonth Day 1: Love is... Letting someone take care of you (Prompt by @starryeyedjanai)

wc: 722 | Rated: G | tw: the ever-present possibility of Steve vomiting, migraines

Tags: Sick Fic, Steve Has a Migraine, Caregiver Eddie

Eddie makes his way down the hall, following the sounds of gross, loud and retching coughs, his pace quickening with each step.

Steve was supposed to meet him at the arcade an hour ago. Steve isn’t exactly the most punctual person (despite the guy always looking at his watch with a laboured sigh). He sleeps in more often than not.

But he’s never an hour late at 2 in the afternoon.

“Stevie?” he asks, just narrowly missing the doorframe as he practically spins into Steve’s bedroom.

He doesn’t wait for an answer and tiptoes towards the blanketed form that is spluttering gibberish like Steve is attempting to answer.

Eddie looks around the room, his hand hovering over Steve’s form.

The place looks about the same as usual – a little too clean for the bedroom of a twenty-year-old boy, curtains drawn like they were downstairs. Steve’s work clothes from yesterday are discarded on the floor...

Wait.

“Sweetheart,” he coos, rubbing the blanketed mass now.

The lump moves to reveal a muss of Steve’s hair, sticking on end, looking greasy and tangled at the back. Steve grumbles.

Eddie rounds the bed, hoping the other side will reveal Steve at least a little.

“So dizzy,” Steve mutters as soon as Eddie spots his flush, pained face in amongst his bedding.

His eyes roll back and close, a full-bodied grimace shaking the pile of bedding.

Eddie eases down and reaches to comb his fingers through Steve’s fringe, only to be hit with just how clammy his boyfriend is. He swoops back the sweat-caked hair, patting it down gently.

“Think I’m gonna… throw up,” Steve says clear as day and gulps.

And Eddie thinks this might be the first time he has ever seen someone’s face flush green.

��I’ll go get your bucket,” he says, earning a reedy whine in protest.

Steve doesn’t embarrass easily, but he does when it comes to his (sometimes vomit-inducing) migraines and the yellow bucket Claudia Henderson brought by after Spring Break and demanded he keep close by. It sits under the sink in the ensuite bathroom now.

Eddie makes quick work of retrieving the bucket, plus some tissues and a glass of water. There are more supplies he could do with, he thinks, but they’ll have to wait.

“Come on, Big Boy,” he says, tugging at the covers, “Time to sit up.”

Steve moves at a snail’s pace to get himself untangled from his cocoon and sit upright. The blankets eventually fall away to reveal a flush, bare chest.

“You naked under there?” Eddie teases.

“Clothes sting,” is all Steve says as he swings his legs around with a monumental effort to hang off the side of the bed.

“Feet on the carpet, sweetheart,” Eddie instructs, placing the bucket in his lap and spotting it with his own hands.

“I’s gross,” Steve mutters, head falling into the receptacle, his voice echoing in its (so far) emptiness, “Go... away.”

He sways a little as if those limited, broken words were too much. Eddie wraps his free hand around his boyfriend’s middle.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he begins, “And you are not gross. You need help. I’m here now.”

He soothes his hand up Steve’s back, feeling him relax a touch.

“O-okay,” Steve hiccups, a tear falling onto his cheek.

“I’m here to look after you,” Eddie reassures, his voice barely above a whisper, “And I’ll get you good enough that we can pack you up and get you over to my house. Sound good, hmm?”

Steve half-nods into his bucket before he looks up.

His eyes are glassy. Nose red. His fringe now sticking to his forehead. He looks like a wreck, unkempt and sweaty. Now only a pale, pink-tinged green.

But Eddie leans forward and presses a kiss to his partner’s cheek anyway.

“Just think about your feet on the carpet, okay?” he whispers when he pulls back, “Your feet are planted on the ground – balanced, steady. Focus on that for a while. It’s okay if you throw up.”

Steve huffs and nods.

“‘Kay.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve.”

Steve drops his head towards the bucket again and Eddie begins detangling at the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

“Thanks,” Steve rasps after a long while of silence (and him not blowing chucks everywhere), “L-Love you.”

#yayyy love month is here #had to go for a sick fic first off #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steve x eddie #steddielovemonth #sick fic 🤧#steddie ficlet #tw vomit #tw vomiting

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 7 months

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WIBTA for calling animal rescue/welfare on my mom who loves her pets?

My mom has 2 cats and 1 dog. I want to start off by saying that she doesn't physically abuse her animals.

They're in a weird state of being really emotionally spoiled and completely physically neglected. The dog sleeps in bed with her and is always on the sofa, doesn't get told off when he pees and poops in the house, and the cats are always getting cuddles. The cats are getting kinda fat because they're fed a lot.

My mom is an alcoholic and she doesn't look after herself or her home at all. It's been years since she showered or bathed, she goes weeks without changing her clothes except for when she works, her house is genuinely falling completely apart. Cupboard doors are falling off at the hinges and propped up with buckets, doors don't close, carpets are coming up off the floor, wallpaper is peeling, the shower door fell off and shattered, the toilet lid is cracked in half, the floors are too dirty to step on without shoes, the entire house STINKS of animal urine and there are stains everywhere. A couple of years back she had an insect infestation in one of the bedrooms.

Now, my mom loves her pets and really emotionally relies on them. Ever since I moved out she's been alone and has regressed even worse because when she's at home she has nothing to do but drink and watch TV. The pets are her only company most days.

However, her bad hygiene and home care translates to them. It has been YEARS since the dog was walked, and months since he even got a cursory trip over the road to the small grass area outside her house. His fur is always matted, and he recently had fleas (god knows how when he doesn't leave the house but there you go). He has bald patches of fur missing. He pees and poops all over the floors and carpets because he just doesn't get let outside to do it enough - and he runs away or hides when you find it so he 100% knows he's not supposed to, he just doesn't have a choice because he's not able to go into the garden. His claws are always so long they're bothering him when he walks, and as gross as it is to describe there have been COUNTLESS times I've visited and he's had literal shit caked onto his fur around his tail because he's had diarrhea and when I've pointed it out that he needs to be washed my mom brushes it off with "It's only a little bit" and continues to let him onto the bed/couch.

The cats are mildly better off because they can clean themselves, but their litter trays are always OVERFLOWING - like, genuinely, mountains of cat poop piling up in the trays to the point where they're going on the floor because they don't have room in the tray - and one of them is sleeping in a bed that is Caked in vomit stains, clumps of hair, other miscellaneous marks, all of that.

I've called someone about it before when I still lived there, and a woman did stop by to check it out and told my mom that the cat litters were unacceptable, but my mom just lies to them. According to her the dog gets walked twice a day without fail, gets a ton of enrichment, everything, and you can't really prove her to be lying. The woman told her she'd drop by in a week to check on the litters, my mom kept them clean until she came back and gave the okay, and then just went right back to neglecting them and nothing was done about it.

I have no idea what to do anymore but I want to call again and really impress upon them that they're not being cared for. I sent photos and video evidence last time along with an explanation, but it doesn't seem like it got me anywhere at all. I just don't know what else to do. I've brought up the idea of taking at least the dog with me to my new place (it's very nearby so she'd still be able to visit him and I'd be able to walk him up to her house), but she VEHEMENTLY objected and told me she'd never be able to let him go.

I'm not sure what it would do tbh, even disregarding that she'd probably just get a new pet I would be genuinely worried she'd lose all interest in life if they were taken away.

TL;DR Mom's alcoholism means she doesn't look after her pets and they're not being cared for at all, but taking them away would severely impact her mental health.

WIBTA for calling animal services on her again?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #unsanitary cw

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vampyrsm · 1 year

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An Ode to Lost Love.

✞ — Synopsis: What was that quote about another's silence? “Be leery of silence. It doesn't mean you won the argument. Often, people are just busy reloading their guns.” Right. You should’ve seen this coming, really, it was a little stupid of you to believe he just forgot all about you.

✞ — Warnings: MDNI. Dark content, implied stockholm syndrome, mentions of murder, the reader receives death threats, yandere behaviour, violence, blood, injuries, asphyxiation, the reader is knocked unconscious, concussion, heavy manipulation, preying on the reader, dumbification, objectification, gaslighting, non-con, dubcon (but hardly, it's a very grey area), disassociation, minimal/no prep vaginal sex, burning/marking in detail, reader vomits once due to injuries, creampie, breeding kink, baby trapping, Dabi flipflops a lot between emotions.

✞ — Word Count: 7k

✞ — Notes: This is a Dabi x female!Reader. This is my first real dark content fic. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not interact. Please take care with the warnings, it's very much a dead dove: do not eat. Posted over on AO3 too for ease of reading. I definitely do not condone anything that has been written here, I'm also not romanticising noncon or any of the warnings. Thank you for taking the time to read it, remember to take care and enjoy :)

Living in the aftermath of someone's destruction was just as you would expect; chaotic, and lonesome. You had signed up for this all those years ago but you hadn’t expected it to turn out quite like this. You were never going to get used to the stares when someone recognised you in the store, or the smashed windows of the local youth who wanted to shame someone who was tricked with the promise of something more.

