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ohbo-ohno · 5 months

Note

I REALLY wanna see Johnny get mad! Like white hot angry at reader. Don’t know what/how it happened but Johnny’s gonna make all of reader’s poor holes suffer🥺

Maybe Simon gets surprised and turned on by his pup’s newfound aggressiveness

3.6k pwp soap drabble 4 u (cw for referenced burning building, angry sex, some light mutual degradation/objectification, and voyeurism since ghost watches)

You fume silently, face hot with rage while you and Soap walk side by side behind Ghost down the base hallways. There's a tension at the base of your neck that you just know is going to become a migraine if you don't get some medicine soon, and your bones ache from going too long without sleep.

Soap's somehow even stiffer beside you, the distance between you two small but intentional. Usually he's impossible to pry off of you, always brushing against you and looking for more physical contact, but since you landed he's kept at least half a foot between you two at all times.

Fine by you. You don't want him touching you right now anyway.

The silence is thick as Ghost leads you two to his room, his shoulders loose and relaxed.

He's got no reason to be tense, you suppose. He's not the one who had a massive disagreement on the field, who had to drag his squadmate back from a blazing fire and deal with his bitching instead of his thanks.

Just the memory of it makes you scowl.

Ghost leads the two of you into his room in rare silence, though it's only rare because usually you and Johnny would already be teasing or flirting at this point. But you don't bother now, not with your anger so fresh in your mind.

Ghost is the only one to get settled once Johnny closes the door behind you. You two stand on opposite sides of the doorframe, both too tense to do much but stew in your own righteous anger, and Ghost starts to get dressed down into something more comfortable.

He lets the two of you stay quiet until he's fully changed into a tank top and sweats, no boxers then sits on the bed with an overly loud sigh.

"You two even gonna look at each other?"

Your lip curls as you glance at Johnny from the corner of your eyes. "I have nothing to say to him."

"'S not what I asked."

Your cheek twitches and you bite your tongue, rolling a sharp canine over it. "Honestly, Simon, I don't even want to see him right now."

Johnny scoffs, loud in the otherwise quiet room, and nearly stomps to your side, leaning in front of you to try and force eye contact. "Oh, really? Ye can't even look at me, huh? Had no problem lookin' earlier, when you were draggin' me away from my goddamn mission."

You want to growl, you want to rake your nails down his face and scream about what a fool he is, what a jackass, and you want to make him remember.

Some of your ire must shine through in your expression, and Johnny mirrors it, eyes sparking as he straightens and stands diagonally from you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder.

"Dragging you away from your death, more like," you sneer.

"Wasn't your place," he bites back, moving forward enough that you can feel the heat of him even through all your layers. "You aren't my fuckin' CO and I'm not yours - wasn't any of your business how I chose to execute my orders."

"It is when you chose to do it in the most lethal way possible! Fuck, MacTavish, had you taken half a second and listened to me-"

"Oh, that's all it woulda taken? Just had to shut my pretty lips and listen to you, jump before you even say how high? Newsflash, lass, you don't get to make those decisions."

"And you do?"

"In this case? Yeah, you're fuckin' right I do. Price said drag the man out, alive, and that's what I was doing."

"You ran into a burning building!"

"Under orders from our CO!"

"You know damn well that's not what he meant, Sergeant, cut the shit. The orders were to bring him back alive, not kill yourself in the process!"

"That's the job, Sergeant. You do whatever it takes to fulfill your orders."

You're both panting as he snarls the words, nose to nose and eye to eye, teeth bared in rage that feels almost primal. His close brush with death, the way you'd had to tackle him to keep him from running after the damn target, leaves you raw and unsteady. Had you been any weaker, any less filled by adrenaline and panic and something deeply possessive, you know Soap would've thrown you off and gotten himself killed. You were hardly able to hold him down until the screaming stopped as it was.

You take as deep a breath as you can with your heart racing, and reach up to wrap the collar of Johnny's shirt tight in your fist, dragging him so close that your noses brush, hot breaths shared.

"You don't get to fucking leave me." You shoot a glance over Johnny's shoulder, to where Ghost sits comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed. "Leave us. I won't let you."

It's the last sentence that has him bristling, that ruins your chance of a settled argument.

The only person who lets Soap do anything is Ghost. The two of you listen to your Lieutenant with no questions, no doubt, no hesitations, but the same doesn't go for your fellow Sergeant. Since the 141 had formed, you and Soap have been fighting for dominance over one another, both of you determined to establish your control of the other like Ghost has for both of you.

The insinuation that you would let Soap do anything isn't something he'll let slide.

Hours later, fucked raw and sated, you can admit to yourself that the wording was slightly intentional. But now, with the fresh wound of Soap's close call with death still stinging in your subconscious, you only mean it as a way to push his anger to the level yours has been at for hours now.

"Let me?" He rumbles, muscles relaxing as he steps forward enough to press his chest to yours, head ducked low so all you can see is Johnny. "You don't let me do shit, lass. Couldn't stop me if you tried."

You can't help the way your lips quirk up into a humorless smile, your fist tightening in the fabric of his shirt. "Had a pretty easy time of it earlier, MacTavish. Had you pinned and writhing under me, like a bitch-"

Before you can finish your taunt, you find yourself pinned to the door, a mouth covering yours.

Johnny's teeth are sharp against your lips as he nips at you, leaving behind a sting and a throb. You dig your nails into his shoulders, raking them down his arms and rumbling in dissatisfaction when his clothes keep him from feeling anything.

You bite back as you push at the hem of his shirt, desperate to get your hands on him and make him hurt. You trace your fingers over his abs as you get his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling him down to your height and smirking at his glare.

You don't kiss so much as fight with lips instead of fists, there's no affection or softness between the two of you right now. You're nothing but your anger, but your desperation, and deep down your fear. You cling to Johnny with something verging on desperation, bite and scratch to make him feel even a bit of the pain you had at such a close call with death.

He leans almost his entire weight into yours to keep you pinned against the door, but you only have to shove at his shoulders a few times for him to get the hint and move backwards.

His lips never leave yours as you walk him back to the bed, his hands coming up to grip your thighs as he falls back and keeps you on top of him. You taste the slightest tang of iron as you shift your knees up next to his hips, squeezing his sides between your thighs and his tongue between your teeth.

"You gonna ride me?" He pants when you pull away for a breath of air, your hips working over the tent in his pants. "Think you're in charge, bonnie?"

You bare your teeth at him, grinding your core against the tent in his pants. “I’m not the one on my back, MacTavish.”

His smile is all teeth as he bucks his hips into yours, knocking you off balance so you’re forced to brace your hands on either side of his head. “I don’t need to be on top to keep you on a leash.”

It’s all too easy to hook your fingers in his throat mic - his collar. His pupils blow wide when you tug harshly enough to pull his head off the mattress, his hips following as he moans and grinds you down onto him with a bruising grip on your thighs.

“Down,” you smirk, leaning your weight back and forcing his hips to the bed, grinding your hips. “‘S my turn, Johnny. Gonna use you ‘til you’re wrung dry.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, then rests on his bottom lip instead of settling behind his teeth. You can’t resist the urge to lean down and lick over his lips, covering them in your own spit and groaning when he pulls you back into a proper kiss.

Despite your hand around his throat and your weight on top of his, you’re both equally in control as you strip the other. You can’t be bothered to wrestle his wrists to the bed, far preferring to let him paw your shirt and pants off while you tear the seams in his indecently tight shirt.

You only have the patience to get his pants to his knees, unwilling to help him kick them off for full mobility. Instead you grind yourself against his hard length, the soaked gusset of your underwear dragging wonderfully over both his cock and your clit.

You shift your hand on his neck so your palm is resting on his Adam’s apple, giving him just enough pressure to stay flattened to the bed.

He nearly growls when you push, the head of his cock getting caught in your panties and brushing the crease of your thigh. “Fuck, bonnie, get it on with.”

You blink down at him, cocking an unimpressed brow and shifting your hips so he slips between your folds, tucking your underwear to the side with your free hand. “You’re not in charge right now, MacTavish. I’m on top.”

“Only cause I’m lettin’ ya,” he pants, hips twitching as he tries to find your hole, tries to find a hole to sink into.

You lean down just far enough to bite the air in front of his nose, all feral rage and sexual frustration as you let yourself sit on his cock, holding him still beneath you. “You don’t let me do shit, I do whatever the fuck I want to. And right now, I want to ride you ‘til you stop fucking talking.”

You press your lips to his before he can bite back the response you see waiting on his tongue, letting your hips move in the way that feels best for you as you lick over his teeth.

Johnny’s always loved making out. When Ghost keeps him locked up, or he’s just not allowed to fuck you, he’ll happily spend hours with your lips glued together, dry humping each other and swapping spit. You can’t even count the number of times he’s come in his pants while thrusting against your hip or your side, driven over the edge by just a kiss.

You take advantage of that now, keeping one hand on his throat and the other circling the base of his throbbing cock so you can line yourself up above him. He’s far too distracted with your lips and tongue to remember he could tug you down on him at any moment, could flip the two of you with hardly any effort at all.

Despite the complete lack of prep, your body takes Johnny easily, the familiar stretch making you moan as you sink down onto him with one smooth movement. You blink open wet eyes just in time to see Johnny’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when your ass rests against him, his cock buried inside of you.

You don’t let yourself rest for long, though most days you love to just feel the weight of either of your boys inside of you. But that current of anger is still pulsing beneath your skin, and all the hot, sweat slick contact between you and Johnny only makes you feel more desperate.

Your pace is merciless, for both him and yourself. Your knees and thighs scream as you slam yourself to the base of Johnny’s cock, making sure you pull off nearly to the tip on every thrust. Without a hand around his throat, you’d have lost your balance on the first thrust.

Johnny’s pulse thunders against your fingers, so fast and so harsh that you swear you can ever see your fingertips twitching against his throat. His breaths are quick and erratic, and you can’t help but subconsciously match his breathing with your faces as close together as they are.

“So fucking good,” you moan, rolling your hips as you lift yourself off of him, dragging the head of his cock along your walls. Your voice cracks when he bucks his hips up, and you’re relieved that he’s already too blissed out to notice, lost in the tight vice of your cunt.

“Yeah?” Johnny pants, tongue nearly lolling out of his mouth when you pull away fully. “Stuff you just right, yeah, lass?”

You bite your tongue against an agreement, some deep part of you that’s not quite drunk on pleasure yet unwilling to give Johnny that kindness. Instead you shift your weight, so that your hand is more cupping Johnny’s jaw and putting pressure on his head instead of his neck, letting you really push him down and get the proper leverage to fuck yourself on his cock.

“Perfect fucking-” you shudder against the words, moan when he rubs just over your g-spot and repeating the same motion with your hips again and again. “Perfect fucking toy, so nice to ride.”

The sound Johnny makes is purely animalistic, torn between anger and desperation, something rough and low in his throat. You can feel the rumble of it through your hand and can’t help but moan in return, finally nearing your peak even as your legs continue to burn.

Neither of you speaks as you ride him, your head hanging low so you’re eye-level with his nipples and focused entirely on your own pleasure. The way your muscles scream at you only fills you with more need, more desperation, and the pain pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Your clit grinds just right over the rough patch of Soap’s pubic hair, soaking it in your juices and covering him in slick.

You reach your peak with gasping breaths, nearly going cross-eyed as you use Johnny entirely for your own pleasure, using him as nothing more than something to hold yourself up on and a toy to ride. Your muscles go completely lax as your pleasure overwhelms you, leaving you slumped against his muscular chest as you ride out the orgasm with small rolls of your hips.

Johnny’s still rock hard inside of you as you come down, his grip on your thighs tight enough to bruise. Your hand has slipped from underneath his collar to the mattress next to his face, and you don’t have the energy to push yourself up and away, to deny him like you’d intended.

Your lungs feel too small as you try to take deep gasping breaths, only managing a few before your lungs start hitching. Johnny’s chest rises and falls quickly beneath your head, his heart pounding beneath your ear.

You don’t have time to brace yourself before you’re flipped onto your stomach, face down on the mattress.

One moment you’re floating in post-orgasmic bliss, letting your body clench down on Johnny and milk him, the next moment you’re on your knees with your back forced into a deep arch, that same cock pounding into you like a machine.

Your groan is bone deep when you finally lift your head enough to breathe, eyes rolled heavenward as your body tries its best to adjust to the harsh treatment.

“Show you a fucking toy,” Johnny snarls from over your shoulder, his voice sounding distant beneath the blood rushing through your ears. “Think ye can just treat me like fucking nothing, get yerself off then take a fucking nap? Nah, yer gonna take what ye fucking deserve.”

The thickening of Johnny’s accent has you gushing around him, your sensitive channel clenching down so hard that you’re surprised he can pull out at all.

Johnny’s hand wraps in your hair when you try to let your head fall forward again, yanking you back with enough strength to leave you yowling at the strain on your neck.

“Don’t fucking hide,” he hisses, landing a sharp slap on the meat of your ass. “Think ye can just shove yer head in the sand? Let me fuckin’ hear you, lass, sing f’r me.”

“Fu-uck you,” you manage to groan, syllables interrupted on every thrust, your voice cracking. “You’re not- fuck, Johnny, don’t have to listen to you.”

You can practically hear the way he gnashes his teeth over your shoulder, can perfectly envision the angry snarl on his face at your lack of submission.

“Ye will. Gonna teach ye a fuckin’ lesson about yer place.”

You try your best to rear up, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare as best you can despite the grip on your hair. “My place? Who the hell do you think- oh fuck, fuck, Johnny, you can’t- goddamnit-”

“Can’t even get a goddamn word out.” Even from your terrible angle you can see that his smile is mean. “Think ye can be in charge when ye can’t even finish a sentence? Fuckin’ fool.”

You nearly shriek when he shoves your head down to the mattress, clawing fruitlessly at anything in front of you. You only freeze when you feel flesh give way underneath your nails, the hard muscles of a thick thigh under your palm.

You can just barely angle your head enough to glance up and see Simon looking down at you, but you can’t manage to see anything past his general shape with the way Soap is trying to shove you inside the mattress.

Ghost’s hand comes to rest on your head, and when you lean into him he pushes Johnny’s fingers off.

“Watch it, pup,” he rumbles, and Johnny’s hips stutter behind you. “You’re already in trouble. Do you really wanna make it worse?”

Your self-righteous smirk is hidden in the sheets, but you can’t fully muffle your laugh when Johnny’s whines over your shoulder. The sound quickly morphs into a snarl, and he buries his teeth into your shoulder as his hips start to work again, the sound of his balls slapping against your soaked cunt obscene.

Johnny wraps his arms beneath your torso, hooking his hands on your shoulders so he can tug you into every thrust, moving his face up to nose at your throat. You feel covered by him, consumed by him, as he chases his own pleasure.

You don’t quite manage to get off before he empties himself inside you, but there’s a deep satisfaction in your bones that still lets you melt into him.

Johnny’s all heat and power at your back as he goes weak against you, and a small shove to his shoulder from Ghost has both of you resting on your sides, spooning with his cock still buried inside of you.

Your breaths sync with his quickly, matching the inhales and exhales you can feel against your neck and the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Your eyes flutter shut, relaxing into the bed and Johnny’s arms. You know that you’ll have to Talk later, about what he’d done and how you’d responded. But you know it’ll be an easier conversation after Ghost’s punishment, when all of your consciousness has eased a bit.

“There ya go,” you hear Ghost say, followed by a soft stroke over your head. “Exhausted yourselves, huh? Silly pups.”

You hum and Johnny rumbles behind you, burying his face more fully in your throat. You feel Ghost’s other hand pet over his mohawk, his thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“I guess you can nap.” Ghost sighs, like he’s doing you both a great favor. “You’ll both need all your energy for your punishment, anyway. Breakin’ damn near every rule in the book just cause you got a little worked up. What am I gonna do with the two of you?”

You don’t have the energy to respond, and the best Johnny manages is a small and plaintive whine. Ghost chuckles from above you, and you feel him lay in front of you, his arms wrapping around Johnny’s back and tugging you both to him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just relax now, you’re alright.”

It’s easy to drift off, even if the heat is near suffocating and the stretch of Johnny’s cock verges on the edge of too much. You’re loose-limbed and sated, and Johnny’s safe beside you. There’s little else you could ever want, ever need, and you can’t be much more than grateful as you fall asleep between your men.

#ghoap x reader #nobody saw me complaining about this last night :)#bo writes #soap mactavish x reader #< since it's mostly him #btw i off and on contemplated making this reader male so if their vibes change throughout the fic thats why lmao #2 big military men fighting for dominance over one another while a Bigger & More Muscular partner watches knowing they're under his thumb..#yeah that's the stuff

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atmilliways · 10 months

Text

Wrong On The Money (9-10)

parts 9 & 10 of ?? | 898 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

He will admit that he’s not at his best today. Probably shouldn’t have tried, except Robin was starting to shoot him concerned looks when he ignored a total babe (her words, not his) entering the store. He’s trying, but. Well.

“Steve,” Robin sighs after the third girl he’s struck out with all day. “Steve, Steve, Steve. That was. . . . I’m not going to sugarcoat it, that was ‘change your name and move to another state’ levels of bad. And I say that as a witness to your nautical-themed volume control issues over the summer. Am I going to have to bring back the board?”

“No,” Steve grumbles. He slumps against the counter, leaning on his elbows and dropping his head into his hands.

And, okay, he will admit that he’s not at his best today. Probably shouldn’t have tried, except Robin was starting to shoot him concerned looks when he ignored a total babe (her words, not his) entering the store. He’s trying, but. Well.

Robin comes around from putting back returns and settles a hand on his shoulder, shaking it a bit when he doesn’t immediately react. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m just—”

He’s hungry. He isn’t used to being hungry, and it’s frustrating that it’s so hard to be normal like this. The phrase ‘take it like a champ’ has been trampled into his very soul over the years, but this is what’s going to take him down: poor planning and an inadequate food budget for the month.

“—Discouraged.”

“Aw.” Robin chucks him under the chin, goofy and from the side. “Hang in there, slugger. We’ll find you your person.”

Steve smiles a little at that. He has yet to fill her in on the newest development in his whole TBD thing, but she’s still leaving space for it. It’s nice.

The only reason he hasn’t told her yet is because of the whole . . . Eddie Munson part of it. That Eddie on that night in particular night had sparked Steve’s first conscious, self-aware thought that, actually, maybe another dude could do it for him . . . but at the same time, blackmailing and extorting him for coming out of a gay club. Robin would bemoan him if he told her that second part. She would lament, and other theater nerd sort of words that he’s picked up from her over the past half a year.

And that’s not even touching the part where Eddie had been dressed to go into that same club himself. (He wonders if Eddie dancing with him would have been like dancing with those other guys. The way they’d pressed up close, put their hands on him, transient with the beat of the music—)

It’s all very complicated and inextricable. He couldn’t even try to explain any part of it without the rest, short of lying (which he won’t do, not to his soulmate), in a way that she won’t despair over. So he keeps it to himself for now, something to let Robin in on well after he’s finished paying Eddie off.

10.

“Look, Henderson,” Eddie says tiredly at the end of the session. “Let me be perfectly clear about this.” He leans his elbows on his haphazard pile of notebooks and folded DM screen, presses his palms together, and heaves a sigh, eyes falling closed. “If you do not stop talking about Steve Harrington, I’m going to start bleeding from my goddamn ears. Think the elevators opening at the end of The Shining, alright?”

Mike perks up from across the table. “Why would—”

“If you don’t know,” Eddie interrupts, his eyes snapping open, “then watch the damn movie, Wheeler. It’s rated R, but I’m sure your patron saint can rent it for you on his own account. Please also remember to never cross the street before looking and to always, always run with scissors.”

The club’s three freshmen exchange looks that Eddie doesn’t bother to try and read. He’s tired of hearing praises sung about the guy he’s weaseling hush money from.

Jeff drops into the chair next to him though, despite being all packed up and ready to go. “You okay, man?” He drops his voice and adds, “How’s Wayne doing?”

Eddie tries to shake it off even though he knows it won’t do anything; the queasy guilt feeling sticks to him like a burr. “Better. He’s. . . . Yeah, he’s getting better.”

And that’s true, so he can’t even mentally tack on but what at cost to the end of the statement.

When he turns back, Dustin is standing right next to the other side of his chair. “Jesus H.—Wear a bell! Christ.”

“So your uncle’s going to be okay?” Dustin asks, eyes wide and damp.

For a moment, Eddie hesitates. He’s not a pessimist and he doesn’t believe in much outside of the Munson doctrine, but he almost doesn’t want to say. Doesn’t want to jinx it. But there’s also the idea of putting what you want to see happen out there into the universe, so here goes.

“Yeah, of course he is.” Eddie manages a lopsided grin, and halfway through saying it the grin even starts to feel real. “A few more weeks left and he’s going to be fine.”

What the hell is it with this kid, winding him up with all the Harrington talk but then emoting so earnestly over Wayne when he’s never even met the man? Mike and Lucas exchange glances again behind their friend’s back, so they seem to know whatever backstory is behind this. . . . Eddie will figure it out someday, resolution noted in triplicate and filed accordingly in his very crowded mental library.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #slow burn #steve harrington #eddie munson #dustin henderson #jeff (stranger things)

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beewithknee · 7 months

Text

of needles and bandaids

c.w - injections

Day 1 of Redactober '23 !

t4t milo/ollie hurt/comfort

“Hey Mi?” Ollie called softly, praying for an answer from the emptiness. Relief flooded his chest with the “Yeah?” That echoed back. Shaking his head, “uh… Nothing. Y’know what, never mind.” He laughed off semi-awkwardly. Sitting back down on the couch, Ollie pulled his knees up to chest. He cringed slightly as the sound of footsteps sounded from down the hallway.

Great.

“Hey Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Milo crooned softly, small smile reserved for his Mate plastered on his lips. His eyes crinkled in concern, and Ollie found himself melting under the gaze.

“It’s nothing. I’m okay.” His voice cracked halfway through his sentence, betraying the underlying panic that danced through his veins.

A hand settled on his thigh, bringing their gazes back together. “It’s shot day.” Milo’s soft words were a reminder. He knew. He constantly kept track of his fiance’s schedule, knowing how much the other struggled with needles.

Ollie nodded, fingers anxiously turning over Milo’s. “Help?” It was weak, small. But he knew his other half would hear.

“Of course sweetheart. C’mon, let’s get you in there.” He grinned, tugging lightly on their joined hands. Slipping their hands around his waist, he pulled Ollie close into his body. The violently fast beating of his heart didn’t go unnoticed by Milo.

He squeezed his hand lightly, a comforting grounding reminder.

Pushing into the bathroom, Milo gently pushed Ollie down onto the toilet lid. The latter went silently, a glaring indication of how loud his head was.

A rhythmic bouncing was heard across the tile as Ollie’s pizza-socked foot struck it repeatedly. His lover did nothing to stop his anxious fidgeting, well aware the external stimulation eased at least a little fear in his head.

Milo set to work getting everything ready and clean, pulling a vial of testosterone out of the cabinet along with a needle. An almost silent whimper broke the quiet atmosphere and he felt his heart break.

“Oh love. It’s okay. Close your eyes for me?” Milo rested a hand against Ollie’s cheek, leaning down to brush their lips together so softly. Pulling away, he rested their foreheads together.

A hand creeped down, feeling for soft fabric. Thumbing at the waistband of his sweatpants, Ollie smiled as he found the physical grounding he required.

“Mi-“ Ollie stuttered, voice breaking with nerves. “Shh, I’ve got you. I’m just gonna pull your boxers up, okay?” With the nod, he did only that. He reached a thumb down to stroke at the newly revealed skin.

Ollie was tense and jittery, breaths coming hard and scared.

“I know. It’s so stupid to be scared of needles, especially when I’ve had so goddamn many. But I- I just can’t get over it. Like what if this is the one time…” Ollie trailed off, unsure and insecure. “You aren’t scared. It’s so stupid that I am, why can’t I be like you-“

Milo interrupted him, with a hand to his cheek, “Ollie, stop and breathe.” The latter’s eyes flew open, meeting Milo’s warm gaze. “You’re allowed to be scared. Needles are fucking creepy, you know. I used to hate them, even when Ma did all our shots as kids.”

“What? For rabies?” Ollie teased, a little spark shining through.

Milo scoffed, pinching his chin, “No, you brat. For tetanus and shit. But yeah, I was terrified. But I learnt how good it can be. When I do my T shots, I’m not scared anymore. Wanna know why?“

Ollie nodded, “Because it means I get to be *me*. Taking testosterone and getting those injections made me live again. I get to be happy in a body I love. And that’s all I want for you. That’s not to say you aren’t allowed to be scared, but just try and focus on the euphoria it’s gonna give you. Okay, baby?”

There were tears in Ollie’s eyes as he surged forward to kiss his wolf. It was tender, gentle and all-encompassing. Milo’s lips tasted a little like the strawberries he had eaten earlier but *fuck* if Ollie didn’t love it.

They pulled apart, lips shining and pink under the dim bathroom light.

“I love you Milo.”

“I love you more. Now let’s do this shit.” He grinned, wide and encouraging. Ollie’s heart rate picking up was audible in the close proximity.

Milo leaned away to get the needle, wiping his thigh with an alcohol swab.

“Deep breath. Focus on you, your feelings, your happiness. Focus on us and how fucking good we look.” An airy chuckle filled the space, and Milo clocked the suppressed grin Ollie was sporting.

“You want a countdown? Or for me to just do it?” “Just do it.” Milo smiled, kissing his partner once more, “Okay Nike. Let’s do this then.”

A sharp sting ripped through Ollie’s thigh and he winced harshly, hand gripping Milo’s pants so hard he swore he’d have to re-iron them.

“I’ve got you. Good job baby. Just a little longer, I promise.” Milo kissed Ollie’s head and pushed the liquid through the tube before pulling it away. It landed with a loud clink in the sharps bin and Milo rushed to get a bandaid.