Though you didn’t feel ashamed for what you had done, nor did you regret it – for the most part, anyway. Sure you had regretted keeping silent when you saw a man lose his life because of a simple mistake, you should’ve left when you realised that you were being lied to. That the man you had fallen in love with was not a misunderstood young man but rather a cruel and deceiving criminal.

The man in question? Touya Todoroki – also most commonly known as Dabi.

You hated this part of town, it was… less than decent. Run down and filled with low-life criminals who were on the run or simply just wanted to live a somewhat normal life. The walls of the buildings you pass by are decaying, unrepaired from when heroes did decide to pay a visit to the neglected parts of the cities and towns they were supposed to serve and protect.

What a fucking lie.

It’s not that you hated hero society, per se, but you also knew how disgusting some of the heroes still were. After everything Touya went through after he poured his heart out to you and the rest of the world – nothing fucking changed. Of course, it had pissed you off when they exhausted him to the point of near death before carting him off to Tartarus, they were sweeping him under the rug to be forgotten about. You attempted to reach out to the other members of the liberation but none of them wanted anything to do with you, you weren’t a villain. You were just attached to one.

The stairs up to your rundown apartment were practically crumbling with each step, you made sure to avoid the 8th step that was shattered entirely. When you first moved here, you thought it would only be for a short amount of time, just somewhere to lay low to avoid the probing questions of the heroes who wondered if you were compliant in any of Touya’s crimes. But the two-year timeframe you gave yourself quickly turned to three, then five, and now here you were eight years later. The apartment building looked the same as when you first moved in, the mysterious stain on the carpet leading to your apartment had never been removed and you’re pretty sure the world will end before it’s ever cleaned.

Your door opened with a creak, the old hinges were hanging on for dear life and you never worked up the nerve to ask the guy who let you live here to try and fix it. Of course, you would do it yourself, if it were not for the fear of breaking it entirely and having no door at all in such a shady neighbourhood. With a click of the door behind you, your entire body relaxes with a drop of your shoulders and you drop the keys in the chipped bowl by the front door.

Once free of your shoes, you trudge further into the apartment. Inside it was much nicer than outside, you had made sure to work hard to make yourself comfortable here. At first, you hesitated on decorating, the constant voice in the back of your head telling you that Dabi—Touya wouldn’t like it. But it became easier over time, as the claws he had sunk in your flesh had loosened with each passing day without him leering over you. Of course, he still lingered deep in your bones, scars like the ones he left on you would never truly go away.

You hadn’t realised you were quite so ‘damaged’ until after he was gone. When you were suddenly allowed to break the surface of the water Dabi had been holding you down beneath to see you squirm, it was jarring, to say the least. You struggled day to day wondering what to do with yourself, you had no one to direct your every move or to care for you the way he had. The first couple of years were the worst, a constant void in place of where your heart should be. You longed to have Dabi back, to card your fingers through soft snow-like hair, you missed his insufferable warmth. It had suffocated you at first until it became a comfort, something you needed to get through the day.

The letters you sent back and forth with him had helped some, the smell of smoke and ash when you’d open a new letter from him would get you through the darkest of nights. He had always had a way with his words, not many would think that of Touya, he hadn’t finished school and he most definitely didn’t have the support through his teenage years but he had taught himself how to read and write. And he was very good at it, very fucking good.

With each letter, you could practically hear his voice, the syrupy low tone that would muddle your brain and numb your nerves. Those letters had started to grow more erratic, it morphed from the loving Touya you had been privileged to know in the safety of his bedroom into Dabi, a cruel villain who wanted you to suffer just as he had. He didn’t take it easy when you told him you were starting to question the legitimacy of your relationship with the scarred man. He grew unkind with his words, the I love you turning into I wish you were fucking dead at the end of each letter.

He felt betrayed, you figured, everyone he had known had abandoned him and you were just the same as the rest of them. His final letter went into gruesome detail as to what he would do to you once he got out, how his hands may be made to burn but he would relish in watching the light leave your eye when he choked you to death. You didn’t need to read further to know he would’ve gone into detail about what he’d then do with your dead body. That was the last letter you had read, but they continued to come every fortnight like clockwork until they didn’t. You figured he might’ve gotten bored, or perhaps someone had taken him out on the inside. There wasn’t a shortage of people who would want Dabi dead.

The bag in your hand was heavy as you dropped it onto the counter of the tiny kitchen, the relief in your wrist was instantaneous and you could finally relax fully. Your eyes close for a brief moment, relishing in the quiet of the apartment with the distant sound of sirens from down on the street. It was good to be home, each trip was harder than the last with the fear of being recognised by heroes, or worse. With the safety of your home wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, you reopened your eyes to begin the trivial task of putting away the groceries. But as you step further into the kitchen, it’s as if your entire body is dunked into ice water.

There’s a letter. An open letter was pinned to the old wooden cupboard with one of the knives from the rack. You don’t need to get closer to know which letter it is, the paper is well-worn and the big hearts he had drawn at the bottom are enough of an indicator. It’s the one he sent you on your birthday. It was riddled with love confessions, how he missed you more than anything in the world and when he’d get out he promised your hand in marriage. A life you wanted but knew you’d never get with a man like Dabi.

You take a step back, hip bumping into the corner of the counter to startle you into action. You whip around, ready to run out of the apartment but instead, your path is cut off almost instantly. There’s a broad chest in front of you, wide shoulders and a head of snowy white hair that you would recognise in a crowd of a thousand people. When you meet his eyes, he’s sneering down at you with a heat in his eyes that you saw moments before he would burn someone alive.

“Hello, doll. Miss me?” His voice hasn’t changed in the eight years apart, it’s still got a timbre to it that you can feel deep in the pit of your stomach. He looks bigger, somehow, the muscles of his neck and shoulders look firmer. He had always loomed over you but now he seemed even taller, swallowing the room whole with just his aura alone. Dabi must be able to see the way you’re eyeing him up, not quite in the way you had in the past but rather in a way that makes him excited; you were thinking of running.

You’re horribly predictable, he realises as you dash to the other side of the kitchen to dart around the tiny kitchen island that really didn’t give you any sort of head start. You can hear him click his tongue, then huffing a sigh before there’s the loud squeak of his boots and the thump of his bounding footsteps as he chases after you. The apartment is small, you don’t have a whole lot of room to make your escape so you have to rush past him when he starts to corner you into the hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

A big mistake, you realise. He’s always been quick, and lithe on his feet and it reminded you of when a snake would strike. Fast and precise. His hands grab at your ribcage, easily swiping you off your feet before you’re slammed against the closest wall with a bang of your head on the wall. The world swirls when you try to look at him, the blue of his eyes glowing with mirth at the fact you even tried to outrun him. You’ve never been able to do it before, so what made you think you could do it this time?

“Silly fucking bitch,” He snarls in your face, the heat coming from his hands alone makes you squirm uncomfortably, you can feel the sting of welts starting to form on your skin in the shape of his hands. “You thought you could hide from me, didn’t you? You really fucking thought I’d forget about you?” Your silence isn’t what he wanted, apparently, as he pulls you from the wall just to slam you against it once again before throwing you to the floor. The movement has your stomach churning, bile rising in your throat when your head impacts on the floor again.

“I’d never forget about you, never.” His weight is heavy as he settles atop you, his thighs effectively pinning you beneath him before his hands descend onto your throat. His eyes are wide, manic, his lips parted in a twisted grin that makes him look more like the Devil himself. “Remember what I said to you? Hm? You remember the letters I sent?” You choke against his hands when he pushes harder, your fingers instinctively trying to come up and loosen his hold on you. “FUCKING ANSWER ME!” The spit of his words hits you in the face, but your entire head feels numb and fuzzy, your lips hurt – everything does.

“Y–” He leans in closer, sneering in your face and it does nothing to relieve the pressure on your throat. You’re going to die, he’s actually going to do it. “Yes!” you croak, hardly an audible word but Dabi hears it loud and clear. He holds eye contact as if he’s waiting for something, you’re not quite sure. Maybe he’s waiting for you to die, he had wanted to see the life drain from your eyes—

His hands come away from your throat, a too-hot hand latching on the underside of your jaw and his blunt nails dig into your cheeks. You suck in a harsh breath, choking on the sudden reintroduction of oxygen but you don’t get much longer to relish the fact you’re still alive. Dabi looms over you, the outline of his body blocks out the dingy yellow light overhead, giving him a grim outline that you have to squint at when you look up at him properly.

“Yeah? Then why’d you ignore me? Why’d you make me think you were fucking dead, or that you were busy getting fucked by some other guy like the whore that you are.” There’s a warning in his eye that prompts you to reply.

“I–I was scared!” you clear your throat uncomfortably, the confession coming from your mouth unwillingly but it was the hard truth. You were terrified of him and the things he had said to you, solely because you knew he would go through with it. If Dabi was anything, then he was a man of his word. His fingers curl harder into your jaw, forcing your mouth to open with the pressure. The look in his eye terrifies you, you can’t tell what he’s thinking with the way his eyes bounce back and forth between your own. He’s searching, you belatedly realise, searching to see if you’re telling the truth.

“Good,” he finally says, “You should be fucking scared.” He pulls your head from the floor just to smash it back against the floor in a blink of an eye. Everything falls into inky darkness.

There’s a distant sound of water running, but it sounds like it’s miles away. Your mind starts to slowly swirl back to life, the pain at the back of your head blossoming into something fierce that has a pained groan coming from your lips.

When you open your eyes, you’re no longer looking up at the ceiling of your hallway but rather at the ceiling fan in your bedroom, you’re not sure if it’s actually on or if your vision is still swimming. Nothing is quite adding up, how did you end up here? You were on the floor, and a ghost of something heavy atop of you had your mind jogging to try and catch up. But you weren’t always on the floor, something had put you there — no, someone had put you there. Dabi.

He’s not here, as far as you can tell, there’s no immediate warmth that comes with him when he steps into a room but there’s a distant smell of ash. He was still lurking. The shooting pain in the back of your head has your body jolting, muscles seizing up before they relax once the pain subsides just enough to let you breathe.

You were no idiot, you had hit your head a number of times, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were teetering on the edge between life and death. Though that doesn’t deter you when your mind finally catches up with you, you have to get out of here. If he’s not here right now, then you have a chance to leave. This might be the last chance you have.

With a great effort that has your face screwing up, eyes clenched shut, you roll yourself onto your side until your face is stuffed into the soft cotton of your bed sheets that you huff against. Your entire body felt like it was being weighed down, your muscles screamed when you slowly got your arms beneath you to push yourself up enough to stare down at the bed. Instantly your eyes lock onto the patch of still-wet blood, the stain was massive and the sight of it had your stomach threatening to empty itself. Or maybe that was the concussion.

Your feet slip on the floor when you try to find your footing, your knees colliding with the floor with a muted thud that you hope Dabi doesn’t hear. The feeling of your jeans against the skin of your knees is relieving, you knew Dabi preferred for you to be … conscious, but you wouldn’t put it past him to want something regardless of whether you were awake or not. Slowly, you get up onto unsteady feet as if you had never walked a day in your life before. Your vision swims again when you stand up straight, it feels as if your head is ten times the size it is as it lolls back in threat of toppling you over again.

But just as you’re about to fall, there are hands catching you beneath your armpits and letting your head land against a shoulder – a bare one, but your mind doesn’t quite connect the dots just yet. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? You can’t do anything without me, no wonder you panicked when I wasn’t here anymore…” Dabi drawls into your ear, but his voice sounds like it’s submerged in water. He breathes in a heavy exasperated sigh, his body jostling yours. “C’mon doll, let’s get you cleaned up. You made such a mess.”

There’s no room to argue, not that you would be able to form one with how your tongue tingles and your throat burns. Dabi is anything but graceful with the way he drags you towards the bathroom, uncaring for your feet that slip or bang against the corner of the shoddy old wooden door as you pass by.

There’s a bang of a door and you’re submerged in sticky warmth, the steam from the bathtub filling the room to the point where you can’t quite see more than a few inches in front of your face. With a shove and a push, you find your hands pressed into the slippy tile of your bathroom sink, your mind still too foggy to control your extremities and you find yourself pressed against the cool glass mirror.

You can feel Dabi’s eyes on you as he watches you struggle to get your bearings, your forehead pressed to the glass is soothing against the deafening thunderstorm in your head. His fingers are long when they wrap themselves carefully around your throat this time, pressing into the bruises you weren’t aware had already formed from his previous attack. Your head slumps back against his shoulders and you can just make out the glowing blue of his eyes as he stares right back at you, it always felt like he had the ability to stare into your soul.

“Look at you…” He coos, voice a soft contrast to the harsh voice from earlier. His spare hand cards through your hair, brushing past the gash on the back of your head that has you wincing. “My poor baby, you did this all to yourself.” Had you? You supposed he did have a point, you did ignore his letters, and you did try to run when he always told you to never do it. If you weren’t so stupid you might’ve avoided this, you shouldn’t have turned your back on him.

His burning fingers slide up from your throat until he grabs at your jaw once again, angling your head to stare at yourself directly in the mirror. Even through the thickness of the steam you can see you look on the verge of half-dead, there’s no life to your eyes, no usual glow to your skin. It’s horrifying to see yourself looking like a different person entirely. You were no longer you, but rather you were reduced back to the role of being Dabi’s plaything. Dabi hums deep in his throat as if he can hear the sluggish thoughts rolling around in your mind, hooking his chin over your shoulder.

“Look what you did to my baby, my doll. She’s all broken and for what? Because you forgot your place?” He clicks his tongue, chin withdrawing from your shoulder until he’s drawn back up to his full height and you can just make out the look on his face. His nostrils flared, lips drawing into a grim line and eyes half-lidded. “Maybe I should do you a favour, remind you of your place.” Dabi spins you on the spot, steadying your whirling head with both of his hands before he takes a careful step back and you can’t help but wonder if he plans on reminding you of your place by finally putting you out of your misery.

“Strip.”

What?

“Don’t make me do it for you, you won’t like it.” It’s a very clear warning, blaring sirens and red flags. You have to blink hard, will your mind to work with your trembling hands that attempt to grab at the bottom of your shirt. It feels like an eternity goes by until you’re dropping the shirt onto the floor with a wet plop, your eyebrows furrow at the sound but when you attempt to look down your vision swims again – “Useless.” Dabi grumbles before his warmth is pressed to your front, the smell of forest fire smoke choking you.

His fingers are quick and precise when they undo the buttons of your jeans before they’re shoved down your thighs, pooling at your ankles and Dabi is at least courteous enough to let you hold his forearms when you climb out of them until you’re left in just your underwear.

As if appraising a piece of art in a museum, Dabi lets his eyes slowly trail over flesh that he had seen an endless amount of times in the past. His head tilts slowly, regarding the swell of your breasts in the cup of your bra and the softness of your stomach, the way your hips pudge a little from the tight elastic of your plain underwear.

Still engulfing your personal space with his heat, he lets a hand slide up along your side, pressing dangerously into your ribs to hear the sharp inhale of when his fingers brush into bruised skin and muscle. Cerulean eyes level with your own when he inches around to the back of your bra, his fingers seemingly hardly move before the straps slip down your shoulders and the cups slacken on your chest. He plucks it from your body, letting it drop to the floor before his fingers trail back around to your front.

He keeps his head tilted, gaze redirected down to your chest and he can’t help but wet his tongue in anticipation. You had always been his most prized possession, the most beautiful, a masterpiece that was all for him. Those same too-hot fingers trail along the underside of your breasts, feeling the weight of them before groping one much too hard in one large palm. His fingers curl cruelly, squeezing as if it were a stress ball and all you could do was take it, your face crumpling in pain much to his delight.

“I trusted you, y’know.” He all but mumbles, gaze not lifting from the way your tit spills between his fingers when he gives another squeeze. “I thought it would always be me and you, against the world or whatever the fuck they say.” His thumb and index finger mercilessly pinch your nipple, tugging on it harshly to pull a pitiful cry from your mouth.

The sound has his eyes flicking up to yours, watching the way your lashes clump with unshed tears and how you’re not even attempting to stop the saliva dribbling from your lips. You really were so pathetic. Dabi chews on his scarred bottom lip for a moment, tossing over a thought in his mind but instead he opts to move his fingers to your neglected nipple, pulling and tugging until you’re a snivelling mess.

“‘M sorry!” You sob, the volume of your voice makes your head throb and the tears falling in fat streaks make your head feel heavier. “I’m sorry, Touya! Please, I–I didn’t know what to do without you.” The use of his name makes his eyebrow twitch, jaw clicking in place when he glares at you. It’s a low blow, to use his name like that and he knows you know that. He had always forbidden you from using that name unless you were given permission.

“Last warning, doll. I’m being nice here. You don’t get to use that name when you betrayed me.” His words have your mouth closing, bottom lip wobbling in an effort to keep yourself from openly crying in front of your tormentor. He would only ridicule you for it, tease you and see how far he could go before you broke apart from his words alone. Dabi doesn’t wait to pull down your panties next, the material dragging and scratching at your skin until they’re pooled at your feet along with everything else. “Turn around.”

And you do. You wordlessly turn, letting your hands brace on the sink once again before you meet your own gaze in the mirror. You somehow looked worse, the snot and saliva made you look quite like the snivelling petulant child that Dabi spoke to you like. There’s a clink of a belt before it hits the floor, the dropping of your heart into your stomach threatens to tip you over the edge.

A boot kicks your ankles apart, uncaring for the way you flinch at just how hard he kicks you. You’re perched over the sink, your stomach twitching every time it touches the cold porcelain. Dabi had only ever forced himself onto you a handful of times in the past, at the start of your “relationship”, he always soothed your tears and hushed your refusal with false promises hidden in between his sickly sweet words.

Over time the lines blurred between him forcing himself onto you and you willingly opening your legs for him when he asked for it. It pleased him to see you listening to him, and he became ‘softer’ if that was a possible word to describe a villain like him. Time spent with Dabi got easier when he was softer, it actually felt believable when he whispered into your ear at night how much he loved you, how much he appreciated you and how he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. It was hard to distinguish his lies and the truth when he looked at you like you hung the moon and stars.