A loud sigh of relief bounced off the walls. Ollie felt his shoulders drop, anxiety simmering down. Absent-mindedly twisting his ring, he watched on gratefully as his partner rummaged through the cabinets.

“You want Dora or Lightning McQueen or Boo?”

Ollie stared up adoringly at his partner. Fuck, he was so excited to spend the rest of his life with that man.

“Dora, obviously.” He laughed, a genuine stress-free laugh. It warmed the entirety of Milo’s heart. Pressing it down, he finished with the most delicate kiss.

“There. All better.”

Hands found one another, like a tether unable to stay separated for long. Ollie looked up through his lashes. “Can we go cuddle now?”

Bone-deep exhaustion from the multiple near-panic attacks he’d had earlier finally caught up. Milo grinned and nodded, dragging them both to their sunken lounge.

“Thank you. Seriously. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Ollie swore, kissing him deep and meaningfully. It was the kind of kiss that promised forever and more.

“I love you too. Now, let’s watch some goddamn Star Wars.”

Laughter, softness and love permeated the space. Permanently ingraining itself into every inch of their shared apartment.

Some even say Aggro smiled that day, content his Dads had finally found happiness.

#they're so cute and they deserve to be queer and happy #redacted asmr #i love them your honour #redactober 2023 #redacted milo #redacted ollie #t4t fic #trans male character #fluff #hurt/comfort #redacted audio #redacted tober 2023

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phoebehalliwell · 2 years

Note

….lesbian Phoebe and bi Kyra, please?

okay okay so both of them are like meeting in this era where they’re finally like. like you know. like. open to love. like kyra has had flings she’s had fun but evidently since she’s like a demon or whatever she can’t love (??) but now that she’s got this shot at being human like she finally has a chance to find love something’s she’s seen in visions been on the edge of feeling but never quite been able to reach phoebe on the other hand has like just finally realized that like. she’s a lesbian. like. every single relationship she’s had so far had just been because a man pursued her like it was always just her reacting to the chase and she liked playing the cat and mouse game you know it was fun sure but it never really felt like love like she never really wanted them per se she just liked feeling wanted and was willing to fit the role she needed to play in order to feel wanted but now she’s like realizing that she wants to want someone she wants to settle down with someone she loves, not just someone who loves her. and in this journey, she keeps trying to go out with guys and like. wow. when she factors out their emotions. like. huh. she’s not that into them. like. any of them. like. men as a whole. hey. is she a lesbian? does like a bit for bay mirror for pride month like gay love goes to a lesbian bar elise is like hell yes this is great for the paper (also. maybe u realize something doing this column. who know not me!!) and boy oh boy does phoebe realize something doing this column yes indeed she is a lesbian. enter kyra. oh hot damn.

and kyra’s like yes phoebe is a total babe and a half yes like omg but like she’s kinda done the whole dating a demon in the past it really didn’t go well for her i don’t want to come on to strong meanwhile phoebe meets kyra and well let’s say she finally gets what it feels like to want someone and she’s like !!! holy shit! is this how y’all have been feeling this whole time! um but. wow. wow is that a feeling. and it scares phoebe lowkey. like yes this is what she wanted but like kyra feels like all she’s ever wanted and god she wants her so bad and oh my god is she gonna fuck this up quick run!! so phoebe keeps dodging the shit outta kyra which only feed kyra’s need to pump the breaks but whenever phoebe lets her guard down and they hang out oh goddamn do sparks fly anyways one plotline or another psychic visions hit a snafu psychics can no longer have visions they can only transfer them onto other people so like phoebe and kyra are like looking at piper paige leo like okay one of y’all needs to catch a vision so everyone start meditating or something anyway it’s paige who get the vision and she’s like okaay i see what we need uh leo go find out about x demon and kyra phoebe you guys work on a spell and piper you me potion okay and she’s basically dragging piper down the stairs as she says that and piper’s like okay?? sheesh what did you see that was so bad and paige is like no um i wouldn’t necessarily call it bad and piper’s like you wouldn’t call the demon bad and paige is like oh no i would call that bad but um that wasn’t all i saw and piper’s like that wasn’t all you saw and paige is like no um. i also saw um phoebe and kyra. at a wedding. and piper’s like ??? okay? whose wedding? and paige is like. um. theirs! and now piper’s also like !!! bc like. omg??? and they’re like prepping t fight the demon and phoebe and kyra are like haha did the vibe shift in here and piper and paige are like nope!! nope haha why would you even ha what no what would even make you say that lol no don’t even worry about it [should we tell them?] [no! are you kidding! phoebe is already running out of the room at any hint of a relationship] [yeah but like... it is their business, right?] [do you want to tell them?] [no.] [okay then.] hey what are you guys talking about.

blah blah blah plot continues phoebe and kyra realize that the psychic issue can be resolved by idk. full transparency. they can’t see their visions because their clouding their own truths from themselves. or whatever. and phoebe’s like haha no i’m not doing that and kyra’s like oh i am i’m in love with you. and phoebe chokes on her drink. and kyra’s like i mean we have to clear the air!! and it’s true. and it’s oaky if you don’t feel the same way babe honestly bc i think you’re so great that i just want you to be happy i want you to be with someone you want to be with. and phoebe’s like thanks <3. and there are still no visions. bc um. Someone Still Has To Confess Something. and phoebe’s like : ). this is fine. and kyra’s like okay well i know i did just drop a big bombshell on you but um for the sake of like saving the world don’t want to rush you or anything but like. we should probably keep trying to bring back visions. and phoebe’s like no yeah totally honestly tho i just really don’t know what i’m supposed to reveal like i don’t think i’m hiding any truths. i mean you know me i’m an open book. and kyra’s like phoebe. babe. you know i love you. like quite literally you know that now. so like. from a place of love, you’re a shit liar and idk we need to get a vision right now to like save piper and paige or something. and phoebe’s like yeah. and kyra’s like come on nothing you could have to say could top mine okay just like let it out and phoebe’s like no i don’t know what i’m supposed to say and kyra’s like ??? just say it like we need this back and phoebe’s like yeah. ..... . and kyra’s like ?? and phoebe’s like oh fuck it and just kisses kyra and the kiss triggers the vision they need and then they save the day <3

#charmed #phoebe x kyra #prideaskmeme #💌

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feretra · 5 months

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@banedictus: ❝ right to the point, aren’t you? i like that. ❞ (early days hehehe)

“Like recognizes like. Kin for kin,” she replies with as much of a shrug as her body — burdened by the support of a single wooden walking crutch — will allow. It’s a lopsided gesture; framed by an unruly mane of barely shoulder length curls that strive to lay conquest to her equally strong features, even if it remains half tamed under a well worn, ruddy red bandana. The sly grin Salome attempts to wear more toothy and ordinary as she regards him from above. A change of pace, admittedly. “And I know damn well what men think about when forced t’remain idle on account of beasts, so why pretend otherwise?”

Her body lurching forward then, reaching for anything to hold her weight and settling for the heavy iron of a headboard, a clear discomfort evident. This unsound body is barely a year removed from its own foray with death — a descending paralysis determined to steal her freedom just the same as a mother that brandished the knife in the first place — and now, what should have been a casual stroll through the Lower City instead felt a pilgrimage. The series of spasms rolling through her lower back and down through the weakened nerves of her leg drawing an uncharacteristic hiss from the pit of her lungs, though Salome forces herself to reach blindly for chair behind her. The crutch slipping down her arm to settle along her wrist, with the rest of it haphazardly splaying itself upon the floor. Sitting won’t make the pain retreat — the ice cold sear of her nerves not abating for awhile still — but at least it can’t get any worse, either.

Yet, this sort of pain, it is meant to give purpose. Clarity. It is a gift. A blessing, even. Rhetoric that she would be quick to damn from anyone else, but can’t seem to shed herself out of. If it has to give her something, let her never be defenseless again. And allow her to repay in kind those that have kept her alive thus far.

“It took all my contacts, y’know, t’get any kind of lead on what happened t’you. When y’just up and disappeared out of nowhere.” Now idle hands tapping her kretek case, packing the tobacco and clove tight before placing one between her lips and sparking it to life. A terrible habit learned from her fellow Calishite rug weavers that she never intended to pick up, and that she surmises Enver will loathe. In the interim, it quells the noise in her head. “I almost want t’be angry that y’managed t’get me t’care about you, but there you were: showing up every day, treatin’ me like I’m some sort of proper Lady in t’Lower City —“

“But listen, that’s not why I came. Y’have a healer. It’s a good start, but I’m fairly certain y’will get on your feet quicker if y’work with what I’ve learned going through this same goddamned process. Care t’let me repay y’for what y’done for me?”

#banedictus #( rp )#salome ( verse: baldur’s gate )#[ my computer is being dumb so there’s a break where there should be an icon but alas ]#[ regardless f UCKIN HELL ]#[ yet again getting wrekt ]

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volleychumps · 3 years

Note

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this.

Irrevocable Words.

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu,

------------------

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?”

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered.

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night.

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-”

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.”

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-”

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.”

“Y/N-”

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies.

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?”

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction.

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?”

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday.

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-”

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you.

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze.

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space.

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him.

“I brought cake.”

You laugh through the onslaught of tears.

“And I made dinner.”

“Then what are we waitin’ for?”

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!”

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?”

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?”

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare.

“Look, what was I supposed to do?”

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?”

“I texted you I had to cancel!”

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?”

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel.

“Wait, I didn’t-”

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.”

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat.

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities.

“Kenma, what are you doing?”

“You can’t come in here.”

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.”

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.”

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.”

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.”

“So she told you.”

“Dick move, by the way.”

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up.

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you.

“Go home.”

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you.

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-”

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-”

“Tetsurou-”

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-”

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-”

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch.

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.”

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days.

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket.

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.”

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer.

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?”

“I’m going back to ignoring you-”

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.”

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly.

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.”

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes.

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop.

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-”

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,”

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.”

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-”

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully.

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?”

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest.

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-”

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion.

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.”

Tsukishima Kei

“So I’m the bad guy again.”

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away.

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.”

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.”

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you.

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?”

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom.

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you.

“I didn’t-”

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.”

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him.

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave.

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-”

“I hate this.”

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.”

“I don’t follow-”

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.”

“This is a rather aggressive apology-”

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing.

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?”

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer.

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?”

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-”

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”

---------------------------------------------------------

General works: @takemetovalhalla @faesbae @savemesteeb @dreebbles @yams046 @let-me-have-my-own-name @deadontheinsidebut @lifeisntjustblackandwhite @curiouslilbeast @aprettyfruit @wisepandaslimeland @h0ngh0ngh0ng @lmkjimin @orangegiraffe7 @dai-tsukki-desu @kac-chowsballs @spikertrash @yamaguwuchi @lord-suneater-explosion @holaaaf @babyybokutoakaashi @lexysclubhouse @disneyloving-muggle @kuuuuroo @theonep1ece @that-chick212 @mjoork

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walkerwords · 3 years

Text

"Share Your Burden" Daryl Dixon & Daughter!Reader

Request From Anonymous: "Your writing is the best! You probably have a lot of requests, but if you wouldn't mind I'd like to request some more dad Daryl fics where he basically adopts the reader. Those are just always so good. Not sure I have a specific story in mind, just more dad Daryl and Daughter reader in general please. You're the best! 💖"

Summary: The reader is like a daughter to Daryl. When she sees him taken by the saviors, she will get him back and keep him safe even if it means losing some of her humanity.

Word Count: 4933

Warning: Violence, Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Carry You" by Fleurie and Ruelle

Note: Figured considering our show is coming back this month, I should get some stories in, huh? There are parts in this that are lightly inspired by Ellie in TLOU2.

--------

It had taken every ounce of strength not to move as you watched the man known as Negan brutally murder two members of your family.

Abraham’s blood was ingrained into your mind and Maggie’s screams echoed through your skull like bats in a cave. You wanted to scream, cry, and launch yourself at your new enemy to save those who you loved but you remained in the shadows of the tree you had climbed and waited. The group known as the Saviors milled around the clearing as Negan hauled your leader into the RV and drove off.

From your vantage point, you could see Daryl fading as he stared at the bodies of his brothers. Blood was dripping down his arm from the gunshot wound he had sustained from the blonde man above him. Looking at the way the sneering man held Daryl’s bow made you so angry it was hard not to drop down and plunge a blade into his pale neck.

Carl was with Michonne, trying not to look anywhere but the enemies that surrounded them. Carl was your age and he was also the person who you trusted the most to keep it together in situations such as this. You pulled your strength from your friend’s resolve and continued to wait.

Maggie was getting worse and that was why you had ventured out of Alexandria in the first place. Spencer had spotted you heading for the gate when he had tried to stop you. Ignoring him as always, you pushed past him and began the trek to Hilltop. It was on that journey that you came across the first roadblock and so you followed it.

You had never imagined that it would have led to the gruesome scene below you. Your knuckles strained around the handles of your knives, a pair that Daryl had given to you himself when you had settled at the prison. It was only after Terminus that he began to properly train you to use them. Right then, they had never felt more useless.

Daryl was your protector and he was the closest thing you had to a father. He had found you running from Walkers when the group was settled on the Greene farm. You had been alone for weeks and from then on, it was the two of you.

Daryl had been the one to protect you from Shane’s scrutiny, the piercing gaze of the Governor, and the cannibals of Terminus. In turn, you became his shadow, having his back wherever he went, always ready to defend him while also learning everything you could. Now, you felt as powerless as he looked. It had been a long while since the group had been this broken-looking.

It was heartbreaking.

It wasn’t long before Negan returned with Rick and after almost making your leader cut his own son’s hand off. Negan ordered his men to leave not without making demands of your family and hauling Daryl along with him.

Staring after the caravan of murderers, you weighed what you were going to do next. A weight was heavy in your pack’s front packet and while you knew it was risky, a plan began to form. One that would either get you or Daryl killed or perhaps even both. Still, you had to try.

Dropping to the forest floor, you took one last look at your people through the trees before taking off in the opposite direction and towards the main road, pushing your legs as fast as they would go.

“Hold on, Daryl,” you whispered in between haggard breaths, “I’ll be there soon."

-----------

Daryl was in the back of the truck trying not to grimace every time the vehicle rolled over an uneven section of road.

Everything hurt and nothing felt right. He felt sick and above everything, he felt guilty.

The shock was still coursing through his veins as he heard Negan laughing in the cab upfront but he tried to tune it out as he thought of Glenn. It was instinct to go after Negan. Daryl hadn’t even thought about the repercussions that might happen as he got to his feet and charged the larger man.

It hadn’t occurred to Daryl to take a breath and think about what would happen next. They had never faced a menace like Negan before. Daryl thought he had seen the last of the bloodshed when they had escaped Terminus. At least, escaped the violence for a while before it caught back up to them again.

It wasn’t long till Daryl’s pain began to increase as the adrenaline wore off. Dwight was sitting across from him, holding his crossbow and Daryl wanted to strangle the man.

He had helped Dwight with Sherry and Tina. He had tried to keep Tina alive when he returned the insulin. Daryl couldn’t help but be enraged while looking at him, but he understood the betrayal in a way. He knew what people became in the new world and according to Dwight, Negan was the lesser evil of trying to survive on his own.

Daryl then only wondered what happened to Sherry.

They were going down another road as Daryl leaned to the left as the truck turned sharply. He blinked away the sudden twinge in his shoulder and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning in discomfort. He wouldn’t give these bastards the satisfaction.

Suddenly, from the front of the cab, Negan shouted, causing Dwight to jump in his seat. “Shit!” Negan swore and then there was a flash of light, a loud bang, and then they were airborne. Daryl had barely a second to brace his hands on the roof of the truck before it slammed into the road, the metal exterior shredding sparks along the neglected asphalt.

Smoke and dust filled the air as Daryl tried to get his bearings. He could hear the muffled shouts of Negan and his men followed by a few gunshots but his ears were still ringing.

Across from him, Dwight was groaning in pain as blood dripped from his brow. His hands had let go of the bow and in a sudden surge of energy, Daryl dove for his loaded weapon.

Clutching his hands around the crossbow, Daryl scrambled for the back door, trying to get to his feet. A hand then circled around his ankle as Dwight realized what was happening. Turning around, Daryl blindly fired a bolt and it struck Dwight in the shoulder, mirroring Daryl’s own wound for good measure.

Dwight went down in pain and Daryl continued to move. As he fumbled for the door that was hanging half open due to the crash, he could hear yells of pain out in the warm air followed by the sound of someone choking as if they were drowning. Even half-aware of what was going on, Daryl could recognize the sound of someone choking on their own blood.

Daryl slammed his good shoulder against the broken door with a frustrated yell and finally felt the sun on his face. “Don’t kill her!” Daryl heard Negan scream. “Jesus fucking Christ, Arat!” Daryl tried to get back on his feet but everything was too bright and he was still trying to figure out what had happened and who Negan was talking about.

It wasn’t until he felt a hand around his arm that he seemed to snap back into his body. Aware that he hadn’t reloaded a new bolt into his bow, he swung his arm, trying to clip his assailant in the head with the bow. “Fuck! Daryl!” a familiar voice exclaimed to his right. The arm around him tightened as Daryl’s eyes finally focused on the person at his side.

“(Y/N)?” he breathed as he took in your face that was covered in blood and a wild look echoed from your eyes.

“We have to move,” you said earnestly. “Now!” Not questioning your demands, Daryl nodded and allowed you to take his bow as you grabbed for it. Slinging the bow onto your back, you grabbed the lighter Daryl had given you and he watched as you took a breath, no doubt sending some kind of prayer to the universe before you threw it into a pool of gasoline, igniting it and sending Saviors diving for cover.

Bullets flew by you as you hauled Daryl to the woods. “Don’t fucking shoot her! She’s a goddamn kid!” Negan screamed at his men.

Daryl leaned heavily on you as you dragged him towards the treeline. He didn’t hear much of what you said after that as his feet blindly followed you. “Negan,” Daryl choked out, trying to get you to understand.

“Leave him,” you said, trying to carry both of your weights. “Come on, Daryl, I can’t carry us both,” you pleaded, trying to get his mind to catch up with his body. It took another minute or so before the ringing subsided in his ears and the world got back into focus. Taking a few deep breaths, he got back into his normal gait and began speeding up his steps as he followed you through the woods.

You kept the crossbow on your back but he was soon able to walk on his own. “What did ya do?” Daryl asked as you stumbled down an embankment and carefully crossed a stream.

“What I had to to get you away from them,” you said as you helped him over the slippery rocks. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to keep moving. There’s a town just through these trees, we can hide there for the night.”

“They’ll find us, (Y/N),” Daryl said as he pressed his hand against the bullet wound that was bleeding again. You looked at him, your eyes still wide from the fight.

“Then I’ll handle it,” you said. “It's my turn to keep you safe.”

-----------

The heat was horrid by the time you and Daryl arrived in the abandoned town.

Even with Daryl still in pain, you made the two of you circle back three times in order to cover your tracks. However, eventually, you knew he couldn’t take more before he finally keeled over. Keeping the crossbow loaded, you moved silently through the back alleys of the small town, looking for both Saviors and Walkers alike.

After the quarry horde had been redirected, the larger groups of the dead had been far and few between but that didn’t mean Walkers were gone altogether. Silently, you took down four Walkers before you found the destination you had in mind.

The old town library was something you and Sasha had found when you had accompanied her on a hunt one day. The latches on the doors still worked and it had enough blindspots inside to hide from the Living and the Dead.

You stood watch as Daryl wrestled with the doors. The Southern heat warped the frames a bit but eventually, Daryl was able to push one open and slip inside. You followed quickly and shut it behind you. Placing down the bow, you shoved a fallen bookcase in front of the double doors before collapsing against it for a second.

“Okay, this should hold,” you said with another breath. Daryl was swaying on his feet when you looked back at him. “Come on,” you said, picking up the bow and leading him into the main area of the library.

For such a small town, the library was a decent size. You figured that it was probably the main community hub for the neighborhood. It made its untouched books and abandoned keycards that much more sorrowful. Depositing Daryl on one of the lumpy couches, you grabbed your flashlight from your pack and clicked it on.

“I’m going to go make sure there’s no Dead in here,” you said. “Stay here and I’ll be back to take a look at that shoulder.”

“(Y/N),” Daryl said, grabbing your hand before you could move.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. Daryl seemed to be wary but he was also exhausted so he relented and let go. You gave him your canteen, ordered him to drink, and then you began your search.

The dried blood on your skin was driving you crazy as it itched with every second. When you had set out after the Saviors, clutching the grenade you had stolen from Spencer’s stash a few days before, it hadn’t occurred to you that there would be a before and an after.

Before you managed to get to Daryl and after you got him.

Now, it was all about survival. You knew what you had done. Negan was pissed and if you knew anything about his temper solely based on the clearing, then you knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

You feared for your family back in Alexandria. If he wanted to, Negan could go and terrorize your family, perhaps kill more of them. None of that had been on your mind when you began your rescue operation. You weren’t thinking about anyone but Daryl. You had to save him and you were willing to risk your life. Though, now, you realized it wasn’t just your life you were risking.

Shaking the thoughts out of your mind, you finished your rounds through the two stories of the library. You were surprised to only find two Walkers who were less than “alive”. Both were barely hanging on and you figured one of them had been the librarian at some point. You took them both out to end their suffering and then headed back to Daryl.

Daryl was still awake when you joined him on the couch and helped him out of his shirt. The gunshot wound was getting worse and you could tell he was trying to put on a brave face for you. “You don’t have to do that, you know?” you said as you dug through your bag for the alcohol and bandages you always had with you.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Act as if nothing is hurting,” you said, pouring some of the alcohol on a rag. Not giving him a warning, you pressed it against his shoulder and Daryl swore as it burned the wound. “See,” you said with a smirk.

“Ya shouldn’t have done it,” Daryl said after a second.

“If I hadn’t, then you would be dead or worse,” you said. “I wasn’t going to let Negan take anyone else from me. Not after Glenn and Abraham.”

“You saw,” Daryl said and it wasn’t a question. You began cleaning the excess blood off before finding your suturing kit.

“I was in a tree,” you whispered, threading the needle, suddenly very grateful for the lessons Herschel had given you. “I thought he was going to kill you.”

“Maybe he should have,” Daryl said and your hands froze. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you could see the emotions that were raging in him.

“Daryl…”

“He said not to move, kid,” Daryl said. “I lost it after he killed Abraham. If I hadn’t… Glenn would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that. We slaughtered that outpost, hell, I’m surprised he didn’t take more people out. I know you and the others think I’m just some kid but I notice more than you think and I have learned to read people. Negan is… I don’t think he’s some kind of deranged maniac but he’s ruthless and he’s not going to stop until he feels as if he has all the power again. At least I can see that he’s not willing to kill kids. Guess that means Carl and I are gonna be on the front lines this time,” you finished with an attempt at humor.

“Not funny,” he said.

“Daryl, you and I both know that this isn’t going to end without a fight.”

“You ain’t fighting,” Daryl said sternly. You ignored him and began stitching up his wound, careful not to pull too much.

“Considering the way Rick was looking at Negan before I left, it doesn’t look like he had much fight left in him. Someone has to do it.”

“Rick has a lot of pressure on his shoulders,” Daryl defended but you just shook your head.

“I watched him tear a man’s throat out with his teeth, Daryl,” you said. “This was different. I warned you about his pride and how it was going to be his downfall. He just needs to be reminded of the leader he is.”

“Since when are ya so mature?”

“Since I watched the people I love get killed again and again,” you said as you tied off the last stitch.

“You blame Rick,” Daryl said.

“I blame all of us,” you said, picking up the clean bandages. “We believed that moron at Hilltop… We never should have gone after the Satellite Station, Daryl. We keep doing this, getting involved in fights that aren’t ours.”

“We have to help people,” Daryl said. “It’s what we do.”

“Why? Why do we have to? Why is it our responsibility? Why can’t we just survive like everyone else?”

“Someone has to be the good guys,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he believed it.

“I’m sick of being them,” you admitted, finally sitting back.

“Ya really mean that?” Daryl asked as he shrugged his shirt back onto his shoulder. You sat there for a minute before sighing.

“No,” you whispered. “I’m just sick of the death.”

-----------

Daryl was asleep finally and you became the sole protector.

It was odd, the role reversal. So many times you had been the one hurt and cowering as Daryl protected you. Now, after seeing all the horrors you had since Terminus, your skin was stronger than stone. It was going to take a lot more than a bastard with a bat to break you.

You could hear Daryl’s soft snore from the lounge as you scanned the darkness. You stayed there, watching until the soft rumbles of a truck echoed through the night. Ducking down, you watched as a pickup truck drove slowly through the town, a spotlight scanning the empty storefronts.

"Fuck," you whispered. Glancing at the bow by your side, you made a quick decision as the truck came to a stop and three men, Saviors, jumped out.

Sneaking back towards Daryl, you left his bow, loaded, by his side. Taking one last look at him, you slipped your jacket over your shoulders and headed to the second floor. An open window welcomed you near the back exit. Being an avid climber it was easy to maneuver out onto the slanted roof and grab onto the drainage pipe to take you to the ground.

Muffled voices reached your ears as you kept to the shadows. "Spread out, kill the man, take the girl," a man said, a voice you didn't recognize.

"That girl nearly killed Negan," another said.

"We are Negan," the third said. "And we do what he orders. Saviors don't kill kids. Find her." While it was a bold statement, you knew it was false. Hilltop had said, a boy was murdered. None of that fit.

Trying not to overanalyze anything, you focused on the task at hand. Picking up a large rock, you threw it as far as you could. The sound of breaking glass shattered the air and a set of boots took off in that direction.