A searing hot hand pressed to your bare ass has your mind jolting, bile rising momentarily in your throat until you lean into the coolness of the sink once again. Those same fingers that feel as if they had come from the depths of hell brush their way down over your sensitive skin until they find their way between your thighs. And much to your embarrassment, you’re wet. Biology was a cruel mean thing, your body was still hardwired to react to the man of your nightmares lest you want to face the consequences. Your bottom lip wobbles, thankful for the fact Dabi is preoccupied with his new discovery.

His laugh is loud and boisterous, almost manic with the way his eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re fucking wet. I knew it,” he breathes in hard, pushing his hips flush with your own and you can feel the twitch of his leaky cock between your cheeks. “I knew you missed me, I knew you still loved me. This pussy never lied to me, unlike someone.” His words sting, a jab directly into your heart.

He sounds hurt, upset that you’d actually try to lie and hide away from him. It has fresh tears pricking your eyes, how could you hurt someone like him? Someone who loved you so devotedly.

Long deft fingers prod and poke between your thighs, pulling your lips apart crudely to watch the strings of arousal snap and cling to your thighs. He’s still chuckling deep in his chest, elated with the newfound knowledge that you still want him in such a carnal way. He circles your clit in clumsy patterns, enough to have your thighs tensing up and hips arching into the pleasure you’re unwillingly receiving. But the thing about Dabi is—

He’s not a patient man.

The tip of his cock pierces your unprepared hole, the pain shoots from deep in your pelvis and ricochets up your spine until it tingles at the base of your skull. Your hands help brace yourself over the sink, your head drops down and you’re vaguely aware of the way your throat aches with a scream. His fingers find a home in hidden bruises, the sting of his metal staples heating against your skin is familiar. Dabi had always been big, thick and unforgiving with the piercings that he adorned. Each of the barbells digs into your velvety walls, his hips so flush with yours you’re not sure where you end and he begins anymore.

“Fuck, missed this too much. Thought I’d never get to feel your cunt wrapped around me again.” His words are vulgar, but they spark something to life in your brain. Something you hadn’t quite considered until now. Just how was he here? Last you heard Dabi was never getting out, he killed too many people and committed far too many crimes to just be let loose on the world again.

Though you never got to air the question, his hips drawback until they’re smacking back against your ass. The pace from there on out is brutal, the tip of his cock bullies itself into your clenching cunt until it hits against your cervix. Each tap feels like you’re being punched in the gut, your lips parted in a soundless scream.

The pain was too much, the ache in your head was getting steadily worse and the back-and-forth thrashing of your body was making you woozy. “D–Dabi…” You try to speak, the words slurred with the saliva that dribbles from your parted mouth and drips into the sink.

“What?” He snarls, grunting with the effort of how hard he’s fucking you.

“Hurts.” You reply with a gasp, his fingers instantly latching around your throat until you’re pulled up to face what you assume must be the Devil leering over your shoulder with the most disgruntled expression on his face.

You can smell the burning of flesh before the pain registers, the sizzling hardly audible over the sound of his hips slapping against your abused rear. “Yeah? Maybe it’ll teach you a fucking lesson. Next time you think about trying to leave me, you’ll remember how much it hurt.”

His fingers squeeze tighter around your throat until you can’t breathe, the horrid stench of marred flesh the only thing flooding your system when you desperately try to suck in air. Then you’re falling forward, your forehead plummeting with force against the mirror and you think you hear it smashing over the deafening ring in your ears. It feels like your head is being held under a pillow, like someone has pressed two large hands over your ears and held you there. Your throat burns, for a lack of a better word. The flesh bubbles and hisses with a reminder of Dabi’s words.

You’re not quite sure how much time has passed until you work up the strength to lift your gaze to the now-smashed mirror. The first thing you notice is the blood trickling down from a gash on your forehead, trailing down along the bridge of your nose until it meets the plumpness of your lips – filling the cracks with a metallic taste. Then you see it, the burn, it’s gnarly.

The flesh is hardly recognisable as flesh, it looks like butchered meat. It’s blistered already, layers of the skin open for the world to see and the sight finally does tip you over the edge. The bile doesn’t burn quite as much as the 3rd-degree handprint on your throat as you spill the contents of your stomach into the sink.

Dabi groans in anger, snarling as he retches you away from the sink and throws you onto all fours on the floor. “Disgusting fucking whore,” There’s something wet pressed to your mouth, a sponge you realise, as it drags roughly against your mouth until he forces it into your mouth. The scouring pad scrapes along your tongue, replacing the taste of vomit with soap. “Always making me clean up your messes.” Then it’s gone as fast as it came, your body being shoved and pushed until your back is against the bathmat and you’re staring up at Dabi who seems to be kneeling already between your thighs.

He wastes no time once again in pressing himself back inside of you, the stretch this time nowhere near as painful but it reignites the old ache of when he first forced himself inside. Your heart aches when you stare up at him, silhouetted by the flickering dim light of the bathroom bulb. It makes the white of his hair glow, angelic your brain supplies, but he was anything but an angel. His hands grab at your thighs, forcing them back until they uncomfortably press into your chest. The angle makes it hard to breathe, the furious pace he sets is agonising.

But your body is betraying you once again, the lewd squelch of your pussy is giving you away. A deep dark and twisted part of you has missed this, missed him. Missed the way he would fuck you like it was his last day on earth, like he had something to prove. It has an involuntary whimper leaving your throat, and of course, Dabi perks up at the sound – whilst he didn’t care much if you were silent the entire time, he always enjoyed the cute noises you’d make for him and only him. His eyes find yours, and you’re sucked into the endless expanse of the blinding blue Hellfire.

Dabi has a new goal in mind now, to fuck you the way he knows you liked to be fucked. His hips roll a little more fluidly, finding the old rhythm from all those years ago that surely would have your eyes rolling into the back of your head and your lips parting to sing him the most beautiful of songs with your moans. You don't disappoint him either, not when his thumb joins the fray and rubs languid circles against your puffy clit. The initial contact and stimulation have your hips jerking, fighting against the hold he has on you but it’s futile; he has you pinned beneath him much like a wolf would with its prey.

“There she is,” he grins when your fluttering eyes meet his, that contempt and confusion you had held onto for so long being replaced with a glassy look in your eye that must be lust. “There’s my fucking girl. Missed you so much baby, missed your cute noises. Y’gonna give me more, right? It’s the right thing to do, after all, you did hurt my feelings.” He still looks angelic angled over you like this, the shadows of his face almost hiding the glinting staples and scars that cover most of his body now. You can’t help but nod at his words, it’s the right thing to do, isn’t it?

Dabi groans at your assent, fucking into you somehow harder. The slap of his heavy balls against the rim of your ass is loud, the sticky sound of his hips meeting yours fuels your own impending orgasm.

Of course, Dabi knows it’s coming too, his thumb presses firmer against your clit and moves a little faster to edge you closer and closer whilst he drops his hips just enough to have the tip of his cock hitting that squishy spot that no one but him has been able to reach.

You can’t help but gasp and squeal, your back arching off of the floor until it slams back down when your orgasm hits you like a train. It’s violent, shakes through your bones like an earthquake would through a building. Your toes curl uncomfortably in the air, your thighs twitch in an attempt to close them to bar the man still torturing your clit from causing you any more pleasurable pain.

“Enough,” you try and push his hand away but Dabi never listens, he bats your hand away with a harsh slap that has your skin tingling in pain. “You’re gonna take it, like the good girl I know you are.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can,” He grapples your still twitching thighs until they tighten around his waist and then he’s diving down to your face. His breath is hot against your face, the smell of cigarette ash suffocates you.

“I know you can. Now kiss me.” He demands, and the fear of not obeying his command in such a compromising position has you indulging him. Your lips press against his, you work hard to try and keep yourself dispassionate but it’s impossible when he does the thing with the tip of his tongue – drags it along your bottom lip so delicately until he pries you open, lets the smooth expanse of his tongue coax yours out until he can suck on it.

The steadily rising heat of the kiss engulfs you, douses you in an indescribable warmth that you can’t help but lean into the familiarity of it. It’s intoxicating to let go of that fear, to detach yourself from the person you had become in the eight years of solitude and recede back into the one who was simply in love with a man who was willing to burn down the world at her feet. But you’ve never been allowed to live in the illusion you formulate to ignore the harsh reality of things, Dabi would never give you that luxury.

His lips part from yours with a wet smack, saliva coating your lips and he grins again. The staples in his cheeks almost look like they might split as he stares at you, splayed out with a faraway look in your eye when you stare up at him.

“Gonna cum inside this beautiful pussy,” he breathes, eyes coming to life when your eyes slowly start to refocus on him and the words he’s letting spill from his saccharine mouth. “Fill you up nice and good with my cum, get you pregnant so you can never fucking leave me.”

What? Is that what he wanted? You squirm in an attempt to get away from him, but he keeps you uncomfortably pinned in a deep mating press whilst his cock bullies itself deeper – you hadn’t even noticed the way it was twitching so harshly in the depths of your pussy until now. He was too close, he was really going to do it—

“Oh fuck, yeah, squeeze me like that baby. I knew you wanted me to breed you.” You don’t, you don’t want to be trapped with his child. It’s the ultimate thing he would hold over your head until the end of time, you could never escape him if you gave birth to a child that had the same dangerous eyes as his. “Aw, doll, don’t cry. It’s okay, I won’t leave you to raise the brat on its own. I’ll be there, always.” You hadn’t even realised you were crying until he mentioned it.