As the second man went West, you focused on the solo scout who headed towards the abandoned police station. As you got closer, groans reached your ears. Spotting the Walker first, you snuck up behind it and slit its throat with a single slice. The gargling of Dead blood and empty lungs perforated your surroundings but it was enough to call attention to the Savior.

"Ugly motherfucker," the Savior said, not yet spotting you as you stood behind it. As the Savior drew his blade to silently end the creature, you shoved the Walker forward onto the man.

Stunned by the sudden momentum, he cried out as the Walker bit into the face before it. The Savior’s scream was cut off short as the Walker found its next meal. As soon as the damage was done, you finished off both, making sure to stifle the sounds that would pull your other two targets closer. Dragging both bodies out of sight, you slipped back into the shadows.

-----------

Moving West, you avoided any other Walkers who were wandering.

Not looking to be tracked by the Walker equivalent of breadcrumbs, you made sure to stay hidden for the most part. Finally spotting your next target, you began wishing you had grabbed Carl’s gun with his silencer before you had followed after the caravan. Only armed with knives now, you had to make do.

The Savior was looking through a desolate pet shop as you snuck in through a broken window, careful not to make too much noise with the shattered glass.

Picking up a tennis ball that had been neglected, you rolled it towards the aisle the Savior was looking in. Just like a curious golden retriever, the man followed the little ball right into your path. He barely had time to shout a warning before your knife was embedded into his carotid.

His eyes were wide as blood poured onto your hand. Keeping your nerve, you twisted the knife and fully severed the artery. The man fell to his knees as you pulled the blade free. Clutching his throat, he tried to speak but no sound came. “You’re not going to find him,” you whispered as he fell back and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Quickly, you shoved your blade into his brain before grabbing his weapon. It wasn’t silenced but it would have to do if it came down to a firefight. Turning back towards the main street, you ran from the store in hopes of catching the final Savior before he sounded the alarm.

-----------

The truck was still there but its driver was nowhere to be seen.

Noticing the keys were still in the ignition, you rolled your eyes. Pocketing them, you waited in the cab, hoping the final man would return soon.

Fatigue was starting to set in as you waited and you began to think of when the last time you slept was. Before the turn, you had imagined your teen years to be full of parties and late nights studying for tests in high school. You did not envision you would be waiting in the dark of a truck, ready to get more blood on your hands.

Unlike Carl, it hadn’t been at the prison when you first killed someone. It had been before you had even met Daryl. Before you wandered onto the Greene farm and Daryl and Carol had found you, you had been traveling with your aunt and uncle when bandits had attacked you and killed both before turning their sights on you. Not knowing how to use a gun, only ever seeing your uncle use it and of course, in films, you blindly fired and killed one and then the other. The third, who was just a teenager, had runoff.

After that, you felt ashamed at how you didn’t feel bad about doing it. Shane had explained that it was okay because you did it out of self-defense and Daryl and Maggie had agreed.

Now, as fresh blood joined the flaking blood on your hands, you tried to rationalize that what you were doing now was in defense of another. If the Saviors got Daryl back or killed him, you would not have been able to handle it.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself. “Handle this and get back to Daryl. He needs you.”

It didn’t take long for the man to return. The man was speaking into his radio and it had never occurred to you to take the other walkies off the other bodies. However, now you knew you weren’t leaving without this one. If Rick wanted to fight and you were hoping that he was, then having a Savior’s radio, attuned to Negan’s base of operations would be a great start to gather intel.

Angling yourself in the front seat, you waited for him to open the door. Steadying your hand, you took a deep breath in, leveled the stolen gun, and just as the driver’s side door pulled open and the overhead light clicked on, you fired one bullet, hitting the man in the head.

Surprised by your own accuracy, you shuffled out of the cab, grabbed the radio, and shoved the body underneath the car. You waited then, for either more Walkers or the cavalry but when none came, you ran back to the library, hoping the shot didn’t wake Daryl. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

-----------

“Are ya really that reckless?” Daryl said as soon as you snuck back into the library.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you said, nonchalantly.

“Bullshit, I can practically smell all the blood on you,” he said, folding his arms. His bow was still by his side and after the small amount of rest, he was clearly not in the mood for your aloofness.

“I told you I would protect you,” you said as you moved to your pack and grabbed the discarded canteen, and poured some water on your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the sick smell of iron. "Now, we need to figure out what to do," you said.

"We need to get home," he argued.

"We're going to Hilltop," you said. "They'll be looking for you at Alexandria and you know it."

"Both of us," he pointed out with a slight glare.

"Negan doesn't scare me," you said to him.

"He should."

"We've seen worse," you countered.

"You're too young for all this shit," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"So you've said before," you reminded him.

"(Y/N)..."

"If you're about to say that I need to distance myself from you. You'd be a moron. I'm not leaving you. If you don’t like it, any of it, then you never should have taught me to fight.”

“That’s right, I taught you to fight, not to kill,” he argued. Throwing the water bottle down, you turned on him.

“What is this about? I’ve seen you kill people. I’ve seen you do worse than taking a few people out to protect someone in our family. What is actually going on here and don’t say that it’s because you’re feeling guilty. It's more than that.”

“Ever think I don’t like seeing you like this," he gestured to your bloody clothes. "Do ya think I want ya to become someone like Negan? Ya act like taking a life ain’t that big of a deal!”

“Will you stop shouting,” you hissed, moving closer to him. “Daryl, I did what I had to. I am so sorry that you think you are the only one who is allowed to cross lines to protect us. I think you forget all the times we have had to save you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you getting mad at me for saving your life. Do you not realize how much you mean to me? I lost my parents before the turn and then my aunt and uncle and I had nobody. Nobody until you found me in that field. You are the closest thing I have to a father, Daryl and I don’t care what I have to do to make sure I don't lose another parent. I can’t handle it, okay? Please, just let me protect you for once!"

The emotions were taking you over then and it was hard to control them. “I don’t mean to cry and all that,” you said, sniffing back the tears, “but you can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing when people keep trying to take you away from me.”

Daryl’s stern look dissipated then and it made you feel a bit worse. Wiping at the tears on your face, you turned away from him. Soon, you felt his arms around you as he pulled you into his chest just as he had earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, you were just tryin’ to help. Okay, I ain’t mad.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you said into his chest.

“I just worry about ya,” he said. “Ya know why?” Shaking your head, he tightened his hold. “Cause I see ya as my kid, too and I would do anythin’ to keep ya safe. I guess I gotta accept you’re going to do the same." Stepping back, he wiped the tears off your cheeks. “Just no more sneaking out, alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed. "Daryl, just know you don't have to carry it all. You can share your burden."

"I thought I was the parent here," he said.

"Family works both ways."

"Yes it does," he said.

Then with a bit more of a smile, you produced the keys you had stolen from the car. “I got us a ride cause you're still stuck with me."

"You're so stubborn," he said.

"I got it from you," you said with a gesture to the street. "You're going to have to drive."

"Right, no need to almost die twice in twenty-four hours," he said and you offered him a small smile. Daryl then took your hand in his as he gathered your pack. "I ain't leavin' you. You're stuck with me, too. I got you, kid,” he said. "And thanks for comin’ to get me.” You looked up at him and nodded.

“Always.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @agent-laufeyson @lucillethings

#The walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x daughter!reader #apolloloki97 #walkerwords #negan #twd #daryl dixon imagines #twd imagine #daryl dixon

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aithorin · 3 years

Text

A Lesson in Possession - All Smite x Reader (18+)

Summary: When you make the mistake of revealing that you find one of the top ten heroes attractive, Smite wastes no time in reminding you that you belong to him.

Warnings: Villain AU, Villain!All Might, Possessive behavior, Dominance, Vaginal fingering, Possessive sex, Unhealthy relationships, Degradation

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30772664

Very much NSFW!

All Might was ignoring you. Intentionally ignoring you. And you didn’t like it. Not one bit. For the last 20 minutes, you’d tried in vain to get him to finally sit down on the couch with you yet to no avail. He just continued to rustle around in the kitchen, seeming to clang together every goddamn pan in existence while looking for who knows what. At any rate, it was clear your attempts weren’t working at all.

Letting out a huff, you turned away from the kitchen to face the television. Raising the volume to drown out all the fucking noise he was making, the newsreporter babbled on about a battle that had happened earlier in the day. The fight in question was between none other than All Might and a horde of the top heroes. But what else was new?

‘Boooooorrrrring’ You droned out in your head. Picking up the remote, you flicked to the next channel only to be met with the same regurgitated garbage from the last. Sitting up straight, a spark of irritation fired through you as you began cycling through all the channels, going through them faster with each disappointment.

“All Might-” Next

“Earlier today, Symbol of Discord, All Might-” Next

“Top hero Endeavor and All Might faced off-” Next

God, was there nothing else to fucking watch? Huffing in frustration, you hit mute before tossing the remote onto the cushion beside you. Crossing your arms, you settled further into the sofa as a small pout crept onto your face. Glaring at the TV, you gave it a scowl that rivaled All Might’s. However, as you kept your eyes trained on the now silent news report, your glower slowly faded into a wicked grin as an inkling of an idea began to take form. You knew exactly what to do. All Might wouldn’t be ignoring you for much longer.

Sitting up, you swung your legs up onto the couch and schooled your features into the epitome of relaxed and unbothered. Slinging one arm over the back, you kept your gaze glued to the TV and called out, “Your fight from today is all over the news.”

A particularly loud clang was all you got in response. That was okay. It was to be expected. On to phase two.

“They’re saying you destroyed half of Kamino Ward. And with five of the top heroes there too! That’s pretty impressive you managed to make it here without a scratch. I guess even the best have nothing on you.”

This time you got a clang followed by a grunt. Okay, so flattery was a no go. Time to change tactics. But no matter, you had saved the best for last.

“Although…” you began, dragging the word out, “While they may not be a match for you when it comes to power, I do have to say that some of them rival you quite well in the looks department. Personally, I think Hawks comes pretty damn close.”

Bringing a finger up, you tapped it against your lips. Amending your previous statement, you said, “Hmmm, wait. On second thought, I think he might actually be hotter than you. He is pretty attractive, you know.”

At your words, all clanging came to an abrupt halt. This time all that greeted you was deathly silence. Reveling in it, your smirk grew tenfold. Checkmate.

Slow footsteps rumbled across the ground, sending tremors through the floors of your apartment. But you wouldn’t let yourself be intimidated. Keeping your eyes trailed on the screen, you refused to look at him, knowing it would anger him more. With the sole intention of pretending not to notice you had just pissed off the number one villain, you nonchalantly picked at invisible dirt in your nails.

Standing in the doorway that separated the living room from the kitchen, you could feel his glare burning holes into the back of your head, but you held steady to the charade.

“What,” All Might growled, “Did you just say?”

Giving a noncommittal hum and schooling your features, you threw a cursory glance at him over your shoulder before turning back to the TV, feigning disinterest. Once you were out of his line of sight though, you couldn’t help letting the devilish grin return. It was all going according to plan. He was absolutely pissed. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him so angry before. Just a couple of words and his aura had darkened so much it cast a shadow over the whole room. With his eyes blazing and his lips curled back in a snarl, his fists were clenched at his sides, trembling ever so slightly in an attempt to keep his anger in check. At any rate, it was clear your comment had gotten his blood boiling.

“Hmmm, what was that?” you finally replied. Looking at the TV, you continued, “Oh, I was just saying that I think Hawks is way hotter than you. No offense.”

Letting out a snarl, he began to stalk towards you. “You’re playing a dangerous game doll. Are you trying to make me mad?”

“No,” you said, giving a small pout, “I’m trying to get your attention. You’ve been ignoring me the whole time you’ve been here!”

“Insolent girl!” All Might growled, “And you thought insulting me was the way to do it?”

“Well nothing else was working!” you said haughtily, crossing your arms, “Besides, from my view, it worked perfectly. You’re certainly not ignoring me now, which is all I wanted in the first place.” Letting the irritation slide off your back, you gave him a cheeky grin and waggled your eyebrows.

Yet your words seemed to have the opposite effect on All Might as his expression grew impossibly darker. Giving you a derisive smile, he sneered. “Fine,” He said, voice sinister yet full of promise, “Have it your way then.”

The change in the air was palpable. Grin fading from your face, you realized that with nothing more than a few words from him, you’d lost all control over the situation. The knowledge sent a wave of nervousness down your spine. There was no denying it. The tables had turned, and while you may have won the battle, you were most certainly about to lose the war. God, you should have just kept your mouth shut. Why did your impatience always land you in such deep shit? Would it really have been so bad to wait another 15 minutes?

You’d played with fire and now you were about to be burned. From the look of All Might’s heated gaze, it seemed you were in for a world of painful pleasure. He’d give you what you want alright, but the bastard would be sure to reduce you to a writhing, sobbing mess beforehand. Yet despite the fact that your head was screaming at you to get away, your body seemed to have other thoughts. To your horror, you realized that the idea of being so completely at his mercy was actually turning you on. Just thinking about it had you shifting uncomfortably in your seat as a dull throb of need began to build in your abdomen.

In a flash, his looming form hovered over you, encasing you with his shadow, and the glow of his blazing blue eyes burned with a smug self-satisfaction at the sound of your breath hitching. Somehow, he’d gotten ahold of your arms, and they lay trapped in one of his hands held high above your head. His actions had caused your shirt to ride up ever so slightly, a fact which had not escaped All Might’s attention. Taking a moment to rake his eyes over your form, you could feel your body heat under his appreciative gaze, tendrils of want slithering through you.

Leaning over you, All Might trapped you with his body, your chests touching. His nearness created a warmth, and with it your heart began to beat ever so slightly faster. Tongue darting out to nervously lick your lips, you waited to see what he would do. With his free hand, All Might came up to swipe his thumb across your bottom lip, getting rid of the moisture you’d just laid there, before tilting your chin up and somehow getting impossibly closer. It was more than enough to unnerve you, and it was obvious he was doing it on purpose. The damn bastard knew you were helpless to resist when he was that close.

Bending down, he pressed his face toward your ear. “You want attention?” He snarled, his hot breath fanning the shell of your ear and sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine, “I’ll give you attention.”

Pulling back, he made sure his eyes met yours. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget that bird brained freak even exists. But first, I’m gonna teach you a lesson, doll. Mark my words, you’re gonna regret opening that pretty little mouth of yours.”

And that was all the warning you got. Leaning down, he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, demanding entrance. But the brat in you couldn’t help resisting. You met him full force, refusing to give him what he wanted, goading him. In response, he growled against your lips before biting down on your bottom one, not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to surprise you. Releasing a tiny yelp at the shock, he seized the moment to push his way through. In an instant, he had his tongue tangled around yours. And there was nothing loving about the embrace. Rough and bruising, it was pure punishment and you were helpless to do anything about it.

As your need for air began to become overwhelming, All Might started to pull away, leaving a trail of saliva connected to your lips, thinning ever so slowly before finally splitting in half to land against your chin. Chest heaving and yearning to feel his lips against yours again, you sought his touch the only way you knew how.

By baiting him.

Sitting up ever so slightly by wiggling one arm out of his embrace, you propped yourself up on it and gave him a roguish grin. “Is that all you got, big guy?” You asked.

At the jab, he let out a growl. “I’m not anywhere close to done with you, girl.”

Leaning down, he grabbed hold of your T-shirt and tore it straight in half in one fell swoop before doing the exact same with your bra. Letting out a gasp, your exposed nipples began to harden in wake of the cold air, and All Might smirked as you rushed to cover yourself.

“Uh Uh Uh” He tutted, waggling his finger at you, “You know better than that.”

Slowly you began to lower your hand, and All Might let out an appreciative hum. “Good girl.” He purred.

Leaning down, he latched onto one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around the tip before taking it between his teeth and giving it an experimental tug. Your body, desperate for the slightest touch now, responded immediately. Letting out a breathy moan, you arched into his touch, silently begging for more as the sensation sent jolts of pleasure dancing across your chest that headed straight to your core. Smirking in satisfaction, All Might chose to ignore your plea. Grabbing onto your hips, he began trailing his lips down to the waistline of your pants, leaving warm wet kisses with his tongue across your belly while his thumbs stroked the sides of your waist. Arriving at the top of your pants, he reached one hand over to flick them open before sliding them over the curve of your ass, taking your panties with them and leaving your glistening pussy fully exposed.

“Look at you. You’re positively drenched, and I’ve barely even touched you. What an eager little slut you are.” He said, dragging one long finger along your slit.

Gasping at his touch, you watched, entranced, as he pulled his finger away, your juices dripping off of it. Bending down, he held it up to your mouth.

“Suck.” He commanded. Looking down at it, you hesitated just a moment too long, and his face twisted into a snarl.

“I’m not gonna ask you twice, girl. When I tell you to suck, you suck. ” He growled, squeezing your jaw open with one large hand wrapped around your cheeks and pushing his index finger into your mouth.

Tentatively you took the length of his finger into your mouth, wrapping your lips around the base of it. As the back of your tongue touched the pad of his fingertip, the warm, slightly salty taste of yourself met it. Swirling your tongue around the digit, you slowly began to bob up and down on it, thoroughly lubricating it with your saliva.

Letting out a satisfied smirk, All Might purred, “Good girl.” Shoving his finger back in as far back into your throat as he could, you gagged trying to catch your breath as he finally removed the digit, bringing your bottom lip down with it.

“That was for earlier.” He sneered, “Don’t disobey me again.”

And then, beginning from your mouth, he traced a path down your chin with his wet finger, going between the valley of your breasts and the soft curve of your belly. As the wet trail he made quickly dried, you shivered as the dampness met the cold air. Arriving at your pussy, he began to prod at your entrance, easily slipping the digit in.

You couldn’t stop from letting out an immediate moan at the stretch. From one finger, he had already managed to make you feel deliciously full. The mind numbing emptiness your body had been begging for him to satiate was finally being remedied.

Beginning to pump, All Might turned his attention toward your clit. As his fingers thrust inside you, his thumb began to rub slow circles over your clit, pulling all sorts of gasps out of you. Working you open, his pace began to quicken and before you knew it he was slipping a second finger in.

Dissolving into putty at his hands, you could feel your climax fast approaching.

Yes!” you moaned, “Just like that.” You were so close. With one more thrust, you’d be gone. You could feel his fingers pulling out, preparing to send you over the edge, when suddenly they were completely gone, leaving you painfully empty.

Choking from the force of being denied so suddenly, your eyes flashed open just in time to see him climbing off of you. Face sweaty and cheeks flushed, you were an absolute mess. Lost in a haze of need, you could barely even comprehend what was happening. All you could see was that damn smirk on his face.

Unbuckling his pants painfully slow, he seemed to revel in your agony. As he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his pants, a distinct clink floated through the air as his loose belt buckle hit the metal of his pant button. And then in one swift motion, he took his pants off, his cock springing free. Painfully hard and red, it seemed to almost pulsate. Following the line of one thick vein, you saw that the tip was already oozing pre-cum.

Licking your lips in anticipation, you waited for All Might to approach you once more, but he remained standing. In fact, he moved farther away from you, making you want to cry.

Stroking himself, he seemed to completely ignore you as he lifted his other hand to rest on his chin, a thoughtful expression came over his face. “You know, I’ve already been quite lenient with you. Maybe it’d be better to just take care of myself.”

At that you wanted to sob. Nothing in the world mattered more to you than having his cock balls deep inside you at the moment. “Please please don’t do that!” you said, wanting nothing more than to pull him close, but he was just out of reach, and by then, you were too out of it to do anything else but stretch a weak hand toward him.

“Ple-please touch me.” You whined, legs rubbing together, desperately trying to regain even the slightest amount of friction.

Letting out a snort, he taunted, “And give me one good reason why I should. You haven’t exactly been on your best behavior today. Need I remind you that this is supposed to be your punishment?”

“I-I know you want to though.” You said, breathless. Raising your head to look at him through hooded eyes, you purred, “It-It’ll be so good.”

Taking a few steps toward you, he looked down into your eyes. Face becoming almost pleasant, he questioned, “You want this? You want my cock?” As you watched him stroke himself, you eagerly nodded. You wanted nothing more.

In an instant, his face turned dark once more as he growled, “Then beg for it.”

At that, a look of confusion spread over your face. “Wh-What?” You questioned.

“You heard me. If you want my cock beg. for. it.” He said.

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve laughed in his face, but, well, being incredibly horny does make a difference. Swallowing your pride, you whispered, “Please. I want your cock. I want you to fuck me.”

And yet, true to the utter asshole that he was, All Might pretended not to hear you. “Hmmm. What was that?” He said, lifting a hand up to cup his ear, “I didn’t hear you.”

“I want your cock!” You shouted, looking up to glare at him, “I want you to fuck me.”

“No need to be so mean kitten,” He said, a mock pout coming over his face, “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

Before you could even register that he’d moved, All Might was back over you again, one last self-satisfied smirk being the only warning you got before he buried his cock in you. Moaning from the sensation, tears sprung at your eyes from how far he was stretching you. God, he was so big, yet you couldn’t even find it in yourself to care because it felt so good.

Fully inside, he gave you the small mercy of allowing but a single moment for you to adjust. Before you knew it, he was pulling out only to thrust back into you again, setting an absolutely brutal pace. Eyes rolling into the back of your head from the force, you briefly registered him attaching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave teeth indentations.

Grabbing hold of his neck, you wrapped your legs around his waist to give him better access as breathy groans escaped your lips. Already you could feel the coil inside beginning to wind again.

“You filthy slut. You like this, don’t you? Me using you for the whore you are.” He said, wrapping a hand around your throat and grunting as he bucked into you.

“I’m the only one who’s ever gonna be able to fuck you this good. I’m the only one who can make you feel like this. You got that. You’re mine.” He growled, reaching hand down to flick at your clit, never once slowing down.

Lost in pleasure, you barely even processed his words. That is until he leaned down to snarl in your ear, “Say it.”

“I-I’m yours, All Might. You’re the only one who can fuck me this good.” you groaned.

Coming in close, he caught your lips in a bruising kiss, before thrusting in once more, going so deep you were sent flying off the edge. Gasping, you saw stars in your eyes as white hot pleasure wracked its way down your spine sending tremors throughout your body. As you came, your pussy clenched around him, causing All Might to climax as well. Hot seed coated the insides of your walls as you both fought to recover. As your heavy pants gradually became more controlled, he slowly slid out of you.

With sweat coating his brow and his breathing ragged, All Might looked down at you, blue eyes blazing, “Nobody makes you feel the way that I do. Nobody. And you’d do well to remember that, doll.”

Climbing off of you, he began to make his way down the hall, throwing your pitiful form still sprawled out on the couch one last glance. “The next time you want to try something like what you just pulled, I’d suggest you remember our little lesson today.”

#all might x reader #all smite x reader #all might #all smite #toshinori yagi #toshinori yagi x reader #mha #my hero academia #villain all might #villain au #all might smut #all might x you #yagi toshinori #my hero fanfic #all might imagine #smut

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

YES TO THE SNIPPETS YES PLEASE

Thanks to everyone who asked for this! You're amazing! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

You can find the inspiration/ sequel here! Thanks to AJ and Lev for their hcs about the smutty situations, and to the discord for the last snippet!

Combined with a prompt for some relaxed Coops smut

Remus fell on the bed and immediately yelped as if he’d been hit. “What?” Sirius asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Just bruised,” he said with a grimace, rubbing one thigh.

Sirius frowned and knelt at the edge of the bed. “Why are you bruised?”

“I got checked yesterday, remember?” He winced as Sirius gently prodded the base of the bruise and pulled his shorts off; he made a soft, sad noise, pressing a kiss to the blue-black skin. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Still. I don’t like it.” Sirius’ lower lip stuck out slightly in a pout, and he guided his face back down for a kiss.

“Everything else is a-okay,” he murmured, trailing a path of light bites down the column of his neck as he laid back. “C’mere, I’ll prove it.”

The world was starting to go black at the edges, popping with fireworks as Remus scrambled for purchase on the strong forearms by his ribs. Sirius’ hold on him was firm, and had been for the past—oh, god, how long had he been like this? Ten minutes? An hour? Eternity? Another shudder rocked through him and he moaned around the fabric clenched tight between his teeth.

“Good boy,” Sirius panted as he hiked Remus’ shaking leg up around his hip. “There you go, you’re doing so well.”

An unsteady whine broke through as well; the mattress creaked beneath him, and through his delirious happiness he wondered if this would be the day they finally broke it. Sirius was so painfully close to where Remus needed him most, just a little bit more—

“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered, wrapping his palms around Remus’ hips and hauling him into the right spot. His thighs clenched around Sirius’ waist as he babbled his approval, no longer registering the damp in his mouth or anything that came out of it. “Come on, just a little—oh my fucking god.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Remus slammed his hand down on the bed with an embarrassing noise of half-confusion, half-protest. Sirius’ voice had gone up about eight octaves; his gaze was no longer dark with lust, but instead laser-focused on something to Remus’ left. “The fuck are you doing?” he managed to snap when his jaw finally released, though his tongue was mostly blocked by fabric.

“Don’t. Move.”

Fear crept in alongside his frustration as Sirius pulled his arms to his chest and scooted toward the other edge. Something is very wrong. The thought sent a wash of cold through him and he carefully sat up, pulling the gag from his mouth. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Why is it getting closer?” Sirius all but whimpered. Remus steeled his nerves and slowly turned to follow his sightline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he complained. There was no relief, just building crankiness. “Really?”

“Kill it. Please.” Remus ground his teeth and dug a tissue out of the nightstand, then squished the microscopic spider and immediately chucked the tissue at Sirius. “Remus, oh my god!”

“Please tell me there was something more than that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean?”

Keep your tone even and calm, no matter how much you want to scream. “Sirius. If you stopped fucking the soul out of my body for a spider the size of a dust mote, you can say goodbye to pre-game blowjobs.”

A moment of silence fell between them. “For how long?”

Remus glared at him and hoped his pink cheeks and shaking legs wouldn’t diminish the threat. “For as long as I see fit.”

“…I love you?”

“Have fun throwing that tissue away. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shower by myself.”

“Non, mon loup, wait—"

III

The edge was so close he could taste it. Remus arched his back with a low sound as Sirius’ tongue did something truly fantastic—he might not give blowjobs often, but goddamn was he good at it. “Yeah,” he sighed, combing his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “Yeah, that.”

Sirius’ hum sent shocks all the way up his thighs; it took every iota of self-control not to clamp his thighs around his ears. Remus pushed the side of his face into the pillow, riding the waves of a lazy morning and a warm mouth, when suddenly it disappeared entirely.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Did you let the dog out?”

Remus blinked at him for a long moment, then leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes. “Baby, that’s the third time in an hour you’ve asked.”

“Sorry. Is that a yes?”

“Are you kidding right now?”

“It’s a genuine—”

“Nope,” he groaned, sitting up. “Not doing this today.”

Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “But you were almost there!”

“You don’t say!” he gasped sarcastically as he hoisted himself to his feet and shook off the last bits of thrilled dizziness. “I’ll be in the shower.”

“Wait, no, I can do it!” Sirius’ arms wrapped around his waist and soft lips pressed against his mid-back. “I’m sorry, I was overthinking. Please don’t leave me here.”

“It’s like ten feet, love.”

“And you could stay here instead and get a really nice apology blowjob.” Teeth scraped his wingbone; Remus closed his eyes at the pleasant fizz down his spine as Sirius worked a small lovebite into his skin. “Please?”

“Do you promise not to ask about the dog again? Because she’s fine, and very happy with her new chew toy.”

“Cross my heart.” Sirius turned him around and kissed his nose, tugging him back down.

Sirius was a mess, and Remus was beyond smug about it. A helpless moan was music to his ears as he pulled on Sirius’ mussed hair and attached his mouth to the smooth skin that was exposed. “Please,” he whined, shifting his hips harder onto Remus’ fingers. “Please, please, mon coeur, please.”

“How much time do you have left?” Remus asked, channeling as much patience as he could muster. Sometimes, he wondered who the edging was supposed to punish.

Sirius’ whimper was the only answer he needed. “Fuck, fuck—two. Two minutes.”

“Good job.” He pushed his fingers up and Sirius shivered, knees jerking.

“Je veux—” His plea was suddenly and horribly cut off by what could only be described as a screech.

Remus pulled back in an instant, keeping one hand on Sirius’ hip. “Did I hurt you?”

“Jesus Christ, was that a rat?” he sputtered.

Ice water drenched Remus’ insides. “A what.”

Sirius scrambled to sit up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes as he stared at the corner of their bedroom, squinting slightly in the darkness. “I thought…”

“Baby.” Remus could feel the tremor in his voice. “Is there a rat in our room right now?”

They waited in silence for a few more pounding heartbeats before Sirius sighed in relief. “Nope, sorry, that was my shoe. The lace looked like a tail. Woah, are you okay? You look pale.”

“Uh-uh,” Remus managed, sitting back with a slow exhale. His heart receded from his ears to his throat. “Quick question.”

“Go for it.”

“Do you need glasses?”

“No, I have 20/20 vision.” He had the nerve to look confused. “Why?”

Remus stared at him, then shook his head. “No reason.”

Remus could feel Sirius’ heart hammering under his palm, growing steadily slower with each deep breath. He stroked his hair out of his eyes, feeling joy bubble up when a foggy silver gaze met his own. “Hey, you,” he said quietly as he rubbed slow circles on Sirius’ chest. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Sirius’ smile was lopsided and sappy and oh-so-perfect; he bent down for a soft kiss and felt him melt under his mouth. When Remus pulled away, Sirius let out a sigh and snuggled up against his side. “Tu es si beau,” he mumbled, still a little clumsy with his words. “Si beau. Et mignon. Je ne sais pas.”

“D’accord,” Remus said, kissing his forehead, then each of his cheeks.

Sirius suddenly lit up and he touched Remus’ knee. “Pretty! C’est le mot. Je n’aime pas l’anglais.”

“I’m pretty?”

“Mhmm. Like—mmm, starts with a b. Du beurre, but candy.”

Remus bit his kiss-swollen lip in thought. “Butterscotch?”

“Oui.” Sirius nodded decisively and closed his eyes, apparently uncaring of Remus’ vibrant blush or galloping pulse. “Butterscotch. Je t’aime.”

“I love you, too, you muppet.”

As much as Remus loved being railed within an inch of his life, there was something to be said for slow, easy afternoons when the sun was high and they had absolutely nothing to do. Sirius’ hands ran from his hips to his ribs in smooth lines; Remus basked in the feeling and tilted his head when Sirius rocked upward to meet his rhythm.

“This is perfect,” he said, stretching one arm up to brace against the headboard. It was far easier to support himself—and last longer—since he had started working out like the rest of the team. White sparked at the corner of his vision. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“There?” Sirius rolled his hips again and Remus felt his dick throb. “Alright, I’ve got you.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere today.”

“Non, not even—hang on.” Sirius paused and frowned slightly. “Are your arms bigger than mine?”

“What?” Remus laughed.

“Gimme.” Sirius pulled his arm down and he nearly fell over with it, but caught himself at the last second. “Flex.”

“Why?”

“Because your arms are bigger than mine! That’s so not fair.”

Remus snorted, but obliged. Sirius scrutinized him for a solid ten seconds. “I can assure you that your arms are bigger, baby.”

“Hmm.” Sirius nodded and settled onto his back again. “Yeah, I think so. That was close.”

“Would it be such a bad thing if my arms were bigger than yours?” he asked as he began to move again, feeling Sirius’ harden in him. “I thought you liked that I’m stronger now.”

“I do like it, but you already have better back muscles. I can’t let you win that easy.”

VII

Does it count as enemies-to-lovers sex if you’re already engaged? Remus thought as he grabbed a handful of Sirius’ ass and squeezed, pulling a moan from his perfect lips. Because this feels firmly in the enemies territory.

“Are you going to stop saying it?” he asked, struck breathless as Sirius dropped to his elbows and put his face in the pillows.

“Alright, alright, fine,” he groaned, jolting as Remus pressed a hand against his lower belly.

“Where am I from?”

“Wis—Wisconsin.”

“And not…?”

“Fuck me—Minnesota.”

“Thank you.” He slowed his pace by a degree and littered the backs of Sirius’ shoulders and neck with kisses, allowing him to set the rhythm for a moment. “Your accent sounds so pretty right now.”

“So does yours.”

Remus paused in surprise. “It does?”

He sensed his mistake an instant before he saw the grin curling at Sirius’ mouth. “Oh, you betcha.”

And we’re back to enemies. “Where am I from?”

Sirius fell silent as he picked up speed and gripped his hips.

“Where, Sirius?”

“Wisconsin, fucking hell!” He flipped his hair over his shoulder for a second to glare, though the effect was ruined by the clear arousal on his face. “For someone who’s so—merde—laid-back, you’re awfully riled up about this.”

“Look, not all of us can sound like we’re dirty-talking while reciting a grocery list. I can’t let you roast me for that without repercussions.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ voice wobbled. “Oh, oh, oh—”

“Apologize for making fun of me, and I’ll touch you.”

“I’m s—oh.” Sirius’ fingers clenched in the sheets. “Oh, jeez!”

Remus’ mouth fell open. He sat back on his heels in utter shock as his addled brain tried to catch up to the rest of his body. Sirius’ shoulders weren’t shaking from how close he was to tipping over the edge, but from laughter. “Did you just…?”

Sirius flopped onto his back with a smug little smile on his face, still clearly mussed from a roll in the sack but far too aware for it to have been a slip of the tongue. “Oops.”

“You…”

“Oh, no, not the puppy eyes,” he laughed, dragging Remus down to lay on his chest. “I really do think your accent is cute.”

“You’re such an asshole!”

“It was kind of funny, though,” he snickered.

Remus socked him lightly on the arm. “We’ll see if you ever get in my pants again.”

“I will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you love me.” He planted a kiss to his lips, nibbling at the bottom one until the frown disappeared. “Even when I make fun of you.”

“You’re mean,” Remus informed him as he kissed the muscle of his shoulder. “And cruel, and completely unappreciative of the Midwest. You don’t even love me.”

“I’m only in it for the accent,” Sirius agreed.

It was another twenty minutes until they finally got off. Remus spent the vast, vast majority of that time drowning in kisses from his deeply apologetic fiancé, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #smut #18+

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inkykeiji · 3 years

Text

day 3 ❅ you are my home, my home for all seasons

don’t cry snowman, don’t you fear the sun, who’ll carry me without legs to run?

day two ❅ day three ❅ day four | series masterlist

characters: todoroki touya | dabi ft. todoroki natsuo

genre: smut + angst

notes: WAAAAH okay listen i swear to god this was not supposed to be as long as it is. uhhhh just over half of this is smut, pls pay attention to the warnings below n stay safe! <33 | title credit: snowman by sia

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), one (1) non-graphic fist fight, tense family dynamics, generally toxic relationships, size difference, drug use, threesome, rough sex, cumplay/snowballing, a hint of mindbreak, slight dacryphilia, slight degradation

words: 7.7k

synopsis:

And the way his eyes glitter as he gazes at you, the way his fingers trace your jaw and then smooth down your hair, melts all of the anxiety and anger that had been building in your chest, burns it all to ash and sweeps it away just like that, with that one look and that gentle caress.

Because his sapphire eyes hold so much love it’s almost suffocating, overwhelming in the best way, has you endlessly craving more, more, more; and his soft touches speak volumes, rough hands scarred and stained with blood he’ll never be able to wash off, so tender when they touch you like this.

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅ ❅

It storms, the day of December 23rd; a nasty blizzard that has the wooden shutters banging against the outside of the cabin, harsh gusts of air rattling the glass windows as it viciously hurls snow and ice against them.

“God, you can’t see fucking anything!”

“Language, Natsuo,” Rei chides softly, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she stares out at the white, at the nothingness, just endless swirls of deceptively pretty snow, being tossed in every direction by fierce winds.

“We can’t even see the cars, and they’re only a few feet away!” Fuyumi whines. “So much for tubing today,”

“That’s alright,” Rei says, forcing her lips into a smile as she turns towards her children. “We’ll just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves, that’s all,”

And not one of you misses the uneasy trembling in her voice.

❅ ❅ ❅

“Up,”

Black obscures your vision for a moment as Touya tugs his shirt over your head, a shiver coursing through your body as your skin is exposed to the cool air of your shared bedroom.

“You cold?” Touya teases, tweaking a peaked nipple.

“Niichan!” you whine, swatting at his hand, blood rushing to your face, cheeks tingling with embarrassment.

“Cute,” Touya smirks, the tips of his fingers caressing a burning cheek before he turns away, rooting through a drawer and looking for your dress today. “It’s adorable that you’ll let me stick my cock in you, or fuck your throat, or coat you entire body in cum, but you still get embarrassed by those little things,”

He turns back to face you with a stupid, goofy smile on his face, though his eyes are shining with mirth, and you can’t help the soft giggle that bubbles past your lips, sprinkled throughout your shy little shut up, niichan!

It’s routine at this point, your actions entirely automatic as your naked body slides off the bed, Touya kneeling to pull a fresh pair of panties—lavender today, trimmed with lace and ribbon—up your legs, lips scattering a few kisses along your thigh as he does so. Arms raise into the air, almost expectantly, as Touya straightens up again, slipping a long sleeved babydoll dress over your head—crushed velvet and plum purple, this time—helping pull your arms through before smoothing it down your body.

Stepping back to assess you, to admire you, Touya dusts his hands together. “Do you think you can pull on your tights by yourself today?”

Your eyebrows furrow, but you nod anyways. Of course you can, you’re a big girl, you know.

“Perfect.” He turns on his heel. “Then, I’ll be back,” he tosses over his shoulder casually, as if there isn’t a blizzard raging outside. “Stay put, yeah?”

“Wait, what?” tiny finger curl in the material of his sleeve, tugging a little. “You’re going out in that?”

“Just for a moment—”

“Niichan!” the honorific comes out as a gasp, your hand smacking his bicep. “Do you have a deathwish?”

“Baby,” he begins, gently taking your face between two large palms, voice supercilious as if speaking to a child. “I need to smoke, or I’m going to crawl out of my fucking skin, do you understand? Natsuo’s gonna come,”

“I wanna—”

“No.” he says instantly, eyes flashing, your body instinctually cowering from his tone. “I’ll only be a minute, I promise,” he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Relax, it’s just a little snow! I want you to sit here like the perfect little good girl you are, and not move until I come back, okay?”

Lips pulling down into an involuntary frown, you nod in his grasp, watching him go with a little pout. It’s only after you hear the backdoor slam, pulled shut by the sheer force of the wind, that you hear them.

“He’s got her entirely brainwashed!” Fuyumi’s muffled voice carries through the walls.

“I’m not quite sure that’s it,” Rei responds, trying to gently reason with her daughter.

“Oh my God, what are you talking about!”

You creep off the bed, springs squeaking under your weight.

“Fuyumi,” Rei sighs, and you imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. “When’s the last time you saw Touya smile like that? When’s the last time you saw your older brother this happy?”

Bare feet make the softest little pad…pad…pad… against the hardwood as you tiptoe towards the door.

“Mom…” Fuyumi trails off, her voice softer when she speaks again. “It doesn’t make it right, though,”

The brass knob turns slowly, carefully, silently, and you pull the door open just a crack, just enough to push your ear close to the sliver and listen.

The master bedroom is at the end of the hallway, but the door is wide open, their voices floating through the vacant corridor.

Rei responds after a beat of silence. “Would he stop even if I told him to? Is it even worth the fight, at this point?”

And she sounds so sad, so defeated that it drives a dull, throbbing ache deep in your chest, a hand coming up to press against your body, trying to quell it.

“I think…” Rei trails off, and your breathing halts. “I think he really loves her,”

Her words probably shouldn’t inspire such wicked sparks of joy that shoot through your veins and up your spine, but they do, and you have to press your lips together to keep a giddy smile from spreading across your face. So other people do see it.

“Oh God, give me a break, he’s—”

“I’m serious, Fuyumi,” Rei cuts her off sharply, voice curt. “I haven’t…He’s never stayed with someone for this long, never cared about anyone as much as he cares about her—you can see it in his eyes,”

“But—But she’s his sister, mom!” Fuyumi cries. “It isn’t okay!”

“Keep your voice down,” Rei scolds, sounding exasperated. She’s quiet for a moment. “You’re right. It isn’t okay. But I…” her voice fades, and you think you hear sniffling, the thought stinging your own eyes. “I can’t take that from him, Yumi, I just can’t,”

A tense silence settles, and you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, body rigid and tight as you wonder if the conversation’s over.

“She doesn’t deserve that, you know. He doesn’t, either,”

Fuyumi’s words, murmured so quietly you have to strain to hear them, light a ferocious fire in your chest, sending scalding fury burning through your veins. How dare she!

Your teeth grind together, hand gripping the doorknob so tightly it begins to jiggle. How dare she insinuate that Touya doesn’t deserve your love. How dare she imply that he isn’t capable of loving, when she barely knows a goddamn thing about him.

Sparkling cobalt flashes through your mind, accompanied by that pearly, lopsided smile and that thoaty, syrupy voice that’s always dripping with just a touch of indifference, and your heart swells.

Touya takes care of you better than anyone ever has in your entire life. Touya makes sure you’re well fed, well groomed, well dressed. Touya ensures your final year university assignments get done in a timely manner, buys you whatever you want, whenever you want it. Touya provides for and cares about and loves you.

How dare she pretend as if she understands any of that, as if she knows anything about your relationship at all, as if it’s any of her damn business in the first place.

“What about her father? What does he think about this whole situation?” Fuyumi asks a few moments later, when it’s clear Rei isn’t going to respond, capturing your attention again, jaw clenching.

Another deep sigh, one that surely has her chest heaving with the force of it, echoes down the hallway. “He refuses to talk about it any time I try to bring it up, so I’ve stopped trying. He’d rather just…not know, I guess, ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist, and just look away. I don’t—I don’t think he can bear the thought, so he just…doesn’t.”

Exhaustion is heavy in your step-mother’s voice, weighing down her words and diminishing the flames raging in your chest to smoldering embers, hand relaxing its grip around the doorknob.

“If that were me and Natsuo—”

“That’s enough,”

“Or me and Shouto—”

“I said, that’s enough, Fuyumi.” Rei snaps, and you flinch—in all the years you’ve known her, you’ve never heard her use that tone of voice. It’s unusual, unfamiliar, unsettling.

Heavy footsteps begin stomping up the stairs, cutting off your thoughts, and you yelp softly, scampering back towards the bed. Touya pushes through the door a moment later, eyebrows knitting as azure eyes dart from your untouched tights, still sitting neatly folded on the bed where he placed him, to your bare legs, then drifting up to your face.

“Why aren’t your tights on, princess?” he tilts his head, a smile playing at his lips, more relaxed now that he’s smoked. “Willfully misbehaving? Or are you not such a big girl after all?”

I think…I think he really loves her.

And suddenly, none of it matters anymore, Fuyumi’s words and Rei’s worry no longer holding any weight. All that matters is that you love him, and he loves you, and that’s all you need.

❅ ❅ ❅

By the late afternoon, you’ve all begun to get antsy, resulting in Rei feeling like her kids are actual children again and wracking her mind for an activity to keep you all occupied. She decides on baking and decorating gingerbread men and then a Christmas movie marathon after dinner, gathering the family in the kitchen as her hands nervously rearrange the ingredients she’s laid out on the table.

Everyone’s already a little on edge, shoulders tense and tight any time Touya and Shouto are in the same room together, and you swear the air is electric, cracking and popping with shocks and zaps anytime one of them bristles at something the other said.

Like a storm is brewing.

The entire family works hard to keep them as far away from each other as possible, and attempts to minimize any type of contact at all: seating them on opposite ends of the table, keeping them sandwiched between moderators—family members who speak cautiously in gentle voices, who carefully and dutifully steer the conversation away from a fight—and even going as far to give each ‘group’ their own mixing bowl and baking tools.

The ingredients, however, they have to share.

It feels like a competition: who can make their dough the fastest, who can decorate their cookies the nicest, who can stay the most faithful to the recipe, who’s cookies taste the best.

And yet, none of these efforts seem to matter, because Shouto’s very presence, Shouto’s very existence, infuriates Touya to no end. They clash like thunder and lightning, silent strikes of white-hot fury that you can almost see flashing through the air—Shouto snickering quietly, or making some snide comment muttered under his breath, or reacting to something Touya does with a roll of his eyes or a scoff—followed by a clap of menacing thunder; rumbling—a tremorous growl deep within Touya’s chest; and roaring—the way his deep voice booms through the space; and rolling—his hand clutching you: your hand, your thigh, your wrist, anything he can latch onto to keep him grounded, to keep him sane.

It only continues to build as the day progresses, explosive magma rising higher, and higher, and higher with each spiteful word spit through clenched teeth, each ridiculing laugh ringing out around the room, each malicious look shot in the others direction, until it finally erupts, spouting blistering lava that scorches everything in its path, that seeps through the cracks, beginning to corrode that mask Shouto has been steadily chipping away at.

It was bound to happen eventually—no matter how hard any of you had tried to pretend, you had all known it. It had only been a question of when.

The answer to that question, apparently, is after dinner.

You aren’t even sure how it began, exactly, busy washing dishes with Rei in the kitchen, but your blood runs cold when you hear Natsuo quietly urging Touya to stop, don’t, it isn’t worth it, and Touya growling at Natsuo to let go of him, don’t fucking touch him.

Rei hears it too, of course, because the plate she was scrubbing slips from her hands and cracks as it collides with the aluminum sink, sheer panic etched into her face, wiping sudsy hands on her cardigan as she hurries towards the voices with you in tow.

Shouto’s barking out a laugh as you both round the corner—a harsh, almost piercing sound that echoes throughout the cabin, void of any humour.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore,”

And though his face is harder than marble, eyes positively glaring at his eldest brother, his voice shakes a bit.

Touya picks up on it, of course, because Touya picks up on everything.

“That so?” He asks casually with a shrug, eyes beginning to glitter as Shouto involuntarily shrinks away from him. “Shame. Whaddya say we fix that?”

Touya has always been quick, has always been seemingly one or two steps ahead of everyone else. He reaches around his body, lithe fingers running along the waistband of his jeans, and groans out a curse when his hand meets nothing—Nastuo still has his gun.

That’s fine, he shrugs a little, dangerous smirk on his face as Shouto’s eyes watch his hands with laboured breathing as fingers dip into his front pocket, curling and finding it empty—Natuso still has his blade, too.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Touya hisses, Natsuo’s words from after the snowball incident echoing through his mind. You can have these back, he had said sternly, as if speaking to a fucking toddler, when you’re in your car, behind the wheel, all packed up and ready to go Christmas Day.

Well, that’s alright, Touya supposes, because his fists are weapons in their own right, too, aren’t they?, large hands flexing before curling into tight balls, sapphire eyes glinting in the warm light, teeth bared in a petrifying smile as he cracks his neck.

And it all happens so fast, like a cat pouncing on its prey, nothing but a blur of ivory and black colliding with crimson and cream, a mess of bruised knuckles and split lips and flowing scarlet—so much scarlet, streaming from noses and smeared across cracked picture frames, seeping through little slashes and spit from between clenched teeth.

Something shatters, someone screams, but it all sounds muffled to you, distant and far away as you stare dazedly at the mess of limbs on the hardwood floor a few feet away, watching as brilliant galaxies of periwinkle bloom rapidly on smooth skin, and everything feels numb.

Natsuo manages to catch Touya, receiving an elbow to the stomach in the process as he hooks his arms under Touya’s and hoists him off of their baby brother. Shouto leaps to his feet, ready to lunge at his now incapacitated brother, but your father grabs him before he can, holding him back, arms wrapping around him in an iron grip.

The softest sob sounds, all eyes snapping towards it.

Rei stands with her arms wrapped around herself, gleaming grey eyes darting between her eldest and youngest, and everything stills.

“You leave my sight for two seconds—” she starts, blinking hard as fat tears roll down her cheeks, the rest of the sentence getting lodged in her throat. “Two seconds, a-and—and you—I am so—so—”

She’s unable to force the words through her trembling lips, but she doesn’t need to.

I am so disappointed in you.

Natsuo’s able to haul Touya off to the first floor washroom, curses still spewing from your niichan’s lips as he thrashes against his brothers grip, volatile and malignant and stuffed full of hostility, his rough voice breaking with them. His eyes look glossy, and you think he may even be crying, though it’s hard to tell with his aggressive writhing in Natsuo’s strong arms, muscles bulging under the thin material of his shirt.

Touya’s hands tremble as he taps out those little round pills, as white as the snow outside, a few clattering to the floor during the process. Your fingers knot together in front of your body, wringing and unwringing as you watch Touya toss several in his mouth, dry swallowing them expertly before leaning against the counter, fingers curling around the edge, exhaling a shaky breath.

“Sh-Should he be taking that many?” Your eyes dart to Natsuo, who’s propped up against the bathroom door, your forehead creased in worry. He laughs a little, coos at you as if you’re so cute for worrying about your niichan, like your niichan didn’t just down four oxys at once—before bothering to clean himself up, before bothering to do anything—and wraps an arm around your shoulder, tugging you towards him.

It’s comforting, and you automatically snuggle into the warmth, still shaken up from the events that occurred in the past twenty minutes, burying your head in his chest and inhaling, letting the palliative scent of fresh mint and lemon with a hint of blue raspberry fill your lungs.

He needs them, Natsuo tells you in that gentle voice, in that trusting voice, his thumb rhythmically stroking your back, voice vibrating against your cheek and reassuring you that It’s alright, he’s fine, he just needs a little something to calm him down, to sedate him.

This is the best option, he promises you, stone eyes soothing and familiar when you gaze up at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. With the snow storm happening outside and all.

He has a point, you guess. Whether you like it or not, Touya’s still undoubtedly trapped in this tiny cabin with Shouto for at least the next twelve hours.

It’s a low dose, he ensures with a kiss pressed to the side of your head, “Gave ‘em to him myself,”

You feel like you can breathe again, Natsuo’s calming words taming the irregular palpitating in your chest, soft fingers swiping across your cheeks, catching glistening tears as he consoles you.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay.

What Natsuo doesn’t tell you, though, is that Touya needs them in more ways than one, that Touya actually ran out of the oxys he had brought for the trip, the ones that were supposed to last him the full five days, and that Natsuo’s pulled from his personal stash to give him more, because the last thing anyone needs on top of this disaster is Touya suffering a fucking opioid withdrawal.

He leaves to check on Shouto shortly after, muttering something about shoving a few pills down his throat, too, to mellow him out.

You pretend not to hear it, rushing towards Touya the moment the door shuts, latching onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into his back, tears threatening to suffocate you again.

Touya turns in your grasp, wrapping large arms around you and squeezing you to his chest, clutching you like a lifeline as his fingers dig into your flesh, head dropping and cheek resting against the crown of your head as he repeats Natsuo’s words.

It’s okay. He’s okay. He’ll be okay—as long as you never leave him.

And you won’t. You wouldn’t. You never will.

❅ ❅ ❅

The movie marathon, to everyone’s surprise, proceeds as scheduled. It’s awkward, and no one actually wants to be there, but Rei’s face is still stained with tears, streaks of sticky salt decorating her cheeks, and none of you have the heart to leave her when she throws on some staticky old cartoon and collapses on one of the couches—not even Touya.

No one talks about it, either. No one talks about the shards of broken glass Fuyumi swept from the floor, or the ugly, weblike crack Shouto’s head left when it whacked off the drywall.

There’s nothing to talk about, you guess, bitterness stinging the back of your tongue, sinking in your chest, as you snuggle into Touya’s lap.