The groan that rumbles deep in Dabi’s chest and vibrates up through his throat is something you would never, ever, forget. It was a sound that meant only one thing; he was about to cum. You feel the twitch before the first spurt of molten cum paints your insides. That burn of your insides is something you had grown accustomed to after the time spent with Dabi, he had said it was because of his quirk. Everything about him was just hotter.

He holds himself balls deep in your dripping cunt, uncaring at the shuddering sob that shakes your body at the realisation that he’s going to keep his promise of making sure you get pregnant. The thought has your eyes closing, your head far too sore to think about what might just happen if you were to get pregnant with Dabi’s child.

Your body is limp when he effortlessly picks you up eventually, tucking his hands under your armpits before your feet are placed in something cold and wet. Your body starts with a jolt, your skin pricking with gooseflesh before you’re forced to sit down in the bathtub. Just how much time had passed for the bath to grow cold?

A warm chest is pressed to your back, pulling you effortlessly between long defined legs and arms loop around you like a safety belt. Dabi holds you there, his fingers stroking delicately along the skin he had bruised and marred not too long ago. You could almost fall into the allusion of him being a lover, a man who was simply giving you the aftercare you need.

The bath bubbles around you with the raising temperature, his skin is too hot for you to be laid up against like this and you can feel the staples burning their way into your flesh but you can’t find the strength anymore to fight back. He pushes you forward slightly to reach for a washcloth, dipping it into the scorching water and slowly but carefully dragging it along your bloodied skin. He doesn't go near the wound on your throat.

It feels like no time has passed at all since he left you and now, those eight years apart squashed into nothing when he noses his way into your hair and breathes in.

“How did you find me?” You speak eventually, Dabi remains silent for a moment and that only makes you worry more.

“I always knew where you were. You shouldn’t trust everyone you meet.”

And if that wasn’t the truth.

#tw noncon #cw noncon #tw baby trapping #cw dark content #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha x you #dabi smut #touya todoroki smut #touya smut #dabi x you

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iaeriy · 5 months

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unexpected // joão fèlix x reader

summary; things can get strange at first without knowing.. but for a birthday surprise.. it turns out to be a huge moment for your boyfriend as you two settle in for some changes.

warnings; spanish translation sentence (just a few..) fluff, mention of sex & a small smut, vomitting.

word count; 1.4k!

a/n; first series for this blog!! i’ve been thinking about it so..hopefully it doesn’t flop. like seriously😡, lmk what your thoughts are in the ask button plz!! anywhoo! hope you enjoy! 🎀

funny & strange. thats how you’re day had been going, nothing was happening or whatsoever although.. it had been already a month, since the last time you had sex with joão, that had already been a week ago when he had stuffed you with his cum after two rounds, you didn’t think anything weird or just out of the blue..though.. you were acting suspicious and distance, almost everybody noticed it but you didn’t..it felt like a regular daily you from what everybody said, so you decided not to go out and just stay at home because everybody always had something to say and just assume. on the other hand.. joão was the only one who didn’t think anything because of how you’re usually clingy with him.

how strange can this get?

you were now currently in the kitchen just eating some type of weird food combination, you were distracted looking for another snack before the door opened before closing. “ya llegué!”(i’m home!) he said as you smacked your head against the pantry shelf. “ow..” you said, moving your body out as he looked at you. “hi baby..” he said picking you up, a bunch of giggles coming out your mouth before he kissed you. you kissed back, hands cupping his cheek as your toes reached getting on your tippy toes to his height. “enough now..” you said before he pulled away pouting, “it’s okay baby..” your hands wrapping around him, he chuckled pecking your forehead.

“what’s up wih all these weird stuff on the counter?” he said as you rolled your eyes, “tenía hambre..” (i was hungry..) you said before he chuckled, “really? you don’t really eat bananas with melted chocolate on the top..” he said frowning before you smacked his arm, stuffing your mouth with a piece of the banana covered chocolate, “shut up..” you muffled out before sitting on the kitchen isle eating the snack, he shook his head chuckling. “i’ll be in the shower then..” he said before you giggled still eating on the fruit before you finished eating, footseps climbing on the upstairs were heard..you cleaned up your mess from all the random stuff u had picked up from the pantry as you ran back upstairs to the room. you laid on your stomach on the bed scrolling through your instagram feed, your ears catching the attention of a little bell jingling around before looking down, floki.

you rolled your eyes, “you really don’t like being in here..come up here..” you said before patting your hands on the white duvet before he sat down on the carpet, a giggle leaving your mouth before picking him up placing him on the bed, moving and running around in circles around you he finally plopped himself next to you laying down. you frowned looking at him, “strange..” you said before you put your phone down laying your head down on the duvet, slowly drifting off to sleep.

sleeping peacefully..you heard the bathroom door open hearing small footsteps around you..before feeling a big weight shift on the bed..still asleep, joão began to run his hands up your thigh, a small whimper slipping out your mouth, his finger drew lines up and down your thigh causing you to moan just a bit from how cold his touch was before you were now half awake. “oh you pervert!” you said smacking his hand off before he laughed at your reaction, “what’s wrong baby?” he said before you rolled your eyes, “hush.” you murmured crawling to your spot before joão pulled you near his lap, you swallowed down your saliva nervously..his finger softly pinching the skin of your thighs since you were in small black shorts and a hoodie of his, “q-que haces..” (what are you doing..) you said before he moved the strand of hair, tucking it in your ear. “te extraño..mucho..” he said before you blushed, “i do too..”

he pulled you in before you cupped his cheeks, adoring his eyes. he looked so adorable..especially with the way he always had his hair, his brown fluffy hair. you admired him from head to chin. “..fuck it..” he murmured before pinning you down on the bed, him now ontop of you as he smashed his lips onto yours, kissing you deeply. you kissed back, both yours and his lips moving and syncing with each others before he slid his hand in your hoodie, kneading his hand around your breast. you whimpered into his lip, at the pain that had already been there before all this happened.

let’s just say from there on..who knew what happened under those duvet sheets.

after a pretty much uneeded but needed sex session.. you were panting laying on joãos chest, his heart pacing so quickly you heard it through your ear..your sweaty limped body falling next to him trying to catch your breath. “told you..it’d be..worth i-it..after two weeks..” he said slapping your ass softly, a whine coming out of your mouth. “stop it! you had enough!” you said slapping his hand off, a chuckle escaping from his throat, “hmm..you liked it enough you were stuffed yet again so..i’d lower down your tone.” he said, your eyes rolling before resting your head on his chest again. “i have training tomorrow again..” he whispered kissing your forehead as you whined, “seriously!? you could’ve told me! you said whining, “..now those marks are going to be no-“ joão cut you off by covering your mouth, “shhh..it’s okay y/n..” he said smiling down at you before you giggled.

“goodnight now, you need rest..you’re eyes are all blown out and puffy..” he said before you nuzzled your face into his chest, his hand caressing your back as you slowly fell asleep. joão looked down at you admiring the little birthmark you had near your eye pecking your forehead before he turned the light from the lamp off before he dozed off with you.

6:54 am

you were asleep arms wrapped around joão before he got up to his alarm that you surprisingly didn’t hear, he sat up as his shoulder nudged your head off. your head slowly falling into the pillow, whining in your sleep before turning to lay on your stomach facing the window, he smiled softly before he went to the bathroom getting himself ready for the day.

meanwhile..you were asleep, so warm under the sheets and so tired from the sex..after he was pounding your guts.. your head nuzzling into the pillow before sitting up half awake, the sheet covering you now getting loose as it fell off your chest, your breasts now exposing before you looked around, a small whine coming out of your mouth then suddenly remembering before joão walked out the bathroom as he glanced at you.

“..good morning sleeping beauty..”

he said as you whined, “shut up..” you murmured before he crawled on the bed, “do you really have to go..” you mumbled being sleepy, “yes i do..i’ll be back in a few hours mi amor..” he said kissing your forehead, chuckling. “here..” he said before he laid you back down tucking you in again, “i love you okay?” he said as you hummed, “love you more j..” you murmured falling asleep again, he kissed your cheek before leaving the room.

9:19 am

you were still asleep, the sun slowly shining through the curtain, you woke up before looking around. oh yea..joão is at training, you thought to yourself before sighing.

your tummy started feeling funny. your throat burning just a bit, everything around you was slowly spinning, the nausea spreading through your chest and throat.. and just before you thought of it, you ran quickly to the bathroom vomitting your guts out. you were shaking by the time you had finished flushing down your remainings, you got up before turning the sink on brushing your teeth.

suddenly it hit you.. your period hasn’t been here, your appetite changing, your hormones and lastly..you were never using protection. your eyes widened after finishing your small routine before you changed into a white tanktop and some pair of panties. “where is it..where is it..oh! found it.” you said roaming through your bed looking for your phone dialing the only person you could trust in this certain situation.

(SHUT UP IF ITS SHORT THIS IS MY FIRST SERIES SO..)

#football imagine #football x reader #football one shots #football smut #joao felix imagine #joao felix x reader #joao felix one shots #joao felix smut #joao felix fluff

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love-bugsy · 8 months

Text

meet cut(e) | jason todd

the worst thing about love (two) / (one)

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

tw: allusions to character death, depictions of grief, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason but he’s like my own lil character now and I’m protective, i learned my medical terminology from grey's anatomy don't hate me

only jerks steal other people's writing (just don't repost, mate)

You’re awake when he stumbles into your apartment two weeks later. You stare at him owlishly; knees tucked up against your plush, non-indented couch, glass of Merlot in your hand kept carefully away from the carpet you just scrubbed the bloodstains out of. You set it gingerly on your coffee table, half convinced he’s not real.

“I got… a cut.” It seems strange for this masked vigilante - you may or may not have been doing some tipsy research on the hooded hero - to look so sheepish. All six feet of him stooped in your cramped apartment, one hand clutched to his side, that emotionless mask staring straight through you. You get up from your couch wordlessly, walking down the hallway to rummage through your bathroom.

First aid kit and isopropyl in hand, you return to his awkward stance in the middle of your living room; his gaze intently focused on your overstuffed bookshelf. His attention snaps to you when your sock-clad footsteps meet the edge of the plush rug separating you. From this angle, you can see the stubborn, brown bloodstain that you tried to hide under the leg of your armchair - little marks… stains or rusting memories… You gesture to your couch, and he sits, taking off his jacket.

Yanking a stool over to sit in front of him, you pull up his shirt, brows furrowing at the slice in his side. He’s undressed the cut you stitched up for him before he should have, and you examine it while you clean his most recent knife wound. Your stitches are far from perfect - the scar bulging in some areas - but for such a high tension wound, it’s healed well.

Your eyes flicker up to his blood red mask for a moment, and it occurs to you - distantly - that you should probably be terrified. I mean, seriously. A part of you screams that this is how people get murdered. Another part of you thinks that this is the most vulnerable he ever gets; his shirt off, gritting his teeth through the pain of 91% isopropyl alcohol.

Another - buried - part of you thinks this seems familiar.

Your gaze darts back down to his chest, lingering unconsciously on the end of the scar that cuts out from underneath his shirt. Your eyes catch on the ugly bruises decorating the tan expanse of his torso, some angry and purple, others a sickly yellow. He clears his throat awkwardly and your cheeks heat, returning your attention to sterilising his wound. Real classy, birdie, ogling a guy whose face you’ve never seen. He breaks the thick silence first, low voice crackling through his modulator.

“How’s it look, doc? ‘m I gonna survive?” You hide a smile beneath your exasperated look, brows knitted. Still, you can’t fully conceal the amused edge in your dry tone.

“You’re not nearly as charming when you’ve been stabbed.” He cocks his mask; unreadable. For a long moment, you think you might have actually offended him, until he huffs out a staticky laugh.

“Slashed, actually.” You scrunch your nose. Pedantic asshole.

“Look, I’ve had a long day, which wasn’t exactly made better by having to patch up a freak in a super-suit, so just… save the witty ironicism for someone who didn’t have to clean up baby vomit all day.” You can hear the smile in his voice when he responds, mask’s gaze still fixed on your face.

“Ouch, doc, and here I thought you were happy to see me.” A little pause as you meet his gaze briefly, unable to shake the familiarity… the instinctive fondness that warms your chest. His next words seem more guarded. “So, why’re you helping me then?” Good question. Your focus never falters from the slow concentric circles you’re rubbing around his wound with an alcohol soaked hand towel.

“I took an oath.” He laughs again and you quash the little spark of pride that hearing it gives you. You swap the towel in your hand for a roll of bandages and a plaster, applying the latter first before starting to wrap his waist.

“My bad, doc, I thought you were helping me out of the goodness of your heart.”

You scrunch your nose, trying to suppress the smile that tugs insistently at your mouth. Reaching for a clip, you secure his bandages and help him pull his shirt down so it doesn’t catch. You get up from the stool, shuffling it out of the way for your future self to move back in front of your kitchen island. Yawning, you stretch your hands above your head, a little noise of relief leaving your mouth when the tension in your shoulders loosens. You pretend not to notice how his mask tilts, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed as your shirt lifts.

He settles backwards, leaning his shoulders over the arm of your couch so that his legs don’t dangle over the edge. You watch as he yanks your throw blanket haphazardly over his torso and crosses his arms over his chest. You’re sure he must be keeping you in his peripheral as you startle out of eyeing him warily, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of it. Maybe to save you some dignity. Padding back to the hallway, you make it halfway before pausing, words spilling from your mouth unbidden.

“You can have some coffee, you know.”

“What?” The question comes out slurred, a full night’s worth of adrenaline finally dwindling. It brings back a flash of a near empty coffee pot - last dregs dripping slowly into a blue mug held in lethargic hands. You blink.

“In the morning.” He tilts his mask, and you stumble to elaborate, “When you sneak out. You can have some coffee.” Cautious, you study his reaction, but your vigilante doesn’t move an inch - his mask’s white slits boring holes into you like he’s trying to figure you out. Or waiting for a catch. You think he might trust you more if you give him one.

“You have to wash the mug, though. And the coffee’s old.” If you focus hard enough, you can hear something percolating - the coffee in your makeshift warmer or… the tenuous thread of something like dependency. He shifts on the couch and you suppress a wince at the stress it will put on his injuries.

“I like old coffee,” he hums out blurrily, hushed static of his modulator nearly rendering the words unintelligible. You flinch, turning off the living room light instead of responding.

You’re seventeen, he’s sixteen. You give him shit for being two months younger than you. It’s so late at night you’ll start to call it morning soon, and the two of you sit on opposite sides of a diner counter.

You lean over the counter, arms outstretched, dropping your head into your clasped hands. He reaches over you, pouring out another cup of old, lukewarm coffee. He follows it up with an unholy amount of cream and sugar - just how you like it - nudging it over to you with that wry grin of his.

“Tired, birdie?” You are tired, but not as tired as he is. You think maybe Wayne Enterprises should be funding his college tuition, not this superhero shit. Superhero shit that he never talks about, except. He used to tell you everything. You used to tell him everything.

Because he’s smart. He’s really smart. Smart enough to not risk his life every night. You want to tell him that but you know he doesn’t see it that way. In that mask, he’s infallible. Instead, you hum in agreement, dragging the mug closer and taking a sip. You scowl at the bitterness.

He frowns petulantly, looking at you with tired, amused eyes. “You don’t like my coffee?” You set down your cup, wrinkling your nose at the unexpectedly loud ‘clink’ it makes against the counter.

“You’re so dramatic, blue, only you like day-old coffee.” He gives you a dry look, one that says he’s too tired to mock-argue with you. So instead, you turn on the sink behind the counter, rinsing cutlery to load the dishwasher. You both sit in near silence, broken only by his fingers tapping carefully on the counter and your absent-minded hums.

You spend days agonising over a present as his birthday rapidly approaches, though you know he hates the fuss. You settle on a gunmetal grey lighter, shakily hand engraved with a bluejay. Something to replace his shitty BIC one, with its smudged sharpie lettering that barely spells out ‘JT’.

Secretly, you look forward to the sardonic comment he'll make about how he thought you disapproved of his cancer sticks. The truth is, you don't think you could stop enabling him.

A month out from his birthday, he drops by after patrol with your copy of Wuthering Heights. You ask if he liked it and he says he didn’t. Something, something, overly maudlin. He’s lying. He always gets that little specific crease between his eyebrows when he lies to you.

It feels like all you see lately.

Are the nightmares getting worse?

Lie.

Stayin’ out of trouble?

Lie.

Are we always going to be like this? Am I always going to lose you when you put on that suit?

Lie.

Over and over until you snap, poking a finger straight into the crease and smoothing it out. You tell him you want the truth and he tells you he can’t give it to you. You yell at him for ten hour-long minutes, sweeping angry gestures with your arms. One of them knocks over his half-full mug - blue shards shattering in the slow spill of murky coffee. You wish you remembered what he said to you, but all you remember is watching him leave. The last time he ever did.

You wait two weeks for him to come back, recording apologetic voicemails that he dodges with clipped, sullen phone calls. Then, he stops picking up at all.

His death isn’t reported on the news.

Alfred visits you once after he dies, carrying Jason’s old leather jacket like a sleeping animal that might come alive at any second. You don’t talk - not even when he hands it to you - you don’t know what you would say. You don’t know each other, you have nothing in common, except that you loved the same person once.

Your life shrinks - going through the same mechanical motions for months on end, school, work, home. It feels blasphemous to do anything but stare at the jacket - to lift it from where it hangs on the back of your door, to make it yours instead of his - until, one day, you can’t bear to be distant from him anymore. You put it on, shove your hands in the pockets like he always did, digging around. You find an old hairtie of yours in the inside pocket and a stick of apple pie flavoured lip balm you lent him last winter.

His lighter is in the front pocket, blue as his pale, dark eyes. Carefully, you place it on your desk, next to the one you meant to gift him.