But Touya’s feeling better—Touya’s feeling good, large hands running down your bare thighs, kneading the flesh before he drags them back up, under your dress, the thick quilt draped over your lap obscuring his actions from the others.

“N-Niichan,” you whisper, turning to shove your burning face in his neck and whimpering when he chuckles lowly, a dark sound that has scalding heat pooling deep in the pit of your stomach, that has your thighs clamping together and trapping his hand.

“Shh, behave,” he murmurs into your hair, waiting for your thighs to relax before his hand continues its ministrations, creeping up, up, up until he reaches your clit, flicking his thumb over it once. A gasp spills from your lips, and Touya pinches the sensitive bud, lips at your ear. “I said, behave,”

So you do—or, you try, legs spreading wider for him, molars sinking into the flesh of your inner cheek to keep from mewling. Because that’s all you want, really—to be good for him, to be his good girl, to help him forget, to do anything you can to alleviate his stress and make him feel better.

Touya teases you for the entirety of the marathon, continuously driving you to the edge and teetering you on the cliff, tempting you with the fall, the plunge, the release, before dragging you away from it, only to repeat the process again, and again, and again. Skilled fingers have it down to a fucking science at this point, circling your clit in quick, hard motions, until your thighs are trembling and your hips are pathetically trying to buck into his touch. Such reactions are always his cue to stop, to back off, immediately slowing to unhurried figure eights, sometimes pressing his fingertips into your hole just a little through the thin cotton of your panties. And then, he waits, waits until every muscle unclenches, relaxes, until your breathing evens back out and your whines fade, decreasing in frequency, until the gentle, featherlight touches of nimble fingers against your swollen clit have almost put you to sleep, just to simply begin it again.

The bulge in his jeans strains eagerly against the denim, and it’s hard, so hard, pressed up against your thigh. Long, slender fingers catch your wrist when you try to cup it, to offer him some relief, sapphire eyes flashing as he shakes his head slowly. A deep pout etches itself into your face, you just want to help, but Touya growls in your ear, orders you to stop being a fucking brat, chest rumbling against your back.

And by the end of it, you’re covered in a glistening layer of sweat, legs quivering so bad that you’re barely able to stand, the cotton of your panties soaked all the way through and sticking uncomfortably to your aching pussy, your slick slippery on your inner thighs after having seeped through the thin material.

Everything hurts, muscles feeling like they’ve been filled with sand, Touya chuckling as he stands and stretches his hands above his head, cock still straining painfully against black denim, and murmuring about how cute you are when you’re tired.

“Tired,” Natsuo snorts with a roll of his eyes, just after the rest of your family has trudged up the stairs to get ready for bed, Fuyumi struggling to support a barely coherent Shouto.

You look over at him, head quirking curiously.

“You two were misbehaving,” he smirks, glancing between your faces self-righteously. “You were quite naughty tonight, don’t you think?”

Pricks of humiliation crawl along your skin. He noticed?

Of course he did, how could he not? His voice is sharp, stings like a slap to the face, a tone you don’t hear very often from him, and it wasn’t very fair to make him sit through that and not be able to touch, was it?

“No, it wasn’t,” Touya agrees with a shake of his head, sounding almost solemn, though amusement glitters in his azure eyes, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. I think we should make it up to poor Natsuo, princess. Don’t you?

They’re looking at you like a pair of starving jaguars, stone and sapphire eyes glinting dangerously in the hazy yellow light the little lamp provides as they prowl towards you, trapping you between their bodies and the edge of the couch.

“I-I…” your voice dies in your throat, eyes darting between the two men as your heart begins to race. You don’t know, you aren’t sure, is this even allowed?

Then they’re laughing at you, cooing at you as their hands paw at your body, pinching and cupping and squeezing, Touya murmuring about how you’re going to help Natsuo out like a good girl while carrying you up to your shared bedroom and placing you on the bed, Natsuo following close behind, shutting the door with a gentle kick of his foot.

Then Natsuo’s crawling onto the bed beside you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I bet you look so pretty when you cum, baby,” His voice is low, rough, and it makes your stomach flutter.

His words pull an unexpected gasp from your throat and your eyes find his, blinking twice in genuine question. “D-Do you think about that?”

“Fuck,” he nearly whimpers, sharing a look with Touya, who chuckles smugly, leaning against the wall a few feet away, arms crossed casually over his chest.

“I told you,”

Forehead wrinkling as your brow furrows, your gaze darts between the two of them, unsure of exactly what it is they’re talking about.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Natsuo breathes, eyes hooded as they scan your body slowly, working back up to your face as he grinds the heel of his hand against his hardening cock. “I think about it,”

The burning deep in your belly flares at his dark stare, thighs rubbing together as you hold his eyes, sweet little pants escaping your parted lips. Make it up to him, huh?

“I wanna—” you start, looking over at Touya and swallowing thickly. “Can I cum on his cock?”

Natsuo chokes on a whine the moment the words leave your lips. “Christ, niisan, she’s gonna kill me,”

Touya huffs out a little laugh, though his eyes do not leave yours as he considers.

Usually, the answer would be no, absolutely not. Touya has always refused to share your pussy with anyone—that was his and his alone. However…

If there’s anyone he would even think of sharing it with, he supposes it would be his brother.

“You wanna cum on his cock, baby?” he asks slowly, sapphire eyes watching you sharply, analyzing every micro-expression, every twitch of your brow, every quiver of your lips.

You’re unsure if it’s a trick question or not, but you’ve learned that it’s always best to be honest with your niichan—he’d know instantly if you were lying, anyway—so you nod, sucking on your bottom lip. “J-Just once,” you add, after a beat of silence.

“I mean, it is Christmas…” Touya trails off, looking over at his brother, who’s glassy gaze is glued to your face. “What do you say, Natsuo?”

“Seriously?” his eyes fly to Touya’s, wide with disbelief, not nearly as bold as he was in the living room. “I mean—I don’t—I’m not here to overstep any boundaries—”

“I know,” Touya cuts him off calmly. “I trust you,”

Trust. That’s rare with Touya, an honour to be told, and Natsuo’s eyes soften.

“It’d be a privilege to have you cumming on my cock, baby,” he tells you, voice so gentle, so sweet, so sincere, foiling the dirty words spoken.

But your fingers are trembling, tangled in your lap, and your heart is racing, pounding against your ribcage, and your mouth is dry, throat stuffed with cotton. Blood rushes in your ears as you look over at your niichan again, worried, scared. Is this a test? Is he really allowing you to ride someone else’s cock?

A frown materializes on his face and he stalks forward, stopping in front of you and reaching out to cup your cheek and tilt your head up, thumb caressing your cheekbone as he stares down at you.

“What is it, baby?”

“C-Can I really?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. “You won’t—You won’t be mad?”

Both men coo and Touya laughs, eyes shining in the dark. “No, I won’t be mad, princess,”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he nods, hand moving to pet your hair once. “Now, come on,” he gives you a light slap to the cheek, eyes darting to the bulge in Natsuo’s grey sweatpants. “Can’t wait to see you take that monster, baby,”

Monster isn’t exactly an exaggeration.

He’s bigger than Touya—not by much, maybe an inch or so longer, but considerably thicker. The head of his cock glimmers, decorated with a pearl of precum, thick and veiny and nowhere near as pretty as your niichan’s.

“Look at her,” Touya teases from his spot across from you, now perched on the edge of the other bed. “She’s already salivating over it,”

And it’s true, at least in part, your wide eyes glued to Natsuo’s cock as endless heat gushes, throbs, between your legs, little cunt suddenly feeling very empty. Touya’s been teasing you all damn night, an intense neediness building in your chest, powerless to stop the pathetic little whine that gets caught in your throat when Natsuo shifts on the bed, rearranging himself slightly and patting his spread thighs.

“C’mere, baby,” he’s saying as you climb over him, massive hands clutching your hips as you hover above his cock. “Lemme give you what you need,”

And the high pitched moan that slips from between parted lips as you sink down onto him is nothing short of pathetic. Natsuo emits a breathless little laugh as dark grey eyes watch the way your face screws up in discomfort, little whimpers spilling from your lips as he splits you in half.

“Aw, baby,” he murmurs, never slowing his pace as he forces your hips down, down, down. “We didn’t prep you properly, did we?”

No, they didn’t, neglecting to stretch you out at all, copious amounts of your own slick the only thing aiding Natsuo’s cock as he shoves it into you.

“Your fault, you know,” he whispers in your ear as he finally bottoms out. “If you hadn’t been so greedy, so eager to hop on my cock, maybe I would’ve let’cha cum on my fingers first. But what more could I expect from a slut?”

Your eyes snap open, inhaling sharply, unused to hearing Natsuo talk with such derision, unused to the way it makes your stomach positively swoop. He’s already looking at you, a small grin on his face, and, oh, he knows.

Natsuo doesn’t afford you a second to adjust to his girth, though, immediately bouncing you in his lap like you’re just some toy for him to use, hips bucking up into you wildly, malicious laughter escaping his chest as you whimper out Hurts, Natsuo, i-it hurts, Touya snapping at you to be a good little whore and just take it.

But the stinging fades quickly, like it always does, finally yielding to that heady mix of pain and pleasure, and it feels so good, the stretch is so good, Natsuo is so good.

Natsuo snickers, berating you for your extremely limited vocabulary, and you’re so cute, all stupid and fucked out like that from bouncing on his cock—you’re so fucking easy, aren’t ya?

His degrading is punctuated by his hard thrusts, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips as he fucks you, as he uses you, each piston of his hips forcing you closer and closer to that edge, the one Touya has already dangled you off of so many times tonight.

Todoroki cock must really make you dumb, huh? Turns you into nothing but a drooling, senseless little cocksleeve, isn’t that right, baby girl?

You’re having trouble concentrating on anything, really, overwhelmed by sensations and sounds, by Natsuo’s steady stream of words and the smack of your ass against his thighs.

Can’t even answer me, foolish little girl, already drunk with cock and we’re just getting started.

Yes, you whine, nodding your head in lazy little jerks, pushing the word out of your slackened mouth. Yes, yes, yes!

Your skin is crawling, itching, blazing, your head lolling to the side, connecting with glowing sapphire, and you swear you can feel his gaze on your body, leaving a trail of blistering heat in its wake.

His cock is still so hard, but he doesn’t touch it, completely captivated by you. He doesn’t ever want to forget this, he tells you, unblinking eyes searing into yours, wants to see the way your face contorts in ecstasy when you cum all over his brother’s cock, wants to commit it to memory.

And it’s Natsuo’s mean, belittling words, spoken in that saccharine sweet patronizing voice paired with each rough drag of his thick cock, plus Touya’s shallow breaths, little gasps and inhales, the way his dark eyes almost sparkle as he watches you, that have you creaming on Natsuo’s cock embarrassingly quickly.

Your eyes don’t leave his, though, sapphire all you can see as your orgasm tears through you almost violently, the pulsing release almost painful after being edged for so long, little pussy aching as it clenches around Natsuo’s cock.

A pathetic little whimper slips through your lips as your body collapses against Natsuo’s firm chest, head automatically nuzzling into his neck. His cock is still so hard inside of you, twitching as your hips involuntarily shift a little. Strong hands find your waist, a patronizing chuckle blanketing you as they begin to knead your flesh.

“Idiotic little girl, we aren’t done yet,”

The words are harsh, almost spit out with that small chuckle, dripping with condescension and rolled in icing sugar—and his tone is so ridiculing, speaking to you as if you’re so dumb, so silly and God, you really do go so stupid from cock, don’t you?

Another laugh rings out—niichan’s this time, and he’s saying something—something about Natsuo’s cum filling up that empty head of yours, you think—as Natsuo roughly rearranges your pliant body, pushing your head into the mattress and yanking your hips up.

It’s hard to focus on the words being spoken, brain hazy and floating on post-orgasmic clouds, but you’re fairly sure Natsuo’s promising to make good use of your cute, empty little skull, telling you it’s the perfect little cumbucket.

But Natsuo’s arrogance fades, finally, morphs into high, needy mewls and quiet little moans, interspersed with sharp intakes of air, sucking in curses and your name as he repeatedly rams into you, thrusts growing sloppier, massive hands keeping your hips held up.

“Oh, Christ,” the curse leaves Natsuo’s throat in a pitiful whimper. And although they were talking about it, joking about it, a mere twenty minutes ago, Natsuo knows he must still get permission. “Niisan, can I—can I cum inside?”

And his voice is so whiny, as if he’s begging Touya to say yes, harsh breaths ghosting over your bare back, cool against your heated skin and mingled with little half-grunts, ones that hitch in his throat as he continues to pound into you, pace never faltering.

Desperate pleads begin spilling from your lips almost instantly, urgent and uncontrollable, brain mushy with thoughts of ice cold hands on your waist and a thick cock buried within you, intoxicated by the scent of cool mint and tangy lemon.

“Oh, please, niichan, please,” you’re sobbing into the mattress, bleary eyes squinting as they try to focus on the watery blur you assume is Touya, still seated on the other bed. “Please, want his cum, want his cum for Christmas,”

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo’s gasps out brokenly, a loud moan reverberating in his chest. “Please, Niisan,”

Touya chuckles, and if it weren’t for the slight breathlessness to his voice, you would have figured him entirely unaffected. “Yeah, fine, go ahead,” he says passively, as if it makes no difference to him. “She’s a little cumslut, anyway,”

A steady stream of overlapping, practically incoherent thank you’s flow from yours and Natsuo’s mouths, getting lost between pitchy mewls and the slap of skin against skin as his taut hips meet your ass.

“Nat—Natsuo-nii!” you cry, so fucked out that the honorific doesn’t even register in your mind, blissfully unaware in that moment that you’re older than him, little hole pulsing around his thick cock. “Natsuo-nii, please, please, give it to me,”

“Oh God,” he chokes on the words, gurgling them in his throat.

His hips piston into you once, twice, three more times, and then they’re stilling, pressed flush against you as he falls forward, sweaty chest pressed against your back, strong arms caging you in as his cock throbs, filling your little cunt with powerful spurts of thick cum.

It’s like a rush of frost through your veins, not scalding the way Touya’s cum is, sending vicious shivers skittering across your skin. It’s soothing, almost, cool and pleasant and has you pushing back against him, hips wiggling a little as you try to milk him for just a bit more. Plush lips find the back of your neck, pressing kisses along your sweaty hairline, a tongue darting out a moment later to lap at the salty substance.

He stays pressed against you for a moment more before straightening up, pulling out with a hiss and heavily collapsing back on his heels, legs tucked under himself.

“Let’s see,” Touya’s saying, as if he’s asking Natsuo to show him his homework, not to examine his brother’s cum leaking out of your aching cunt. “God, look at that,”

You whine a little, hole fluttering as Touya gently blows hot air against it, and Natsuo groans out a curse, voice raw and wrecked.

Hands—Touya’s hands, you can tell, you’re sure of it—curl around your hips, halting them from their slight swaying. A soft, surprised yelp gets caught in your throat when you feel something wet, something warm, something strong, lick along your slit.

“Aw, niisan!” Natsuo scolds, emitting an indignant sound from the back of his throat. “That’s so…That’s so…” his voice tapers off into a soft whine that has Touya chuckling against your swollen lips, the tip of his tongue flicking against your clit teasingly before he pulls back.

But, wait, that isn’t fair!

“Niichan,” you whimper, hips squirming in his loose grasp. “Niichan, want some,”

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, hands running over the smooth skin of your ass, thumb caressing his scarred name. “You want some of Natsuo’s cum, too?”

“Please,” you beg, hole clenching again at the thought. You can feel it oozing out of you, thick and cold, and hate the thought of it being wasted on the bedsheets.

You expect Touya to swipe nimble fingers along your slit and gather cum to feed you, gasping loudly when you feel his tongue on you again. The strong muscle laps at the cum trickling down your inner thigh, then it’s curling against your cunt, inside of your cunt, collecting as much of the syrupy substance as it possibly can.

A hand fists in your hair, using it as leverage to yank your head up. Your mouth falls open instantly, expectantly, and Touya lets his younger brother’s cum—now watered down with his own saliva—dribble from his mouth into yours.

Natsuo chokes something out—you aren’t sure what, you weren’t listening, hyper-focused on the way sapphire burns into your skull as cream coats your tongue—and Touya’s open mouth molds into a sinful smile, still drizzling the sticky, viscous substance into your mouth, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth as gooey strings of white drip off of it.

“Such a greedy little baby,” Touya says after he’s emptied his mouth, voice almost affectionate. “Now be a good girl and swallow. Swallow for Natsuo,”

And you do, of course, because you are such a good girl, such a good girl for Natsuo, such a good girl for your niichan.

“You guys are nasty,” Natsuo almost pants out, failing to keep the whine out of his voice, gunmetal eyes scanning your little hole, licked clean and now gleaming with Touya’s saliva. “Fuck, that was—hey, wait…What’s this?”

“About time you noticed,” Touya mutters, and your heart sinks.

You know exactly what he’s looking at.

A beat of silence passes, and you keep your head buried in the sheets, terrified to move even an inch.

“What did…Did you…?”

“Yeah, with a soldering iron,”

“Jesus Christ,”

“I deserved it,” you whine out, muffled by the mattress, guilty tears springing into your eyes. “I was—I was very bad,”

Glowing ruby and soft, fluffy tufts of silvery-blue hair flash through your mind, eyes squeezing shut tightly as stinging spears rip through your chest, straight through your heart and right to the core of your body.

No. Now is not the time to think of him. It is never the time to think of him.

A tiny sniffle escapes, your chest hiccupping with it, and you clench your teeth hard, so hard your jaw aches, in an effort to keep any other sounds from escaping. Touya hushes you, large hand warm and heavy and oh so familiar on your lower back, thumb caressing the silky skin just above the swell of your ass. You’re good, he tells you, voice quiet but firm, and you nod into the sheets.

“That is so fucking hot,” Natsuo breathes out, eyes flying to the brand again, his voice breaking you out of the reverie you nearly fell into. “Can I touch it?”

The question startles you—no one else has ever touched it except for Touya. Your mouth stays shut, body stiff and still, waiting for your niichan to make the decision.

“Sure,” Touya finally answers, your entire body flinching when Natsuo reaches out to trace the name with his pointer finger, first forward; T, O, U, Y, A, and then backwards; A, Y, U, O, T, the letters echoing through your mind in Touya’s smooth, deep voice as he does so.

“Holy fuck,” Natsuo whispers as he sits back again, the bed jiggling a little with the motion. “That’s…”

Touya gazes down at it as he blows air out of his mouth, fingers running across it slowly, feeling the slightly raised letters of his name in an almost gentle caress.

He didn’t expect it to scar as bad as it did, his name forever etched into your skin in thin silvery streaks that almost shine when the light hits them right, but you didn’t seem to mind. It’s pretty, you had told him, in that gentle soft voice that makes his chest feel as though it’s blooming its own tiny ball of sunlight. It’s yours, niichan.

He wonders what Shouto would think, if he knew, how he’d feel, if it would make his throat burn and his eyes sting and his chest stutter, if he would weep for you. Touya hopes he would.

“Mine,” he whispers, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to it, his tongue darting out and laving over the entire name once before the tip traces the letters. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, hips greedily pushing back again. “Niichan, niichan, please,”

He hushes you, tells you he’ll give you his cock now, quiet, quiet, rearranging your body so you’re on your side and bending your legs, pushing them up towards your chest and revealing your little cunt to him. Large hands drag your hips to the edge of the bed, sure to keep the ass cheek with the brand facing upward, facing him.

The gentle clinking of his belt has your toes curling in anticipation, the head of his cock nudging your little hole a moment later.

He delivers one quick thrust, burying himself in your snug little cunt in a singular motion, groaning about how you’re still so tight, how you still feel so good, even after being pounded by his brother.

His pace is merciless from the very beginning, hard and fast and so fucking deep, pulling broken cries and rough little whimpers from your raw throat, one of his hands on the mattress to stabilize himself while the other weighs down on you, pinning you to the surface.

“Niichan!” you’re squealing, Touya’s blunt nails digging into the meat of your thigh as he uses it to steady you, large hand splayed out on your skin. “Niichan, nii-niichan, it hurts,”

It more than hurts—hurts doesn’t even begin to describe the excruciating thorns of pain intermittently racing through your upper body as he slams against your cervix, shooting straight to your core and festering in your throat. You can feel them collecting in the column, wedged tightly between the gummy walls, and you choke on them, gag on them, coughing around them as you urgently gasp in air.

“But you can take it though, right?” he pants out, cobalt eyes wide and frenzied as they burn into your face. “You can take it, because you’re a good little slut for niichan, aren’t you?”

Salt stains the back of your throat, tears and snot mixing as you sob into the mattress, face half-buried in the rumpled sheets.

Yes, yes, oh God yes, you want to be good for him. “Uh-huh,” you breathe out, the noise stuttering past your lips in time with the quick snap of his hips.

And, fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, so fucking hot, taking his cock so well when he’s giving it to you so hard.

“Good,” he gasps, eyes zeroing in on his name etched into your ass, peaking out from between his thumb and forefinger, glimmering when it catches in the pale moonlight. “So fucking good for me,”

Because you are, with your dedication, and your submission, and your pure devotion to him as he brutally fucks you, taking everything he gives you, taking it so well.

And it’s these thoughts, swirling in his mind as you gaze up at him, a mess of sweat and drool and cum, teary eyes dazedly watching him like he’s some sort of god, that have his hips stuttering, filling you with cum, thick and hot and so much, your body going lax under his grip as he chokes out how much he loves you.

Senseless gurgling bubbles past your lips as you try to move, try to roll onto your back or uncurl your limp body, whining softly when you find that you can’t. Two silhouettes loom over you menacingly, the sound of laughter and mingled voices blanketing you, murmuring words you can barely make out. Another pathetic whine hitches in your throat, tongue sluggish in your mouth as you try to speak again, losing the battle with your heavy eyelids a moment later, finally engulfed in darkness.

#dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #dabi smut #todoroki touya smut #dabi #todoroki touya #there's one line of dialogue in the smut taken straight from my life no joke <33 #ok ok ok dont expand the tags unless u want a slight spoiler!!! promised anon i'd answer here so!!#this almost murdered me #deadass almost jumped out from my laptop screen and stabbed me in the heart #uuuuh YES ANON FROM BEFORE there's ur answer: rei is caught in a moral struggle and her dad would rather not know #tw pseudo-incest #tw drugs

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Note

I have seen a few fanfics with this premise, so now I wanna see your hands drabble with it. AU where everything is the same except nobody knows that Dream is actually the youngest member of the SMP at 14-15 years old. Bonus points, revived Wilbur figures it out and makes some plans for how to use this knowledge to his advantage.

ooh yeah !! this au is one of my favorites - it’s a really interesting examination on the mindset of different characters in the server, plus just fun for just Angst Purposes. this is a little messy but i hope you like it!

tw: abuse, torture mentions, broken bones, branding mentions, trauma, emotional distress, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, mental illness, panic attack, mentioned death, dark portrayals of ,, most of the server, prison arc/pandora’s vault

“Hey. Thought I’d find you here.”

Wilbur turns at the familiar voice at his back, smiling.

“Dream,” he pulls him in to clap him on the back, ignoring the other’s full-body flinch at his movements. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me,” Dream’s words are biting, but he smiles as he says them - a small, bitter thing that stretches over his scarred skin. His new mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing the dark bags beneath his grey-green eyes, the varied scars that fall over the bridge of his nose and under his jaw to trace down his neck below his collar. Wilbur watches him as he walks forward to stand by his side with a small spark of fascination, enhanced further when Dream’s eyes narrow at him. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing- nothing,” Wilbur laughs. “They just really did quite a number on you, huh?”

Dream stiffens, then rolls his eyes. “Well, he did have seventy four days, or so I’ve been told,” he quips back, words dry. “Not that there was any keeping track in that hellhole.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wilbur smiles tightly, amusement coloring his words as the other scowls. “I kep track of my thirteen years quite well.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Dream huffs. “You have a cigarette?”

“I almost feel bad, y’know. You’re kind of underage, man,” Wilbur feels his smile widen when Dream glares up at him, eyes glinting dangerously from behind his eyelashes. “I don’t know if I should.”

“I was younger when you gave me one the first time,” Dream retorts immediately, not bothering to hide his annoyance, sharp-edged and acidic. “And even younger when you drafted child soldiers to fight in a war for your own glory. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Ouch, really know how to hit a man where it hurts, don’t you?” Wilbur mimes pressing a hand to his heart like he’s been shot with one hand, the other fishing through his jacket pocket for his pack. Dream rolls his eyes again, but stretches a hand out for him to press a cigarette and a lighter in his palm.

“Learned from the best,” Dream drawls, going quiet as he focuses on holding the end in the flame and then pulling the lit cigarette to his lips. He chokes, as he always does, on the first drag, sputtering slightly as the smoke seizes in his chest like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and Wilbur watches the little flickering light at the end of the stick in his hand as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Surprised I can stand the sight of these things,” Dream says suddenly, quietly, as Wilbur pulls out one of his own to light. He looks up, meeting Wilbur’s quizzical look with a faraway one of his own. “Quackity was a fan of making me his personal ashtray.”

He reaches up towards his collar, pulling it away slightly to reveal a collection of puckered circular burn scars that dot the skin of his shoulder to trace to the edge of his collarbone. Wilbur hums in vague sympathy and acknowledgement, breathing in a drag of his cigarette slow and smooth and feeling the smoke fill his lungs.

“Guess it didn’t make the cut of torture methods bad enough to become a trigger,” he laughs, sharp, the bitter punctuation of a joke he’d realized would fall flat halfway through speaking and fidgets awkwardly with the cigarette in his hand as he looks off into the distance. “I should make a tierlist. It could be...useful.”