Two lighters and you don’t even fucking smoke.

oof okay, this one was a bit of a monster (don't know if it bodes well for this series for me to have struggled with this chapter so much lol) but i hope you guys like it. :) i might have to take a little break over the next month because of my final exams, but rest assured, doc and jay will be back again come november. tysm for reading!

with love, bugsy

#series: the worst thing about love #love-bugsy #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine #jason todd reader insert #x reader

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thatsdemko · 8 months

Text

up for it? - p.gavi

part two of the fake it mini series | previous part | next part

warnings: mentions of alcohol + mentions of vomiting

a/n: really liking this redo of the series than the previous one 😊

24 HOURS PRIOR TO THE RED CARPET

the mixture of alcohol and sweaty bodies was enough to make a sober person vomit, but you relished it in the moment. you enjoyed the sweaty male bodies pounding against yours, or the free drinks that flowed with a wink of an eye and a flash of a smile, but you had reached a limit. one that made your head spin, your feet sluggish, and your words slur. you were drunk.

the next Uber cost more than you could somehow come up with in your bank account, and the nearest friend lived miles from the city, but there’s just one guy who might still be awake.

“do you have any idea what time it is?” he answers with a grumble, his voice groggy and low it was hard to hear him in the mixture of drunk giggles and girls gagging outside the club.

“what time is it?” your words slur together, they come out like molasses, slow and almost twisted that jolts him out of bed. you’d never been this drunk, never enough to call him. of all this time he’d known you—and that was a decade to be exact—you’d never gotten this wasted. not even at the gavi family Christmas party where sangria flowed with ease.

“dios mio, where are you?”

“I don’t know?”

he rolled his eyes, go figures. all it ever took was one person to say jump and you’d say how high. you’d end up in France if it wasn’t for the lack of euros and the fear of flying.

“I’m on my way, you just stay put.”

—

his car rolls slowly down the street and comes to a stop right in front of you. it takes two tries for you to get into his car, and the second time resulted in you nearly throwing yourself onto him. what a great story this will make for the papers, you think to yourself. you could practically read the headlines “drunk girl throws herself onto Barcelona star.”

“where are we going?”

“where do you think?” he grits through his teeth. it’s currently three in the morning, and tomorrow was an early practice which meant by the time he’d get home with you, he’d be getting out of bed in a few hours. but he knew if he didn’t do this, he’d never hear the end of it from his mother, someone who valued you and your friendship with her son.

“I don’t feel well.” the words come out a jumbled mess. you’re stirring in the passenger seat, hand rested against your forehead, you’re leaned over the seat trying to calm down. it wasn’t a good idea, to lean forward that is, because soon enough the mixture of tequila and vodka came right back up and onto his leather seat.

the car comes to an immediate stop, he clicks the engine off. you don’t need to look over to see he’s angry, this was an expensive car after all. and if it wasn’t for him passing his drivers test, you’d probably thrown up on the streets in front of strangers. but this was a mess not even Pablo could fix himself.

“I’m so sorry—“

“take this.”

“what?” you turn your head over to the drivers seat, his shirt was crumbled up in his hands. he sat there staring at you with nothing but just a pair of joggers, “take this, at least clean yourself up with it.”

“I—“ you pause. there’s no way in hell you could take that shirt. it was worth more money than the Ubers cost and more money than the rent you paid, you couldn’t think to use his, outrageously, priced white shirt as something to clean up your vomit with, “I can’t take that, gavi.”

“fine,” he huffs, and without your permission he reaches across the center console and begins to wipe what’s all over your dress off, “now we’ve got two more minutes until we get home, can you make it?”

“I think so.”

—

“how do I repay you for this?” you gesture to his cozy apartment, the fresh sheets on his king size bed, and his clothes you were currently drowning in for pajamas.

a smirk lifts to his lips, you can see his mind is beginning to spin, “I actually have an idea.”

tags: @ncentic @footballerficsposts @chriss-club @xjval @morenofilm @leclercloml

want to be tagged in this series? let me know here!

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witch-and-her-witcher · 2 months

Text

nessriel | E | hurt/comfort, modern AU - magic/CC inspired

Aux officer Cassian brings a stray home with him and he doesn't want to let her go. Lieutenant Azriel, and his life partner, thinks he has a bleeding heart and an undiagnosed mental health condition - until he meets Nesta Archeron for himself, sweating and vomiting through a self-led alcohol detox, and decides ... yeah, they should keep her. Nesta is at an all-time low, all her bridges burned, but she's going to pull herself together and try to keep her mess from spilling into these ridiculously gorgeous, kind-hearted Auxie's lives.

ao3

(Thank you @popjunkie42 and @thesistersarcheron for the support read throughs!)

For Day One: Beginnings of @polyacotarweek!

Chapters 1-3/9

Preview Below

~*~

Everything fucking hurts: Cassian’s knees are jammed up, his spine crackles along each vertebra, his balls feel like tenderized meat, and his godsdamn shoulder. Ripped out of the socket by a feral leopard shifter, high on pixie dust.

As if the hit that knocked him off of his feet wasn’t bad enough, the amount of paperwork he’d had to fill out because of the right hook he’d landed out of self-defense driven instinct afterwards was even more painful.

Cassian can feel the impact from his wing meeting with the concrete just as much as the strain in his neck from standing bent over the counter at the Aux.

Like the asshole knew how low tech they are.

“Mother fucker,” he mutters, slamming the unit door shut behind him.

He waits to hear the double beep of the lock before shoving the keys in his black jean’s front pocket and shuffling for the stairs to his apartment.

All Cassian wants is to get out of this fucking oppressive bullet-proof vest, kick off his boots, strip off his pants and sprawl on the couch with one hand down the front of his briefs and the other holding a cold beer. Put a game on. Maybe mess around with Az by sending him some dirty pictures.

An image of high cheekbones splattered with a dark flush, hot to the touch, flashes in his mind. Pupils blown wide and hand covering that seductive mouth to hide embarrassment.

Yeah, thinking about the pretty blush that will spread over his partner’s face? The way Az will jerk his head up to make sure no one saw … and then sneak another peek, maybe find an unoccupied room that doesn’t have cameras in it for some privacy?

Cassian grins wickedly.

He will definitely send dirty pictures.

Maybe after a beer or two, his shoulder won’t hurt so bad either and he can send a video tease. Get Az all worked up so he comes home in the morning ravenous, like a male possessed, ready to put Cass in his place for winding him up so tight —

A loud clatter right as Cassian rounds the stairwell to head up to the second floor cuts off his train of thought.

Engrained Aux training makes him hesitate.

Voices rise up behind the closest door.

Shit.

Apartment 132. A real sleazebag.

“— I’m a dirty whore? Yeah? Have you seen your fucking bed sheets?” A female’s voice becomes clear, growing louder along with heavy, slightly muffled footsteps on a carpeted floor. Drawing closer. “Learn how to do the laundry, you infantile asshole!”

The doorknob jiggles a few times along with a few incoherent curses before the door is wrenched open. Unsure what kind of scene is about to spill into the bottom floor of his apartment complex, Cassian holds still aside from his hand edging closer to his holster.

The female has her back to him, still yelling into the apartment with her middle finger in the air. “Your cleaning skills match the size of your cock, unsatisfact- ow!”

Cassian is braced for the collision course, but the female hasn’t been paying attention to anything but lobbing insults at the vampire arguing back half-heartedly from somewhere deeper in the apartment. She jumps as her bare shoulders connect with the kevlar covered metal plate on Cassian’s chest.

She whips around, hellfire seething from her. “Watch where the fuck you’re —”

The words die on her lips as she cranks her head up: taking in the uniform, the badge, the fucking Aux uniform aviator sunglasses perched on the bridge of Cass’s crooked nose.

With his polished talons gleaming two feet higher than his nearly six-and-a-half-foot height, he knows he looks intimidating as hell.

Her gaze lingers on the breadth of his shoulders, the swell of his biceps under his shirt sleeves, the thick column of his neck.

Cassian also knows he looks fit as hell.

“Shit,” she curses, but it’s breathy enough to sound unintentional.

The vampire is quicker than a whip, tossing a purse onto the concrete and slamming his door shut. The contents spill out of the purse because he hasn’t bothered to close it: chapstick, a pack of gum, various IDs and brightly packaged condoms ‘ribbed for her pleasure.’

Sleazebag.

The purple-colored veteran Aux ID in the discarded pile catches his attention, but Cassian doesn't give away his recognition.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, cocking one brow up.

The hallway is open-air, but it does nothing to reduce the scent of chain-smoked cigarettes and strong alcohol coming off of the female.

The drop-dead gorgeous female.

#poly+acotarweek2024 #nessriel #cazriel #acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing #nesta x cassian x azriel

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the-muppet-joker · 27 days

Note

How do you feel about the fact that in the UK, “muppet” is an insult??

I need to take a minute. Reading these asks has upset me so deeply that I very suddenly threw up. Now I have to deal with Mother bitching about cleaning vomit off the carpet on Mother's Day like that isn't her fucking womanly duty. I hate British people and all other foul pigs in the world who bring disrespect to Muppets, like we haven't been through enough already. Fuck.

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kennahjune · 6 months

Text

Some Platonic Stancy + Mike for The Heart

Nancy Wheeler, who cuts her hair short for the first time in 1984 and keeps the short hair going for the next three years until Ted Wheeler makes some bitchy comment on women with shirt hair.

Nancy, not usually the one to people please, ignores the comment. She and Mike both get them often from Ted, shit about Mikes hair being long and hers being short. So she ignores them.

Until their mom joins in with the comments, however subtle they may be.

So, Nancy starts growing her hair out. Mike, however, goes about his life with his hair. He’s never home long enough to really care about the comments— always at the cabin or with the Party somewhere.

Enter the year 1988, and Nancy has successfully grown her hair well below her shoulders. It’s pretty. She gets compliments on her curls and beautiful brown color all the time.

But she hates it.

She fucking hates it.

Three years of having her hair shirt had gotten her used to having it off of her neck. And now that it’s so long, well…

Nancy Wheeler has never had a problem with sensory issues. That was more Mike’s thing— always having to cut the tags off his clothes and downright refusing to eat certain foods— but her hair on her neck makes her want to vomit.

And sure— she can simply put it up, keep it in a high bun and off her neck.

But just the knowledge of it being there makes her sweat. Makes her want to itch the skin off of her neck.

She feels bad for making fun of Mikes hate for tags.

Now, enter year 1989 pursued by Steve Harrington, fresh out of cosmetology school.

Steve had been doing his own hair since he was little and sat with his mom and grandpa at the vanity in their dressing room (because of course the Harrington’s have a dressing room). He’d sit and watch as his mom curled her hair— or straightened, depending on her mood. He’d sit in his grandpa’s lap as he showed little Steve all the different products and tools, letting Steve chip in and help style his hair.

It was a passion handed down from Steve’s moms side, the love for hair. And he planned on finally doing something with it— even if it wasn’t exactly what his parents wanted. (Though they learned to live with it— he did start his own hair salon, after all.)

Now, where does Steve play into this scene?

Well— it starts on a Tuesday afternoon in late July.

Steve Harrington had been cleaning the house while listening to his dads old records on the dingy record player in the living room. The knocking was barely heard over the volume, even with how frantic it was. The only reason Steve— who had lost most of his hearing in his left ear— heard the knocking was because whoever it was nearly knocked a picture off the wall.

So he opened the door to Mike and Nancy Wheeler on his front porch.

Mike looked almost bored, but he gave Steve a smile and a ‘hello’ before dragging his sister in by the arm.

Nancy looked worse-for-wear; her eyes seemed sunken and the eye-bags were darker than he’d seen them in years. He hoped it wasn’t new nightmares.

“Come on in, I guess,” Steve grumbled while Mike made himself comfortable in the living room. He wasn’t actually mad, just playing into a running bit he’d had going on with the mini Wheeler for nearly two years now.

“Watch it, Harrington.” Mike pointed at him. “You’ll loose a paying customer.” But the kid was smiling wide.

Steve scoffed. “‘Paying customer’ my ass, Wheeler! You barge into my home, make me trim your hair, call me an asshole and leave!” Steve himself was grinning wide.

Mike waved him off but Steve heard the giggle he failed to hide.

Nancy stood awkwardly on the living room carpet in the button up she’d stolen from Robin, white tank top, and cut-off jean shorts. She’d been taking a bit of fashion tips from Eddie recently. She found she liked the denim a lot more than skirts in the summer.

Steve finally gave her his attention.

“Hey Nance! What’s up?”

Nancy felt herself relax with the easy smile Steve gave her. She cleared her throat.

“Um— well, Mike said you trim his hair for him every once in a while and I know you just finished school and everything so—“

“You want a haircut?” he cut off her ramble. He and her both have picked up the rambling habit from Robin. “It’s about time, Wheeler. The long hairs cute and all but… so… not you, oddly enough.” He stood with his hip cocked and a thoughtful hand on his chin supported by the arm wrapped around his middle.

Nancy sighed roughly through her mouth and dragged a hand down her face.

“Oh my god, you don’t even know! I can’t stand having it so long— it’s so itchy and scratchy and annoying and not to mention high maintenance! Like yeah it looks good but seriously what is the point other than pain?”

Steve snickered and Mike threw his shoe at her to get her to stop.

“Come on you two, the dressing rooms upstairs.”

In the dressing room, Mike was sat at the vanity first. Steve had gotten Nancy a glass of water and told her to sit on the couch at the back wall and relax.

She tried her best, sipping the water and enjoying the view of the woods in the backyard from the window next to her (even if those woods held darker memories than they should).

She examined the room closely while Steve scolded Mike for using Ted’s shampoo/conditioner (because of course the bastard uses a two-in-one) while Mike pleaded he was desperate after running out of his own stuff.

The floor was tiled for easy clean up, the only carpet being the one under the couch Nancy sat on. The couch was plush leather, the cool touch a welcomed change from the July heat. The walls were a baby pink so light it almost looks white, covered in well-placed posters and photos and even stickers that were stuck on.

The vanity and the couch weren’t the only furniture in the room; a coffee table in front of the couch, a small two-drawer dresser next to the vanity, and nice, tall dresser back by the door. There were plants on the windowsill, flowers in pots on the dressers.

The windowsill was one of those fancy ones that Nancy liked so much; the ones that were like seats with drawers/cabinets underneath. The seat was decorated in an abundance of pillows and blankets.

It was a cozy room, and Nancy found herself zoning out and finally being able to ignore the invading bun on the back of her head. She tuned out the boys’ bickering and just stared at the window. Not through it. Not in it. At it. Examining each speck of dust on the glass and staring her reflection in the eyes.

Until a hair fell loose from bun and tickled her neck. And she almost threw her water at Mike who had sat next to her in her haste to get it off.

“Hey, hey! Nance!” Steve grabbed the water and Mike placed his hands around her neck, effectively stilling her and calming her.

“Hey, yeah, over here.”

Nancy looked at Steve. She kind of wanted to throw up.

“How about we finally get ride of all that length, yeah?”

She’d never heard a better question in her life.

Nancy told Steve to do whatever the hell he thought needed to be done. Steve told her he’d go to just above the shoulders and she agreed.

Mike took a spot on the windowsill, reaching into the cabinet underneath and grabbing a very worn book. Nancy hadn’t realized how much Mike came over to Steve’s before.

“Mike you’re seriously reading that again?” Nancy heard Steve ask. Watching him in the mirror, she saw him never look away from her hair once as Mike replied with a bitchy,

“It’s a good book! I thought you liked The Outsiders!”

Nancy snorted. Of course it was The Outsiders. Nancy remembered watching it with Mike, Will, Dustin and Lucas in the basement of their house when it first came out in March of ‘83.

“I didn’t know you liked The Outsiders, Steve,” she remarked. Nancy saw a red blush ride to his cheek in the mirror.

“It’s a good movie,” he muttered defensively.

Mike snickered. “Yeah— he watched it for the plot. The plot meaning shirtless Darry and half-naked Soda—“

Nancy thought Steve was going to chop her ear off and with how fast he turned around to yell at Mike.

Nancy herself sat cackling in the chair, watching Steve get defensive over his junior year fictional crushes.

When all was said and done, Steve gave Nancy a new shirt from the closet in the dressing room (that she failed to notice earlier). It was a simple yellow dress shirt. Steve said it was one of his moms. She was sent to shower and told to use the shampoo and conditioner on the third shelf in the bathroom.

When she had finished and walked back downstairs to meet the boys, Mike had already changed from his simple t-shirt to a black tank top with a dark blue buttoned flannel. Everyone kept clothes at Steve’s except Nancy, it seemed.

She made her way to Steve and sat her old shirts on the couch. With her hands free she pulled Steve into a bone-crushing hug. Steve was quick to reciprocate, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist.

“Thanks so much,”Nancy whispered into his ear. “This helped me so so much, Steve.”

“Anytime, Nance. You know that.”

And she did.

When Nancy and Mike left the Harrington house with a wave to Steve and a promise of letting him know what everyone thought, Nancy had never felt lighter— both physically and mentally.

That night, Nancy slept like she hadn’t in years.

Her hair wasn’t to bad on her neck with the new length. It wasn’t making it itchy or scratching at her cheeks wrong.

She didn’t have to have her mom braid it before bed to keep it away, ultimately ending up with a headache the next day because she could never sleep with her hair up.

No. When Nancy Wheeler went to bed, she woke up feeling refreshed and energized. No rash on her neck from scratching at it in her sleep.

When Steve heard about this later that same day, he pulled her into a hug and promised he’d cut her hair as much as she needed him to.

Nancy felt much better than she had in years.

And if she got Mike that sparkly, purple D-20 he’d been eyeing in the shop? Well— consider it a thank you.

#stranger things #steve harrington #mike wheeler #nancy wheeler #platonic stancy #platonic #mike and steve bonding time #but throw nancy in as well lol #I have this same problem with my hair #so it’s just more self-projection #mike wheeler with long hair #nancy wheeler with short hair #hair stylist steve harrington #steve harrington doesn’t have really bad parents #this time at least #ted wheeler is useless #and I hate him with a passion #wheeler siblings #cause i love them

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