The words are empty - Dream wouldn’t be able to stomach torturing anyone and they both know it; Wilbur cocks his head to the side curiously, deciding to press the point anyway.

“Useful?” He takes a deliberately heavy drag, blowing the smoke out slowly from his lips and watching as Dream flinches away from it. “How so?”

Dream keeps looking stubbornly away, the only indication he’s heard at all being the way his lips press tighter together. Wilbur laughs softly.

“You mean with Big Q, don’t you?” Dream’s hand, which never seemed to stop trembling since he’d left Pandora, starts shaking harder, the smoke rising from the cigarette clutched tightly between his fingers making a jagged pattern in the air. “I won’t judge man! He tortured you for- what, 72 days?”

“74,” Dream’s shoulders rise to his ears, his head pitching forward as his arms wrap around his torso in a futile attempt to hold himself, “74 fucking days, and no one gave a single shit.”

Wilbur hums, encouraging, trying to tamp down his curiosity from making itself too obvious in his voice. Dream had been closed off for as long as Wilbur had known him, his walls only rising more after they’d pulled him out, half-starved, half-dead from the depths of the prison, newly revealed face startling young even deprived of the baby fat that would’ve otherwise lingered in its corners. For the other man to actually say something, to give more clues into his head than his usual one-word answers and bitter sarcasm - Wilbur settles in place, raising his cigarette to his lips once again. This will be interesting.

“I just-” Dream’s voice cracks, and he goes quiet, looking down at the cigarette in his hands like it’ll give him the answers he’s looking for. “I don’t understand. They’re all perfectly fine with throwing me in there and leaving me to rot, with letting Quackity come in every single day to make my life hell, but all of a sudden because I’m fifteen that changes? Because I’m a “child”? Because that makes them feel guilty?”

His grip tightens on his arm, breath seizing in his throat. “It doesn’t change a damn thing and they all know it. All of them were perfectly fine with watching me die, with sticking me in that hell, with letting Quackity- fucking-” his free hand reaches for the long tangles of his hair, the sandy locks peeking out from between his fingers, “He did- everything he could fucking think of, carved words on my goddamn back, broke every fucking bone in my body just because he could, branded his fucking NAME on me I-” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I screamed for them every single day. All seventy-fucking-four and I was still calling their names and-” Wilbur reaches towards him, watches as his head snaps away once again. “It didn’t fucking matter.”

“Dream-”

“None of it mattered. All that matters is that I’m a fucking child, that I’m fifteen fucking years old. Not that they stood by while I died twice with no means of defending myself! Not that they threw me in a fucking torture chamber! All that matters is how old I am and I fucking hate them!” He shouts, voice breaking and dissolving into a choked sob, and Wilbur watches quietly as Dream swallowed back his cries, shoulders shaking silently. “I- I hate them. All of them. At least Quackity still treats me like normal- the rest of them just look at me with this- this stupid pity, I don’t need their pity, I don’t need anything from them, not anymore-”

“Dream. Look at me.” Dream’s head snaps over, fear flashing in the backs of his eyes before it disappears as fast as it came. Wilbur ignores it, shucking off his jacket and draping it carefully over the other’s shoulders. “They’re hypocrites, I know. That’s why we’re doing this, yeah? We’re blowing it all up to kingdom come. You know how it goes.”

Dream meets his eyes, a storm warring briefly over his face before he looks down. “It was never meant to be,” he says, sounding tired, sounding resigned, and Wilbur smiles darkly at the self-same bitterness that shadows the words, recognizing the ashy taste from when they had coated his own tongue.

“Atta boy,” he says, grip firm on the other’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow. You can keep the coat for tonight; it’s getting cold.”

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, quiet, and they both know it’s about more than just the jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

Text

A Surrealistic Life (Adrenaline Junkie Part 17)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, derealization, depression, grief, blood, mentions of death, nightmares, panic attacks

Word count: 3,385

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You cried in Philza’s arms for hours on end until you couldn’t cry anymore. Your head was left pounding and your throat scratchy from the loud crying, but you didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore, without Arthur you were nothing. The past two and a half years just- just didn’t exist. Your mind was still reeling, the words ‘will you always be with me?’ echoing through your mind constantly filling you with guilt.

With one last shuddering inhale, you separated yourself from Philza and wiped at the tears that had long since dried on your face. His eyes, vigilant as ever, scanned your form looking for any sign of distress. In his eyes, you saw pity and grief. This angered you, you didn’t need his pity; you were long past the point of pitiful glances. Well, you were, he wasn’t.

You purse your lips as you watch his eyes flick between your wing and where your other wing was supposed to be. Sorrow flashes in his eyes before he looks back at you with a small, painfully fake smile. With one hand, he gently pushes your shoulder down back onto the bed and stands up.

“I’ll be back, you get some rest.”

With the slightest hint of a nod, you watched as he lingered in the doorway before hesitantly walking out of your room. After he left your room, you locked the door behind him. That door remained locked for weeks on end, every knock or attempt at conversation was never answered by you. Their words were nothing but background noise in the back of your mind.

Instead of responding, you would lay in bed staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes thinking about nothing but everything you’ve lost. Only occasionally you would leave your room to attend to your most basic needs when you were sure that everybody was asleep or out of the house.

The days meshed together as your thoughts consume you in a whirlwind of unorganized messes. Several times, you’ve worked yourself into panic attacks and paranoia filled spiraling because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Being left alone with your thoughts was something that you always avoided by constantly tinkering with contraptions, your thoughts wandered off to places that greatly disturbed you. But now, you let those thoughts wash over you without a care. Your dreams reflected this; they were plagued with images of Arthur looking up at you with large puppy dog eyes and a large smile before he would be sucked into darkness screaming for you to help him, to do anything, but you were always glued in place leaving you to watch helplessly as he left you over and over again.

Another common one you would have is Arthur getting lost in a bellowing snowstorm in the dead of night. You would be wandering through thick snow calling his name until you would come across a small, pale hand peeking out of an abnormal lump of snow; dread would always fill you during those dreams, it was a parent’s worst nightmare to lose their child.

Other dreams, though very rare, would be pleasant; whether they were about you and Arthur whistling a small tune as you both invented something or a small picnic on the cliff laughing freely into the air, you would always wake up in the mornings prepared to greet him and cook breakfast with him. It wasn’t until you moved your right arm and found that it had limited mobility that you realized that everything was a dream.

You hated those dreams, they always gave you a false sense of hope that everything was okay. Nothing is okay, absolutely nothing.

You refused to believe that… whatever was going on didn’t happen; Philza had said that the last few years had been fake, something that your mind had made up as some form of coping mechanism, but who’s to say that this isn’t a hallucination as well? Both your experiences felt completely different from each other, this reality could be the hallucination for all you knew.

The only thing on your mind was how you needed to get back to Arthur in any possible way you could. If Arthur didn’t exist in this reality, you didn’t want to be in it. You need him and he needs you, you didn’t want to imagine a reality without him. If you got yourself into this by dying, perhaps that was your ticket back to him. Perhaps there was a way to reverse this.

You were going to get your son back, and you were going to die trying.

Until then, you just have to wait out your family. They’d just stop you in the end and you couldn’t have that. You’d have to put on an act that you were perfectly fine and that would entail inventing everything over again, but you were fine with that; if you made it once, you can make it again.

With a newfound sense of purpose, you searched your closet for your old cloak but then you remembered you got your cloak weeks after your first death. Groaning to yourself, you settled for your old bomber jacket. The slits in the back of it wouldn’t cover your nub, so you awkwardly tucked it underneath the fabric of the cloth. It shot pain down your spine, but you shook it off; the pain was something you could handle, you’ve had worse.

Without another thought, you quietly left your room with only one destination in mind.

--------------------------------------------------

You softly padded down the basement stairs towards your workshop. When you arrived at the bottom of the stairs, you paused and looked around. The walls that were once covered with sloppy sketches and words written in two different handwritings, both equally as messy and rushed, were barren for the most part; you forgot that the walls were painted an off white color. Your filing cabinets were gone, replaced with cardboard boxes containing old clothes and toys with thick layers of dust sitting peacefully on top of them. The crafting table sat in the corner of the room wasn’t worn, in fact it looked brand new, not a scratch could be seen on the surface.

Everything was wrong.

You numbly walked over to your desk and picked up the paper that laid on it, holding it up to the light. It was the first draft to your TNT launcher. The sight of the crude, minimal sketches made you cringe, it was far too messy; you had no idea how you could make out what your sloppy handwriting pointed to or what materials were supposed to go where.

You dropped the paper and let it flutter to the floor without a care. Your eyes flickered over the desk and eyed the notebook sitting on top of a stack of spare papers. A spark of hope ignited inside of you, this was the notebook Arthur so often doodled in with different ideas of what could be invented.

You snatched it and flipped the front cover over with haste. A wide smile stretched your lips when you caught sight of the small handwriting that littered the page. It was yours, but you had given it to Arthur so that he could learn and copy from your early years. It was perfect for a blueprint template, neat and organized.

However as you flipped through the book, your smile dropped and the little hope that flared in your chest was snuffed out. You stared at the blank page as frustration built up inside of you. Before you knew it, you threw the notebook at the opposite wall as hard as you could. You were left standing in the middle of the cold basement with your chest heaving and your teeth gritted.

Everything was so wrong. So, so wrong.

You heard footsteps thunder down the stairs before they came to a stop behind you. Hesitant footsteps made their way over to you, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

“(Y/n)? Is everything-”

“Nothing is okay, Tommy,” you gritted out, “absolutely nothing about this is okay.”

He said nothing as he walked around you and put his hand on your clenched fist, his fingers curling around yours and opening your hand. Your palm stung slightly as you glanced down at it. Four small, crescent shaped cuts were imprinted on your skin slowly starting to glisten with blood.

Huffing, you ripped your hand out of his grasp and glanced at his face. You caught yourself doing a double take as you saw just how innocent he looked. No sign of hidden pain in his shining blue eyes, no scars littering his skin, and the bags that once made him look years older was nonexistent. He was your annoying, gremlin of a little brother again. He was Tommy again.

You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and his head tilted slightly, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” you breathed out before you shook your head trying to rid your mind of your frustrations, “no reason at all…”

He awkwardly coughed and nodded slightly, “right…”

You cleared your throat and glanced off to the side at the book laying on the floor. Tommy’s eyes followed where you were looking and went to pick it up. You felt a twinge in your heart as he started to flip through it much like you did earlier. He looked up at you with furrowed brows, “why’d you throw this? What’d the book do to you?” He jokingly asked you.

“It didn’t do anything and that’s the problem,” you mumbled out before you snatched the book out of his hands and tossed it into the trash can.

“Why are you acting so weird? I know you just died and all, but you never let that notebook out of your sight and now you’re just tossing it into the bin!” Tommy fished it out of the trash can and haphazardly placed it back onto your desk on top of the stack of unused paper. You could feel your eye twitch at it’s placement before you threw it away again.

“Leave it there, I don’t want it. I won’t need it anymore anyways,” you murmured under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you need it- wait, don’t tell me you’re quitting working with redstone. Cuz I’ll have you know that you’re going to be the best goddamned inventor this gods forsaken world has ever known and-”

“I’m not going to quit,” you interrupted him, “trust me, I’ll need whatever I can make. I just… don’t need it anymore, I already know exactly what I need to make.” I can’t stand the sight of Arthur’s notebook so empty and blank your mind supplied yourself.

He tilted his head slightly, “even without the bluepri-”

“Even without the blueprints,” you curtly nodded and automatically turned to look at the bulletin board hanging above your desk only to sigh when you once again saw that it was barren. “I made these things thousands of times before, I know what I’m doing,” your gaze zeroed in on the half finished blueprint for your automatic crossbow, “I’ll just make them again.”

Tommy once again looked at you with furrowed brows and inquisitive eyes, you could just see the curiosity and confusion swimming around in his baby blue orbs, “what do you mean, you literally only have one prototype of everything on here.”

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you, so just drop it.” You hadn’t meant to snap at him like that, but the frustration was just too overwhelming to ignore. Just as you could see him start to get dejected from the corner of your eye, you made quick work of changing the subject.

“You know, I could hear what you said when I wasn’t awake. I really appreciated the music, it was a nice change of pace.”

He tensed before his eyes were drawn to the empty space over your shoulder. His breath hitched slightly as a sorrowful look appeared in his eyes. Looking back at you, he grabbed your shoulder and pulled you into a tight hug. You didn’t struggle against him despite your frustrations, you knew he needed you right now. You could still remember how broken he was when you were unconscious. The way his lip wobbled slightly before he hugged you reminded you of Arthur.

You gently hugged him back and wrapped your wing around him. He gripped you tighter, his breath shuddering as wetness started to hit your head. You said nothing as you started to hum and run your fingers along his back tracing out patterns without a particular one in mind.

Eventually, he pulled away from you and chuckled sardonically, wiping his tears away with a fist, “you’re the one who died and I’m the one being comforted. Gods, it’s pathetic.”

“It’s okay to feel emotions, Tommy. You should never bottle them up, it sounded like you needed a good hug anyways. I’m happy to give you that,” you softly told him.

He said nothing as he crossed his arms and shifted on his feet, avoiding your gaze. For a moment, your tall brother was replaced by a short, red haired boy wearing that same expression. You purse your lips in thought, your previous frustrations completely gone and replaced with an urge to comfort him or at least distract him. Though a deep sadness dragged your body down at the thought of Arthur, Tommy just reminded you too much of him. It was eerily uncanny in your opinion.

Ideas swarmed your head as you thought back to how you comforted Arthur when he fell down. Besides talking to him, you would always teach him something; knowledge to Arthur is- was like a sponge absorbing water. It gave him a distraction to whatever got him down, maybe that would work for Tommy as well.

Wordlessly, you walked over to your desk and gestured for him to follow you. You plopped him into your office chair and pulled one of the cardboard boxes up to the desk. In the process, you grabbed your gloves, goggles, and everything you would need to set up a simple timed piston. The smallest spark of happiness flashed inside you as you saw that your resources were fully stocked.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, Tommy, I’m going to show you how to set up one of my favorite redstone mechanisms. Put these on,” you handed him the gloves and goggles and watched as he put them on. The goggles were a bit small on him, but besides that, everything fit him.

“Now, you’re going to want to…”

--------------------------------------------------

Hours passed as you both worked together on the contraption. Slowly, you could see Tommy loosening up and making more jokes, successfully distracted. However, you didn’t expect yourself to follow suit. Laughter came easier to you whenever Tommy would joke around, your troubles long forgotten.

It took a little longer than you were used to, but eventually Tommy started to follow along with the precision you’d expect from a beginner. Slowly but surely, with many mistakes along the way, there was a working piston system sitting on the desk.

Tommy triumphantly laughed into the air as he watched the pistons work in tandem with one another. You laughed alongside him and ruffled his hair, “nice job, Artie! I knew you could do it!”

Tommy completely stopped and looked at you in confusion, “‘Artie’? Who’s that?”

You completely froze in place, you hadn’t meant to call him Artie. He was Tommy, he was your blond little brother, not your ginger son. Tommy was his own person, he was Tommy, not Arthur. You mentally scolded yourself for constantly mixing the two up.

“Artie is- well, he’s just… Arthur is my old friend,” you stammered out after tripping over your words clumsily. Tommy couldn’t find out about Arthur, nobody could. That’d just ruin your plan.

He snorted, “sure, ‘old friend’. You know, if Dad finds out that you’re dating someone he’d ground you for life.”

“I’d never date anybody, you know that,” you scolded him with your nose wrinkled in disgust. “He’s just an old friend and you remind me of him.”

“Well, old friend or not, he sounds amazing if I remind you of him!”

You smiled sadly as your mind flashed to images of Arthur at various points in his life, “he really was, you would’ve loved him, Tommy. He might’ve been the best person I’ve ever met.”

“Why don’t you tell me about him? I can preen your wings-” Tommy abruptly stopped himself and looked like he’d just accidentally kicked a puppy, looking at you with wide eyes and red tinted cheeks.

Just as he started opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, you chuckled at his expression, “you’re fine, Tommy. It’s just going to take some time for you to get used to this,” you shifted your wing and cringed at the uncomfortable feeling. You haven’t preened your wings since before you left for the cave nearly two months ago, and your wing was a mess of bent and loose feathers. “I’d… actually like a good preening, are you sure you know how to do it?”

“Please,” he scoffed before pushing you to sit down in your desk chair, “I’ve seen you and Dad do it to each other thousands of times, I think I know what I’m doing.”

“That isn’t how that- you know what? Just go ahead. Make sure you get any loose feathers and straighten them out,” you stretched your wing out and hoped for the best. Tommy surprisingly did a decent job of straightening out feathers, he just had to work on distinguishing loose feathers from intact feathers (you were now missing a couple of smaller feathers).

The entire time, you were telling him how amazing your boy was. Sure, you might’ve overexaggerated just a little bit, but Arthur was certainly someone that deserved the praise. That kid was something else, truly a prodigy at both redstone and compassion. Leaving out the fact that Arthur was your adopted son and that he was ten years old was a little hard, but you managed to avoid that.

You could tell that Tommy knew something was different about you, but you guessed that he just assumed the changes were because of your death and not because you were technically two and a half years older than you physically are.

When he was done, you looked at your wing and you were pleasantly surprised at how well he did; sure there were a few loose feathers and they were partially crooked, but you could tell that Tommy did his best with them.

“Thanks, Toms,” you smiled at him after you tucked your wing back in, “I really appreciate you doing that, it was starting to bother me.”

“It’s no problem,” he puffed out his chest in pride, “I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“And I’m sorry for ever doubting you. Who knows, maybe Dad’ll let you do his wings next.”

“Oh gods no,” Tommy shuddered slightly, “his are massive and he has two of them! If doing yours took me an hour and a half, I’d hate to see how long it’d take me to do his.”

You cringed, remembering the last time you preened his wings. Though you were experienced, it had taken you two full hours for each wing. “Yeah, his wings are huge. Gods, I hope my wing doesn’t get to be that size.” Though they grew to be nowhere near Philza’s wingspan when you were in that reality, you weren’t sure if yours was going to be larger or smaller than what they were.

Just as Tommy was about to open his mouth to respond to you, Wilbur’s voice echoed down the stairwell, “Tommy, dinnertime!”

“Well c’mon then, let’s go. I’ll race you there,” was all Tommy said to you before he bolted up the stairs with a booming laugh, skipping every third step. You could feel your heart stop when he almost tripped on one of the stairs because he skipped too many. Rushing after him, you shouted at him, “Tommy, walk! You’re going to break your neck if you keep running up and down the stairs!”

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Taglists (if your name is italicized, it means I couldn’t tag you. Comment with the taglist you want to be tagged in if you want to be tagged :D):

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@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r @esylwen @seraphsema @boiled-onionrings @smolgreenybeany @louistommosnesquickmilk @hyacinthrosearsha @ryxjxnnx @autumnpleaves @ravennightingaleandavatempus @0ton1n @self-righteous-dumbass @a-simp-for-block-people @fortunatelylazystranger @m1lkmandan @mirios-sunflower @ahmya-4 @shinipii @noyasblush @auroraskyfall @cryptocry @hee-hee-haw @blackstar-gazer @serendipityryn

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#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #sbi x you #philza x you #tommyinnit x you #mcyt x you #dream smp x you #adrenaline junkie #tw: swearing #tw: blood #tw: nightmares #tw: depersonalization #tw: depression #tw: grief

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2jaeh · 3 years

Text

Bibliophile | Xiaojun x Reader

Genre: fluff, smut

Word count: 2,3k

Warnings: mature themes

Author: SIN

Two literature master students decide to make their steamy romance troupe debates a reality.

——————————————————————————

Your heels clicked against the marble floors as you ran over to the university library, hoping the evening rain wouldn’t worsen when you crossed the open courtyard.

Most of the students were either heading back to their dorm rooms or messing around in the common areas, while the only thing that rang in your head was to not be late for your part-time job at the restricted section of the library.

At first you had no damn clue why they needed someone to work there, especially since some of the books were even restricted to lecturers. But thanks to your century old university and their obsession with keeping their sacred books in pristine condition, all they needed was a literature masters student to help out from time to time.

You entered the library and greeted the woman at the front desk before she buzzed you in through to the door that led upstairs to the restricted area.

You quickly jogged up the stares and swung open the door only to be greeted by the only other person working around here, Xiao Dejun.

“You’re late again” his lips curled into a smile as he pushed up his gold framed glasses and inspected a dust covered book.

“Yeah the rain was just-“

“Crazy ?” Dejun peered up and pursed his lips, knowing that every excuse you had always ended in the same word.

“Yeah crazy” you half chuckled and removed your burgundy coat, making your way over to sign in the shift card.

All you knew about Dejun was that he finished his masters and was offered a lecture position at the university but decided to take up this job instead. He was very reserved and once told you that he craved the utter peacefulness of the restricted area, where he was usually either on his own or with you.

“I’m halfway on my thesis now” you said casually as you started fixing the binding of a physics book from the 70s.

“Oh?” Dejun raised his eyebrow and pulled out a chair next to you to tend to his own book repair, “I’m sure you’re glad it’s almost over right?”

You squinted your eyes and sighed, burying your head in your hands as that familiar migraine began to set in. “I’m....stuck” you groaned and peered up at Dejun, “I decided to dissect the romance genre of literature and honestly most of it is hot garbage.”

Dejun let out a laugh and you admired how his dark eyebrows knitted together, making his face look quite animated.

“What books have you studied if you don’t mind me asking ?” Dejun asked, his curious eyes met with yours as he shifted closer in his chair.

“Everything from Shakespeare to Nicolas Sparks, I just hate them all” you pouted and slumped back in your chair, moving the half bound book aside,

“Don’t get me wrong, I chose romance because I love it you know ? I just don’t think that those ‘classics’ do it any justice.”

Dejun nodded at your words and shrugged, “I agree with you, not a fan of that forbidden romance and rich girl poor man stuff either.”

“Right ?” Your eyes lit up and Dejun grinned at your passionate attitude. He’d always found you cute. Every so often he had the chance to work with you on a shift we’re always his best days. He’d listen to you rant about your professors, the music you hated on the radio, or the fact that someone stole your favourite parking spot.

“So....” Dejun folded his arms, “how would you change it ?”

“Change it?” You quirked a brow.

“What’s your perfect romance troupe ?” Dejun smiled softly and his soft brown eyes drew you in and made you feel warm, safe.

“Well for starters I think intimacy should come first and then the characters learn how to love each other as they develop their relationship” you explained, getting up from your chair and began pacing the small room,

“I don’t mind the cliche of they grab the same book or vinyl, I just prefer that instead of 7 chapters of them thinking about that moment they just take the leap right there.”

Dejun pondered on your words for a bit and also got to his feet, leaning against the table as he watched you pace back and forth.

“Would it work for people who somewhat knew each other before hand though ? A friend ? A colleague ?” Dejun quizzed and you nodded quickly,

“Yeah if there’s no prior feelings or hookups then why not ?”

“I guess we can’t test it then since we like each other huh ?” Dejun smirked returning to his seat innocently as you stopped abruptly and quickly tried to process what he had just said.

“I....we...don’t like each other ?” You stammered while ignoring the fact that your heart was racing against your chest.

Dejun chuckled as he carefully inspected one of the pages of his book, “the funny part is that you’re practically experiencing your ideal romance troupe and contradicting yourself by not owning up to the fact that we do in fact...like each other.”

Your mind was racing on every evening that you’ve spent with Dejun up until today. First day it’s true you both did a double take on each other and you found him extremely attractive. Day seven the two of you reached for the only hard cover copy left of Pride and Prejudice and spent the whole night critiquing the book until you lost track of time. Day seventeen you were packing books on the top shelf and as you descended down the steel steps you lost your balance and fell right into his arms.

You were literally living a goddamn romance troupe without even knowing it.

“By your words y/n, we need to skip a few steps now shouldn’t we ?” Dejuns eyes were still on his book, but he knew damn well that your eyes were on him.

“You’re right Dejun” you finally said and folded your arms across your chest.

Dejun turned his head to face you and narrowed his eyes, “I’m supposed to be the one making the move ? What happened to a change of scenery ? Uh women empowerment?”

You grabbed his hand and headed to the back of the room where the roof slightly slanted and the window panels were covered with water droplets as the night sky drew in. You neatened your blue plaid skirt and leaned against the old wood of a work station desk. Dejun cocked his head as you bit down on your lip, not knowing how to proceed to the next step.

“Why here ?” Dejun raised an eyebrow, removing his glasses and tucked them in the top pocket of his white buttoned down.

“I don’t know the setting is....pretty, also when we first met you were sitting at this desk reading the last book a literature master student would be reading” you stifled a laughter.

“Hey Harry Potter is my childhood” Dejun groaned, cutely rolling his eyes, something he did quite often and you would pester him to the point of seeing that reaction.

“Dejun,” you placed your hand on his cheek and his attention was focused on you, those soft brown eyes bore into yours as he took a step closer.

You felt the butterflies in your stomach as he softly wrapped his hand around the small of your back and placed the other on the back of your head. You finally leaned in and he did the same meeting your lips, for the first time and sighed. The kiss was soft, the two you just melted in the instant connection, basking in the feeling before continuing to deepen the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer until your bodies were pressed against each other, fitting each other’s silhouettes perfectly. Dejun slipped his hands down to your thighs and picked you up and placed you on the desk, not breaking the kiss as he slipped in between your legs.

“I’m afraid I’m going to want more than this” you sighed into the kiss, unable to remove your hands from his toned body as you felt the closeness of him between your legs making you feel aroused.

“Come back to my place” Dejun whispered as he began attacking your neck with kisses and played with the hem of your skirt.

You can’t remember if you said yes or just nodded but you were now in Dejuns car on his way to his place. You enjoyed the passionate kiss he shared with you at the stop street and the occasional squeeze of your thigh when he would make turn into a new road.

The rain had begun pelting down and thankfully you were already pulling into his apartment lot before it became really hazy. Dejun turned to his backseat and realized he had left his umbrella back at the library and sighed,

“Running hand in hand in the pouring rain troupe ?” He held out his hand and you chuckled, “always been on my bucket list anyway.”

The two of you ran for about half a minute in the pouring rain but it was enough to completely drench you from your head down to your shoes. Dejun quickly punched in the code of his door and pulled you inside, already covering you in kisses as his blonde hair stuck to his forehead.

It was one item of clothing after another as the trail of clothes led down to his bedroom, where he had you in just your lacy nude coloured two piece set while he was slowly ridding himself of his pants.

You fell into his bed as you watched him slowly pull his leather belt from its hoops and his black slacks finally fell to the ground,

“You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met you know that ?” Dejun groaned as his eyes scanned over your body and he hovered over you.

“I could say the same about you Xiao Dejun” you mused and pulled him in for another hot passionate kiss. His warm body settled on yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him closer even though it wasn’t even possible at this point.

Dejun unclipped your bra and moved his lips down to your breasts, squeezing one in his hand while licking and nipping at the other. You arched your back wanting more but also not wanting to rush him.

“Really want this to last much longer but I’m at my wits end right now” you moaned and Dejun chuckled as he peppered kisses all the way back up to your mouth.

“We have tonight, tomorrow, the next day and the day after that” he smirked against your lips before tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.

Distracted by the stinging sensation from your lip you shivered at Dejuns icy fingers that was now hooked in the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down.

He watched as you squirmed beneath him. Watched how your eyes closed and how you sucked in your bottom lip, awaiting his next move.

You mewled when you felt the cool air hit your arousal and Dejun rubbed slow circles on your clit before pushing two fingers inside you, making you moan his name for the first time that night.

His fingers moved slowly but roughly while his lips softly pecked your hips, abdomen and the very top of your mound.

He was so gentle with you but his movements were still dominating, the mixture was absolutely intoxicating. You pulled him up missing the taste of his lips and before pressing his mouth on yours he caressed your cheek,

“Let me know if it’s too much okay?” He whispered against your lips and you nodded not knowing what you were in for.

Dejun locked your arms above your head and used his free hand to remove his boxers before entering you, already finding a rhythm to his thrusts. You threw your head back and moaned his name yet again as he slammed in and out of you, his grunts and your whimpers filling the bedroom.

His hand stayed locked on your wrists as he used his other hand to knead your breast, giving you multiple sensations at once. You almost hated the fact that you were close to your peak and it hadn’t been more than five minutes of him inside you.

“God I really don’t wanna cum right now” you whined as he still pounded mercilessly inside you.

“Good thing I’m not gonna let you” Dejun murmured and just as you thought your orgasm had reached, he pulled out of you and rolled onto his back,

“Get on top.”

You listened to his instructions but before sitting back on his member you gave him a few pumps, finally able to see him squirm under your touch this time round. Dejun gave you a small smack on your butt, and you finally abided to his request and sat on top of him, the new position already bringing you back to where you started.

Dejun sat up to meet your thrusts as you rode him, and you found your hand tangled in his messy locks as the two of you practically screwed the hell out of each other. The kiss this time was filled with lust, filled with lip biting and exchanging of saliva as you felt your orgasm fast approaching and noticed Dejun’s pace was slowing down too,

“cum for me baby” Dejun mused as he used the last of energy to give you a few hard thrusts until you finally came undone and he followed quickly after.

It took about two minutes of trying to catch your breath before you finally rolled on the bed next to him and wiped the beads of sweat from your forehead.

“Yeah this...this was definitely missing in some of those novels” you turned to Dejun who had a smile spread across his face.

He pulled the covers over your bodies and pressed his lips to your forehead and cheek,

“Should we write our own novel then ?”

“Yeah, yeah we should” you smiled, closing your eyes feeling at peace as his warmness enveloped you.

#nct scenarios #nct smut #nct imagines #nct angst #nct au #nct drabble #wayv imagines #wayv au #xiaojun smut #Xiaojun fic #Xiaojun au #wayv smut #xiao dejun #kpop smut

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fanfic-me-up · 3 years

Text

All The Colors We Cannot See {Bakugou x Reader}

Synopsis: He sees you in the colors that light the sky, and longs for you in the darkness that follows.

Pairing: Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x fem! reader

Warnings: attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, language

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: This took me like 9 months to complete, but it’s finally here. I didn’t completely stick to the request, but this is what came out. I still hope you like it! Banner made by my amazingly talented friend, go follow her @jm.rvice on instagram! 💖

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Blood pumps to his legs. Cement pounds his feet. Bits of rubble catch in his boots. The first spark of the night shoots up- swallowed whole by the black sky. A trail of embers remains in its wake.

Katsuki stops. And waits.

A second passes- the crowd silent in anticipation. No one can see the spark, but everyone knows it’s there… waiting… for the right time to explode. And just when the darkness thinks it has won, an enormous burst of light blankets the sky. In that moment, it’s so bright that Katsuki can see the skyline. Like paint splattered on a blank canvas, the sky now bleeds in red, and the explosion leaves an imprint the size of a supernova long after it’s gone.

The crowd applauds.

A roar is ripped from Katsuki’s throat. He pounds at the brick wall again and again, despite blood trickling down his fists. He rips his cochlear and smashes it against the wall. A sick satisfaction settles within him. The ringing that greets him is like a devil sucking on the lobe, whispering tempestuous nothings into his ear.

Katsuki continues his ascent, taking steps by three until he reaches the top. The poor door is yanked off its hinges, but it doesn’t even cross Katsuki’s mind as he’s hit by everything all at once. Smoke slithers down his throat, roasted yakitori wafts up his nose, the rhythmic booms caress his ear, and the lavender shaded sky comforts his eyes. From up here, the people below remind Katsuki of the dots he used to see after he ignited a big explosion- how the dots blur, mix, and separate in one fluid motion again and again.

His phone ringing is a distant echo. They’re looking for him no doubt, but who the hell cares. Not like they’d find him up here. This was yours and Katsuki’s place.

-------------------------------------------------------

He’d blow himself up if he missed even a second.

His lungs burned. They ached for a clean breath, yet inhaled the stench of nitroglycerin-like sweat. He could’ve just blasted himself to the top and saved himself the trouble, but fuck. That. Katsuki thrived on a challenge. He loved the rush of adrenaline more than his own mother. (He’d never tell her that- she’d kill him before he reached this goddamn roof.)

He threw himself against the door in time to see the first burst of citrine hit the sky. But he also saw you, a trespasser, standing on the ledge and looking like you were about to kill yourself. You didn’t flinch at the sonic boom (like most people) nor cringe at the heat. It was like you thought the beauty outweighed its destruction.

All that said you were fucking stupid.

“Oi! Get down from there!”

You were immersed in skylight, and though your back was turned, Katsuki knew you were staring up in awe; your eyes reminiscent of glassy pools reflecting red, yellow, blue and all the possibilities they create.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Katsuki muttered. He just wanted to enjoy the show in his spot. Alone. Like he did every year. “Oi, lady! You wanna kill yourself? Do it on some other roof dammit!”

You jumped at the blasted words, losing your balance and falling off the ledge. Katsuki expected you to scream, to gasp, to cry... anything but fucking wink on your way down like playing with death is just some fucking game. But Katsuki had no time to think before he blasted himself across the roof to grab your hand- but you didn’t need it. You threw a safety line in mid-air, hooked it to the ledge with skillful precision, and used the leverage to hurl yourself back up. You landed on the ledge like a ballerina tip-toeing on a tightrope. The sheer turn of events rendered Katsuki speechless.

“Phew! That was fun! Let’s do it again sometime, yeah?” You wrapped the safety chord before bouncing up to Katsuki.

The fuck?

How did you…?

You didn’t seem to notice Katsuki’s loss for words.

“I’ve never met someone with a quirk like yours. You could put on your very own firework show!”

You tried grabbing his hand, but Katsuki’s growl stopped you. The flickers popping in his hands were a sign to back the fuck off.

You’re scared. Good, Katsuki thought.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m a bit of a pyro.” You sheepishly smiled, twirling a pink and yellow band around your finger. (You’d later twirl your wedding ring the same way.)

Katsuki’s growl cut in its tracks. You weren’t scared like he thought, in fact, you looked lost in his sparks- your eyes zooming back and forth, trying to catch each and every one. Katsuki killed his sparks, causing you to look up at him in disappointment.

“I can’t. Mine don’t change color,” he muttered.

Fireworks always fascinated Katsuki. As a child, he wished his explosions could change color. He imagined people looking up in awe when his sparks rained down. They’d recognize the power and the beauty.

“Hmm…color is what makes a firework...” you trailed off.

“No shit,” Katsuki snorted. How stupid are you?

“Hold out your hands.”

Katsuki crossed his arms, “No.”

“Oh, c’mon! Gimme your hands!” You bounced up and down, overcome with excitement. Katsuki stepped back but immediately stopped himself because Bakugou Katsuki never backs down.

“I’m not giving you anything, woman. You’re fuckin’ weird for jumpin’ off roofs and asking for stranger’s hands. Stay the fuck away from me. In fact, this is my fuckin’ roof. Find your own.” Katsuki looked down to see his hands popping. It must’ve happened on instinct- a defense mechanism to scare off the extras who won’t leave him the fuck alone.

Except it didn’t work on you. You only came closer.

“Do you want to burn in color or not?”

Katsuki saw flashes of himself in your eyes everytime a firework went off. A hunger burned in the pit of his stomach- one he’s felt countless times during battle, but this one was different. This strange warmth made him feel like jumping off the roof himself, and if he put all his might into it, he could brush the spark of a firework from fifty feet above.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you!?” Katsuki shook his head, “I don’t even know you!”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” You giggled, “Now hold still.”

Katsuki grumbled how ridiculous this was, and that whatever you tried wouldn’t work, but you ignored him in favor of pulling his hands and laying them face up. You nodded and Katsuki sighed, activating his quirk anyway because what the hell.

You’re entranced from the moment flickers popped, one by one, in his hands. They died as quickly as they were born, but still left their mark in the air.

Katsuki’s sparks faltered as cool fingertips brushed against his wrist.

“It’s okay, keep going,” you encourage, and he does.

He can’t pinpoint exactly when the change happened. Like all change, he blinked and suddenly his sparks burned in color. Angry red, rooted in tormented crimson, ravished the usual, boring, orange of his sparks.

Katsuki laughed in disbelief because how is this real? Yellow began to flicker in and out of the red, until it finally caught like a flame and engulfed the red like a warm blanket. Pink and light green began to swirl around the yellow, and the firework show Katsuki had been looking forward to all year didn’t hold a candle to the fireworks fluttering in the palms of his hands.

Katsuki looked up at you.

Who the fuck are you?

You giggled at his awed expression, “Our very own firework show.”

And that’s how you spent the rest of the night. His hands in yours while he burned in color for the first time.

Katsuki later discovered you could read emotions through auras. The aura becomes visible, allowing you to color a person’s quirk.

He also discovered that you didn’t need to hold his hand for it to work.

-------------------------------------------------------

A round of fireworks triggers the ringing in Katsuki’s ear. He throws his head back in ecstasy and prays the sensation tickles his eardrum for a little longer- enough to shut the part of his brain that keeps remembering you.

Katsuki pulls the pistol out. The leather grip, so slick with sweat, that Katsuki has to wipe his hand to make sure he doesn’t accidentally set off his quirk.

He’s not an amateur. He’s held a gun before. Every pro-hero has to undergo weapons training, but he’s never used one in combat. His quirk was always more than enough. But there’s something inherently dangerous about a gun. His quirk is an extension of himself, but a gun is a separate entity altogether- and it was designed to kill.

Growing up, adults would praise Katsuki for his quirk. They’d say, “With a quirk like that, you’re destined to become a hero!” But they were still afraid to get too close. They saw his quirk as a weapon that was designed to destroy. And soon enough, Katsuki became the embodiment of just that. But he always felt incomplete. He wanted to be a hero like All Might. One that people looked up to- in awe of their power, not in fear of it.

That’s why he loved fireworks. The only explosion that makes people stop and stare, instead of running away, in fear for their lives.

You were the first and only person to see the beauty in his quirk.

-------------------------------------------------------

“What’s your favorite color?”

Such a basic question that Katsuki should already have the answer to. But color meant so much more to you. You saw the world in a way that made everyone else seem colorblind.

You twirled that same pink and yellow band around your finger as Katsuki twirled the ring in his pocket. You leaned in closer, basking in the warmth radiating from Katsuki. He watched how your eyes never left the sky, and he was content with missing the show if it meant he can watch you instead. He caught glimpses of you only when lit by a firework. He made sure not to blink during those moments else he’d miss you. Your expressions mixed and swirled as the fireworks continued, but you never lost the primary color of mesmerization painting your face.

“Blue,” you said. Katsuki had to lean in to listen; your voice an ember in a sea of fire. “But not sky blue like on a sunny day. It’s nice, but I much prefer the darker washes of blue, deep like sapphire.”

Blue, the color of sadness.

“Why blue?” Katsuki asked. The ring in his pocket danced between his fingers.

You turned back to the fireworks. You always made sure to think before you speak when answering a question that mattered.

“Because there’s always an interesting story behind an aura of such sorrow, more importantly, there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“So your favorite color isn’t blue, it’s yellow,” Katsuki cut in, but you shook your head.

“There’s nowhere to go but down with yellow. Yellow is the epitome of brightness and joy, and when you crash during the high, you crash hard. But when you’re drowning in deep blue, as I’ve seen many people do, you’re at the lowest of lows- you really can’t get any lower in this life. But when an aura- and I’ve only seen this once- when an aura changes from the deepest of sapphire to sunrise yellow- well it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The twirling of the ring in his pocket stopped.

“That is why I believe blue is the true color of hope,” you whispered.

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Katsuki should feel the smooth texture of leather as he grips the gun in his hand. He should feel the weight of the gun as he brings it to his temple. But he’s numb to it all. It’s like an invisible string, pulling at his muscles, directing his body how to move. His mind goes blank for the first time, and all the inner-turmoil he’s been unable to escape just straight up… stops. It’s like he’s floating in a body of water with no current. Complete and utter stillness.

It scares the fuck outta him, but it feels good.

As he’s about to turn the safety off, his phone rings again, snapping him back to reality. Katsuki guts his phone.

“Die!”

The phone slides down the door like a dead pidgeon.

“God-fuckin’-damn it...” He pushes the barrel back to his temple, craving that mind-numbing stillness once more. Anything to stop the feelings that just won’t seem to go away.

The fireworks crescendo as the show reaches its climax. The colors begin to mix and blur together so much that it becomes too convoluted to look at. An infinite regress of color swirling in Katsuki’s mind.

-------------------------------------------------------

You glowed on purpose so Katsuki could find you. He spotted you from miles away, like a beacon of light in the middle of a storm. The melancholic blue of your aura contrasted against the raging reds that painted the sky.

Katsuki ran. He pushed and pushed past his limit, harder than any battle he’s fought in. He could’ve made it if he used his quirk, but he was in a crowded marketplace with too many people. He ripped off his gauntlets and threw them in a random alley. He immediately gained speed. A couple more feet and one minute left.

He should’ve saved his breath. If he did, he would’ve caught you in time. But he had to make sure you knew he was there. You looked down at the sound of your name. He could barely make out your face, but you saw him. He knew you saw him because your aura changed from that melancholic blue to sunrise yellow in an instant. Everyone around him gasped at the flood of light emanating from above.

You were right. It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

If Katsuki produced a strong enough blast, he could make his way to the top and get you out before the bomb went off. At this point, he didn’t care who else might get hurt in the process. Next to him, Kirishima knew what Katsuki was thinking. He hardened himself to block Katsuki’s takeoff.

“Don’t do it, bro.”

“Get outta my way.”

“You can’t make it.”

“Yes I can.”

“You’ll both die.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP” Katsuki pushed him away, and prepared to blast himself, when two other heroes stepped in to hold him down, but no one stood a chance when Katsuki goes feral. Explosions erupted, not enough to seriously hurt, but enough to get people to back the fuck off. Even Kirishima (whose quirk is to literally be a human barricade) was having trouble blocking Katsuki. One more blast was enough to send Kirishima back and Katsuki used that half a second to blast off. But suddenly he couldn’t. He tried and he tried, but his quirk refused to work. A growl escaped from low in his throat as he whipped his head around, trying to find the cause to his problem so he could decimate it.

Target acquired.

Katsuki was about to march right up to his high school homeroom teacher and deck him right in his fuckin’ face, but before he could, he was held down once again.

He couldn’t fight three pro-heroes off without his quirk. He couldn’t get to you without his quirk. All Katsuki could do was look up and watch you die.

Five seconds left.

He saw it in your face. The moment you realized he wouldn’t be able to save you. The yellow of your aura growing dimmer and dimmer.

Three.

You smiled through your tears.

Two.

And winked.

One.

Then closed your eyes as you took your last breath.

The darkness that followed was unbearable.

A cacophonous wail erupted from Katsuki’s throat- loud enough to go up against any explosion. He couldn’t help but fall to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He still wasn’t able to use his quirk and that only frustrated him more.

He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

-------------------------------------------------------

He hardly uses his quirk anymore because he sees you in the sparks. He’s got no drive to be Number 1 if you’re not here to watch him do it. His will to live is gone without you and that scares the fuck outta him. He hates you for filling his head with ridiculous bullshit. He hates you for opening his mind to the possibility of love, and hope, and shit that shouldn’t matter but it fuckin’ does for some goddamn reason. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you.

That same cacophonous wail erupts from his very core. The gun falls from his hands, to the ground. It could’ve gone off at that moment and Katsuki would never know.

His focus zeroes on his hands. How tense they get when he flexes them, how the vein protrudes from his wrist, and how his glands secrete sweat from his palms. He points them to the sky, and a familiar rush of power, that he hasn’t felt in months, surges through him. His blood boils from under his skin and he’s literally shaking from the intensity. Like a volcano spewing hot-blooded lava after an eternity of dormancy, he shoots blinding white heat into the black night.

The color from the fireworks surround his explosions as if they’re echoing his sentiment. Hot red dominates the sky- reminding Katsuki of the sky that night. This causes Katsuki to rattle off explosions quicker, setting off one after another in a staccato rhythm. The crimson sky ravishes all other color.

If only he saved his breath. If only he’d taken off his gauntlets sooner. If only he ran a little faster. If only he blasted himself a second earlier. If only he didn’t stay back at work that day. If only he turned right instead of left at that goddamn intersection. If only he picked up the ingredients for your favorite meal the day before so he could go straight home. If only he didn’t have to drive back to the market because he fuckin’ forgot the milk again. If only he decided it was still worth it to pick you up from work early like he planned. If only he cared more about your anniversary than about cracking Top 10. If only he went to more of your art shows instead of taking extra patrols. If only he went on that trip to New York with you instead of cancelling last minute because the agency needed him. If only he realized that you meant more to him than being Number 1 before it was too late.

Little by little the crimson wash is buried by the black night and Katsuki’s eyes hurt just staring into the black abyss. It’s suffocating him, weighing his chest down and making it hard to breathe. It’s enough to drop him to his knees, just like he did that night.

You and Katsuki had long talks about your future plans. How you fit into his life, and how he fit into yours. When you’d be able to properly settle down and have kids. You accepted that the first couple years into his career would be the toughest on your marriage. Katsuki would spend more time at the agency than at home with you. Relationships with pro-heroes were like that. But you respected his ambitions. You understood the amount of time that was required to fulfill those ambitions. You never held it over him, never guilted him into spending more time with you, and never made him choose between you or his career. You loved him enough to share him with the rest of the world. You were never each other’s other halves. Instead, you co-existed as separate individuals who made the best team Katsuki’s ever been a part of.

Yellow begins to flicker in and out, but it’s muted behind the black veil of regret. The more Katsuki thinks of your empathy and your love, the stronger the yellow becomes. It finally brightens the black sky, to the point that Katsuki almost has to cover his eyes because it’s like looking into the sun in the middle of the day.

And that’s when it clicks.

He’s burning in color.

You must be conducting this masterpiece from above, using the sky as your canvas and coloring the emotions coming from within him.

He kills his explosions as quickly as he fired them. The fireworks come to an end at the same time. The crowd’s cheers is a fly on the wall to Katsuki.

He falls back, lying flat on the ground and looking up at the sky still shaded in yellow. His chest heaves as he tries to get his breathing back to normal, and the sloppy mixture of sweat and tears continue to slide down his face. The cool breeze is a blessing against the nape of his neck.

He struggles to hold his hands up, they shake as he brings them up to his face. He reignites his quirk with the last bit of strength. The sparks lack their usual vigor as they flutter lazily in his palms. They remind him of fireflies swirling in a jar. For once, the orange doesn’t piss him off.

Has anyone else seen his quirk like this? When he’s not trying to intimidate or take down a villain? The only person he could think of was you. Maybe his quirk wouldn’t be seen as a weapon, maybe he wouldn’t be seen as a villain, if the world saw what he’s seeing right now.

Katsuki sits in this revelation, and the calm that washes over him is nothing like the numbness from before. He’s far from being okay, and he still longs for you in these moments, but Katsuki has a hunch that if you were here right now - holding his hands in yours- his sparks would be burning in your favorite color. And he’s okay with that.

“That is why I believe blue is the true color of hope.”

Katsuki’s phone goes off even in its broken state. His eyes dart between the phone and the gun. He groans as he gets up. His limbs, heavy, after exerting himself. He picks up his phone.

“Hey. Yeah, man, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

Katsuki’s about to hang up when he takes a look at the gun. A reminder of what he was about to do. A decision he could never come back from.

If things turned out different, he would not be here right now.

Just the thought is enough to make Katsuki slide down the wall. He takes a deep breath- his heart beating rapidly at what he’s about to admit aloud for the first time.

“Actually, I’m not okay. I need you to come get me.”

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The Plus Ultra Chronicle

Musutafu Tower Attack: 06/18/2020

WHEN HOPE PREVAILS:

A DAY OF REMEMBRANCE

By: Yamamoto Ichika

06/18/2021

Today marks the one year anniversary of the 2020 Musutafu Tower Attack. Hundreds gathered this morning in remembrance of the lives lost that night. Several people who’ve lost loved ones in the attack have already come forward with statements.

Of those people, Number 7 Hero, Dynamight, has chosen to sit down with The Plus Ultra Chronicle for an all-exclusive interview. His late wife, Bakugou Y/N, was among the citizens that were held hostage that night. After taking a year sabbatical, he has decided to return to the field of pro-hero work. Here is a snippet of that interview; you can find the full interview here.

“Thank you, Dynamight, for sitting down with us. It is truly an honor. The people want to know- what are your thoughts on what occurred that night? Can you take us through what happened?”

“It was hard on us all. Whether you were at home watching on a screen or out there in person. All of us heroes felt like sh*t- unable to do anything. It’s even worse when you had a personal attachment to a victim like I did.”

“It must’ve been difficult as a hero- having to make quick decisions that forced you to separate your personal life from the objectivity of the situation.”

“If I’m being honest, I couldn’t, and it took a toll on me.”

“Is that why you took the sabbatical?”

“Yes. I constantly questioned the validity of my title. Whether or not I deserved to be called a ‘hero’ if I couldn’t save the one person I vowed to always protect.”

“You’ll be returning to the field next month, and with a new addition to your hero costume. An amulet of what looks to be a blue-colored spark attached to the left side of your chest. It stands out against the black, orange, and green of your costume. What is the meaning of this?”

“When I was at my lowest, my failures were all I could see. But someone once told me that you can’t get any lower when you’re at that point. The only real change you can make is to acknowledge and move forward.”

“A symbol of hope is definitely something we all need right now. What made you decide to finally give an official statement?”

“It is my responsibility to protect the citizens of Japan so this never happens again. But I also think it is important for people to see the shortcomings of the heroes they look up to. We’re human too. We f*ck up. I used to think that made someone weak. Now, I see it as part of the journey. The testament of a true hero.”

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starlessea · 3 years

Text

Here Comes the Sun: XV. With Or Without You (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 6475

Chapter Warnings: Very mild nsfw, Slight canon divergence.

You woke up to the feeling of warm breath tickling the back of your neck, and an arm resting heavily over your waist. It took you a few seconds to recognise your surroundings, flickering open your eyes softly to be met by the greyish walls and metal slats of the top bunk above you. You reached a hand carefully to your face, rubbing the remainders of sleep from your eyes. As you did so, you felt your skin brush against the arm that held you close - the warmth from it radiating over your stomach. It shocked you, not used to the sensation of being pressed against someone from the moment you woke up.

You were warm; that was what seemed strangest about the situation. Most mornings you'd wake up and pull your blanket tightly around you, curling up to keep in the heat. This time, however, you felt comfortable without having to do that. The covers had slipped off you a bit during the night, and your collar line was now exposed. Yet, you didn't feel a chill prickle at your skin. Instead, you became acutely aware of the chest pressed flush against your back, keeping you warm, and the face buried in the crook of your neck.

Staring at the stone wall directly in front of you, you let your eyes adjust to the light. Daryl's breaths were soft and regular, fanning the stay wisps of your hair and making you shiver. You remained still and quiet, not wanting to wake the man. Though, you let your gaze travel down to your stomach, and at his palm that rested flat over it. His skin was still a little grimy from the day before, but you didn't mind. You ran your hand down his arm, from his bicep all the way to his fingertips - before intertwining them with yours. You held his hand in your own, loosely, as not to interrupt his sleep. Then, you ran small circles over the back of it with your thumb.

The two of you were so close that you felt his heart beating against your back, and could even tell when he occasionally fluttered his eyes - since his eyelashes tickled your neck. You'd never slept so close to him before, but were left with no other option as you shared the single bed. If you weren't nearly as tired as you had been, the night before, then you thought you would have been too nervous to fall asleep at all. You barely knew how you'd managed to convince the man to stay with you in the first place - given how much he despised the cramped space of the cells. He must've thought you needed the comfort, and perhaps he'd needed it, too.

It had been a squeeze for you both to even fit on the mattress. You remembered the shy awkwardness he'd shown when you pulled him down by his wrist. You'd shuffled about for a bit, trying to get comfortable and make room for him to lie next to you. The bed was scarcely enough for Daryl, let alone the both of you. Yet, you somehow made it work. It had taken a lot of fumbling about in the dark and nervous hands wondering where they should rest, but you'd settled into each other after a few minutes.

He'd seemed so unsure before, toeing off his boots and shrugging out of his jacket. You lifted up the blanket for him, inviting the man inside. Even in the dim lamplight of your cell, you could still make out the apprehension on his face. At first, he'd tried to lie flat on his back, which caused you to giggle as you were shoved against the cold wall from the lack of space. Eventually, you compromised - urging him to lie on his side and hold you in his arms. He'd seemed nervous at first, hovering a hand above your waist like he was debating whether or not to let it drop. It had taken putting it there yourself before he'd decided that it was okay.

The two of you exchanged a few whispers through the early hours, before you eventually fell asleep in his embrace - feeling safer than ever before in this new, indiscriminate world. He must've gotten comfortable with you next to him throughout the night, as you woke up a few hours later to the feeling of him a lot more relaxed against you.

Tentatively, you lifted his arm up so that you could turn over. You did it slowly, trying not to move the mattress and make it squeak, before letting his hand rest over your back in the new position. Your faces were close together, cheeks sharing the same pillow. In the morning light, you could see him a lot clearer, and it surprised you how peaceful his expression looked as he dozed. You watched his chest rise and fall steadily, and his eyelids flicker. He seemed perfectly content, lying there like he didn't have a care in the world.

His hair was stuck to his cheek on one side, whilst some other strands hung loosely over his forehead and close to his eyes. You ran your palm over his face gently, moving his hair aside to get a better look at him. You never thought you'd get to see him like this, looking so vulnerable as you lay together - chest to chest. You smiled without realising it, and Daryl's eyes flicked open.

"Quit starin' at me." He mumbled, startling you and making you flinch in his arms. "Yer goddamn creepy."

Your heart pounded as you were caught off guard, and you realised that he could probably feel it when he gave you a small, teasing smirk. His pale blue eyes stared straight into yours, and the proximity suddenly made you feel a lot warmer than you already did. He looked tired, and his voice came out low and gravelly as he let out a groan and rolled his neck. He grumbled under his breath about how stiff his shoulders felt from the 'piece of crap mattress,' before forcefully rubbing the corners of his eyes with the back of his hand.

You quickly apologised, glancing away from him whilst the heat of your cheeks betrayed you. He mumbled something back, which you didn't quite catch, but he didn't seem in any rush to pull away from you or get out of bed.

"How did you sleep?" You whispered, once you got the confidence to.

"Not bad." He drawled back, his voice still groggy. "Bed's too damn small." He muttered, looking down to his feet that hung off the edge of the frame.

You let out a soft laugh, feeling grateful for your short stature - and how he'd sacrificed his comfort for the sake of your own.

"I slept well." You added, so close to the man that your foreheads almost touched. "Better than I have in a long time." You admitted, with a shy smile.

You reached forward only a few inches, closing the gap between the two of you as you placed a dainty kiss to his nose. He scrunched it up in response, forming an expression that made your eyes light up as you laughed.

"Good morning, Daryl." You greeted him, like it was the first time you'd said it.

"Mornin'." He replied, returning your kiss - on the lips this time.

You smiled against him, bringing a hand up to run your fingers through his hair. You moved a stray piece away from his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. It had gotten quite long now, and you couldn't say you minded. You kissed him back with more pressure, slipping your arm around his shoulder to play with the strands at the back of his neck, and tugging at them a little as you did so.

Daryl gripped your waist a bit tighter, his palm against your bare skin where your vest had ridden up. He rubbed circles there with his thumb, and it sent sparks through your body and made your stomach flip. He definitely seemed less shy as he continued to move his lips against yours, more certain of his actions as he used his free hand to caress your cheek and pull you closer to him. You let out a soft moan as he did, running your other palm flat over his chest. His breath was hot on your skin, as you pulled away for a few seconds, but you pressed up against him again and brought him back.

You bit his lower lip softly between your teeth, letting out a quiet whimper as he kissed you like he meant it. You stroked your fingers over his shoulders affectionately, above the material of his shirt, before dropping your hand lower to the hem of it. You slipped your fingers underneath, feeling his warm skin against yours as you slid your hand up his back. He immediately stopped kissing you.

Daryl startled away from you like your fingertips had burnt him, flicking his eyes open as he caught his breath. His sudden movements made you flinch in return, as you wondered whether you had scratched him by accident. He squinted at you, and you couldn't quite read his expression as he tugged the blanket off himself and sat upright on the mattress.

"Daryl, what is it?" You quickly asked, fumbling over your words. He had his back to you as he sat with his legs over the edge of the bunk. "Did I do something wrong?" You questioned him again, voice trembling as you did so.

You crawled over so that you were sitting on your knees behind him, and snaked your arms around his shoulders. You looked over at his face, pressing your warm cheek against his to try and comfort him. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, but he definitely didn't seem like himself, either. You honestly didn't know what you'd done to spook him so badly, and it made an anxious knot form in your stomach as you worried whether you'd upset him - or pushed him too far.

"Daryl-" you started again, softly.

He shook his head, turning to face you. He rested his hand on the back of your head, pulling you into him as he gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

"Ya ain't done nothin', Sunshine." He reassured you with a small smile, but it seemed unnatural and almost forced.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he stood up from the bed, making the mattress spring up. You watched as he collected his jacket and slipped his boots on, as you were left unable to form thoughts coherent enough to put into a sentence. All you could do was sit in silence as the man seemed to rush to get dressed. Once he'd finished tying his laces, he looked over at you again, trying to ignore your dejected expression.

"'M gonna go do some huntin'." He told you, but it sounded more like an excuse than a fact. He let his eyes glance over you one last time before making his way to the cell door. "I'll see ya later." The man said, and then he left.

You stayed sat upright on your bed for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what had just happened. You didn't think you'd hurt him, but maybe you'd pushed him further than he was comfortable with. Though, you thought that he'd seemed fine before that. He even kissed you first, and had run his fingers over your hips as he did so.

You couldn't get the look on his face out of your head. In a matter of seconds, he'd gone from holding you like you were the most important thing in the world to him, to practically storming out of the room before you'd had time to blink. Even if he'd tried to convince you otherwise, you still felt like you had done something wrong. Daryl was not fine; you knew him better than that.

A wail sounded outside your cell, echoing loudly and rousing you into action. You quickly pulled on a button-up shirt over the top of your vest and slipped on your boots, trying not to let your mind fill up with questions you couldn't answer. Baby Grimes needed you now, so any thoughts of Daryl Dixon could wait their turn. You pulled open your cell door, listening to it creak as you did so. You quickly jogged down the catwalk and to the stairs as the cries got louder. In the main area, you noticed Carol with the newborn in her arms, cradling her as she wept.

"She definitely has a pair of lungs on her." You noted, as you approached the two of them.

Carol laughed in agreement, and greeted you good morning.

"She also has a good stomach." She responded, rubbing her palm over the baby's back. "Seems like she's always hungry, this one."

She hummed to herself slightly, rocking the newborn back and forth gently to soothe her cries. You came closer to the pair, running your finger over the baby's soft cheek.

"Glenn and Maggie went out a few hours ago to look for more formula." Carol explained, as you just now noticed how quiet it seemed. "At this rate, she'll have gone through everything that Daryl got before we even know it."

You gave a small nod in response, becoming lost in your own thoughts at the mention of the man.

The two of you watched over baby Grimes for a while, taking it in turns to hold her and rock her to sleep. She wasn't a fussy baby, but she definitely craved affection. You could barely put her down in her makeshift crib for a few minutes before she'd start to whimper for someone to pick her up. You sat on one of the staircase steps, gently tapping the baby's back as she rested her head over your shoulder. You stared into space in front of you as you did so, not noticing when Carol called your name for the third time.

Admittedly, you were distracted. For a while now you'd been stuck in your own head, thinking back to the morning that had started off so well but ended so abruptly. As much as you willed them away, you couldn't keep the self-deprecating thoughts at bay forever. You questioned if the man even wanted you at all, or what you had done to make him change his mind so suddenly. Nothing felt worse than having him spend the night with you, only for him to leave so easily come morning.

Carol crouched down in front of you, snapping her fingers close to your face to get your attention. You blinked, quickly realising that she'd been calling you.

"Is anybody home?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow at you.

You quickly apologised, admitting that you were in a world of your own. You shuffled over a bit where you sat, and she took a seat next to you on the step.

"Carol, am I pretty?" You asked, before you even realised that you'd said it out loud.

You regretted the words immediately, shaking your head as you looked over at the woman's confused expression.

"Sorry." You said, brushing it off. "Please forget I said that."

Carol watched as you stroked the top of the baby's head, giving you a side-eye glance that showed she knew more than she let on.

"Is this about Daryl?" She questioned, hitting the nail on the head.

"No." You blurted back defensively, much too obvious. You sighed, meeting her eyes. "Maybe." You admitted.

Carol gave you a knowing smile and took the baby from your arms so that you could have a rest. You rolled your neck and shrugged your shoulders to loosen the stiffness out of them.

"I've known that man almost since this whole thing began." Carol said, glancing over at you. "I don't think you realise how different he is from back then." She explained. "How different he is around you."

You watched the woman swaddle up baby Grimes in the blanket and rest her on her back, over her knees.

"That said, Daryl is still Daryl." Carol added, with a small chuckle. "You were the one who told me that, before."

You nodded, thinking back to those times on the farm where things seemed so much simpler than what they were now. Carol reached out one of her hands and took a hold of your own, giving it a squeeze.

"You're good for him. You probably know him better than any of us by now." She confessed, but you had your doubts. "Just be patient. I'm sure whatever it is will work itself out."

Carol slipped her hand out of yours and stood up, cradling the baby to her chest.

"Thanks, Carol." You replied, wondering what you'd done to deserve such a kind friend.

She winked at you as she walked away, heading in the direction of the courtyard. She stopped after she took a few steps, looking over her shoulder at you.

"And for the record," she called out, eyeing over your dingy clothes and unkempt hair, "you're stunning."

A few hours passed after that with no sign of Daryl. You decided that you wouldn't push him about what had happened when he got back, considering your chat with Carol earlier. Her advice had really struck a chord with you; if you'd learnt anything about Dixon, it was that he was a man who took his time.

Beth had taken over caring for the baby, giving you a break. Rick was still in no state to do so. He'd thanked you briefly sometime before, once he returned from clearing part of the prison interior, covered in blood. Though, other than that, the man had kept himself busy - doing what exactly, you weren't too sure. The others had dug graves for Lori and T-Dog, and you visited them for a while to pay your respects. They were simple, and had makeshift wooden crosses marking them. It reminded you of the ones you'd dug back at the farm, for Dale and Sofia.

It felt so cruel that Lori's baby would have to grow up without a mother. Sure, she had the rest of the group as a sort of adoptive family for her, but nothing could replace someone you loved being gone. You knew that feeling well, thinking back on your own family you'd left behind.

After a while, you returned to C Block, sorting through some of the supplies there and making room for whatever Glenn and Maggie brought back with them. It wasn't long before you heard the familiar clinking of the gate and pairs of footsteps enter the block, so you stopped what you were doing to go and greet whoever it was in the communal area.

You saw Rick and Daryl there, liked you'd expected. What you hadn't expected, however, is for them to have been carrying a woman - each of them with one of her arms slung over their necks as she hobbled inside. The rest of the group must have heard the commotion, as they came out of their cells to see what was going on. The woman was dressed in dark clothes, and had dark skin that was caked with dried blood. Her hair was long, in tight dreadlocks that fell to her shoulders, and was swept back by a cloth headband over her forehead. You noticed the sword strapped over her back, and the bright red shopping basket she clutched in one hand.

Immediately, you rushed over to the men to help, but Daryl shot you a warning glance that told you to stay back from her. You ignored it, pulling out a chair for them to set the woman on. She was limping, and you noticed a wound on her leg as she sat down, like a bullet had shot clean through it. Hershel made his way over on his crutches, but Rick told him not to tend to the woman until we knew who we were dealing with.

You watched as the woman's eyes darted back and forth cautiously, scanning over all of your faces like she didn't trust you, either. Rick wordlessly picked up the shopping basket she'd placed on the floor, lifting it so that it was directly in front of her face. You noticed the familiar boxes of formula inside, next to some blankets and other supplies for the baby.

"Where did you get these?" Rick asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

His eyes were harsh as he stared at the woman, no sympathy for her pain as she bled out onto the chair. She had fabric tied tightly around her thigh as a makeshift tourniquet, but you knew she needed medical attention. You flickered your gaze over to Rick nervously, but he didn't look away from the woman.

She didn't respond. Instead, she stayed silent, meeting his eyes like she wasn't at all afraid of the officer. The tension hung thick in the air as the two exchanged looks, but after a few seconds Rick approached her. He raised an eyebrow to prompt for an answer again, but she didn't give one. So, the man pressed his knuckles heavily down onto her leg, deep into her wound.

The woman let out a shriek as he did so, flinching away to reach for her sword, which Daryl had confiscated.

"Stop! You're hurting her!" You quickly cried, yelling at Rick.

You moved forward to push him away, but was intercepted by Daryl, who pulled back your shoulder and tried to hold you against him. You shrugged him off, sending a glare towards him. You didn't understand why he was trying to stop you; that woman didn't deserve to be tortured. He gave you an understanding look, before shaking his head softly. You stood down.

"I won't ask again." Rick said, his voice low and intimidating as he got up in the woman's face, only inches away from her. She didn't blink as he looked down at her, but decided to reply this time.

"They dropped them." She spoke, her voice clear and strong.

Daryl tensed beside you. "Who?" He asked, and the woman glanced in your direction.

"The Asian boy and the pretty girl." She explained, meeting your eyes. "They were taken." She repeated.

You felt your stomach drop at her words, instantly knowing who she meant. You saw Hershel flinch across the room, as though he'd been physically assaulted by what she'd said.

"Taken?" Rick raised his voice, as if checking for sure that he'd heard her correctly.

The woman nodded, looking down at her thigh where the blood pooled out from the wound.

"By the same asshole who shot me." She spat. "He works for the governor."

Daryl scoffed next to you, raising an eyebrow like he didn't at all believe the woman. "The governor?" He repeated, his voice gravelly. "Ya serious?"

She sighed and looked at him as she went on. "There's a settlement called Woodberry." She said, spitting out the last word like she couldn't stand to say it. "It's a whole town. I left and it seems like they didn't want me to." She continued, sending a side-eye glance to Rick as she did so.

The officer looked back down at the basket on the floor, then at Beth who held his baby girl in her arms and rocked her occasionally so that she kept quiet. Rick stepped back from the woman, giving her some space. He ran one of his hands through his hair and glanced around the room, as if deliberating what to do next.

"How'd you find us?" He eventually asked, his tone still cold and untrusting.

"Heard your people talking about a prison, not five miles away." The woman replied. "I'd seen it sometime before."

She looked down towards her feet, where the basket was left discarded on the floor, and picked up one of the formula boxes from it. She then lifted her hand to hold it out to the officer, who looked at it skeptically.

"I thought the baby would need these."

You returned to your cell immediately as Rick let Hershel tend to the woman's injuries. When he was finished, she would lead some of your group into Woodberry to rescue Glenn and Maggie - since she knew the area and its defences better than you did. She said her name was Michonne, once you had asked her, and had told the group that she'd gone to Woodberry in the first place with her friend.

You wasted no time packing your things. You'd stalked back to your cell when the plan was being decided and retrieved your gun, filling your satchel with ammo and stuffing your knife into it. You flitted around the small room, wondering if you'd need anything else before you left. Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat behind you, and whipped around to see Daryl there.

He was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest like he'd been watching you for a while. He had his crossbow slung over his back, having not taken it off since coming back from his hunt, and he'd slipped on his leather vest, too. You raised an eyebrow at him, still feeling a little tense from earlier. He stayed next to the doorframe, as though unsure whether or not to walk in. You would have laughed at the irony of it, given that he'd spent the night with you in this room, but you didn't feel like the mood was right to do so.

You nodded your head, beckoning him inside. You could tell that he wanted to talk to you, since he had that expression on his face that told you he needed help putting his own thoughts into words. He took unsteady steps inside, standing over you as you crouched down to tighten the laces of your boots and double knot them. Once you were finished, you walked over to your bunk and took a seat on the mattress, patting the space next to you to offer him a seat. He took it, and you felt the bed sink down as he settled in next to you.

You noticed as the man bit his lip, seeming unsure of himself, so you took one of his hands in yours and let them rest intertwined over his thigh. Daryl turned to look at you, and you felt his calloused thumb rub over the back of your hand gently. His eyes scanned over your face, as if trying to take you in, before he gathered the confidence to speak.

"Ya ain't goin'." He drawled calmly, but his expression betrayed him.

He looked like he was preparing for your inevitable reaction, but still frowned a little when you pulled your hand out from under his.

"You can't stop me, Daryl." You shot back quickly, furrowing your eyebrows at him. "My family has been taken!"

Your voice rose a little, and you saw him glance towards the cell door. He looked down at his open palm, now resting alone on top of his jeans.

"An' we'll get 'em back." He said clearly. "I will."

He met your eyes and you saw the sincerity in his. He looked at you like he was ready to turn against the whole world if you so much as asked him to. You thought that he was asking you for your permission, as he sat there awaiting a response.

You denied him. Shaking your head, you heard your voice crack as you pleaded with the man. "Let me help." You spoke, just above a whisper. "I'm a good shot now, you know I am."

Daryl's resolve didn't crumble, even as you begged him to let it. He slowly lifted the strap of your satchel from your chest and threaded it off your shoulder, so that you no longer wore it.

"Takes more than bein' a good shot to kill someone, Teach." He replied, his words coming out strained. "Saw what it did to ya the last time."

And suddenly, it made sense. He'd been the one to place that flannel shirt over your shoulders that night, and wipe away the blood from your face. He'd been the one to take a hold of your trembling hands in his and let you rest a head atop of his shoulder. He'd also been the one to hear you cry in your sleep or bolt awake at early hours in the morning. He shook his head again, and this time you understood why.

You reached for his palm again, suddenly feeling guilty for ever letting it go. "This is different." You tried to reason, but you weren't sure of who you were trying to convince. "I've changed since then."

You had; it wasn't a lie. You'd all had to change in one way or another. Yet, the way Daryl watched you as spoke made you second guess whether you really were all that different from the time you first reached for his hand that day.

"Nah ya ain't." He answered, certain of that over everything else. "An' I wouldn't want ya to."

The man gave your palm a light squeeze and brought you into his chest gently by the back of your head. No matter how much you tried, you still couldn't get used to the physical affection - feeling your breath catch whenever the man touched you.

You reached your hands so that they were up flat against his chest, where you liked to rest them, and buried your face into the crook of his neck. You breathed deeply there, taking him in and not wanting to let go.

"I'll get 'em back." He said lowly, and you could feel the words rumble through his throat. "I promise."

He pulled away after a few seconds, holding you by your shoulders so that you met his eyes.

"I jus' need ya to stay here." He asked, but you didn't think he'd even be able to leave if you followed. "One of us needs to look after lil' Ass Kicker, remember?"

You gave him a small smile, the first in a while, and lifted his hand so that you could place a kiss on his knuckles.

"I remember."

The two of you walked together to the gates of the prison to meet the rest of the group. Rick had decided that him, Daryl, Oscar and Michonne would be the ones to go. Carl stood near the fences, ready to open the gate for them to leave. They all clambered into one of the cars, and Daryl let go of your hand to do the same.

"You better come home to me, Dixon." You told him, your voice stumbling over the words.

He nodded, and readjusted the strap of his crossbow over his chest.

"I will." He said, and you took it as the truth.

The car engine spluttered, before it rumbled to life. You watched as Carl heaved open the gate and rolled it back closed as they all left through it. Together, the two of you watched the old police vehicle disappear into the distance on that dirt road, before you gave Carl's shoulder a nudge and flicked the rim of his hat with your knuckle.

He offered you a grin that made you feel slightly better, before he started walking back to the prison.

"C'mon, let's go check on Judith." He called, looking back over his shoulder at you.

"Judith?" You asked, jogging over to catch up with him.

Carl nodded. "My little sister."

You sat on the boxes you'd stacked on top of each other to form a makeshift stool, and cleaned your gun. They watched you do it, as you had intended. Each click rang out loudly and echoed against the thick stone walls of the prison as you loaded the magazine. You could feel their eyes on you, through the bars of the gate that separated you. When you were finished, you placed the gun back in your holster and looked up from your hands to meet their eyes.

Carl stood next to you, keeping watch as well. He thumbed over the ring of keys he kept on his belt, as if taunting them. You knew it was all an act; this was all the two of you could do. Ever since Carl had found the group, you'd been on edge. He'd locked you all in the sleeping area of C Block, by your cells, whilst the newcomers were restricted to the communal area where you usually ate. There were three men and a woman now, but there had been another before.

They'd pleaded with you to let them in and trust them, but you'd just told them to wait until your leader returned. You weren't sure what Rick would say about it, but you and Carl had made the decision to save them. You couldn't stand by and let people die, but at the same time you had Judith and the rest of the group to protect. You couldn't afford to take any chances these days.

It had been hours since the others left. You'd expected them to be back by now. You did everything you could to distract yourself, but eventually you had run out of options. Carol had caught you pacing back and forth your cell and suggested that you go take watch with Carl - so you did. Though, you weren't sure whether it was the best decision. You wondered if the other group could sense your nerves, or make out the way your hands shook slightly as you fumbled with your pistol.

Beth was looking after Judith, out of the eyesight of the gate. You didn't want the newcomers to see her yet - at least not until Rick came back. Though, a cry suddenly sounded and you realised that you had no other choice. Beth came out of her cell with an apologetic look, and smiled at you sheepishly. You shook your head at her and gave her a soft look, telling her that it was okay, before taking the wailing baby into your arms.

You pressed her against your chest and bounced her up and down slightly as you walked. Carl unlocked the gate separating you from the others, and gave them a warning look as he made his way through to gather some formula. You followed him cautiously, taking small steps as you felt their eyes on you. Judith whimpered into your neck as you tried to shield her face. Her brother retrieved the bottle quickly, and started making it up for her.

"I never thought I'd see a baby again." One of the men spoke, startling you slightly.

He had a warm look in his eyes as he said it, glancing over at Judith like she was the last thing he expected to see. You nodded politely in return, rubbing your hand over the newborn's back to soothe her.

"Is she yours?" The woman asked.

She was the man's sister, if you remembered correctly. You shook your head this time, but didn't elaborate.

Carl finished making the bottle and asked if he could feed her, so you let him. You set him up on one of the chairs and positioned his arms correctly before placing Judith into them. She'd stopped wailing some time before, and now just let out the occasional soft whimper. The other group watched the scene in silence, as Carl started to feed his sister. You looked over at the siblings warmly, and couldn't help but think that Lori would be proud.

That tranquil peace didn't last long, as their father soon burst into C Block without you even hearing a car pull up outside. From the looks of Rick, it didn't seem like they'd had an easy time at Woodberry. His shirt was slightly torn and stuck to his chest, and his eyes immediately narrowed at the strange faces sitting close by you. You stood up quickly to greet him, as Michonne walked through the entrance followed by Maggie and Glenn.

Your heart sunk as you looked at the two of them. Maggie had one of Glenn's arms around her shoulder for support, as he stumbled inside. His face with a mix of blues and purples, standing out starkly against his sickly pale face, and his one eye was so puffed that it had become swollen shut. He had dried blood smeared around his face, too, and Maggie looked as though she'd had to witness it all happen.

Immediately, you ran over to them and pulled them both into a hug. You tried your best not to hurt the pair, but in that moment you were just utterly glad they were safe. Injuries could heal, but death was permanent. You wanted to cry as you held them in your arms, but all you felt was a deep anger bubble up inside you as you got a closer look at them. Whoever did this definitely hadn't pulled their punches. You had to question what monster would do this to people whose only crime was gathering baby supplies. No one deserved this.

You pulled away, stroking the back of Maggie's hair under your palm as you did so. She gave you a watery smile, and you turned around to thank Rick and Daryl for getting them back safely, as they had promised. Yet, Daryl wasn't there.

You quickly whipped your head around to the other side, wondering if you'd missed him come in. Though, the only other person who stood there was Michonne. Oscar was missing, too. You quickly looked over at Rick, but you couldn't have braced yourself for his expression. He looked guilt-stricken, as he watched your face fall. And suddenly, you became aware of the silence.

"Where?" You asked, choking out the single word like it was all you could manage.

Rick stayed quiet for a few seconds, which felt like a lifetime as your heart beat wildly in your chest. You felt sick.

"Is he alive." You questioned, just above a whisper.

Rick nodded at that, but you still didn't feel any sense of relief overcome you.

"Then, where?" You repeated.

The man stepped forward, pulling something out from his back jean pocket. As he approached, he handed you a scrap of loose paper. It was a bit tattered, like it had been ripped from something larger, and had some bloody fingerprints pressed on the edges that hadn't completely dried yet. You brought it closer to your face with trembling hands, making out the messy handwriting scrawled over the top of it:

'Sunshine,

I'll be back. WAIT FOR ME.

Dixon.'

A/N Here it is everyone. From angsty kissing to Teach having a heart attack thinking that Daryl could be dead. Also, did I hear someone say *Merle* - because I am SO EXCITED to write him.

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